#the keyboard works both ways; go write your own fic!!!!

[dearlyjun]

CALL OUT MY NAME ☆ c. seungcheol

☆ PAIRING: slightly possessive boyfriend!cheol x reader (f)

☆ GENRE: NSFW (18+ readers only!!)

☆ SUMMARY: your ex boyfriend can’t seem to stop texting you lately; wouldn’t want to make your current boyfriend angry would you?

☆ WORD COUNT: about 1.8k

☆ WARNINGS: cheol is possessive in a protective way, mentions of an ex boyfriend that won't leave you alone, ex boyfriend is min yoongi, cheol has a deep voice, mentions of cheol working out, cheol is tatted, he wants to fight her battles for her (king), unprotected sex, different sex positions (cowgirl, kneeling missionary), semi voyeurism, clitoral stimulation, spanking (like once), cumshot, foul language, cheolie is very sweet at the end!! lmk if i missed anything!!

☆ AUTHORS NOTE: posting this in honor of @miupow’s birthday!! happy birthday, lia!! you’re one of my dearest friends (and moots) on here. im so glad we met!! and also shout out to lia for beta-ing her own bday fic and correcting my half asleep writing. yeah even i don’t know what was going on there.

BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST HERE!

You were setting a bowl of food and a glass of iced tea down on your kitchen island, when your laptop started ringing.

“Ah, Cheol, give me a minute!” You spoke out loud to yourself, quickly grabbing a fork before tapping your keyboard to accept the video call coming through.

“Hi, Cheolie.” You greeted in a sing-songy voice as he -was filled up your screen with a smile on his face.

Your boyfriend was in Japan on a business trip for a few days; scheduled to come home tomorrow. You both made it a routine to have dinner together every night over video calls.

“You look pretty.” He answered, his gaze never leaving you.

You giggled at his compliment. “You see me everyday.”

Seungcheol smirked. “And? You’re always pretty.” He motioned at your bowl that was in the camera frame. “What’s for dinner today?”

“Oh, um, spicy pork bibimbap. You know; my favorite. What are you having?”

Seungcheol pointed to some things on the table he was sitting at. “Tuna and rice with some spicy sauce and vegetables, and chicken.” He let out a laugh. “Kind of boring.”

You smiled at him before taking a bite of your food. “Did you go to the gym today? I saw the workout notification on my watch.” You referenced your activity sharing feature on your Apple Watch.

“Yeah, of course the last day I'm here I find this really nice gym.” Seungcheol rolled his eyes and took a bite of his food before speaking again. “I was so excited that I actually almost did a 400 pound deadlift.”

“Oh my god…” You were just as excited for your boyfriend’s gym achievements as he was.

“Hang on, I think I took some pictures.” He picked up his phone and was scrolling through some pictures. “Yeah, see?” Seungcheol turned his phone screen towards his computer so that you could see. He scrolled through pictures of the scenery of the gym, and some pictures in the mirror.

“I like that one.” You suddenly spoke up with a smirk on your face.

“Which one?” Seungcheol questioned before looking at his phone to see the one of him completely shirtless In the mirror, showing off his back that was beautifully adorned with muscles and his tattoo that you loved so much. “Oh with the tattoo?” He smirked, knowing fully well how much you liked it.

“Yeah.” You smirked, cheeks flushing like this was the first time you saw him. Seungcheol always seemed to have that effect on you.

“I didn’t go to the gym today, I went shopping instead.” You slightly laughed.

“Yeah, I saw the Amex notification.”Seungcheol joked, setting his phone back down. “Buy anything nice?”

You gasped, dramatically covering your face. “See! That's why I don’t like using it all of the time.” Seungcheol always let you use his credit card to treat yourself however you pleased, and sometimes you would buy clothing pieces that he’d like on you. Unfortunately, the notifications always went to his phone.

Seungcheol looked at his phone again, laughing at your dramatics. “It’s not like it shows me what you bought. It just tells me the store.”

“Well you’ll be home by evening tomorrow, right?” You questioned. “I’ll show you then. It’s–“

Your voice trailed off as suddenly a notification of a text message popped up at the top of your laptop screen. It was your ex boyfriend, Min Yoongi. For some reason he has been non stop bothering you lately; asking how you’ve been, if he can “catch up” with you. You ignored every one of his advances thus far, but you hadn’t said anything to Seungcheol.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol instantly noticed the change in your tone and expression. “You got so quiet all of a sudden.”

You sighed. “Cheolie, I hate you fighting my battles for me.”

“It’s my job.” Seungcheol quickly retorted. “What’s going on?”

“My ex boyfriend. Do you remember Yoongi?” Seungcheol nodded. “For some reason he’s been trying to get a hold of me; texting me like he wants something between us again.”

Seungcheol got closer to his computer, the tone in his voice suddenly deepening. “Show me the texts.”

You picked up your phone, showing him the screen of multiple texts to all of which you did not respond to.

“And you didn’t respond?” He questioned, reading the texts on your phone as you swiped through.

“No, I haven’t responded to any of them.” You answered.

“Okay.” Seungcheol spoke, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in front of himself. “I can’t get an earlier flight out. But If this happens again, I’m dealing with him.”

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock just like that baby.” Seungcheol sighed, looking down at his lap to where his cock was disappearing inside of your wet cunt. “Fucking use it.”

Seungcheol brushed your hair off of your shoulders for access to your collarbones; sucking and biting at your skin. You whimpered In response, combing your fingers through his dark hair and giving it a slight tug. That only egged him on more; letting out a low grunt.

Seungcheol gripped onto your hips, angling them forwards so that when you slammed down onto him, his cockhead would be hitting a different spot.

“Cheol! Fuck!” You cried out, reaching to hold onto Seungcheol’s sturdy frame before falling into his chest.

“Yeah, gonna fucking cum?” Seungcheol’s grip moved to your thighs as you whimpered; your face buried in the crook of his neck. “Look at me, look at me.”

You pulled yourself up, still using him for stability. You couldn’t fight your orgasm right now if you tried to.

Until your phone starts ringing, lost somewhere in the tangled bed sheets.

You jump, clearly startled by the ringtone playing at almost full volume.

“The fuck….?” Seungcheol muttered, eyes fixated on his wet cock disappearing in between your legs.

“Ignore it.” You hissed, lifting yourself up off of him enough so just the tip was inside of you, only to slowly sink back down to feel every inch of Seungcheol’s cock.

Seungcheol knew that was on purpose, yet he still let out one of the hottest moans to ever come out of his mouth.

“Give me that fucking phone.” Seungcheol spat, putting one arm around you to keep you in place as he rummaged around the sheets to his right.

He managed to find it despite your whining, looking to see that the screen read a phone number across it and not any caller ID.

Seungcheol shot you a glance before swiping the green icon at the bottom of the screen to pick up the call. He then put it on speaker phone.

“Who is this?” The tone in his voice was deep and oddly steady considering that you were still perched up on his lap with his cock inside of you.

“Y/N?” The voice on the other side of the phone said your name, startling you. You froze. It was Min Yoongi of all people that could be calling you.

You saw Seungcheol’s jaw clench as he heard another man say your name, but with his free hand he still gave your ass a light smack to keep moving.

“Why are you calling my girlfriend’s phone? I know who this is.” Seungcheol used his free hand to pinch one of your nipples between your fingers, making you whimper.

“I just wanted to talk…” Yoongi’s voice trailed off and you didn’t know what he said only because Seungcheol whispered to you to lie down onto your back.

You followed directions, wincing at the empty feeling between your legs when you were on your back. Seungcheol immediately pushed your knees towards your shoulders and kneeled in front of you, aligning his cock with your entrance once again.

“We can talk.” Seungcheol spoke to the phone while he was teasing your folds with the tip of his cock. You grabbed a hold the comforter with your left hand, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Cheol, fucking put it in. Please.” You whined loud enough to be heard through the phone. Seungcheol had a satisfied look on his face, nodding as he finally pushed himself inside of you slowly enough so you felt everything; all of him.

You threw your head back; arching your back against the bed. Seungcheol put his hand onto your stomach to keep you still, then moved it down slightly to stimulate your clit with his thumb. Letting out a strained moan, you nearly wanted to scream.

“Awful quiet there, Yoongi. That’s your name right?” Seungcheol’s voice was so deep that your core clenched around him tight. “What happened to talking?” You were sure that the noises of his cock sliding in and out of you could be heard on the phone by now.

“I mean, obviously I’m a bit busy right now.”

“Cheol!” Your voice startled even you. Not quite a scream, but more like a whiny moan. Seungcheol’s body was quickly against yours within mere seconds; with his weight pressing into you.

“Mhm, call out my fucking name baby.” Seungcheol’s lips ghosted over yours as he lightly kissed you, then he found your right hand that was gripping onto the comforter and laced his fingers with yours. “Let him and everyone else hear it.”

The call either dropped or your phone died because it was silent, but neither of you were paying any attention.

“Cheol! fuck!” You swore, and just like that you were cumming all over his cock; shaking as he kissed you sweetly all over your face.

Seungcheol was on the brink of cumming, and you could tell. So naturally, you used his weakness to your advantage. He always gave in when you begged him to cum inside of you; he’d never tell you no.

“Cheolie, cum in me….please.” You gripped onto his thick arms as he supported himself above you; following your words exactly as his breathing became unsteady.

“Shit…fuck.” Seungcheol panted, dropping his head and making his hair fall into his face. You couldn’t help but let out a whimper at the feeling of him finishing inside of you.

The two of you were silent, and Seungcheol adjusted himself to not drop his entire weight onto you.

“I’m sorry, cheolie.” You muttered, running your fingers through his now messy hair.

He quickly had a concerned look on his face. “For what, princess? You didn’t do anything.”

You slightly laughed at the situation. “My ex is calling me, literally while we’re having sex.”

Seungcheol was smirking. “Yeah, but he’ll probably never call again.” He grabbed your hand, kissed the back of it, then kissed your face. “He should know that you’re mine.”

☆ TAGS: @lavnderwonu @dokyeomkyeom @https-yeonjun

[navybrat817]

He's wondering when you're gonna stop doing your boring work and do him instead

Of course, he is. 😏

Clocking Out

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky makes it difficult for you to get any work done.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Established relationship, implied smutty times, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning)

A/N: Late submission for Week 7 of Hot Bucky Summer for @buckybarnesevents ! Prompt - "Who's this?". ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. But thanks to @rookthorne for the inspiration. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You narrowed your eyes in concentration on your laptop screen, the clicking of your keyboard the only sound in your in-home office. You typically worked with some kind of background noise, whether it be music or even the television at a low volume. It helped the day go by faster. At some point though, Bucky ventured in and shut your playlist off to ask some random question.

"Who's this?" he asked as he shoved his phone in your face and blocked your view of the monitor. "And what is FYP? What the hell does that mean?"

You had to giggle after a moment. Your boyfriend had a habit of interrupting you while you worked to get some form of attention. It happened more times than you could count and you were lucky you got any work done at all when he was home. He told you in passing that after being alone for so long that he wanted to soak up every moment he could with you. 

I can't get mad when he puts it that way. 

"It means 'For You Page' and I have no clue who that is," you answered, gently pushing his hand away so you could get back to typing. "Why are you on TikTok, old man?"

"Why are you?" he asked, taking a seat on the loveseat near your desk. "Is this what you look at to get inspiration for your smut or whatever it is that you call it?"

"Hey!" you said, pushing away from your desk to turn and face him. "I write stories, thank you very much. Some of them just happen to include smut and there is nothing wrong with that."

Bucky had an all too smug expression on his face when he leaned back against the cushion and widened his massive thighs. He took up almost the entire two-seater sofa with his size. The gorgeous bastard finished up his workout earlier and didn't bother getting fully dressed after his shower. Just a new pair of sweatpants and no shirt, his long hair still slightly damp and daring you to run his fingers through it.

Showing off his broad torso like a harlot. 

"Sorry. You're right. You do tell stories and they are wonderful," he said, holding up his hands on surrender. His steel blue eyes had a hint of playfulness as he nodded to your laptop. "You almost done with your 'porn with plot' or should I come back later?"

You rolled your eyes as you spun away from him and pulled yourself back to your desk. "You're impossible. Turn my music back on and go back to watching TikTok videos."

"Or you could take a break and ride me," he suggested so casually your fingers froze on the keyboard. "Give you the motivation you need to finish."

With a defiant lift of your chin, you went back to typing. You did like his idea and it wouldn't be the first time you stopped writing to have Bucky pull an orgasm or two from you. The only reason you got a bigger desk was so he could fit under it. The image of him nearly getting stuck under your old desk brought a smile to your face. 

It also caused a tingling sensation between your legs when you remembered just how deep he stabbed his tongue into your aching pussy. 

"You can't ignore me, doll. Look at you. Already distracted and shifting in your chair," he said, his voice low. He knew exactly how it affected you. "So get over here."

Nope. His thick cock can wait for me to take a ride. 

"Bet you're not even working," he accused. It wasn't true. There were words on the screen. "You're typing just to look busy when we both know you're getting your seat wet through your clothes."

"Don't you have work to do yourself?" you asked incredulously, refusing to look over at him. If you did, you'd go right to him and he'd win. Both of you would win, but that wasn't the point. He cut into your work time when you couldn't cut into his.

It's not like I can show up in the middle of a mission and demand to suck his cock. 

"If by 'work' you mean your delicious cunt, yeah. I have a lot of work to do," he said. The unsubtle man he was, you knew he was about two seconds away from taking himself out and stroking his perfect cock. Anyone who said perfection didn't exist hadn't slept with Bucky Barnes. "I'll do overtime and you can pay me in orgasms."

Your head fell back against your chair with a groan. "Where is your off switch?"

"No off switch around you, doll. Only an on switch. You're lucky I don't knock stuff off the end tables since I'm practically a walking hard-on around you."

The sincerity in his statement had you beaming and laughing all at once. You wondered if something in the serum sent his libido into overdrive or if it was you who brought that side of him out. It did wonders for your self-esteem because no matter how you looked, he gazed at you as if you were the most beautiful creature to grace this planet. 

A small break wouldn't hurt. 

"If I step away for a few minutes," you began as you stared at the ceiling. "You have to transcribe the next few paragraphs for me so I can lay down and recover."

"Deal," he said, leaning over and gripping the chair handle to turn you toward him. "But I'm warning you. If you dirty talk, I'm gonna get hard all over again and we'll be right back where we started."

"It can't be any worse than the time you had me in your lap," you said as you lifted your head. He couldn't stop himself from running his hands along your body or kissing your neck. And that was before he had you warm his cock. "Don't look so smug. You owe me an orgasm."

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked. 

Lucky for you, Bucky always delivered on his promises. 

We can't resist Bucky, can we? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[abiiors]

marigold's - ross x reader 🍂˚ ༘ ೀ🎃｡˚☕️

a/n: quite literally giggled and kicked my feet the entire time writing this fic!! also BAKER ROSS!!!! cw: nothing much really, just food and food related activities/conversations wc: 4.4k

it’s a crisp autumn morning when their eyes meet across the street. her heartbeat quickens, palms starting to sweat just a little. in the opposite window, ross stands still for a moment. her eyes narrow in his direction. recognition flares in them and then... hatred.

that pumpkin stealing bitch!

“you…” she seethes through her nostrils like a furious dragon. obviously, ross can’t hear her from across the street, but oh, he knows what he did. and she is sure that her face does in fact, betray all her emotions right now; anger, hatred and more anger.

ross gives her a sickly sweet smile in response and waves a cheery goodbye. then he turns around and walks away from the window, a pep in his step. it makes her brain go into emergency mode, funnily enough—anger eating away at the sane parts of it, no doubt!

the greater marigold’s is in a bit of an uproar today. suspiciously enough, everything seems to be going on normally across the street at (the inferior) marigold's. she immediately runs for her binoculars. 

a collective sigh runs through the other baristas at the sight of it, but she does not have time for these trifles. she has to get to the bottom of something. 

and there they all are, just as she suspected. big, ripe, orange, and double in quantity. the pumpkins that marigold's stole from the greater marigold's. or rather, the pumpkins that ross stole from her. 

she’s sure of it. 

she shifts her gaze to the window of the bakery. might as well get some additional spying done. and she sees him—already there—matching binoculars in hand. it’s like they are mirrors of each other. they might as well be.

for the better part of a year, she and ross have both been working hard towards being the head baker of their respective bakeries. no one has come out and said the words, but they both know it’s a race to the finish line. just like everything else. 

that’s when she realises, this is her chance to step up and take charge of the situation. she can survive another day without murdering ross, but the bakery can’t survive without pumpkins. not on a beautiful autumn day like this. 

her eyes narrow as she furiously begins to type, her coffee getting colder by the second in its cosy little mug. it can wait. this, however, cannot.

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: thief! stop stealing our fucking pumpkins, you… you ghoul!!

there. that should fucking show him. with much satisfaction coursing through her veins, she reaches for her coffee, breathing in the rich aroma, dreaming of the first delicious sip when the laptop pings. 

an email pops up. 

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: thief! ghoul? cute. stop stealing our recipes then and come up with your own :) 

the coffee cup stills abruptly on its way to her lips, drink sloshing precariously while she gapes at the first email of the day. the one she’s just had the misfortune of reading—first the fucking pumpkins and now this. all before a single sip of coffee. the sheer audacity!

there’s the familiar urge to glare across the street, at the all too familiar glass windows, all the way to the man inside; the familiar urge to turn him into a toad with her withering glare alone. still, she resists, takes a dainty little sip of the coffee. it tastes like shit—likely the doing of the stupid email and the stupid man. 

she huffs, fingers running angrily across the keyboard. 

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: thief! seems like you’re projecting? the recipe has been in our family for decades :)) return our pumpkins.  

there. that seems sufficiently saccharine and sarcastic. and sent. 

the next sip of the coffee she takes tastes better than the last, sweeter even, until there’s another ping on the computer. another email popping up. all the warmth in her belly turns to hot, burning irritation. 

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: thief! marco’s older. the recipe is his. :)))  how are they your pumpkins? we paid for them

little shit! the smiley face in the email grates on her nerves. how dare he try to turn this on her?! he’s the thief, she mutters to herself, stomping her feet to the coffee machine and prepping for the day.

it’s bound to be a long one. shitty too judging by the lack of the pumpkins.

marigold's isn’t just a bakery, it’s an institution. and its head baker-to-be does not fuck around. 

ross glances at the surplus of pumpkins in the kitchen. sure, they might not have needed that many, and sure they would have to give some away at the end of the day, but he knows the other bakery does not have any for the day. 

maybe he’ll just work on a few more autumn recipes with them. he has no doubt they’ll taste just a little sweeter now that he’s seen the pure annoyance on her face—the way her forehead scrunches up, nostrils flared and the way her eyes narrow into what she thinks is a glare. to ross it’s about as scary as a little rabbit. 

it’s adorable that she should even entertain the idea that it’s scary. 

his boss, the older (and objectively the better) of the two brothers, can be dealt with. marco loves ross, loves all his recipes and the little tricks he likes to pull on ty, the younger of the two brothers. their rivalry is an enigma to him. 

it’s not just sibling rivalry—not just healthy competition. there’s so much more to it that he’d never been told. all he knows about it is that there was a big fight, marigold's split up because of it, and now the world has the "other one".

but ross has decided, a long time ago, that he won’t be caught in the cross-fire of it. not when he can be put to much better use as marco’s right hand man. 

he can’t resist sneaking a look at the modern, sleek bakery in front of theirs. everything about it is off to him—the slightly different font spelling out “the greater marigold's” in neat, cursive letters. they’re freshly painted too. not the chipped and slightly worn but comforting look he associates with marigold's. 

she’s leaving the bakery in a hurry, ross sees. her face is arranged in a careful, determined look. he looks at the clock and smirks. nowhere on a monday morning would have enough fresh pumpkins to sustain a bakery for the day. 

there’s a pumpkin spice haze in the air, ross thinks. marco even gives him a pat on the back when he sees ty throwing a hissy fit in his office through his binoculars. 

ross thinks back to just a few months ago, during the summer—how he’d managed to sneak in to the greater marigold's when she was on her break, and purchased one of the last remaining lemon-caramel muffins that had been selling like hotcakes for the last two weeks. 

lemon and caramel, he’d scoffed before biting into the giant thing, what a stupid combination. 

and now he remembers the way his eyes had rolled in the back of his head, the involuntary moan he’d let out on the sidewalk. they were the best fucking thing he’d had all summer. 

caramel, yes. 

he’d make something with caramel. 

had she been there in the kitchen at marigold's that day, she would have described it as heaven—the smell of fresh pastry, the blend of pumpkin and caramel. there’s a hint of cloves and cinnamon in there too, she would have thought. 

mostly, though, she would have looked at the baker—at his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tattoos peeking. at the way he kneads the dough until it’s soft and fluffy. the painstaking concentration he displays while making the pumpkin and caramel filling, his dimples on full display when he tastes his creation and finds it has exceeded expectation. 

she would have looked at him to study his technique, of course. 

alas, that’s not how it goes. 

by the time she gets back to the greater marigold's, sad little pumpkin in hand, ty is waiting for her. 

“you’re my star!” he says, gesticulating wildly, shaking his head in disappointment. “how could you let that happen? no pumpkin desserts in autumn, it’s a shame.”

and it is a shame, she thinks. there were recipes she’d thought to try. something new and exciting just like her lemon caramel muffins from summer—something that would have made ty promote her to head baker on spot!

“our suppliers deliver to marigold's first,” she mumbles, but ty is too busy cursing at marco, muttering his name under his breath. she supposes her excuses and explanations don’t matter. 

the problem isn’t the lack of pumpkins, the problem is that marco (ross) won.

“i’ll make sure it won’t happen again,” she promises. 

ty takes one long hard look at her, then looks back at marigold's. she thinks something almost nostalgic flickers on his face then, but that’s a stupid thought, right? the brothers hate each other just like she and ross hate each other. 

some gaps can never be bridged. 

a second passes and ty rubs the bridge of his nose. “no,” he says, “it won’t.”

she looks down at the ground like a little kid that just got told off. ross… is going to pay for this. oh how she wishes one of those pumpkins would blow up in his annoyingly handsome face…

the rest of the day, it seems, is well on track to going downhill. she feels herself dying a little on the inside every time she has to tell a customer that they indeed do not have pumpkin spice lattes today. 

yes, it’s not even noon yet. 

no, they haven’t ran out. 

we are so sorry ma’am. 

something went wrong with the pumpkin shipment. 

she should take that small sad pumpkin she managed to get and throw it through marigold's window, ugh! 

in an hour their new trainee gets tired of dealing with people’s questions. “you can try marigold's for pumpkin spice latte, we are currently out,” he says. 

almost in unison, a gasp runs through the other baristas. head after head turns to look at her as if she’s a volcano about to erupt. and maybe she is… the boy cowers, realising he probably said the worst thing he could have. she simply smiles at him—lips stretched over her teeth, canines visible—and turns to the customer. 

“we are sorry about the lattes, ma’am,” deep breath in. deep breath out. you need to sound human, not like a growling animal, “something went wrong with the pumpkin shipment today.”

“they ran out of PSLs! PSLs!” the customer’s voice rises an octave higher, and ross smiles from behind the divider.

he’s busy making sure the big batch of caramel doesn’t burn, and eavesdropping of course… subconsciously, his gaze flicks towards the other bakery and the girl within. he wonders if she’s so angry the tip of her nose has gone all red, he wonders if she stomped back to the oven like he’s seen her do before. 

ross stirs the caramel. it’s nice and thick now, smells delicious too, but his arms strain with the effort. there’s a thought that’s pushing around in his brain. ross wishes she could try some of the doughnuts he’s going to make. he wishes for a brief five minutes they can set the rivalry aside and he could spoon some of the filling into her mouth—watch her as she savours it, letting the sweetness linger on her tongue. 

he wonders if she’d sigh and moan like he had after that muffin. 

then he wonders if he’s lost his mind because this is a truly ridiculous line of thought. 

he curses under his breath, stirring a little more aggressively than needed. why does she have to be so... infuriating?

it’s another hour before he has to let go of the doughnut recipe he’s been working on all afternoon. all of it needs to chill in the fridge for a few hours, he can’t hurry it in his excitement. the doughnuts need to be perfect. not because of her, of course—he isn’t making them for her—but because marco expects nothing less. 

besides, the satisfaction of one-upping the greater marigold’s, of seeing that familiar look of frustration on her face when she realises her defeat, would simply be a sweet little byproduct. 

there’s a quiet little ping the moment he closes the fridge behind him.

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: thief! 1) we were going to pay for them before you hoarded them with your grubby little fingers.  2) marco can keep his stuffy old recipe, ty’s is better anyway :))))  3) you suck. 

ross blinks. then looks across the street and blinks some more. try as he might, he can’t seem to fight the smile that worms its way onto his face. try as he might he can’t stop his brain from conjuring up images—of her sitting in front of the computer, nose scrunched, fingers typing furiously. 

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: thief! think about my fingers a lot do you? at least try my recipe before bashing it.

her cheeks are about as red as the apples in the kitchen, she’s sure of it. 

think about my fingers a lot do you?

no she fucking doesn’t! she never has and never will! what’s it to her if he uses his big hands with the slender fingers to knead the dough until it’s soft and fluffy? what’s it to her if he uses his toned arms to lift up heavy bags of flour and sugar and cocoa? what’s it to her if he does anything inside that stupid bakery of his?!

she huffs, ready to fire off a reply of her own, when the second line of the email finally registers in her brain. 

at least try my recipe before bashing it. 

why should she? it’s going to be rancid and possibly full of rat poison or laxatives or something. she’s sure of it. she turns her nose up at the email, primly clicking out of the tab. 

she won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it affected her even a little. she won’t give him any satisfaction at all. 

it works for a bit—working in the kitchen and taking up more jobs than necessary—it distracts her for a good few hours. the sun makes its slow descent west, dousing the bakery with warm golden light. 

this is one of her favourite things about the greater marigold’s—how everything turns golden at a certain time of the evening when the waning light of the sun touches it. she even likes to sit by the window for a small break then, sipping on whatever drink she fancies, munching on a small croissant maybe. 

that is until she sighs into her mug of hot chocolate, and opens her eyes to ross grinning at her from across the street. she narrows her eyes at him, his smile turns brighter, almost a laugh now. 

he has dimples, she realises for the millionth time. and just like every other time, her lungs stop working for just a second. 

ross lifts up a finger to his mouth and taps above his lip. she frowns, and then mirrors his action, mortified when the finger comes back soaked in chocolate and cream. 

shit. he saw her with a chocolate moustache like a fucking toddler!

her face flushes. ross laughs, and laughs harder when she sticks his tongue out at him. she does something wholly unfamiliar then, something that goes so much against her instincts that it feels alien for a moment; but she studies him, studies his face and the tray in his hands filled with delicious doughnuts that aren’t even baked yet and still they look so mouth-watering. 

at least try my recipe before bashing it.

should she take him up on his offer?

ross quirks an eyebrow when he catches her looking, equally as interested in her as she is in him at the moment. then his eyes slide to the door to marigold’s and back to hers. a silent invitation. he means it then—his offer is genuine. 

and try as she might, she can’t get herself to ignore the doughnuts and their maker.

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: poison how do i know they’re not poisoned? 

ross laughs—no, he actually guffaws when the email comes through. two email chains in one day… anyone else might have thought there was something there. not him though. he can’t be thinking things like these…

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: poison if they were, would i tell you?

he looks across the street at the other bakery even though he can’t see her. the sun’s properly gone down now, the twilight giving way to the night. there are more people milling about the street—going home from work or out on an evening stroll. ross looks at the window and smiles fondly. 

the image is burned in his head now—her sitting by the window, upper lip coated in chocolate and head thrown back mid sigh. fuck, he had no business staring at her the way he had. no business teasing her about the moustache or inviting her to marigold’s again! 

and even now, ross can’t help but imagine the expression on her face—the suspicious squinting of her otherwise huge eyes, the subtle jutting-out of her bottom lip. 

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: poison at least this email thread would serve as evidence if i died

from: admin@marigolds.com to: admin@greatermarigolds.com subject: re: poison so you’re taking me up on my offer then

ross holds his breath as the email whooshes out of his inbox and into hers. who knows how long it will stay there? what if she just decides not to respond and leaves him hanging?! but his heart lurches in his chest when the inbox refreshes, one unread email at the top. 

from: admin@greatermarigolds.com  to: admin@marigolds.com subject: re: poison my shift ends in 15

he fidgets for fourteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds of it, only getting himself together when the bells chime and he sees her looking around, a little lost. her hair is no longer in a bun, instead it hangs down her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. ross clears his throat and instantly gets her attention. 

he leans against the counter, arms crossed. the stance is meant to be casual, cool and aloof, and yet he doesn’t miss the way her eyes quickly graze over his biceps, over his forearms. how interesting…

“you came,” ross says, his voice laced with more surprise than he intended.

she hums, and there’s no judgement behind it—just a hint of that exasperation that may or may not be the teasing kind. “had to check out the competition, didn’t i,” she says coolly, walking toward the tray that still sits on the counter.

ross watches her as she takes marigold’s in. has she never been in here before? granted he’s only been to the greater marigold’s only once—to sneakily eat her muffins. shit, he’d have to erase the cctv before marco realises and goes ballistic.

he watches her with baited breath, waiting for her to finish her inspection. 

“your bakery’s empty,” she notes, and ross looks around as if realising that for the first time. 

he shrugs. “we close an hour before you do.”

she nods, then gestures towards the tray on the counter. he can practically see the gears turning in her head, sense more of the questions that he’s about to be asked. 

“what’s in it?”

“caramel,” he answers without missing a beat.

“and?”

a shit-eating grin. “pumpkins…”

she falters a little, fighting the tiny smile on her face. 

“and…?”

“usual doughnut things?”

she levels her stare at ross again. it’s a bit of a shock then—of course it is. he’s never been in such close proximity to her. the closest they’ve come before this when the brothers got into a heated argument in the middle of the street and their respective staff had to drag marco and ty back to their offices. he remembers how she’d scoffed at him then, sticking her tongue out as if that were the epitome of a good burn. 

it’s also a bit of a shock to him because in the warm, golden lighting of marigold’s, ross can see the precise colour of her eyes (so much different than he’d thought), the exact shape of them and their intensity. 

he looks at her and, perhaps for the first time, realises just how much he enjoys looking at her. 

“don’t be smart with me,” she holds up a finger, threatening.

then the finger pokes him in the chest. “laxatives?” she asks. 

ross frowns. “no—”

“ooh, i get it. salt instead of sugar.”

“uh—”

“too much cinnamon? wait, wait, cayenne pepper instead of cinnamon!”

ross watches her, amused, as her brain spits out idea after idea—all outlandish, all highly improbable. she’s halfway through guessing uranium (???) when he lightly grabs her by her elbow, halting her mid-sentence, and stuffs the doughnut in her open mouth. 

his finger touches something incredibly soft then—her lip, he realises with a mix of every emotion he’s ever felt. and thrill. so much thrill. his thumb is touching her bottom lip, lingering there, even though he should have pulled his hand back moments ago. 

she’s probably thinking along the same lines because her gaze dips down—first to the doughnut, half in her mouth and half out, and then to his hand, still by her lips. and then she bites down. 

ross waits. one beat, then another, then another. 

time slows as she chews, swallows and then, just as he’s about to be impatient and demand she tell him how they are, she licks her lips. right over the spot his fingers so briefly touched. 

involuntarily, ross shivers, gripping the countertop just a little.

“so?” he asks, his voice just a little hoarser than before. “are they poisoned?”

she doesn’t answer immediately, letting the silence hang thick between them. she just takes another bite, this time on her own accord, and closes her eyes as she chews, making a show of it. ross doesn’t realise he’s practically gawking until her eyes snap open, and she finally speaks.

“no,” she says slowly, dragging the word out, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “but they’re dangerous.”

he blinks. “dangerous?”

she swallows another bite and nods, stepping just a little closer, closing the distance between them. “quite addictive,” she says in a low voice, the teasing evident, as if she’s revelling in the way his face flushes ever so slightly at her proximity.

ross huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re terrible.”

she doesn’t bother answering that. instead, she finishes the doughnut in two more bites and then swipes another one from the tray. he tries not to notice the warmth that blooms in his chest.

“they’re inspired by you,” he admits shyly, finally allowing himself to pick up a doughnut and taste it. and yeah it’s fucking good! it’s better than when he’d tasted just the filling earlier today. 

“me?” she points to herself, voice muffled. 

“your lemon-caramel muffins from this summer.”

she ahhs in understanding, remembering the baked delights from just a few months ago, before her eyes narrow in suspicion. “when did you try them?”

ross gives her an easy smile. “i snuck in when you were on your break.”

she gasps, ever dramatic. “so you are a thief!”

ross throws his hands up. “i paid for them!”

“if i knew you were buying i would have charged double,” she challenges, standing on her toes all the way to look down his nose at him. not that it works much—he towers over her regardless. 

ross steps even closer, bending down, his voice deep and soft like he’s confessing a secret. “i sweet-talked the barista, gave her a smile, and she gave them to me for half off.” and then he erupts into laughter as her face goes slack and then indignant and then finally pouty. 

“a thief and a flirt!” she accuses.

“only one of them,” he concedes. 

for a moment, they both just stand there, the tension between them crackling like electricity in the warm light of the bakery. he’s fully aware now—how close she is, how she smells faintly of vanilla and spice, how her eyes are much more alive than he had ever realised before. and she’s watching him too, her gaze flickering between his eyes, his lips, and back again.

it’s a moment. they’re having a moment. 

but then something happens—errant noise from the traffic, or creaks of the old building, or one of the million things that could have happened—and the moment is over. she steps back. fidgeting with her hands. 

then, as if thinking twice about it, swipes another doughnut. 

“thanks for these,” she holds it up, smiling in earnest. “i’m glad i got to taste them.”

“me too,” he nods, still just a little breathless. 

“i should go,” she mentions, lingering a little. 

“mm-hmm,” he nods. she’s right, it is getting a little late. he has no idea how far away she lives or how long it would take her to get home or if she has plans she’s getting late for. 

“right then,” she slaps a hand on the counter and then turns on her heels, brushing past him, her shoulder grazing his arm as she makes her way to the door. ross’s body tingles from the touch, and he watches her go, follows her out of the bakery just because.

she looks to the right once, then left and right again, before crossing the street. halfway through though, her steps falter. ross seizes the chance. 

“oi!” he calls out and she turns, dazzling him with a brilliant smile, warm enough to stave away the late september chill in the air. “see you around?”

she swallows hard. “yeah,” she breathes out. 

it’s a crisp autumn night when their eyes meet across the street. ross’ heartbeat quickens, and his palms start to sweat just a little.

[kk43mi]

hii omg i luv ur writing so much!! ur scaramouche fic is sooo good (as well as ur kazuha one!) but may i request a dom!reader x streamer!xiao ? like xiao is streaming and reader gets needy and ends up getting under his desk and sucking him/teasing him every couple of minutes and then you can take it from there bkdjdjdk

anon omgg loving this idea , I love the idea of sucking him off while he's busy, mic on and stuff, but I would imagine he always have a poker face on while you try to tease him and you keep trying but it never works so he punishes you!

you thought?┊xiao

PAIRING ┊ streamer!xiao x f!reader GENRE ┊ smut. WC ┊ 900+ WARNINGS ┊ degradation , fuck facing , overstimulation , lowercase intended!!! SYNOPSIS ┊ streamer!xiao always gotta get his game on and stream for his fans, he was most popular for his looks, but also because of his skills too. always getting most kills in the lobby and always winning each round, which made other plays cuss him out. but he streams and games almost everyday! you sometimes have needs too..but he never gives it! always a simple "wait till im done." but he takes hours...so you just take it into your own hands. A/N ┊ written by kam , hope you guys enjoy ! also a little drabble since im at a friends house rn!

streamer!xiao who was always playing games and streaming, never giving attention to you. like why? that was so not fair! youre his girlfriend...at least spend some time with you...maybe...just maybe that would work...?

streamer!xiao who was currently streaming valorant, not acknowledging your presence inside the room as he was focused on the monitor.

streamer!xiao who always got donos from his fans, most were girls since they would fawn over his looks. they werent wrong though, he had such a pretty face with pretty features.

streamer!xiao would notice and raise an eyebrow when he felt you go under his desk, wondering if this was your way of trying to annoy him. not until he felt a hand at the rims of his sweatpants, pulling it down a long with his boxers to reveal his long cock.

xiao would eye down at you before looking back at the monitor, he looks unbothered! then you start off with slow strokes, trying to get maybe just a groan at least? but no! hes so quiet and kept his composure, so of course you had to try something.

you would then kitten lick his tip, sure that made his body shudder for a moment, but he would just go back to that calm state of his. darn. thats when your mouth enters his cock, only sucking half the base due to his long length.

sucking him off as you caressed his balls, trying to get a single noise from him, but nothing even came out, you were so determined to just embarrassed him on stream since he never wants to give you attention!

xiao would finish his round and then took a break to chat with his watchers! as soon as he took his hands off the keyboard and mouse, one hand gripped a handful of your hair, pulling you all the way down till your nose hit his pelvis, which made you automatically gag.

but he was still acting as if nothing was happening! chatting and thanking with his watchers, responding to questions and to donos. there, he would say his goodbyes and end his stream for the day.

xiao would then look down at you before thrusting his hips upwards. now fuck facing you. gags and chokes can be heard as he started with a harsh pace.

"cant even fucking wait till im done slut? then youll get what you fucking want." he said before continuing his harsh pace, while bopping your head up and down. drooling can be seen dripping from your mouth, onto his pants.

muffled moans heard from you, trying to beg him to slow down as your mouth became sore. "you really thought you could try and humiliate me in front of my fans?" teasingly saying as he kept going, till he felt a knot in his stomach, releasing his cum into the deep parts of your throat. forcing you to swallow it all.

before you even knew it, both of you guys were bare, as he fucked you from behind. ass up, face down. his chest against your back just so he can whisper dirty things to your ear.

"gonna take it all like the whore you are huh? cant even fucking wait for a couple minutes? need my cock that bad then ill give it to ya."

pounding into you with inhuman strength at this point, it had you in a bliss, biting onto the pillow, drooling spilling from your mouth, creating wet patches on the fluff.

"mnggh-mmghhnn-!" you would muffle out, the pace he had set on had you rolling your eyes at the back of your head, you could see your brain even if you wanted to.

thrusting his hips into you, loving the way he could see his dick disappear into you and the way your ass jiggled when he made touch with your skin.

yelping out in pleasure when his hand made contact with your ass, making an hand print mark. "moaning like a bitch in heat when i smack your ass? you like that? yeah?" he would tease you before giving more harsh slaps, which resulted in you moaning out in both pleasure and pain.

the bed frame in motion with his thrusts, hitting the wall back and forth with loud thuds that were sure to get noise complants. but you didnt care, you were getting fucked, that's all that mattered.

xiaos thrusts getting sloppier, adjusting his angle, he would hit that one spongy spot that had you in a trance, arching your back and curling your toes, he would notice, continuing to hit that one spot. and it had you feeling a wonder of pleasure.

xiao would speed up his pace trying to reach his high, but before he could even finish you reached your climax. squirting on his cock, the bedsheets, and the lower parts of his body.

continuing his thrusts to ride out your high, he came in after, cum spilling into your cunt with a groan coming out from his mouth. both of the individuals panting and gasping for air. beads of sweat rolling down his and your forehead.

he would keep his cock still in your pussy, feeling a bit overstimulated from the way it pulsated around him. a sigh comes from your mouth, but the sudden slap on your ass made you wince. turning your head around to faced the teal haired man.

"since you want my cock so bad youll take it slut." and there he would pick up the pace of his harsh pounding again and it had you whining, already so sensitive from your previous orgasm.

requests open!

[skyfallscotland]

Writing Advice: tips, tricks & helpful links, from your friendly neighbourhood fanfic author ✨ (part one—the advice)

see part two—the resources here

I've mentioned this before, but I truly believe no one's born a great writer. A great storyteller, yes. A great writer? That's learned. I've been reading and writing basically as long as I can remember. Learning to write is like...learning through both practice and symbiosis. In saying that, I get asked about this a lot, so here's what I do and some things that might help you.

Write what you're inspired to write, when you're inspired to write it.

So you have an idea—great! Are you a plotter or a pantser? Some people like to start with an outline, others just jot down a few notes and let the keyboard take them where it will. I'm in the latter camp, generally. For me, the best way to avoid writer's block is to write what I'm inspired to write, when I want to write it. Sometimes I'll write five chapters of a story at once, others I'll switch between a multi-chapter and a one-shot.

What's most important for me, personally, is that I don't try and force anything. If you suffer from demand avoidance, the worst thing you could possibly do (in my opinion), is set arbitrary goals. You don't need to write 500 words a day. If you want to, great! If that helps you, also great, but in my experience, that will generally just make my brain say well no, now we're not writing anything for a whole week, maybe a month, if you test me.

I also personally like to have a whole fic written before I start posting it online, or at least most of it written. I like being quite far ahead of what readers are seeing because I am a pantser. It takes the pressure off and honestly, there'd be so many plot holes if I didn't. Which brings me to...

First make it exist, then make it make sense, after that make it good.

What you see me post is not my first run-through. It's not even the second. I've written, read over, and changed things at least a handful of times before ever posting it, especially when it's a multi-chapter work. Sometimes I'll write a scene I love and then realise it just doesn't flow well, because three chapters back I had someone say a certain thing. In that instance, I'll put the scene aside.

Note that I said 'put aside' not 'delete'. I never delete them until I'm finished with a fic and I'm certain I won't need them, ever. Been there, made that mistake for you! Having a separate document with just various scenes you can insert at a later date also helps you to feel like it's ok to write what you want to write when you want to write it. I'll be honest, I jump around a lot. Sometimes I'll be inspired to write a scene I know isn't coming for another five chapters, but in my opinion it's best to just write it because when I get there five chapters down the line, I might not have the inspiration or I might have forgotten how I wanted things to go. Write what your brain wants to, fill in the blanks later!

Write from the heart.

My most popular work is the one I find the easiest to write and I almost never wrote it at all. Isn't that ridiculous? I almost never wrote it because I know it's cliché and excessive, and honestly...looked down upon. I almost didn't write it because of other people's opinions; then I said fuck it, I want to read it so surely there's someone else out there that does, too? Turns out there were thousands of you. Who knew?

But that work has really resonated with so many people and I think that's because I've poured so much of myself, my pain, my own experiences into it, into her. For that reason, I'd tell anyone starting out to try original character fic if that's what they want to do. Fuck the haters. All their favourite works were original characters once too.

Don't read similar fic while you're writing yours...unless you need to.

Let me explain. If I'm writing a certain type of alternate universe, or a certain storyline I know someone else has written, I won't read theirs until I'm done if I can help it, especially not if I'm actively writing my take on it. This isn't a hard and fast rule, it's obviously up to you what you feel comfortable with, but I would never want to have someone else's work influence my own too much, or get our ideas confused in my head, you know?

An exception to this rule, for me personally, is if I'm stuck with specific things in particular, like smut. When I wrote my first smut piece from a male POV, I was struck by the fact that I had no idea what an orgasm felt like for them, or how to describe it, because despite reading M/M fic for years, I apparently never absorbed that particular verbiage, so I went looking and read a whole bunch of smut from the male POV just to get an idea. Which leads into...

So you suck at kung-fu fighting.

Action scenes. I'm convinced we all hate them just as much as each other. I hate them so much I've changed whole plotlines from canon just so I don't have to include them. Unfortunately, my main fandom features a bunch of knife-throwing, sword-wielding, dragon riders at a war college who spar for clout, so I mean...it's unavoidable.

I still suck at writing it though, so what I now do for sparring and other hand-to-hand combat is search up youtube for sparring videos or self-defence lessons. It's much easier to describe what you're seeing than to imagine the mechanics and positioning of an artform you've never performed. The kung-fu thing was a joke, I like capoeira personally.

Stop being so damn hard on yourself.

Listen, everyone wants to be better than they are when they start out, literally everyone. I know I sure did. That's normal. Accept that it's normal before you start because the thing is, no one's a harsher critic on you, than you are and you'll always want to be better. There's a quote from Ira Glass that I'll paraphrase:

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap[...]It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit."

It's very true. Hopefully you have the support of a really welcoming fandom to reassure you that actually, you're nowhere near as bad as you think you are.

READ. BOOKS.

@justallihere says you can’t be good at something you don’t know anything about and it's so true, I've phrased it before as learning by symbiosis, when you read more, you'll internalise more. You're subconsciously learning how story structure works—plot hooks, transitions, metaphors and similie, grammar, style and punctuation.

Show don't tell.

...yeah this one I haven't mastered, I could use some help with that myself if anyone's got any words of wisdom, thanks.

Take all of this with a grain of salt.

I couldn't tell you how many writer's advice threads and blogs and whatever-else I've read over the years—too many, for sure. What I can tell you is 80% of what I've read was crap. It doesn't apply to me at best and it's unhelpful at worst. Maybe it's the neurodivergence, maybe it's just the fact that everyone's different and all you can do is give things a try, but based on that I can say with certainty that not all of this will work for you and that's absolutely fine! But I hope at least a few things do 😌

For links to more specific resources including thesauruses, generators, and other writers' advice, click here.

[fruitcoops]

So I just reread the fic about Jules birthday, and I’ve always liked the part where Remus tells Jules that he’ll always be more important than hockey. Could you write a fic about that if you haven’t already? Like Remus leaving in the middle of practice or something like that? Idk it’s up to u:)

Fic O'Ween Day 3: Midnight! Read more amazing works from these prompts at @noots-fic-fests and of course, character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW illness (coughing, mentioned vomiting, fatigue)

Remus leaned against the countertop for support and stared at the floor. “But he’s okay, right?”

“He’s okay,” his mother answered. She sounded beyond exhausted.

Remus nodded and rubbed his fingers under his eye. The night suddenly seemed so much darker. “How’re you and dad? Taking time off?”

“We’re alright.” He knew that low edge to her voice—it was the same one his own took on when he was trying to hide his hurt. Silence fell over the line.

“Mom.”

“Your dad can’t get PTO this week and neither can I.”

She cleared her throat; he closed his eyes. “Can Leanne keep an eye on him?”

“Visiting her daughter in Florida.”

No parents, no neighbors, no way they’re getting a babysitter for a sick kid… “I’ll be on the next flight.”

“Remus, no.”

“There’s nobody else—”

“Honey.” He could see the way her eyebrows drew together in his mind. “Honey, you’re on the road this week.”

“I know.”

“In Montreal.”

“They can handle a couple games without me.”

“You’re practically a rookie, Remus,” his mother insisted. After a pause, she lowered her voice. “You’re not going to damage your career when we can get a babysitter, or—or I can find a couple days off. Hell, your dad’s got a pullout at the office he can rest on.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“Remus John, you have a responsibility to your team.”

“Jules comes first.” If there was one thing Remus would stand by no matter the circumstances, it was his family. The Lions would survive a roadie without him. Jules would never be alone and sick on his watch.

His mother was silent for a long time.

Remus picked at a chip in the granite. “There’s no babysitter that will watch him, is there?”

A sigh traveled down the line. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby. Give Sirius my best. Sleep well.”

“I will,” he lied. The call went dead and he turned, bracing both hands against cool stone. Sirius’ footsteps were soft, his hand gentle. Remus sniffled. His chest was a vise. “Mom says hi.”

Slow circles pressed between his shoulder blades. “What happened?”

“Jules got the flu, and they can’t get time off work to stay home with him.” Fucking assholes in fucking corporate. Remus swallowed around the clog in his throat. “Sounds like he’s pretty sick.”

“Does he need to go to the hospital?”

Remus shook his head. The hand on his back slid down and wrapped around his side, guiding him to lean on Sirius’ chest. “Do you want me to book your flight while you call Coach?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He didn’t let go. “God, I hate being so far away.”

Sirius’ other arm came around him and held him tight.

--

Remus and his father talked the whole ride home from the airport, and said nothing at all.

The house was just as he left it at Christmas. No snow remained, and little frost—crocuses peeked out of the lawn where the squirrels had snatched and buried them.

Apologies for the late notice, but due to a family emergency, I will be in Wisconsin until the 22nd. Thank you for your understanding.

Rapid responses. Cranky responses. Remus had tried to keep a level head, even through the tremor of his hands on the computer keyboard. The organization wasn’t happy with him, but when were they ever?

It didn’t matter either way. Fine or not, suspension or not, they weren’t going to stop him from making chicken soup and raspberry Emergen-C for his sick little brother. He was damn lucky to have Arthur on his side, easing the retribution from men in offices who had hardly bothered to meet him at the start of the season.

“Your mother’s worried.”

Remus glanced up from his hands. His father was facing forward, brow pinched while he pulled into the driveway. “Yeah.”

The engine turned off with a sputter. “Be gentle, okay?”

“It’s not your fault they wouldn’t give you time—”

“Be gentle.”

Remus bit the inside of his lip and nodded. A goldfish cracker peered out at him from the crevice by the door. This passenger seat always made him feel so small. He slung his backpack out of the seat well and stepped out, letting the crisp air nip his face and bring him back. He needed to come back more. The heartache had lessened, and distance was simply exhausting now. Running fast and far to Gryffindor had seemed so smart before.

The front door still squeaked when he turned the doorknob. Remus was glad for that, at least.

His mother smiled when she saw him. “Hi, baby, how was your flight?”

“Hey, mom.” It was good, he started to say, only to have the words fall from his mind the moment she stepped around the kitchen table and wrapped him in her arms. It’s been a lot I love you I missed you how are you where’s Jules—“Uneventful, thankfully.”

“Good, that’s just the way you want it.” She gave a little sway, one hand cradling the back of his neck. He felt a light pulse of pressure. Her back, ever tense, relaxed slightly. “It’s so good to have you home.”

Remus breathed deep. Lemon-scented cleaning spray and drugstore shampoo, laundry detergent and just-sharpened pencils. He pressed his nose tighter to her shoulder and felt her squeeze him, just a little. “Missed you.”

“Oh, Re,” she sighed. A hand rubbed along his spine for a few hard, grounding, wonderful seconds. Warmth seeped in around his edges. The floor was solid beneath him, the walls sturdy. A kiss found his temple. “Baby, we missed you, too.”

A rattling cough made him wince. “Jeez.”

“I know.” Her face crinkled into a grimace when they separated and she looked back down the hall. “That started up two days ago. Poor thing. Keeps him up at night.”

“Aw.” The cough was followed by a rough throat-clear that made Remus frown. “Fever and everything?”

“102, as of this morning.” Hope ran a palm over his shoulder, the way she tended to right after he came home. Remus tried not to think about that too hard, or else he made himself sad. “You’re sure about this? You could get sick. It’s the middle of the season.”

Remus tried for an encouraging smile. “My immune system’s great, mom. I’m in good shape, I take my multivitamins. Eat my Wheaties, and all that.”

“Hmm.” She scrutinized him for a beat. “You better be.”

“I’m basically indestructible.”

Her laugh bounced off the corners of the house like it always had. “Let’s not get hasty, hon.”

“Mom?”

Remus’ heart sank.

“Dad?” Jules croaked, a little louder. “Did the neighbors come over?”

“Hey, J,” Remus called. The floorboards gave a light groan when he set his bag down at the end of the hall. “It’s me, bud.”

Silence followed. The bathroom nightlight was on, casting the hall in gentle blue. His hand drifted toward the first door on reflex (cool metal knob, lock on the inside, jimmy it three times in the winter when the frame sticks), but he managed to step past it and knock lightly below the ‘J LUPIN. DO NOT ENTER.’ sign scotch-taped to the old wood.

“Jules? I’m opening the door.”

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Stale, sweaty, feverish—Remus did a double-take without meaning to.

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Jules rasped from somewhere to his right. “Hey. Hi, why are you here?”

“You slept too long. It’s June. I’m here for the summer.”

“Hey.”

“You’re sick, dummy.” Remus tried to be subtle about propping the door open wider with a loose hockey glove. “I’m taking care of you.”

With the new, faint light from the hallway, he could see just how terrible Julian looked. His unconvinced squint didn’t help the sallowness of his skin or the heavy bags carved under his eyes. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh, you have a roadie in—” Another hacking cough interrupted him. It shook his tiny frame hard enough to make his knees bend under the covers. Remus’ heart gave an acid lurch.

Agitated heat radiated off him to the point that Remus could feel it when he perched on the edge of the bed. The sheets were a tangled mess; one blanket half-tucked, the other mostly on the floor. “Deep breaths,” he soothed when the coughing turned to a few aggressive sniffles. “Take it easy.”

“Montreal,” Jules finished in a mutter. He wiped his nose on the edge of his baggy t-shirt (almost certainly their father’s, with the way it dwarfed him) and laid back with a long huff. “You got a roadie in Montreal. Dad ‘n me are gonna watch the game.”

“Dad and I.”

“Shhh.”

He smiled to himself and tugged the top blanket down to shimmy the next one into position. “Well, you and I can watch it. How’s that sound?”

“No, you need to play,” Jules groaned, but even that was weak. He curled onto his side and peeked out of his huddle, dull-eyed and flushed. “How come you’re here anyway?”

“Told you. I’m taking care of you.”

“But hockey.”

“But you.”

“But…hockey.”

“But you.” His stomach gave a little pull. “You’re more important than a couple games, bud.”

Jules didn’t look like he believed him. “…okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re R—”

“Don’t you—” Remus bit back his words (and his grin) and whacked lightly at the outline of Jules’ legs under the blankets, coaxing a crunchy sort of laugh from him. “Watch it. I’m in charge of feeding you for the next few days.”

Jules’ giggling trickled out with a last sniff. “Mom and Dad gotta go to work, huh?”

“Yeah.” The wrinkle of his nose was almost certainly reflected on Remus’ face. “But hey, we’ll have fun.”

“Mmm.”

The air shifted, along with his gut. Jules’ breaths were heavier. His eyes, lidded. His forehead was far too hot against the back of Remus’ hand when he checked it. “Tired?”

“Mhmm.”

Wrapping him in a dozen blankets and cuddling him as tight as possible wouldn’t help. Logically, Remus knew that. The temptation was still there. “Too hot?”

“Warm.”

“Want me to take a blanket?”

Jules shook his head. His eyes were closed fully now. “Weight’s nice.”

Every inhale hitched when Remus rested a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling for his pulse. That, at least, was calm. Jules had sweated through the old grey fabric there. He combed a few strands of hair off his burning brow and swallowed around his dry throat. “Want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

“Gonna nap.” Jules’ twitched, as if he was trying to readjust but lacked the energy. “Here when I wake up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be here.”

--

The evening passed without issue. Night rolled in with a gust of wind that hissed across the windowpanes while Remus dried the last of the dishes. Jules had managed to get up and come to the table for dinner, but he had looked even worse in the brighter light and barely ate half a bowl of soup. He could see their mother struggling not to fuss over him, not that Jules had any oomph to give real protest.

What kind of family emergency is this, Lupin?

A family emergency. I can come back the 22nd.

You’re missing two games. Do you understand that? Weasley won’t play you for the third, either.

I understand.

Is this a funeral?

No.

A wedding?

No.

It’s a request for nonvital time off, then. This could very well result in a fine.

I’m aware of that. Time off for a family emergency is covered in my contract. I’m permitted to miss four games.

Are you really going to put in a request for this? For a nonvital midweek trip instead of two NHL games?

That’s precisely what I’m requesting, yes. This is an emergency and therefore it is vital.

Remus had not missed the bureaucracy of the NHL during his time on the ice. There was still administrative irritation, of course, but it had not been nearly long enough since he played email tag with someone determined to make his life harder. ‘Nonvital emergency’. It made him want to laugh and lose it at the same time. What a fucking joke.

A sudden rustle and thud—likely Jules’ elbow hitting the wall between their rooms, ouch—startled him from half-sleep. Clumsy footsteps pattered on the floor; a door creaked and closed, quickly followed by a dry heave. Remus winced in sympathy.

This bedroom felt too small. His feet touched the end of the bed if he stretched out. There were only a few inches’ allowance for his shoulders on either side before he hit a wall or the edge of the mattress. Even his stuff felt smaller, as if the books shrank in his hands and the trophies had been made for someone Jules’ size.

He supposed they had been. Juniors was a world away, these days. He had turned the idea of keeping a potential you-know-what ring here instead of in Gryffindor, but never really committed one way or another. That, too, felt far off. He was stuck in the middle of a spectrum, where nothing felt quite right.

The toilet flushed, but he didn’t hear Jules leave. The low timbre of their father’s voice buzzed in the hall for a second; he didn’t catch Jules’ response. Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed with a huff and stood despite the creaking protests of his knees.

The blue light looked eerie in the cover of real night. He propped Jules’ door open again as he passed. A little ventilation couldn’t hurt. He paused in the doorway of the bathroom and crouched down, lowering himself to the cool linoleum with a soft groan. “Sup?”

“M not gonna throw up again.”

“Okay.” Remus flexed his ankles against the cabinets and tilted his head back. The soft towels buffered him from the wallpaper. Next to him, Jules’ forehead was stubbornly pressed into the crease of his elbow where he rested it on the toilet seat. “Still sick?”

A wordless mumble answered him.

“I’m gonna make chicken and dumplings tomorrow.”

Jules weakly raised his head. “Really?”

“Yup. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch. All that good stuff.”

Quiet fell over them for a long moment. “What are you talking about?”

“What, you don’t want a science lesson?”

“Nerd—”

He knew it was going to happen before Jules’ first jerk forward and caught his side when he wobbled, giving gentle pressure until he was upright. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, I got you.”

“Ugh.”

“I know. You’re doing great, J.” It was over as fast as it started. Jules trembled lightly under his touch, sweaty again, all too warm again. His knuckles stood out in harsh midnight shadows where he gripped the porcelain, thin arms shivering.

Jules sniffled. “I wanna go to bed.”

“I bet.”

“I’m tired.”

“Can you stand up?” It took Jules a moment to even start moving; when he did, it was sluggish and unsteady. Remus hovered his hands close and resisted the urge to scoop him right up. Jules wouldn’t like that. He hated being babied. It was still fucking hard to watch him pull himself to his feet.

A rinse-and-spit and a cool washcloth on the back of his neck made Jules sigh. He leaned right into Remus’ hip, head at the base of his ribs, and staggered along on foal legs while Remus guided him back to bed with a lump in the base of his throat. There was no fuss about being tucked in—he simply sighed again, so content it hurt. Remus smoothed out the hem of the comforter by his neck just one more time, once more, just so he could be sure.

--

Their parents were out by the time Remus woke. He distantly recalled the sound of them leaving, but the plane left him groggy enough not to notice or care. Jules was still snoring loud enough for him to hear it through their shared wall.

Breakfast, then. Something light. Oatmeal or eggs, if he could keep it down. Broth, if not. Remus would have to check the fridge for Gatorade and lemons.

It was strange to be functionally alone in the house. The carpet felt too soft, the curtains too still. A bright pink sticky note was stuck to the table with his name written in big letters at the top. He’d check it later.

Message To: SB <3

Morning :)

Fever’s still going, nasty cough, the works. I’ll keep an eye on him today.

Miss you

He clicked his phone off and set it aside—hopefully, Sirius wouldn’t be awake for some time yet. They didn’t have practice for two more hours in his time zone. He liked to sleep in on days like that. Remus, on the other hand, had work to do.

Quick eggs and bacon for himself took fifteen minutes. He parked himself at his usual seat without really thinking about it, pulling a dish towel and a fork from their drawers with an absent mind. He hadn’t dared to check his email yet and seriously contemplated leaving it alone until he was back in Gryffindor. Time off was time off. Professional hockey wasn’t big on ‘work from home’.

Jules shuffled in half past ten and made a beeline for the couch.

“Good morning.”

A grunt answered.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Want oatmeal?”

Jules’ mumble seemed vaguely affirmative. Remus set the kettle on and dug a pot out of the cupboard, then turned to rummage in the pantry. This was setting up to be a silent morning.

Measuring for a sick preteen was almost as strange as picturing his childhood bedroom as a normal size. Remus had only cooked for himself for years, then himself and Sirius, with the occasional potluck dish for a team dinner or holiday party. A single cup of anything was a novelty. “Want sugar?” he checked once the oats and milk were simmering. Jules snuffled in response, dragging one of the knit blankets further over his head. “Lemme check your temperature and then you can tell me, yeah?”

“Mmkay.”

A quick search of the medicine cabinet revealed no thermometer, and the same went for the hall closet. Remus spent a good five minutes riffling through the bathroom drawers and Jules’ desk before he found it propped against the base of his dolphin lamp. It had been left uncapped; gross. He made sure to give it a thorough wash before moving back into the living room.

“Blanket down.”

“No.”

“I can’t see your mouth. C’mon, just for a second.”

“Cold. Bright.”

“Twenty seconds, J. I promise. You can count.”

The blanket lump shifted. “Twenty?”

“Fifteen. Then I’ll bring your oatmeal over and leave you alone.”

A handful of shallow breaths filled the silence before Jules’ forehead poked out, then his glazed eyes, and finally the lower half of his face. Remus grimaced. His nose was red and chapped from tissues, and a faint crack split the side of his lower lip. “Have you been drinking your water?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Jules slurred.

Remus knew he wasn’t getting a better number than yesterday. Not with this vague lucidity, and not when Jules was hardly able to hold a fragment of a conversation. All the same, it made his gut sink when the thermometer beeped.

“Whuzzat?”

“102.5.”

“ ‘S worse?”

“Yep.”

A resigned nod told him Jules expected as much. The blanket swallowed him up again. Remus pulled it down over his feet before heading back to the kitchen.

Three hours passed with all the rush of a snail on codeine. Jules rallied to choke down his oatmeal before going down for a noon nap, let Remus rouse him to gulp down about a gallon of water, and overall remained sedentary while Remus channel-surfed for anything even slightly interesting on daytime TV. They settled on NCIS from one to 2:30, NCIS: Miami from 2:30 to four (with a brief break for sandwiches, or toast, in Jules’ case), and rounded it out with NCIS: LA while Remus tossed some rotisserie chicken and chopped vegetables in a simmering pot of broth.

“Re?”

“Yeah, bud?” Bisquick puffed over the side of the mixing bowl in a soft cloud.

“My stomach hurts.” Jules’ voice wavered. “And my mouth feels weird.”

Fuck. “Bathroom, hustle.”

The glimpse he caught of Jules before he vanished down the hall confirmed it: pallid skin, dilated pupils, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck. Remus rinsed his hands in the sink and dug the box of Pepto Bismol tablets out of his bag, and sent a silent thanks to whatever small mercy it was that left him without a reactive gag reflex.

He spent twenty minutes sitting sideways with water seeping into his pants from the bathmat. “I’m gonna throw up until I die,” Jules whined, pressing his forehead to Remus’ palm.

“You’re not gonna die. Definitely not while I’m here.” He slid his hand around to press against the nape of Jules’ neck and gave a light squeeze. “You’re almost done. Work it out, buddy.”

“Gonna miss the game?”

Despite the sweat, despite the illness, despite it all—Remus smiled. Of course Jules would be thinking about that when he looked like death warmed over. He wouldn’t be a Lupin with anything else on his mind. “We’ve still got half an hour.”

Jules gave a faint push back into his hand. His lower lip wobbled. “I don’t want to miss it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, but it wasn’t even slightly funny. He took a shuddering inhale and sniffled again, harsher. “I don’t want to be sick anymore, I don’t, I’m so done, I don’t like it.”

“Jules…” The redness had flooded his cheeks and ears, inching down his neck with each horribly choked breath. Jules’ eyes were bright, but not like usual. He blinked and a drip tracked down his nose. His exhale wasn’t much of an exhale at all—it wracked him, made him sway. “Oh,” Remus murmured. “Oh, hey, c’mere.”

The edge of thirteen had left Jules gangly, all bones and joints. He still fit just right in the hollow of Remus’ chest and arms. A shivering, overheated mess, but a mess that fit all the same. Fuck it, Remus thought as he tightened his arms around Jules and let him fall apart in the safe dark. He didn’t care if he got sick. This was the most vital emergency he could possibly think of. If the administration had a problem with that, he’d happily turn his gear in before leaving Jules to burn through this alone.

“I’m tired,” Jules whispered through shuddering breaths. “My head hurts ‘n my stomach hurts ‘n everything else, too.”

“I know, bud, you’re being so brave.”

A damp, wounded noise made Remus wince.

“But hey, you haven’t thrown up in, like, five minutes.”

Jules felt around blindly for a tissue and blew his nose several times before answering. “I guess.”

“You ready to get up? Have some dinner and watch the game?”

“Dizzy.”

“Okay.” He pressed the wrinkles out of Jules’ shirt with his palm and felt him go limp. “I brought some super special secret hockey medicine, if that’ll help.”

“…is it Gatorade?”

“No, but we have that, too.” He rattled the box next to Jules’ ear. “Pepto Bismol. My secret weapon.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s the pink sh—stuff.”

“Nice save,” Remus said dryly. “This is the same. It’s easier to keep down, though. And it works faster.”

“Makes my stomach stop hurting?”

“It might help.”

He waited a beat, then two. A clammy palm extended from the tangle of limbs near his middle. He dropped two of the chalky tabs into it and loosened his hold by a degree, enough for Jules to pop them both in his mouth and frown immediately. “Yuck. It’s crunchy.”

“Keep chewing.”

“Why is it coming apart like that?”

“Keep chewing,” Remus repeated through a light laugh. “Doesn’t work if you talk the whole way through.”

Jules tucked his legs closer to himself, pushing him further into Remus’ lap. As horrible as the past twenty minutes had been, he seemed better for it. The fevered sheen to his face wasn’t quite as nuclear. His breathing sounded more even and controlled.

“You finished?”

“Mhmm.”

Jules might have looked better, but Remus didn’t have the energy to fight the coddling urge this time. He slid his free arm across the back of Jules’ knees and hefted him up like a cat gone boneless, and received no protest whatsoever. Instead, Jules curled into him with a long, relieved sigh. Remus’ heart may have shattered a little.

The pregame show was just wrapping up when he set Jules gingerly on the couch and pulled the blanket around him. Half of his waterbottle was gone in a few desperate swallows; Jules wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and all but collapsed onto the throw pillows, a heap of exhaustion. The belltower by the middle school tolled six. His sandy hair was damp at the root when Remus passed a hand through it. They’d fix that eventually. Fluids first (hockey first), then everything else.

New Message From: SB <3

Heading to the rink. Miss you love you : )

Remus smiled down at his phone as he set Jules’ bowl on the coffee table and folded himself into the armchair.

“Tell Sirius I say hi.”

“He’s literally right there,” Remus laughed, gesturing at the TV. “He’s not gonna see it for ages.”

“Still.” Jules poked around with his spoon for a few seconds before attempting a small sip of broth. An approving nod followed. “It’s good.”

“Glad it meets your standards. Eat. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch.”

Jules’ eye roll was weak, but very much present. “I know, I know.”

“You gotta know that stuff.”

“I’m not gonna be a doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna be a person.” Remus cut a dumpling in half with the side of his spoon. “If you don’t know how to feed yourself by the time you move out, I’m totally making fun of you.”

“Whatever.”

They both booed when the Habs skated out, and cheered when the Lions appeared soon after. Jules couldn’t muster much more than a rough whisper, but the soup and a bottle of Gatorade seemed to help. Remus made him get up and stretch during the first period intermission (to immense complaints, but eventual acquiescence) before letting him rest while he washed up in the kitchen.

New Message From: SB <3

First period up.

How’s J?

New Message To: SB <3

Haha yeah we’re watching

Temp’s high, still pretty sick. Getting better tho

Made soup

The response was almost immediate. Remus’ heart skipped at the thought of Sirius glued to his phone even after a rough period, just to chat with him.

New Message From: SB <3

Oooo jealous

New Message To: SB <3

Yeah you should be

It’s a real rager up here

Miss you. Go get ‘em.

A simple heart and hockey stick emoji followed. The grey bubble cycled for a moment before disappearing. That would be the midgame meeting. Remus was glad to be home—wouldn’t trade this—but he had to admit the hockey ache was still there. Even easy choices had consequences.

By the time he looked back, Jules was asleep. Remus checked his forehead as delicately as he could and was pleased to find it slightly cooler than that morning, if altogether too warm. The pattern of creaky floorboards laid a map in his bones as he moved through the house: first to open Jules’ window, then to let his blankets air out, and while he was at it, he may as well wash the sheets. The nightstand and bookshelf needed to be wiped down. It wasn’t hard to get that done while the washer rumbled on the other side of the hall. In the meantime, the soup had cooled enough to pack up in Tupperware to stack in the fridge for later. Who knew if Jules would suddenly get his appetite back? The kid was a bear when he was hungry.

He lingered for the end of the second period and swapped the sheets into the dryer at the start of the third with a cookie and a cup of Emergen-C for himself. He damn well better not catch whatever germs Jules had percolated from the hellscape of middle school. Sirius had called him ‘stubbornly healthy’ on too many occasions for it to be disproven. Besides, the administration might actually fire him if he came back from an emergency and was immediately out for three more games.

“Re?”

The sound of a quiet voice took Remus’ off-guard in the last few minutes of the third period. “What’s up?”

Jules shifted around until he could prop his chin on the throw pillow and blink blearily at Remus. “Did we win?”

“Game’s still going. 4-3, Lions.”

“How much time?”

“Just under five.”

Jules attempted a whistle, though it came out as more of a shaky breath. “Almost there.”

“Dad texted. They’ll be home in a few, traffic was rough.”

“Oh, okay.” A small smile lit his face. He burrowed back under the blanket. “That’s good.”

“They’ve been asking about you all day.”

“Did’ja tell them I was fine?”

“Something like that.” Sort of. Maybe. He had been gentle about it, at least. Gory details would only make them panic.

He made sure to poke Jules awake for the last minute of the game before shepherding him down the hall to brush his teeth and shower. It was only 8:30, but Remus felt weary all the way to his core. He made Jules’ bed while the water ran and tried to tuck the sheets in along the wall a little deeper this time, just in case one tried to end up on the floor again. If he had the time, he may as well do it right, pinched fingers notwithstanding.

It was all worth it when Jules trudged back into his bedroom and threw himself into bed, only to gasp aloud. “Aw, man, this is great.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus laughed.

“Oh, wow.” The bumps of Jules’ feet kicked happily under layers of fabric and down. “It’s all warm, and cozy…”

“Get some sleep,” he reminded him, and turned out the big light. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”

He made it halfway across Jules’ carpet.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You—” The faint outline of Jules’ head was backlit by his lamp. Remus could see the shadows of his hands fidgeting with the top blanket. “Will you…can you tell me about the soup stuff? The proteins and all that.”

Remus hesitated. “For real?”

“Yeah,” Jules said with a surprisingly enthusiastic nod. “It sounds cool.”

“I mean—yeah, sure. Uh…” Jules’ desk chair looked wildly uncomfortable for this time of night, so edge of the bed it was, he supposed. The sheets provided a nice cushion when he sat. “Okay, have you ever heard of macromolecules?”

“That’s a made-up word.”

“It’s what you’re made up of, actually. How about DNA? You know that one?”

--

Lyall opened the front door with a muttered curse for the bitter wind and the worse traffic. It was brutally unfair that the one day he tried to come home early, everything went to hell and kept him an age and a half longer. What kind of karma came after a father trying to get home to his sick kid?

“It’s awfully quiet,” Hope remarked behind him. The door opened at last; warm air rushed over them. “Boys? Are you up?”

The NHL postgame show was playing at a low volume, next to a plate with crumbs on it and a mug so old the pattern had washed off it. One of Hope’s blankets from her knitting phase was haphazardly piled on the couch. The evidence of both of them there, present and accounted for and safe, plucked at his heartstrings. “Why do I feel like this is exactly where they sat for the entire day?”

She shook her head. “Good for them. I’m jealous. Remus? Julian? Are you home?”

Remus’ bedroom door was closed. The bathroom fan was still on, and steam clung to the corners of the mirror next to a still-damp towel. It couldn’t have been long since they went to bed, then. Lyall pushed Julian’s bedroom door open wider and covered his mouth with his palm.

They had nearly rendered each other invisible, save for Remus’ legs stretched over the side of the bed and Julian’s arm resting atop his pile of blankets. Julian’s congested snoring drowned out the heavy, even rhythm of Remus’ breathing. As far as he could tell, only one of them had actually been prepared for bed.

“Oh my goodness,” Hope whispered at his shoulder. Her grin was radiant, even half-covered by her palm. “I don’t want to move them.”

“Re’s going to wake up with one hell of a side cramp if we let him sleep like that.”

“You do it, then.”

“…no.”

Hope scoffed fondly and tossed her hands in the air, then kissed him on the jaw as she stepped deeper into the bedroom. The whole place felt lighter, Lyall noticed. Julian had been holed up in here for two days, refusing to come out for anything but necessities. Whatever Remus had done, it worked wonders.

“Remus,” Hope singsonged in her quietest voice. She shook his shoulder, soft enough that for a moment, Lyall forgot Remus wasn’t a toddler anymore. “Baby, you need to wake up. It’s bedtime.”

“ ‘M asleep,” Remus mumbled without opening his eyes. “In my bed.”

“This isn’t your bed, lovey,” she laughed. “Come on, up you go.”

“Goin’ to sleep, promise.” His eyelashes fluttered, nose crinkling. “Talking ‘bout—‘bout proteins. Jules wanted to know.”

At the head of the bed, Julian didn’t show so much as a hint of waking. Lyall stepped forward and braced his hands under Remus’ arms, then hoisted him into a sitting position as gently as he could manage with the unexpected weight of an athlete to counterbalance him.

Remus jolted, startling into consciousness. “Woah—”

“Shh, shh.” Lyall helped him stand on clumsy legs and guided him to the door with a last playful glance at Hope. “I’ve got you, buddy.”

“Fell asleep.” Remus blinked hard. “Jules’ bed. Wanted me to stay. Time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Oh, god, ‘s early.” A yawn overtook him, spilling more of his weight into Lyall. He didn’t seem to know where his own feet were, but he went easily into the room next door.

“Alright,” Lyall huffed as he helped Remus stumble toward the bed and splay over the mattress. That old thing was definitely too small for him these days. Funny, how times changed so rapidly. That same bed used to make Remus look like nothing more than a pile of sheets. “Brush your teeth?”

A drawn-out snore answered him.

Lyall smiled to himself in the darkness and ruffled the back of Remus’ hair. “Night, Re.”

A single socked foot twitched in response. That was good enough for him.

(Jules’ fever broke the next morning. By the end of the day, he was well enough to go with them to the airport and give Remus the fiercest goodbye hug either of them had experienced, with a pinky-promise that the Lions would win the next game he played.)

[bonesandthebees]

Hi Bee!

I really admire your work and I'm currently attempting to write my own fic, and I'd love to have some advice on writing stuff.

1) Do you have any tips for writing the beginning of a fic? I cannot figure out how to start writing with a decent sentence. It all falls apart when my fingers go on the keyboard.

2) Do you have any tips for pacing/plot/outlining? I still have barely figured out what pacing is, because I cannot tell when authors are like "oh I don't like this because I rushed the pacing". I literally can't tell most of the time, unless there is not any space to breathe between things that happen.

3) Do you have tips for writing surroundings and the parts of the paragraph that aren't dialogue? Like. How do I naturally fit the description of the area into the fic? And how do I naturally fit extra commentary into a paragraph that has dialogue in it, especially when it isn't the pov character's dialogue?

Again, adore your writing. I feel kind of awkward since I've never done an ask before; idk if there's some kind of etiquette.

Hope you're doing well!

-Royal :)

hi sorry it's taken me a bit to answer this one! I'm more than happy to give some advice!

okay so first off, writing the first line of a fic is borderline torture sometimes. it's so fucking hard. to me though it's kind of like jumping into a cold pool. you can stare at the water thinking about how cold it's going to be and how unsure you are, but then at some point you have to bend your legs and jump before you can overthink it or else you'll never do it. you have to just put something down for the first line.

one method I like employing when I'm really struggling is starting with a line of dialogue. it instantly throws the reader into the scene as they have to try and find out who is talking, what they are talking about, and where everyone is. an example where I used this is in the stars and their children, which opens with a line from tommy "Hey Wil, can you hand me the epli?" this tells us multiple things right off the bat. it establishes a character present in the scene (Wil) and that there's something different about this world from ours (epli—it makes the reader want to know what it is and why it's being handed to the character speaking)

other times I try to either start with a line that describes the setting ("The streets were crowded at this time of day." - everything else has gone wrong), or start with a line that describes the emotions of the pov character ("Lessons were the most unbearable in the afternoon." - under the hanging rose). basically, you're trying to find a way to throw the reader into the scene in one line. it's difficult, but try any of those angles and hopefully you'll think of something that fits. but again, it's jumping into a cold pool. you just have to put something down so you can start. you can always go back and change it later

okay putting the other two under a read more bc it got long

2. okay now pacing. that's a bit more difficult to help with because a lot of pacing is just getting a feel for it. one way is to just think about it logically. say you have two characters that start as strangers and you want to get them to be best friends. you can show them meeting for the first time, but then you often have to show them bonding before they can reach best friend status. there's pacing here both in the literal world of the story, but also in the text itself. you don't want to write them hanging out for a few hours and suddenly decide they're best friends (although ofc there are exceptions to this like if they're little kids bc, well, that is a thing little kids do where they'll declare a kid they just met their best friend), nor do you want to write them meeting for the first time, write a line saying "they hung out every day for the next three weeks until they were best friends" and then just act as though they're besties (again, there are exceptions to this in specific cases). it just feels weird yknow? It doesn't get the reader invested in this relationship because it doesn't feel like it's been earned. it's a similar thing with plot beats. you have to make it feel natural both in the world of the story itself, but also the timing with which you tell the story. like I said though, pacing is really something you just get the hang of naturally with practice. reading published novels will help as well because it'll help you get a sense of what good pacing feels like.

3. ohhhh you've hit a specific issue I had a lot when I was younger. when you have a dialogue scene going on there's a lot of ways you can balance the text outside the dialogue. ofc if the dialogue is going by at rapid speed, you can straight up just do the dialogue lines and you don't even have to specify who's talking if it's clear within the text

Ex:

"You can't come to my nuclear reactor, Tommy," Tubbo sighed.

Tommy scowled. "What the fuck? Why not?"

"Knowing you you'd find a way to cause a nuclear meltdown."

"Would not."

"Would to."

"Would not."

"Would to!"

"So what, you're a bitch who can't handle a little radiation?"

"Oh for fuck's sake-"

see how after the first two lines of dialogue where I established who is talking in which order, I stop using the tags all together? it's still clear who is talking because the dialogue is ping ponging back and forth. it's a fast-paced conversation, so cutting out the tags helps that effect.

but of course this is only the case in a few instances. most of the time, you do need lines outside dialogue not only to establish who is talking, but also to keep the characters present in the scene itself.

you have several options for what to include outside your dialogue. one of my go to's is always character actions.

"Don't you have one of those swimming pools you keep the nuclear shit in?" Tommy asked, leaning against the wall.

Tubbo pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes but before you ask, no, you can't go swimming in it."

there we include the action of tommy leaning against a wall after he asks the question, which is followed by tubbo pinching the bridge of his nose. this lets the reader see exactly what each character is doing, which can also establish the emotions each character is feeling without saying them outright. tommy is comfortable enough with tubbo to annoy him with his questions, which we see by him casually leaning against the wall. tubbo, meanwhile, is annoyed just like tommy wants, which we see by him pinching the bridge of his nose.

characters sitting down, standing up, wringing their hands in front of them, folding their arms over their chest, shrugging, curling their hands into fists, etc. are all examples of character actions you can include to give the reader the ability to picture the scene more accurately

then of course you have thought process and scenery description you can include as well. thought process is just including what your pov character is thinking as the conversation progresses.

"Yes but before you ask, no, you can't go swimming in it."

Tommy huffed and folded his arms over his chest. Tubbo was so fucking boring these days with his 'safety rules'. He'd nearly been nuked before and was fine! A little radiation wasn't going to hurt him.

that right there is a glimpse into what's going on in tommy's head at that moment. he's frustrated with his friend because he thinks he'd be fine swimming in the nuclear pool. it gives us more insight into the pov character and how they're reacting to the conversation at hand.

then for scenery description:

Silence fell over them as Tommy glared at Tubbo. Tubbo glared back, refusing to budge. Around them, the snow coating the ground glittered in the afternoon sunlight. Clouds of breath puffed in front of Tommy's face. An icy breeze wound between the buildings, making goosebumps rise along his arms. He tugged his sleeves down, still not breaking eye contact with his friend.

the conversation falls silent for a moment, so we take a moment to step back from the two characters. we look at the setting around us, which emphasizes the pause in dialogue and makes it feel quiet even to us as the readers. you don't have to restrict your scenery description to moments where a conversation takes a pause, but taking a step back gives a sense of a 'silence' to the reader even if it's brief. another example of this could be,

"Don't bullshit me, Tubbo. Why won't you let me see it?" Tommy asked after several long beats.

Clenching his jaw, Tubbo's eyes flickered to the ground. The snow beneath their boots was muddied. Tommy spotted a dead worm frozen against the hard earth.

Then, Tommy understood.

"You don't trust me anymore."

now let's see this a different way

"Don't bullshit me, Tubbo. Why won't you let me see it?" Tommy asked after several long beats. "You don't trust me anymore."

see how without all that extra description the pause feels much shorter? and with that shorter pause the weight of Tommy's next sentence loses it's emotional impact?

if you want to add scenery description to a dialogue exchange, imagine it like it's a movie. you have two characters that are talking, and suddenly the camera pans away from them to look at the setting around them. why does it do that? what effect does it have on the scene playing out? your words are the camera zooming in and out on the characters. there are a lot of ways you can use this 'camera' to change the rhythm/flow of a scene. you just have to play around with it to figure out how to use it

I hope that's helpful!

[swarmishstrangers]

Your blog, fics and headcanons always cheer me up! Your art is so neat too. Ive been lurking around here for a bit when I feel like I need my crops watered. Question, can I get headcannon of mallek x reader where the reader is an artist? somehow was able to accept commissions while on Alternia? I feel like the vibe of them just silently drawing and him coding in the background is super cute. What do you think?

AUGRHGAA TYYY!!!! I'm glad you like the art, writing, and headcanons! I've also definitely had the thoughts of Mallek being with an s/o who works a lot on computers for digital art stuff, mainly cause it sounds peaceful af.

Okay, so! Artist is a pretty loose term that could apply to a lot of things, but you specify them drawing here, so I'll go over Mallek x reader, both of them being either a traditional artist or a digital artist.

Traditional Artist:

🎨Starting with the traditional artist! Dunno if any of you consider yourselves to be fairly clean but either way if you were to stay over at his hive a lot and for convenience's sake, leave some of your art stuff at his place..it only adds to the chaos that his hive, "damn girl you live like this?" Idk! I just imagine all sorts of physical stuff traditional artist's use. Different types of paint and paintbrushes, charcoal, watercolors, colored pencils, paper, canvases, etc. Your art stuff adds a whole other thing to look at in his hive and honestly? He's here for it. He thinks art is cool. I mean..he can do tattoos, so of course he'd have some appreciation for a s/o who does artsy stuff. He also like those moments where he finds you just covered in your art supplies. Charcoal all over your arms and even smudged on your face for when you couldn't fight a itch and scratched at it, your hands and fingers smudged with paint or oil pastels...he just finds it incredibly charming.

🎨Oh also on the subject of paint uhh. May or may not be something you're comfortable with using considering that paint on Alternia is made from the blood of trolls. Depends whether or not you can get over that and just pretend it isn't to cope lmao. If you can just. Don't ask Amisia and Chahut about how getting the supplies for your paint went!

🎨Mallek would find it incredibly relaxing to listen to while he's fucking around with his husktops and many monitors. Normally he's one to either sit in quiet with nothing to play or maybe he'll have his playlist quietly playing whatever music or other things to listen to while he works on projects or contact people. Not to say it isn't still quiet while you both do your own things, but that's just the thing. It's quiet, not silent. Mallek finds he works the best when he knows that there's life going on around him. The sounds of his hands rapidly typing on his keyboard, the whirring of his husktop, sometimes you can hear him speak to someone that he's calling. You just further add on with your sounds of living, the sound of pencil sketching onto paper or canvas, the louder or softer sounds of you using oil pastels or charcoal, papers being moved, the adjusting of a canvas. It's all very comfortable to you both.

🎨You're each other's background sounds.

Digital Artist:

🖋️Being a digital artist is also so cool to Mallek, why wouldn't it be? It's tech shit! He can also help you try and traverse the different Alternian art programs. It's pretty new to him too since all he usually uses is the Alternian equivalent to Microsoft paint..and it's not super serious, just doodles, sketches, and shitposts stuff to destress. You got yourself a husktop, Amisia was jumping at the chance to help you look for digital art supplies (such as a tablet and stuff), and Mallek helped you get a hold of art programs for you to try out and decide what you like to use as your primary programs.

🖋️They're pretty much the same as Earth art programs in terms of it's functions. Though of course their interfaces can be different from program to program. Not everything works as it does on Earth? Certain shortcuts or tool locations are moved around or changed but it's pretty easy to figure out if you're experienced in digital art. And if you're stuck or can't figure something out your cool tech savvy matesprit can help you out. Mallek has his moments where he takes a break from what he's working on briefly to watch you draw...he always has to stifle a laugh when he sees you're absolutely struggling over there to do line art, having to undo do your stroke like 50 times before you get it. Like the previous one? He thinks it's cute and charming.

🖋️While you don't add a lot of new things to look at it in his hive, as you're working with more tech, it's still just as nice to listen to in the background he thinks. He can hear your fingers type out messages to friends or clients you're working with, the sound of your pen stroking against the tablet face, your mouse clicking here and then. There may not be as many sounds, but he finds it just as comforting, he likes to listen to the life around him after all.

Commissions:

As for the commission portion, thought it would be fun to get into this separately after talking about the respective art types! Being commissioned as an alien on the planet is certainly. Interesting. Which can be taken positively or otherwise.

Being an alien is your selling point to a lot of trolls online. It's where you got a huge chunk of your followers! Sure, they're very split on genuinely believing you are a real alien and those who think this is some kind of roleplay account or something but follow out of interest. Your commissions gather more interest from those who want a drawing from an alien! Real or not. Lots of odd are fun interactions.

For a traditional artist you could go the route of just, scanning your picture and posting it onto your socials and tag the trolls (or post it to the troll client privately). If you offer a shipement of the physical original drawing Mallek can help you out with getting a drone to drop it off for you so you don't have to go on a wild goose chase to find the troll client in this great wide troll world.

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

Do you think you could do headcanons for the Papas and a reader who has their own band?

Aaaaa this gave me memories of when I used to write band fics 10 years ago and I felt such a wonderful sense of nostalgia bc of it so tysm for this request!!!

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨

Primo loves that you also have a band!!

Even though he's retired now, he likes to have little writing sessions with you where you both write song lyrics

He attends as many shows as he can

Unfortunately with his age and his body being a little more frail than he'd like he can't attend every single show

Sometimes he'll sit in on your band's practice sessions and will simply watch and listen

He doesn't give any opinions or feedback unless you ask him to as he doesn't want to overstep

If you ever dedicate a song to him during a performance, get ready for a very emotional Primo afterwards

He buys all your albums, both on CD and vinyl, as well as t-shirts and merch for the siblings at the abbey so that they can support you too

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨

There's a little bit of playful rivalry between the two of you

This was especially prevalent when he was Papa

It was never a serious rivalry. It was a silly but fun one that pushed the two of you to be the best you could be

Now that he's no longer Papa, Secondo will frequently attend your shows

Absolutely will pay extra to buy VIP tickets so that he can meet you backstage rather than using his influence to get what he wants

Wants to feature on one of your songs but he also doesn't want you to feel like he's trying to insert himself in your professional life

Anyone who tries to say that your band is only successful because of your association with Ghost will live to regret those words

Incredibly proud of you and everything you do. He's even got a few framed posters of your band in his room (though he'll never admit that to anyone other than you)

𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐨

Probably met you and your band at an awards ceremony

Definitely became one of your biggest fans after he looked up your music and videos of your performances and live shows

Frequently wears your brand's merch around the abbey when he doesn't have to be dressed all smart and formal

Offers for Special to go on the road with you to act as like a spokesperson for your band like he was for Ghost before Terzo got removed from his position as Papa

You should probably expect to find him waiting for you in your hotel room after shows he attends because he always wants to congratulate you in person as himself, not with the makeup and the costumes and the persona he puts on for everyone else

Now that he's no longer Papa, he has more time to attend any awards shows with you or events you get invited to e.g. movie premieres

And let me tell you, the cameras and the paparazzi eat the two of you up every time you attend an event together

However, Terzo makes it very clear to anyone and everyone who'll listen that your success and fame is all because of the hard work you and your band put in and nothing to do with him or Ghost

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚

You know how we're all simps for Copia and would die for him? (Work with me here if you don't feel this way)

Well that's Copia with you and your band

He doesn't write fics or make fan art because honestly he doesn't have the confidence in himself or his skills to do it

But he loves to see all the fan art that people post online of your band

Will send you links to some of his favourites because as Papa he knows how much that can boost your confidence and reassure you that your fans love you, no matter what pissy little haters hiding behind their keyboards may say

Will hum or quietly sing your band's songs while he works, even if you're in the room with him

Puts you in touch with the costume designers and stylists for the band any time your band has photoshoots or big events

Like Terzo, he will attend events with you but he prefers to let you have the spotlight. He already gets so much attention as Papa, he wants you to have your moment to shine and bask in your achievements

𝐍𝐢𝐡𝐢𝐥

I'll be honest, he gets a little jealous at first

Things didn't work out when he was the frontman of Ghost so of course he becomes envious of you and your band's success

This manifests itself a little as him being kinda snarky at first

But after a while the jealousy stops and he turns his shit around to become more supportive of you

Now he's a big supporter!!

Admires how your band have been able to be so successful where he failed in his youth

Doesn't attend shows due to his age, but he will meet you backstage at the ones closest to him to wish you luck and congratulate you before and after shows

Has vinyls of your albums in his office to listen to when he's alone

[renabe4life]

Hey pal, for the fic questions how about 4, 35, 37, 43, 68, 74, and 77! However many you wanna answer ^^

Oh boy, a buncha questions >w> Thanks tc!!! Sorry it took so long to respond oopsie... Now let's see...

4 . How do you choose which fics to write?

-I dunno if I'm really the one doing the choosing orz Usually an idea grabs me by the throat and smashes my face to the keyboard until i start typing. Caveat that for the ongoing ones it's been a game of open one, see where I am and if words wanna play. If no, move along to the next one.

35. What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?

-That's a tough one… Recency bias would have me picking Take Root or Suspire, maybe even Distraction. But, I'm also still very fond of Real- an older fair game fic with zero dialogue.

37. What fic has been the hardest for you to write?

-Take Root, hands down. I knew it was gonna be long, and also be a hard lesson in planning- which i had rarely done before. Plus it has grown into something far more complex than when I first started. Keeping track of everything and balancing the focus has been a real challenge. But I love it so so dearly, and it is teaching me a lot as I go.

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

-Hmmm yes? Not so much that I want to write the trope- in fact it's one I previously would not have wanted to write- but I had an idea recently and frantically jotted down notes for later because I do really want to write that story. And that may be all I'll say on it >.>

68. Are there any fics that influenced you to write the way you do?

-I am sure it is very visible with the occasional turn of phrase in my later works, but yeahhhhh. And the Reason Comes (and plenty others but it started with Reason) by @whatacartouchebag. And also a selection of fics by @afoolforatook, for example Breathing Cues. I just love Cart's descriptive prose and Took's very emotional storytelling. Both are also responsible for a few of my own head canons of the lads >w>

74. Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

-I suppose... Etched. I know by now I have a plethora of fics of Qrow and Clover relaxing all warm and cozy together, and a handful of Qrow recalling silly or sappy moments with his former team but. Well. This one has such a specific flavour of teasing dweeb husbands and I still love it a lot.

77. Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

-Why? Oh dang. Uhhh... aside from it being fun to write and be a little insane about the characters... It's also a lot of fun to chat with people about it. So, thanks for sending this ask, it means a lot ♡

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

Do you have any writing advice for a new aspiring writer of smutty tiefling fanfiction? I just want to smash my barbies together and share the results with the world!

First things first, I’m very flattered to be asked for writing advice! Thank you so much ❤️ And smut in particular? Hell yeah.

Before we proceed: all of this advice is given with a heavy dose of what I like to write and read, so if you think “but I like stories that do that!” then that is entirely valid. I can only speak from my own perspective.

Disclaimers out of the way, let’s get started!

1. First things first, and perhaps most vital: write what turns you on, without apology. When I started writing Sharp Teeth, I felt kind of embarrassed about how dominant I (and thus my reader insert) felt towards Rolan. So I hedged. After writing that Tav wanted to pull Rolan’s hair, I wrote that she wanted him to do that to her too; when I wrote her wanting to throw Rolan on a counter and fuck him, I appended that she wanted to be possessed by Rolan too. Looking back on it now, it’s a testament to how much more comfortable I’ve become talking about my kinkiness, but it definitely diluted the vibe of what I was truly wanting to portray, and readers could probably tell it was half-hearted. I wanted Tav in CONTROL damn it.

(Note: before this comes off as “don’t write switching”, that is not at all what I mean. It goes for all flavours. If what you want to write is soft sensuality, don’t get embarrassed, feel like it’s too sickly and shove in a “take it, slut” or whatever. If you want to write your pairing switching like mad, do that and don’t water it down! Basically, listen to your own feelings. Embarrassment will try to creep in and hold your fingers from the keyboard at just the moment you find most exquisitely hot, because sharing that is vulnerable. Notice it, and write the thing anyway - delete that diluting sentence about how she only wants to pull his hair gently, if you want her to pull it hard!)

2. Horny daydreams baby. If it gets you off, write it down. What’s the moment in your fantasies that makes you feral? That is MATERIAL. (This is a beneficial loop: daydreams beget writing beget daydreams. Whether you ever think about anything else again is up to you.) It doesn’t have to be a complete story, just the moment that makes you go… nnnhhh. This is kind of just an addendum to the previous one but truly, this is just how my process works. Prompts are harder to write than the contents of my own fantasies, in my experience.

3. In terms of planning/working on an idea: I tend to have a “climax” point in mind for my smut, then work out how this scenario is kicking off in the first place, and then fill in the gaps. (That’s just the planning though, I write fairly linearly).

Somewhere between the flirting/lead up to sex and the sex itself, there will be a point of no-horny-return, and if you try to take the tension down a notch after that point the story will lose its sizzle. Fortunately, this is usually easily fixed by moving bits around!

(This happened to me in Combat Training C2: it was a fic with a lot of sparring and role play, but I returned to “serious” sparring after turning the tension way up and the scene immediately fell flat on its face. But with a little reworking, I managed to both convey the character beat (that Rolan and Tav had learnt from each other and would be more prepared for their next battle) and dial up the sexual tension smoothly.)

4. Beware of writing overly mechanically. I’m saying this because I have totally done it! Yes, you generally want to avoid the “three hands” situation that gets joked about a lot (where you haven’t accounted for a character’s limbs and suddenly it seems like they’ve got an extra one). But sometimes it’s ok to just mention them flopping onto a bed or chair in a room without accounting for the fact that it’s there first, or simply say that a character has undressed if you don’t want to linger on them stripping. You don’t need to write in specific limb movements if they’re not super sexy (but technically happening), and you don’t need to write a character picking something up before they use it. Context can do a lot of work!

(… if they’re out in the forest, THEN you need to explain where that bed came from).

(Although I will say, trying to picture the scene in more accurate detail than you’re writing can create some juicy inspiration. Wondering if Rolan’s horns would allow him to rest comfortably in that position? What if they rip the sheets or scratch the floor or catch his lover’s cheek?)

5. Related to “write what you want”: Do not feel like you have to write sex correctly. Smut is gloriously untethered from the bounds of real life, and if you love a bit of cervix pounding, stomach-bulging filth, have at it and don’t apologise. You don’t need to care about contraception and safe sex unless you want to: this is not a sex ed class. You do not have to write SSC BDSM: this is not a sex ed class. Tag and go forth.

(Relatedly, these topics are also make or break for character and vibe sometimes. Health-anxious character in cute first-time fluff? Probably going to want to use protection. Two lovers fucking the night before they think they’re going to die in battle? Probably do not care, and it will spoil the reckless, feral vibe if we stop for a PSA about condom use.)

Consent is often implied through context and subtext. It can be made very explicit, if you want, but it’s also fine to simply show how into it your characters are, how they tease each other and nod and offer up suggestions. If it’s an established relationship, this goes double; it’s easy to infer that this is something the characters have done before without explicitly discussing that! (This is also assuming you’re writing consent; the long history of ravishment in published romance speaks to the fact this is not required lol).

6. Back to more mechanical-level writing stuff: linger in a mood, moment and action. A smut fic can encompass several different moods and sex/kink acts, but pay attention to how you transition between them. If you're oscillating between sweet and nasty ever other sentence, you probably want more consistency. It's an oft-repeated writing tip, but the five senses are your friends, and get specific. The gentle give of ridged skin beneath probing fingers; the sweet smell of campfire smoke; the gloss of tears over jet-black eyes and the taste of red wine on someone else's tongue. (… don’t necessarily do ALL the senses at once but you get what I mean!).

7. And finally one more: feelings. Give this filth feelings. How long have they wanted this? How hot do they think their partner looks right now? Are they feeling romantic or sadistic, feral or cuddly? Did they expect to feel this way, and what do they think it says about their relationship? New love and pent-up tension is obviously great and popular, but I also love exploring shame and conflict, illustrating characters taking risks, trusting each other, exploring new things…

Sex sits at a nexus of all sorts of beliefs our characters have about themselves and what they want. How do they react? Does the sex reinforce those beliefs or change them? It is possible to write hot smut without much of this at all but generally, give your readers a reason to care. (YES this spanking is an expression of Rolan’s character arc, goddamn it.)

Those are my best tips, I think, abstract and rambling as they may be. I hope this was helpful; the no1 writing tip of all time is, of course, to JUST DO IT. Good luck!

[atrueneutral]

Writing Update & ‘Writing Interview’

Hello! Instead of providing a snippet this week, I’m going to give you a small update on where I’m at with this latest chapter of ‘Blood in the Wine’.

I’m wrapping up the chapter (maybe today, maybe tomorrow) then will need to edit. The chapter will be deployed soon so keep an eye out! We’re looking at around 7k - 8k words.

A bright side for the story is I’ll be doing more writing now that I’ve accomplished what I wanted to in FFXIV (for the time being).

Below the cut are my responses to the writing interview going around - thanks @pricemarshfield for the tag! ❤️

When did you start writing? I believe I started writing when I was the tender age of twelve years old. I decided to write some Kagome x InuYasha fics that are frozen in time on FF.net. Aside from the grammatical errors, the predictable plot and the out-of-character characterizations, I think the worst thing about them is that they weren’t Sesshomaru x Kagome.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write? I’m continually embarrassed to say I don’t read books anymore. Writing has given me the drive to crack more books open, but writing has also given me less time to read amongst work and the occasional video game session. Were I to read, I enjoy reading classical horror and supernatural tales here and there, outside of my love for mythology and classical romance.

I think if I write anything, it needs to have an angle of romance - even if it involved eldritch beings.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often? Ohhh, I have no idea… I just write how I write. 🤷‍♀️

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space? I normally write at my desktop computer, where my husband puts up with all of the clacking I do at my keyboard.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse? For me it’s listening to music and playing scenes out in my head. Certain songs with certain scenes I’ve concocted gear me up like nothing else to the point of wanting to scream.

The good kind of scream.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I like dealing with people who make poor decisions and watching the consequences unfold. I like themes of temptation. I like the classic good vs evil but with shades of gray on both sides. I like threading in the concept of fate.

No, they don’t surprise me. 

What is your reason for writing?

My reason for writing was because a story formed and put a theoretical gun against the head it was in; I had to realize it.

Now I write because another story has a gun to my head, and it’s fun being held hostage by my own plots. 

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I deeply cherish the comments that walk me through initial reaction to scenes (especially plot twists!) and how the writing affected the reader emotionally. I salivate over when readers theorize about what’s to come next or start to piece together elements of the plot.

It’s also been wonderful to hear that people think my writing is immersive! 

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

“That Neutral gal is super cool and mysterious and kind of funny at times.” I’m kidding! I’ll mirror what other writers have said in saying that I hope readers view me as approachable! I’m trying to stay what I view as being a healthy-arm’s-length-apart from fandom spaces, but it’s not my intent to discourage people from interacting with me! Interaction was the whole reason for making this writing blog. I’ve enjoyed all of the asks, the prompts, and the interactions I’ve had thus far!

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Believable dialogue and character interactions?

How do you feel about your own writing?

I like it, but then I read other people’s writing and go, “Wow, Neutral! You effing wish you could write like this. Your writing reads like hot garbage in comparison.”

So many talented people in the fandom stratosphere!

It’s a fun little see-saw of turmoil.

(No Pressure Tagging @theemptyislost ❤️ I believe everyone else I would have tagged has already been tagged!)

[eraserspiral]

Writer Interview Game

thank you for the tag @slothquisitor <3

When did you start writing?

deeply!pretentious!, but I can't remember not writing.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

absolutely. in terms of fic, I enjoy dark and twisted just as much as conventionally 'good' and happy. but I can't really see myself writing the latter.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I admire writers who distill language to its bare elements. there's something very beautiful about the concise expression of raw, violent emotion. less is more, etc.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I write on my laptop, sometimes in my study (with a keyboard and a screen and a desk and proper chair) and sometimes on the sofa (with a cat). depends on how cooperative chronic pain is that day.

& noise-cancelling headphones, usually with something like:

ambient skyrim noise

a quiet monastery

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

go for a walk. do the laundry. anything that a) physically and mentally removes you from your writing space and b) allows your mind to wander.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

vampires, always.

but also family, home, identity - the absence of those.

I am jessica's complete lack of surprise.

What is your reason for writing?

I've written a lot over the past decade or so, but post-PhD burnout/depression hit hard; I thought I had no words left.

but it turns out there are bees in my brain that need to get out. even if that is just to the bottomless pit/wip folder on my laptop.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

variations on the theme of: "I see what you're trying to do here".

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

fallible but mildly competent.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

voluntarily say something nice about myself? in this economy?

How do you feel about your own writing?

it's all a work in progress.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

a mixture, in the sense that I aim to create structured narratives that are coherent to the reader—why are we here, where are we going—but in terms of content, it's purely for my sick enjoyment. sorry.

I've completely lost track of who's already done this, so apologies for any repeats. no pressure tags for: @wetcatspellcaster @kittenintheden @gilded-glitter @lobstermatriarch

[astarionancuntnin]

✨Writing Interview Tag Game✨

Thank you for the tag @nyx-knox!! <33

When did you start writing?

Like wayyyyyyyyy back, I technically wrote my first story when i was 11. I didn't write again until i was 15 (original pieces + fanfics), then i stopped and Im back at it again at 26 ayoooo

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

if i really need to search further into my favorite books, i would definitely say psychological horror and dramas

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I don't know writers enough to really get an idea of how to compare myself to any of them, but I do know that i tend to emulate what i'm exposed to, so if I read an entire series from an author, and they used a certain syntax, i'll tend to also do it by force of habit. (i also consider it a flaw cause i see it as hindering my writing creativity ;-;)

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

its my personal pc that doubles as my work space, so its a bit all over the place ngl haha, theres a lot of astarion stickers and posters, all the furniture (keyboard, mouse, desk, etc) is pastel purple (my favorite colour), i have three screens (mostly for work but its also useful in day to day life) and my three wallpapers are astarion, of course. sometimes when i feel a writers block, i found out that writing on my laptop does unblock me! in that case, youll find me typing away on my couch in my living room uwu

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

MUSIC. What I write will be highly dependent on what I listen at the moment, like I was really into boywithuke when i wrote my angsty fics, and then i moved to a dark romance playlist and that got me going for die for you but then i was unable to continue my other fic cause i wasnt in an angsty mood anymore ._. (i swear i didnt abandon it, it just isnt the playlists turn to play on repeat) and rn im a lot into sleep token and ari abdul

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

So. Much. Smut. And angst. not surprising! my writing will also often depict my current state of mind. dw im in therapy, im working on it

What is your reason for writing?

It's my favorite creative output/the one im most experienced in! i wanna start drawing but i never find the time to really get into it and also terrified of failure which brings me to my second reason, its all i think i can do and i get dopanine reading nice comments teehee

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

when people tell me about a favourite part, when they liked the tension i managed to create, how i convey some characters, and most of all when i get told they loved a character i created!! this is so encouraging and pushes me to continue <3

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

i dont know how to answer to that .-. uh, i guess i want to be liked? seen as a good writer if anything? idk man ;-;

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Definitely descriptions, and creating a build up in a scene. I feel like it comes naturally to me and people have often told me that they are never lost when reading my scenes which reassures me so much LMAO I feel validated I also think I make really fun dialogue, especially banter with my ocs/tavs

How do you feel about your own writing?

i often self criticise my own work a lot, and i get that imposter syndrome where ill reread my work before posting and go "what the hell" in those moments, im grateful im not writing on paper cause that sheet would find its way to the trash real quick ^^ ' im sincerely truly blessed that my partner offers himself to read my pieces and beta read them, and tell me his honest opinion (there are things i wrote i wish i could forget and yall better be thankful he was there to stop me from posting first versions)

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

mix of both definitely. initially i wrote my own ideas and if people do end up liking them hell yeah!!! glad im able to find people that vibe the same way i do! then again, when i write for people, even if most of it comes from my silly little imagination, it was initially influenced by the request itself and is going to guide the writing specific to this piece, which honestly makes sense imo

Tagging 🏷️: @marlowethebard @roguishcat @anacdoce @charmandabear @marimosalad

[cnnmairoll]

Pairing : Suna x Reader

a/n : Rewriting my first fic ! There isn't really much change at first, more like the way I write it. But I did add more to it, I hope you enjoy it ! :D

"What's the matter?" Suna's voice echoed through the discord call that had been ongoing for the past three hours. It was 2 a.m., and this nightly call with Suna was a time for both of you to simply be together, doing nothing or anything while music played in the background. You lifted your head from the assignment you had been working on for the past hour. "Hmm? What do you mean?" you asked, curious.

"You've been shivering and scrunching your face. It's actually quite cute, but now I'm genuinely concerned," Suna expressed, his voice filled with worry. Leaning back in your chair, you searched for the right words to describe the strange sensations you had been experiencing. "Well, how can I put it… Lately, I've been having this weird feeling in my body that makes me all jittery and uneasy. Trust me, it's not a pleasant sensation," you explained, feeling a sense of relief as you shared your thoughts.

Suddenly, the "underground" song that Suna had been playing came to a halt. "Hey, it was getting to the good part," you playfully whined. "Shut up, I'm changing the playlist," Suna responded, his fingers clicking away on the keyboard. The bot started playing a much calmer song, and you opened the chat to see Suna had chosen a playlist titled "Everything's Going to Be Okay ~ Playlist to Soothe Anxiety." You felt the urge to tease him about his efforts to calm you down with a cheesy playlist, but instead, you silently thanked him and embraced his presence.

You weren't sure how it worked, but Suna's small gestures meant the world to you and brought a comforting warmth to your heart. Just being in his company was enough to soothe your troubles, and you treasured every moment spent together.

As the tranquil melody filled the virtual space, a peaceful ambiance settled between you and Suna. The minutes ticked by, and though the world outside seemed chaotic and unpredictable, the connection you shared with Suna provided solace and stability. It was as if the discord call existed in its own little bubble, shielding you both from the outside world.

Suna's voice broke the silence, soft and reassuring. "You know," he began, "I may not have all the answers or a magical solution, but I'm here for you. Whenever you need someone to talk to or a shoulder to lean on, I'll be right by your side." His words resonated deeply within you, touching the core of your being. In a world where so much was uncertain, having someone who genuinely cared about your well-being was a precious gift.

A warm smile spread across your face, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for Suna's presence in your life. The bond you had formed through countless late-night conversations, shared laughter, and even the occasional tears had grown stronger over time. You realized that it wasn't just the calming playlist or the soothing words that made a difference—it was the genuine connection between you.

As the night grew darker and the moon hung high in the sky, you both found comfort in each other's virtual presence. Conversations flowed effortlessly, ranging from profound discussions about life's mysteries to lighthearted banter that elicited bursts of laughter. The hours slipped away, but neither of you minded because time seemed irrelevant when you were wrapped in the embrace of friendship.

In that moment, you understood that even amidst the uncertainties and challenges, you had found an anchor in Suna. Together, you faced the ups and downs, providing support and encouragement every step of the way. Whether it was through silly conversations, shared interests, or moments of vulnerability, you had built a bond that transcended the boundaries of the digital realm.

As the dawn approached and the sky painted hues of soft pastels, you reluctantly realized that it was time to bid each other farewell. But before you ended the call, you made a promise to continue these nightly rituals, knowing that they held a special place in your heart. With a renewed sense of hope and strength, you said your goodbyes, eagerly looking forward to the next opportunity to connect with Suna.

In a world where physical distance could separate people, you found solace in the fact that true connections knew no bounds. And as you closed your eyes, drifting into a peaceful slumber, you carried with you the knowledge that Suna's presence would always be just a call away, ready to bring light to the darkest of nights.

[thedroneranger]

The Drone Ranger's Be Kind Rewind ⏪ notroosterbradshaw Edition!

A rec reblog series dedicated to the fics that we love so much, we've re-read them!

It's been a minute since I've posted a Rewind! My non-tumblr life has been bumping, so I haven't been quite as active.

However, I'm excited to present a Rewind from one of the first creators I read in this fandom. A few of their fics are on my Rewind. Without further ado: @notroosterbradshaw!

Cass is a tried and true Bradshaw Baddie™, so we have ourselves another all Bradshaw Rewind!

While we continue to churn out amazing new content, let's be kind and rewind to look at some of the OG content we love! And don't forget to reblog when you re-read! Continue to show your comfort fics and favorite creators some love. It helps keep the fresh content coming :)

Let's keep this going throughout the summer, so if you're interested in participating in the Be Kind Rewind, message me. The more, the merrier!

If you want to know when a new Rewind drops, join the tag list, and check out previous Rewinds!

fics below the cut (listed in alphabetical order by title)

Creator's note: I have a tendency to re-read long fics. I can find it difficult to commit to new things (I watch the same tv shows over and over, and the same goes for fics). It’s a terrible personality trait.

Crossfire, @purelyfiction Crossfire was the first TGM fic I read... and I was baptised. There was no way to fight it and it inspired me to come back to writing after I stopped about five years back. I really love it, I highly encourage you to indulge if you've yet to.

Bradley x Smart Aleck universe, @gretagerwigsmuse You don't need to know how much I love SA and her crotchety old man, Bradley. Jordan's world is so immersive, a real relationship with real ups and down. J gets deep in there and doesn't hide or shy from anything. If you have yet to read i don’t know, blame the air force? what are you doing in this life (it was impossible to pick one)?

One For The History Books, @pisupsala Holy jeepers, if you haven’t read Mila's delicate, poignant and truly adoring words, you've missed the point of this fandom. Just so truly special. I read One for The History Books upon completion and binged it like a novel, it feels like home for me.

What's in a Name?, @sometimesanalice Alexa's one of the most talented writers. Her reader and Bradley's world makes you so delirious/high, I just love it so damn much (and Alexa). Please go read What’s in a Name?

Remember You Even When I Don’t, @beyondthesefourwalls Alli's Forgetful Boy in Remember You Even When I Don’t... Oh my God, she knows I go a bit bonkers for it and had to deal with a lot of squee’s and keyboard smashes in both reblogs and messages. Sorry, darling heart.

White Christmas, @bradshawsbitch Alex's work is a constant re-read for me, and I have begged for a follow-up series of potential pilot or airline host reader and Bradley. The first few paragraphs of white christmas is like I'm sitting right there, in between reader and Bradley, the smartass pilot.

Creator's Own

It’s Only My Heart (Save Yourself) I think there is a misconception that I only write one series ha! But this fic is my first love. I adore writing about Bradley Bradshaw in love and the world's most perfect partner, but I also love writing about him with all his faults and spiralling on his wedding day.

Tag list and friends: @petcr3 @desert-fern @Sagittarius-Lovewitch @mygyn @sweetwhispersofchaos @horseshoegirl @the-annoying-fan @dingochef @moon42flight @thecitysgraveyard @ereardon @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @galaxy-of-stories @taytaylala12 @malindacath @violyn20 @awildewit @potato-girl99981 @shanimallina87 @blue-aconite @djs8891 @linkpk88 @furiousladyking @daggerspare-standingby @princess76179 @jstarr86 @hecate-steps-on-me @darkheartcherry @soulmates8 @roosters-girl @dempy @roosterisdaddy36 @hangmanscoming @s-u-t @mavrellover91 @chicomonks @averyhotchner 

A kind reminder, this is a 18+ blog. While not all stories in the recommendation list are 18+, please respect boundaries and do not interact unless you are 18 years of age or older.