#this is now officially my longest fic on ao3???

[sibylsleaves]

some things fall when they're meant to fall

17k (so far) | rated T | read on ao3 Eddie’s gaze drop to Buck’s lips—pink, like his birthmark. Eddie wants to taste those lips, and he wants it with a fierceness so sudden it shocks him. “I’m, uh,” Buck stammers. “Last night. When you saw me and Tommy…we—we were on a date.” Everything inside Eddie goes still. If his heart is a kite, then this is the moment it plummets back to earth.

or, Buck tells Eddie some news. Eddie has a realization and breaks up with his girlfriend. Not necessarily in that order.

written for @burnthatbridge

Chapter 3/4 now up on ao3

The wedding is beautiful, the bride gorgeous. And the Best Man?

Well, Eddie’s a little biased, but he’s not sure he’s ever seen someone glow the way Buck is glowing today. It’s like there’s a halo of light radiating off him all day—where he stands, beaming at Chimney and Maddie during the ceremony, where he raises his glass during his toast at the reception, where he and Tommy sway in the middle of the dance-floor, surrounded by all the people Buck loves most.

Eddie tries not to be too obvious about the fact that he can’t keep his eyes off him, but he’s not really sure he’s doing a good job.

He’s not really sure he cares.

They look good together, Buck and Tommy. Eddie’s seen them together before, lots of times, and he thought maybe he’d built up some kind of armor to it, some kind of resistance that protected his heart against this slow, crushing ache, but he’d been so, so wrong.

Maybe it’s just all catching up to him at once.

Or maybe—maybe there’s been a change. A shift in the way Buck’s looking at Tommy, because Eddie could swear that there’s something different on his face tonight. He’s holding onto Tommy and looking up at him and Eddie could swear he can see it in his eyes.

Buck is falling in love.

(read chapter 3 on ao3)

taglist:

@remembertheskittles @myao3library-blog @sorryimlatecapt @swiftiesisters14 @bewitchedbewilderedbisexual

@myphilomena @neuromagpie @fleurdebeton @daffi-990 @crysty-rp-2023

@confetti-cupcake @pixelmator5 @fabgirlll @evansbuckkley @lyricfulloflight

@daisievalentine @crazyfangirlallert @bucklavaa @torturedpoetdean @smallandalmosthonest

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@leothil @theroguetranslator @kinnards @gregoryus @jorniq

@inell @epicbuddieficrecs @neeterpoo @JAKEJAGIELSKIDESERVEDBETTER

[hongcherry]

pretty please (stay with me) || c.sc | 1

"After being assigned a fashion show for your big senior project, you set off to find volunteers to make it successful. However, when you meet Choi Seungcheol and his unfriendly clique through your volunteers, you realize they’re an unwanted package deal you can’t escape from. Can you handle Seungcheol's obnoxious friends, and can he handle your brash behavior?"

🍒 Pairing: businessMajor!Seungcheol x fashionMajor!Reader (f)

🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Slice of life (!!!), slow burn, drama, fluff, angst; Unrequited enemies to lovers (lol), strangers to lovers, college au

🍒 Warnings: [general tw (won't be repeated in the other chapters)] reader has she/her pronouns (referred to as girl, miss), reader dresses really feminine, reader is not nice, character outfit descriptors, parent/family issues (marital problems), bullying | [chapter tw] “joke” that implies prostitution in a negative way, near car accident (rear end), brief mention of death thru a joke

🍒 WC: 14.8k

🍒 Betas: Huge shout out to my bae, @love-strike, for being with me throughout this whole process, for listening to me whine, for helping me brainstorm majors for OT13, and for being so supportive! tysm 😭 And thank you to @playmetheclassics, @here4kpopfics, @angelwoozi for also beta'ing this series! ty for your time and for your sweet feedback! i really cherish everyone's efforts and brains hehe 🥰💖 i understand this was not an easy task to take on.

🍒 Author's Note: HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML, CHOI SEUNGCHEOL!!!!!!!!! 🎂♥️ I started this fic in September 2022 and contemplated even publishing it multiple times. I think this will be the first fic I've worked on for so long and published. Also, this is the longest fic I've ever written, so that's exciting! It was supposed to be one long one-shot, but I ended up writing way too much for a one-shot LOL. I'm really proud of myself for powering through and not abandoning it, as I've done in the past. I also wrote this all in past tense and spontaneously decided to change it to present 😪 Anyway, please enjoy the start of this couple's journey 😁

also read here: AO3 | Wattpad

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

When people say good students are those who arrive on time, you find it hard not to scoff. Professors should care more about how hard-working one is rather than if they show up on the dot.

Of course, you do try to make it on time, but can you really leave your house looking less than perfect? Absolutely not. Plus, the first fifteen minutes usually consist of professors getting set up for their classes, so you don’t feel like you are missing anything of importance.

Today is no different.

Ten minutes past the official class time, you stroll inside the room. Students are seated where they normally sit, some are on their phones, and others are trying to finish some last-minute homework assignments. It’s a fairly small class, and being in your senior year means everyone knows each other well. Although, most of the people in your class think ill of you and don’t talk to you.

At first, you thought it was a pity, but in the end, you realized you didn’t want to befriend those who would only talk shit behind your back. This is what you figured they did since they were never discreet when they exchanged whispers with their eyes glued to you. 

Luckily, you have at least one friend in the class. Quality over quantity, right?

“Right on time,” your friend, Dae, says with a sly smile when she spots you.

You chuckle and slide into the seat next to her. “Class started fifteen minutes ago.”

“It did, but you’re right on time for you,” she explains with a knowing grin.

“Guess I need to be more late from now on,” you tease as you take out your iPad.

The device is a holy grail to you. Majoring in fashion design means all your ideas and creations over the past few years are stored there. When you don’t have it, it’s stored in secret in your house. Maybe that’s a little excessive, but losing it would feel like losing a part of yourself. After all, art creations always include a part of the creator. The device almost feels like it’s an extension of yourself—something too personal for others to peek at.

Dae rolls her eyes. “Or you could come on time. That would be different.”

“Why would I? The first fifteen minutes are worthless,” you huff and open your notes.

“I wouldn’t quite say that,” Dae answers, sliding a piece of paper over. You glance down at it.

Prepare for the annual Senior Fashion Show! Students are to create their own fashion show with a theme of their choice. The show will be toward the end of the semester in the Main Theatre (official times and dates TBD). The project will count for 80% of your grade as this will require you to use all the skills you’ve acquired as a student. When creating your show, be sure to be mindful of the following…

“This was handed out at the beginning of class. Seems like we’re going to have to work with students from outside our department,” Dae comments after she gives you a few minutes to read everything.

So, this is it.

Every senior majoring in fashion design is required to participate. You attended every fashion show hosted during your time as a student here. You were always left in awe, motivated to be a student that would leave behind a name for themselves at the college. You want to inspire the next seniors just as the ones inspired you before.

While this assignment has your body giddy with excitement, there is a part you are dreading.

People skills are not your forte.

Not because you feel awkward talking to new people, but because the conversations always end unpleasantly. Sometimes with back-handed compliments, insults, or them trying to scold you. You hope that won’t be the case while recruiting volunteers.

“So, do we have the class period to start getting things together?” you question once you finish skimming through the instructions again. You’re responsible for a lot more elements than you anticipated. You need lighting, music, a theme, backstage helpers, hair and makeup artists, an advertiser, and most importantly, models. This is when you wish you had a large network. Though, every friend you tried to make didn’t end up lasting. Dae is the only person who has stuck by your side.

“Yup,” she replies. “We’ll be doing mini assignments throughout the semester to help us prepare. I think it’s just a way for Dr. Lim to give us grades so he doesn’t get in trouble.”

“Probably,” you sigh. You are already feeling stressed. Quickly, you scribble down a list of to-do’s in your notes.

“Do you have a theme in mind already?” Dae asks after a moment.

“No, do you?” you wonder.

Dae sits back in her chair, pen resting between her fingers. “I was thinking about something with space? Maybe my main colors will be blue, purple, and black.”

“Oh? Isn’t that what you’ve been doing, though? Don’t you want to try something different?”

Although the question is harmless, the tone of your voice must have rubbed Dae the wrong way. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then looks at you again.

“Think of it as branding, okay? Why does it bother you so much?” she wonders with a frown. Realizing your mistake, you inhale slowly.

“It doesn’t. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m sure your stage will do well,” you reply, forcing a small smile on your lips.

“No ‘sorry’?” Dae asks despite knowing it isn’t part of your favorite vocabulary.

You narrow your eyes at her. “Nope. Just don’t be so defensive next time.”

“You’re insufferable,” Dae answers. “One day, you will be sorry for your behavior.”

Shrugging, you say, “There’s always a chance, but maybe if the world wasn’t so insecure, saying sorry wouldn’t be so wanted.”

Dae exhales disapprovingly at your thought process, displeased with your reply. “Well, for now, maybe try to be more empathetic?”

“I have bigger things to worry about right now. For instance,” you start, a finger at the top of your to-do list, “I’ve got to find someone who can provide me with music.”

Fuck, it’s too loud in here.

The sounds of different instruments being played at once, all emitting different tunes, have a migraine bubbling in your head.

You make a beeline to the professor who is sitting in the corner. She is an older lady, evident by her wrinkles and gray hair. Yet, her features are soft, and the smile she gives you makes you feel at ease.

“Hello, miss, can I assist you?” she asks when you’re in hearing range.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I was hoping you could help me with an assignment?” you wonder and offer her a kind smile, hoping she won’t shoo you away immediately.

“Ah, it’s alright. They’re just practicing for an upcoming assignment today. What is it you need, dear?”

“Who would you consider your best student? Is there a way you can get me in contact with them?”

The professor’s eyes widen slightly at the question. She didn’t expect that. Nevertheless, her gaze rises to scan the classroom.

“There,” she points as discreetly as she can. You follow her finger, which lands on a blonde-haired guy tuning his guitar. “Lee Jihoon. He’s the most talented student I’ve ever had.”

“This semester?” you ask out of curiosity.

The professor shakes her head. “Ever.”

You can’t stop the small disbelieving huff that escapes you. The best student ever? You aren’t sure how long she’s been teaching, but you doubt out of all her time, he is the best. He looks too young.

“Now, now, don’t judge a book by its cover,” she scolds gently. You have to force yourself not to roll your eyes at the phrase. You’ve heard it too many times that its meaning lost its effect on you.

“What makes him your best student?” you question, sight going back to the man who is oblivious to your stare. He sits next to another student who also has a guitar. They seem to be friends from the way they are laughing together.

“His work is versatile and very good. I’m positive he will be the perfect person for your project.” The way she speaks about him makes you believe her. There was no waver to her voice, and her eyes hold a fondness in them you know one can’t replicate if not genuine.

“How long until they have their assignment due?” you wonder, realizing you may have to wait until the class ends before you could talk to him.

The professor smiles. “I’ll let them have five more minutes so you can introduce yourself.”

Internally, you sigh in relief. You’re grateful you don’t have to wait.

“Thank you,” you say before strolling to the man.

As you near, his friend glances up. He’s mid-sentence when he spots you, eyes growing slightly at the sight of you. You’re used to getting looks like that. Your fashion is always dressier than the average college student's. People just aren’t used to it.

“Hi,” the brunette friend says. He has prince-like features, and you almost consider asking him to be one of your models. You give him a small grin out of politeness before turning to the whole reason you came over.

“Lee Jihoon?” you ask.

Jihoon’s mouth parts slightly in surprise. “Uh, y-yeah. Do I know you?”

“No. My name’s Yn. I have a project in a class and need someone to provide music for me. You won’t get paid, but any extra experience is always good, right?” you greet, not wanting to dance around the subject. After all, this is only the first of many on your to-do list.

“What major are you in?” he wonders, brows knitted in confusion.

“Fashion design,” you answer.

Jihoon is silent for a moment. “And how did you find me?”

This guy is more difficult than you wished. You just need him to say yes.

“I asked for the best student, and you were recommended. So, what do you say? Will you help me?”

Jihoon gives you a small smile, but something about it rubs you wrong. “Sorry, my plate is a little full right now—”

“Do you need money? I can give you some afterward.”

You try not to sound desperate. Lee Jihoon is not the only music major—this is obvious by the amount of noise you hear in the background.

But you never settle for less than the best.

You have been looking forward to this project since your college tour here. 

“It’s not that,” Jihoon chuckles awkwardly. “I have other assignments I have to practice for, but I’m sure there will be someone else to help you. There’s a lot of talented students her—”

“But they’re not the best,” you interrupt. What else can you offer him that will make him say yes?

“Well, being the best is subjective,” Jihoon counters, voice light so you know he doesn’t mean it rudely.

You open your mouth to bargain with him more, but his friend leans into his ear. The noise from the other instruments behind you makes it hard to hear what they are saying.

Patience is something you rarely have. The longer you stand there waiting, the more annoyed you get.

“Look, you have almost a full semester to get a song done by then. I’m sure you can find some tim—”

“Fine,” Jihoon grumbles as he shoves his friend away. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh,” you pause. You are fully prepared to go down the mental list of how helping you will help him in return. One that will be complete bullshit, but if it gets him to say yes, then so be it. Luckily, you don’t have to. 

“Great!” you say.

You aren’t going to give him time to back out, so you quickly retrieve a business card you had made from your purse. It’s easier to exchange contact information, and you never know when you may run into someone important. Being in an artistic field means competition. You always need to have an eye out for something, or someone, that will help you get your name out there.

“Here’s my number. Please contact me before the day ends.”

Jihoon takes the card and examines it. “Got it. What kind of music will you need?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know,” you reply. He nods in response.

“I look forward to hearing your music. I’ll talk to you later then,” you say.

You have half a heart to wish them both luck on their assignment, but part of you is a little petty that Jihoon put you through some trouble. Instead, you give them a wave before turning on your heel.

As you’re leaving, you hear a loud sigh followed by a laugh from behind you. 

“Shut up, Shua,” Jihoon groans before the professor calls everyone’s attention.

Music, check. Now, what’s next?

As you make your way down the hallway, you stumble across Dae. She is surrounded by two other male students, none of whom you know. You don’t plan to greet her since she seems busy, but the sound of your heels clicking against the tile catches her attention.

“Yn!” she calls out cheerfully.

You halt in your tracks, turning to see her smiling at you. She gestures for you to come over, so you do.

“Hey,” you say to her.

“How’s your project going?” she asks.

“I got someone to help me with music,” you reply, then glance behind her to see the two guys staring at you. Dae follows your gaze and makes a small “oh!”

“Is that all? Do you have anyone for advertising or graphics?” Dae wonders, her voice seemingly excited.

“I don’t,” you answer hesitantly. Her eagerness has you worried.

“Perfect!” she exclaims, then turns to the others. “This is Yejun and Jeonghan. They’re both advertising majors. Yejun agreed to help me with my project, but Jeonghan,” she pauses to address the man. He has blonde hair that goes past his eyes. His soft features are handsome and almost angelic. 

“Jeonghan, would you mind helping my friend with hers? She’s super talented.”

Jeonghan glances at you, but before he can say anything, you ask him, “What are your skills? Do you have some work I could see first?”

Jeonghan looks taken aback. “O-oh, I don’t have a portfolio yet, sorry.”

“Ah, that’s fine,” you say before looking at Dae. “Thanks for trying to help me, but I’ll find someone else.”

Dae’s eyes narrow at you. “Come on, Yn. Jeonghan is really good!”

“Didn’t you just meet him?” you question and try to stop the scoff that threatens to escape.

“Well, yes, but Yejun has been my friend for a while, and I’ve seen his work. Yejun and Jeonghan have worked together as well, and their creations are unique!”

You inhale deeply, eyes roaming from your friend to Jeonghan. He offers you a smile.

“What your friend said,” Jeonghan replies with a small chuckle.

“Trust me on this,” Dae says. “Jeonghan won’t disappoint you.”

You don’t feel at ease agreeing to someone blindly. Dae’s definition of “really good” could be different from yours. Although her work is good, you feel your standards are way above hers. You had planned to ask for the best student for each assigned task, so having been offered a random helper with no proof of their credentials is unnerving. 

Granted, you haven’t heard Jihoon’s work, but you were sold on the way the professor spoke about him. Dae, on the other hand, is not a professor and could be biased as Yejun is her friend. Though, you still have a lot more positions to fill, and you need to do so soon.

Sighing, “Fine. You can work with me.”

From the way you word your sentence, it’s almost as if Jeonghan is supposed to jump up and down with glee. He doesn’t.

You grab another business card from your purse and hand it to Jeonghan. He takes it slowly.

“Just so you know, I have the right to replace you with someone else if I see your work isn’t fit,” you warn as Jeonghan slips the card into his pocket.

His eyes lock on yours. “That won’t be necessary,” he answers, not bothered by your comment.

“Oh?” you wonder and quirk an eyebrow up.

“Hm. You also need graphics, right? I have a person for that as well,” Jeonghan says.

“I haven’t seen their work yet—”

“You’re not very trusting, huh?” Jeonghan observes with a laugh. You shift your weight on one hip, not liking the way he is trying to tell you about your personality when he doesn't know you.

“I just know what I want, and I won’t settle,” you answer sharply.

Dae huffs next to you and gives you a gentle shove, indicating you to ease up. That isn’t going to happen.

Jeonghan doesn’t reply and instead takes out his phone. His fingers dance around the screen for a minute before he turns the device for you to see. On the screen is an Instagram account with various posts of different art and graphic pieces. Your eyes drift to the username. by_xuminghao_o. His art is impressive and definitely not an amateur like you half expected.

“So, about not settling,” Jeonghan trails off, a hint of a cocky smirk on his lips.

“I expect you both to contact me before the day ends,” is all you respond with.

Jeonghan pockets his phone and nods. He seems content with your answer even though you don’t confess the art meets your standards.

“All good then?” Dae asks, glancing between you two.

“We’re good,” Jeonghan replies and gives you another smile of his—one you are starting to hate seeing. There is just something about it that seems like he knows more things than you in a cocky, condescending way.

Yejun glances at his watch and then nudges Jeonghan.

“Thanks, ladies, but we have a class to attend. Nice to meet you, Yn,” Yejun says.

You hum in response while turning away from them. Dae says her goodbyes, watching as they leave before putting her focus on you.

“Do you have to be so picky?” she sighs.

“As I said, I know what I want. I’ve waited to do this project for years. It has to be perfect,” you explain and pull out your iPad. You check off music and advertising from your to-do list. Graphics aren’t listed, but you figure it will be a nice addition.

“I understand, but—”

“Just focus on your project, and I’ll focus on mine, okay?” you interrupt. You don’t feel like hearing her lecture you for a second time today.

“Alright,” Dae answers. “I’ll see you around,” she says, walking away before you can say anything else.

With her back turned, you roll your eyes at her attitude. It has your mood lowering, and you conclude you’re done with human interaction for now. You carefully place your iPad back in your bag, then make a beeline to the parking lot, ready to go home to figure out a theme for your show.

Home is somewhere you don’t enjoy being.

It always has this melancholy cloud looming over you. You can never seem to get rid of it completely. Even on the good days, it lingers in the corner of the room, always threatening to float above you. You doubt it will ever dissipate.

Your back is against the headboard of your bed, your iPad resting against your legs that are pulled to your chest. The music playing is too low for your liking, but you know if it’s any louder, your father will scold you for the high volume. Sometimes you will raise it just to get him to talk to you. Though today is not one of those days. You want to be left alone for once, which isn't usually too hard to do unless your sister needs attention. Like now.

“Today is the last day. Pleaseeee, Yn!” your sister whines at the foot of your bed. Her small body is bouncing with desperation and eagerness.

Reluctantly, you flicker your gaze up at her. The slight scowl on your face doesn’t seem to faze her… Probably because she’s seen it so much.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” you exasperate, gesturing to your iPad.

Seoah frowns. “When are you not? Come on! It’ll take, like, ten minutes. I’ve been looking forward to getting a Fallin’ Flower frap for months! You know it’s a seasonal drink.”

“Didn’t Dad say you couldn’t have any more sweets?” you say and peer down at your iPad again. You’re in the middle of brainstorming themes for your show. There are various words within bubbles, each connected with a line.

“I’ll just get a small,” she explains. When you don’t move, she walks around the bed to stand next to you. Her voice becomes softer, sadder. “You said you would take me. Dad can’t.”

“That was before I got assigned this project. It’s my—”

“Senior project that you’ve been looking forward to since your freshman year, yeah, I got it,” she responds, reciting what you’ve told her before.

You finally look at her once more. “I’ll take you for the next seasonal drinks, okay? They’re probably better anyway.”

“But I really want a Fallin’ Flower,” Seoah pouts.

“Next year,” you offer and return your attention to your homework.

“Yn—”

“Next year,” you repeat firmly without looking up.

Seoah pauses in her begging. You think she’s going to continue, but you hear the soft padding of her feet as she moves.

“Oh, Seoah?” you call out, glancing up.

She pauses by your door and looks up with some hope in her eyes.

“Don’t forget to shut the door all the way.”

“Right,” she mutters slowly, then leaves the room. You wait until you hear the door click close prior to getting back to work.

You sit on your bed the remainder of the day, only getting up to cook dinner for your father and sister. Your eyes feel strained and your body weak, but the sooner you pick a theme, the sooner you can get started. 

It’s days like these when your body is mentally and physically exhausted, that you miss your mom. You try not to think too much about her as it only makes the gloomy cloud above your head darker. 

Is she happier? Surely, she is. She is living her dream as a traveling journalist. Sometimes you will see her adventures if you peep at her social media. It’s self-torture to do so, but curiosity gets the best of you. You hope one day you’ll have the willpower to block all her accounts. 

At this point, you’re having the same conversation you have with yourself once a month. It never ends the way you want.

Inhaling deeply, you finish plating all the food before calling your family for dinner. While your father eats in his office, needing to continue his work, you and your sister eat in silence in the dining room.

Maybe one day things will change, but for now, you’ll have to settle with this.

You are about to knock on the door a second time when no one answers it. You have allotted only an hour for this meeting, so the longer you wait outside, the more you grow impatient. You have set mini-deadlines throughout the semester to ensure you will complete this assignment in a timely manner. You just hope your recruitees aren't going to slow you down.

Suddenly, the door is yanked open. Jeonghan stands on the other side, hair a little damp and a few wet spots on his shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he says hastily. “I thought I could shower quicker.”

“I told you eleven o’clock,” you scold. Jeonghan simply smiles.

“Never hurts to give people some wiggle room. Plus, aren’t you the early one?” Jeonghan leans back to view something. He looks at you after a few seconds. “It’s only three minutes past.”

“Early is on time,” you say as if that is an obvious life choice. Although you’re never really on time for classes, you reason that to be because the first fifteen minutes are a waste of time. This, on the other hand, is not. “Invite me in?”

Jeonghan moves aside and lets you enter. His apartment is tidy for the most part. It seems as if he had started to clean up but gave up toward the end.

“Where’s Minghao?” you wonder when you saw you were the only one here. He’s supposed to be here with Jeonghan, so you can all go over the advertising designs.

“He called and said he hit some traffic. Have a seat anywhere; I’m going to grab my laptop,” he instructs before jogging to another room. Shaking your head in disappointment, you glance around again.

Spotting his couch, you walk over and make yourself comfortable. You take out your iPad and open what you have so far—color ideas, font ideas, and a few mock-up fashion designs. It has been two weeks since you last saw Jeonghan. The majority of your tasks have already been assigned to people, but you still have to find a few more models.

“Alright, so, what’s the theme?” Jeonghan asks when he comes back. He sits down next to you, causing you to bounce slightly from his weight.

You angle your screen, so he can see it easier. “I decided on the four elements—water, ice, air, and earth. The title right now is Pinwheel.”

“This gives us multiple color options,” Jeonghan examines. “Maybe we could have five designs. One for each element and then one with all of them? That would give you a variety of exposure and make the audience feel they’re not looking at the same promo material every time.”

You sit still as you ponder his suggestion. “You don’t think people will get confused seeing different designs?”

“We can make it all tie in some way. You have your own logo, as I saw on your card. We can use that and the same fonts.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. “That sounds—”

A knock on the door stops you.

“Ah, that must be Minghao. Do you mind getting that? I’m going to get my notepad, so I can try to sketch some layouts.”

You nod, setting your iPad down next to his laptop, then walking to the entrance.

“You’re late,” you groan while you pull open the door.

“Oh? Am I?” the person says with a little playful smile on his lips.

Although you’ve never met Minghao, you have seen pictures of him on his Instagram. You expected to see a head of blue hair, but you are greeted with black. Instead of a narrow face, his is slightly wider. He wears an oversized white shirt, jeans, and a colorful necklace. He looks like every other college student. Sure, he’s more handsome than the average, but not by much. Behind him are two women and one man.

“Can I help you?” you exhale a disheartened sigh when you conclude it isn’t Minghao. Meaning, he’s even later than you wished for.

The guy chuckles. “I doubt it, but Jeonghan can. Is he here?”

His voice is slightly deep. You may have found him soothing to listen to if it wasn't for his irksome words.

“He’s busy right now. You can come back in an hour, though,” you instruct and start to close the door. You don’t need any distractions.

The man sticks his foot out to stop you, causing you to exhale annoyed when you can’t get rid of him. You open the door slightly again.

“Just tell him I’m here,” he says, his teasing tone not so visible anymore but still light enough to not sound too rude.

“And who are you?” you question apathetically.

“Jesus,” someone hisses behind him before shouting, “Jeonghan, come here!”

Your eyes gaze past the man to see a woman with short-length dark hair. She eyes you haughtily, hand on the man’s forearm as if she were to push him away. Though she never does. She takes in your attire, and you once again get a look of judgment at your choice of dress. Your white dress paired with a same-colored, opened button down and beaded chain around your hips is apparently not her style.

“What’s going on?” Jeonghan asks behind you. Reluctantly, you move aside so he can see. “Oh, Seungcheol! Right. One second. Come on in. I’ll get those papers for you.”

“Actually, do they need to come in? They’re not staying long,” you say quickly before any of them can move.

“Relax, princess, he’s just being friendly. You know, like when someone is kind, thoughtful, and considerate?” the girl questions as if you’re dumb and makes her way inside despite you standing close to the door. It forces you to move over. 

Her friends follow along. Three of them stand in the living room, while the second guy sits at the kitchen bar before pulling out his phone. You watch them with a fire inside your chest. Not only are Jeonghan and Minghao late, you now have to deal with this obstacle.

Just as you’re shutting the door, you see a glimpse of blue down the hall. Finally.

“You’re late,” you repeat, but to the correct person this time.

“I know, I’m sorry! Oh, are they helping too?” Minghao says, pausing at the entry when he sees the group of people inside.

“No. Get in,” you huff and point a finger in the apartment. Minghao enters without a fight.

“Hao!” the second girl exclaims with a smile.

Great. Do they all know each other?

“Hi, Hana,” Minghao greets with a gentle grin.

“What are you doing here?” Hana wonders.

“I’m helping Yn with her project,” he answers and gestures to you while you shut the door.

Hana looks your way, and you can see the distaste in her expression; however, she doesn’t say anything.

Jeonghan walks out of his room with a folder in his hand. “I hope this is what you need,” he tells the first man—Seungcheol, you presume.

Seungcheol smiles and takes it from him. He flips open the folder, doing a quick glance through the papers inside.

“Looks great,” he says. “Thanks for getting these for me.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan replies.

“Hannie, do you want to come to Shining Diamond with us this weekend?” the first girl asks, tilting her head in a way that appears as if she’s begging for a yes.

“Ah, this weekend?” he hesitates. “I have a test on Monday I was going to study for.”

“A few hours won’t hurt you,” she replies.

“Alright, Hajun, but only for an hour or so,” Jeonghan says with a not-so-stern voice.

“Great! Minghao, do you want to come, too?” Hajun asks.

Minghao shrugs. “I’ve got nothing else, so sure.”

Hajun grins widely. Her eyes go past Minghao to see you standing in the corner, your arms crossed and eyes staring daggers at everyone.

She doesn’t say anything, but her look tells you you aren’t invited. As if you are silently begging to join. The thought makes you scoff quietly.

“Cool. You all scheduled your weekends,” you start and walk back to the couch. You turn briefly to Seungcheol, who is eyeing you already. “And you got your things. Can we please continue?”

Your gaze shifts to Jeonghan at your question. He offers you an apologetic look before nodding.

“I’ll see you all this weekend. You can text me the time,” he says while walking to the door.

“We can decide that now,” Hana suggests.

“Or over text like Jeonghan said,” you interject. She narrows her eyes at you.

“Be patient. It’ll only take a few minutes,” she replies.

A few minutes, my ass.

“I’d rather you use those minutes to walk out the door.” You give her a faux smile.

“Have some respect,” Hajun scolds.

You laugh though you don’t find any of this humorous. “What a hypocrite. How about you respect people’s times?”

“I did tell Yn I’d help her,” Jeonghan cuts in sheepishly and opens the door to hint at them to leave. “I’ll text you all later, or you guys can come back in a bit.”

Seungcheol’s gaze lingers on yours as he walks toward the door. Your eyes catch on his as he makes his way into your line of sight. His stare has an unsettling feeling form in your stomach, and you contemplate asking what his problem is. Before you can, he turns to Jeonghan.

“Thanks again,” he says as he lifts the folder.

“No problem. Talk to you later,” Jeonghan replies.

All his friends have filed out except for the one male who hasn’t said a word. He glances at you. You expect to receive another jab about who knows what. Instead, he gestures at your body.

“Nice chains,” he compliments with a smile.

Your eyes widen slightly as you glance down briefly at your outfit. That was certainly unexpected. “Uh, thanks.”

“Come on, Vernon!” Hana yells from the doorway. Vernon gives you a thumbs up, which is uncanny given the situation, then follows his friends out the door.

Once they leave, you narrow your gaze at Jeonghan and Minghao. They’re quick to apologize again and start asking questions about your project before you can lecture them. Lucky for them, your hour is almost up, so there isn't enough time to do that anyway.

Weeks go by with you working nonstop on your project. Annoyingly, you also realize that the majority of the people you recruited to help all know each other. It usually isn’t something to be irritated by, but each time they run into each other, they usually end up making small talk that you have to break up. They can do that on their time, not yours. Even more frustrating is that this so-called Seungcheol and his groupies know them all as well. Their reactions to seeing you are always the same—ones of displeasure. Though the feeling is mutual.

You learn they are all business majors, except for Vernon. Well, he was a business major, but he plans to switch to something else. You can’t blame him. If all the business majors act revolting, you would leave that department as well.

Seungcheol… He isn’t as bad. 

You have only ever hung out with him by himself for less than five minutes. Those conversations spur when you’re both left alone after one of your “mutual friends,” because none of these people are your actual friends, abandon you both. The conversations are awkward and never hold any weight. He doesn’t throw snide remarks at you, but his presence still makes you uneasy with the possibility. You’re normally the first to leave because of that. Maybe if he didn’t have those obnoxious friends, you could tolerate him more. You can’t help but associate him with them though. You simply want to get away from them, even if that includes him. Not that you are craving his presence anyway. You barely know him and aren’t interested in changing that.

“Those are looking awesome so far!” Dae exclaims when she peers over your shoulder to see your sketches.

You smile at her and set your iPad down on the table. The weather outside is perfect, given the cool breezes in the heat. It eases your mind, and you feel more creative being in a new environment.

“Thanks, how are yours coming along?” you question and wait for her to angle her own iPad to you. On the screen are various designs, each with a hint of purple or blue.

“Those are neat,” you compliment.

“Yeah?” she says and beams at you. “What about this one? I think the shoulder looks a little weird.”

You reach over, using two fingers to zoom in on the screen to examine it.

“Maybe just lower this,” you gesture on the screen, careful as to not move the screen on accident. “You could take this part out too and make it asymmetrical.”

Dae hums, lips pursed in thought. “I’ll try it. I guess I won’t really know until it’s on someone.”

You nod in agreement before focusing on your designs again. After a while, Dae excuses herself from your homework session. She had planned to meet with one of her helpers. You bid her a quick goodbye.

Ten minutes pass when you see someone standing in front of your table, blocking your sunlight. Your eyes rise to see who it is.

“Hi,” Seungcheol greets.

You straighten your posture upon seeing him. He wears a basic navy suit that fits him well. To your surprise, it actually looks decent on him. Your eyes dart around him to see if any of his friends came.

“Just me this time,” he answers the question in your head.

“What is it you need?” you ask blankly.

“Must I need something?” he retorts.

You suppress the eye roll you want to give him. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t come here to tell me about your day.”

“I can if you want,” he responds, then to your utter dread, he sits down across from you. From the position he is sitting at, the breeze is blowing his hair forward and into his face. He raises a hand to push it back, but it’s no use.

“You can spare me. Tell me what you want and go,” you instruct. This is the first time he has approached you—and alone, for that matter. You don’t want to make it a regular thing.

“Always straight to the point,” he chuckles.

“I just don’t like my time being wasted,” you explain.

“So, I’m wasting your time now?” His eyebrow quirks up.

“Should I spell it out for you?” you scoff. It should be obvious that you don’t feel like talking to him.

“You can try, but do you know how to spell it?” he stares at you through the hair on his face. Even though you can’t see him clearly, you can tell he has a challenging gleam in his eyes.

“At this point, I think you just came to bother me,” you sulk.

He smirks at you. “I didn’t, but it is a little fun to see your feathers ruffled.”

“They’re perfectly content being unruffled.”

Seungcheol chuckles at your response. He pushes his hair back, but this time he rests his hand against his head, keeping his hair in place. His elbow is propped on the table while his other arm lays flat on the surface. 

All the times you have seen him, his hair has covered part of his forehead. Now, it’s all exposed, and you feel you can see him. Maybe it’s because he’s donning a suit for once, but he looks almost… handsome like this—dressed formally with a small glint in his eyes and his lips spread in a gentle smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replies. “I think you need to have more fun.”

Well, he was handsome until he opened his mouth.

“I don’t need a stranger telling me how to live my life,” you say.

“A stranger? I would think we’re at least acquaintances,” he frowns.

“You only see me because your friends are helping me. Speaking of, is that why you’re here? Does it have anything to do with one of them?”

Seungcheol bites his bottom lip, and you can’t stop your eyes from lowering to his mouth.

“Maybe,” he answers slowly. Your eyes snap back to his when he speaks. He gives you a knowing smile that has you shifting in your seat. You had only looked at his lips because he brought attention to them. Nothing more.

“Are we playing twenty questions?” you groan, finally unleashing the eye roll you have been trying not to do.

“We can,” Seungcheol says with a shrug. “You asked three already—more if you start from the time I sat down.”

Exhaling a deep breath, you put your forehead on the hand that’s propped on the table. The conversation is slowly draining your energy. The need to be alone becomes stronger with each second.

“Seungcheol,” you warn. You are not about to play a guessing game with this man. “Please.”

“Oh, so that word is in your vocabulary.”

“Yes. Would you like me to use it in a sentence?” you question, pitch raised as if you’re talking to a toddler. You lift your head to glare at him.

“Sure,” he smirks and leans forward. He still holds his hair back and this time, you can really see the way he is goading you.

“Please fuck off,” you grin widely. Your head tilts to the side as you push your arms together to act overly cute.

“Please make me,” he counters. The smirk he wears is still plastered on his lips.

“If we weren’t in public, I would,” you say, voice returning to normal as you relax your body—the cute act over.

“Oh? How?” he chuckles. From the way he looks at you, you know his mind has gone elsewhere.

You push at the arm that is stretched across the table. “Because I would rather not get caught for murder, you pervert.”

Seungcheol laughs and sits back, letting his hair fall back into his eyes. It’s the first time you notice he has dimples. Your first impression is that they are cute, but you quickly recall who they belonged to and shove that thought from your mind.

“Seokmin wanted to let you know he lost your card,” he finally discloses. “Asked if you could give him another.”

“If he lost a simple card, is he really reliable?” you sigh as you grab another from your purse.

“The good news is those stage lights are so big, he won’t be able to lose those,” he says, taking the card from your hand.

“Thankfully,” you mutter. “I hope you’re better than Seokmin at not losing things.”

“I’ll get this to him, don’t worry,” he replies and puts the card in his suit jacket. You want to ask why he is wearing that, but that will mean you will prolong this conversation. Fortunately for you, he starts to stand up before you succumb to the temptation.

“Thanks for the talk,” he says as if you had a choice. “I’ll see you around.”

You would have doubted that, but you know that won’t be true.

The second time Seungcheol approaches you by himself is a few days later when he catches you exiting a building he is approaching.

“Don’t tell me someone else lost my card as well,” you say after he calls your name. You readjust your bag on your shoulder as you wait for his response.

“About that,” he starts sheepishly.

You put your weight on one hip and cross your arms, and set your mouth in a straight line. You wait for him to tell you who is the perpetrator.

“I may have left your card in my suit jacket when I washed it.”

Well, that explains why you haven’t received a message from Seokmin yet.

“Seriously, Seungcheol?” you exasperate.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” he says, lips pouting and eyebrows angled.

Shaking your head, you retrieve another card. You make a mental note to restock later as you are running out.

Seungcheol reaches out to grab it from you, but you quickly pull back.

“Put this in your bag,” you instruct. 

You slowly give him the card and watch as he slings his bag around to his front. He makes a show of unzipping one of the front pockets and sliding it inside.

“Done,” he says, acting like he should be rewarded for doing as he was told.

“Good. Is that all?” you wonder. You’ve just finished your last class of the day, and all you want to do is climb into bed.

“Yes.”

Seeing no need to continue the conversation, you start walking in the direction of the parking lot.

“Great. Bye, Seungcheol,” you say over your shoulder.

“Hey, wait,” he says quickly, walking briskly to be by your side. “We’re going in the same direction.”

You peer up at him momentarily. “That doesn’t mean we have to walk together.”

“You said before we’re strangers. This would help us not be that anymore,” he shrugs casually.

“I never said I wanted that,” you reply flatly.

“It might benefit us since we’ll have to see each other a lot.”

“Is that so?” you sigh sadly.

Seungcheol smiles at you before shoving his hands in his pockets. “You did ask my friends to help you.”

“Well, if I knew you were a package deal, I wouldn’t have.”

“Come on. I’m not that bad.”

Sighing, you slow your steps to look at him better. He stops next to you, awaiting your response. His gaze is hopeful, but you’re not sure why.

“I’ll agree if you leave me alone,” you finally say.

Seungcheol’s lips dip in a frown. “I’ll get you to admit it one day.”

He starts to walk again before you can reply. Now is your chance to let him get a few feet from you. You have the opportunity to finally end this conversation you’ve been dreading. Though, for some strange reason, your feet quickly move on their own accord.

Seungcheol’s steps are small, and you catch up with him easily. Neither of you says a word, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips.

Instead of parting ways once you reach the parking lot, he follows you to your car. Something about it being dangerous for you to walk to it alone, even though it’s light out.

“Yn?” he says to catch your attention when you open your door. You turn and give a small “hm?” in response.

“My friends and I plan to go to this poetry lounge in two weeks. Would you want to come?” he asks. You aren’t sure why he appears to be anxious.

The shock you feel must be evident on your face because Seungcheol’s apprehensive expression relaxes into a gentle smile.

“Business friends or our ‘mutual ones’?” The idea doesn't sound so bad if you are hanging out with the people who are helping you. Although you have your issues with them, they aren’t that bad to be around if you’re being honest.

“Business.”

That’s not what you want to hear.

“Do your friends know you’re asking me this?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “No, but I don’t need their permission. What do you say?”

You can’t recall being invited to a night out with someone other than Dae. If you were to go out without Dae, it would be with your family or for a class assignment. To be invited to a place by Seungcheol, out of all people, catches you off guard.

Despite having an opportunity for a different change of pace, you answer, “No.”

“No?” he asks, perplexed.

“Your friends don’t like me, Seungcheol,” you explain matter-of-factly through a sigh, leaning against your open door.

“They just like to tease you. I’ll talk to them before,” he explains. 

Tease is a funny way to describe it, you think.

“I don’t need you fighting my battles,” you answer, referring to the latter part of his reply.

“Still. I want you to enjoy yourself. You’ve probably been glued to that project of yours. Step away for a bit,” he reasons.

He isn’t wrong. Your focus has solely been on the project. Of course, you have other classes, but you aren’t putting as much effort into them as you are this one.

“I’ll pick you up and pay for any expenses,” he offers. The more he talks, the more taken aback you are. You figured he’d drop the offer once you rejected him. From every interaction you’ve had with these “friends,” it never ends well. You doubt this will be any different. Regardless, something in you feels a little… honored he is so adamant about getting you to come.

Thus, hesitantly, “Fine.”

Seungcheol’s face breaks out in a grin. “Okay. I can give you my number, so you can text me your address.”

He starts to pull out his phone, but you stop him.

“No need,” you say. At Seungcheol’s confused expression, you continued with a faint smile, “You have my card.”

His mouth opens briefly in realization before the corners are pulled up.

“One step ahead, I see,” he teases, pulling it out to inspect it as if confirming your number is there. You suppose he may think you’re lying to get out of going.

“I’ll text you then,” he concludes and places the card back.

“Alright,” you say, shifting your weight. You aren’t sure if he wants to say anything else. Why are you giving him the time to? You have already given him enough of it.

Sensing your readiness to leave, he waves as he slowly takes steps backward. “Drive safely, Yn.”

“You too, Seungcheol.”

You climb into your car’s seat, turn on the engine, and watch as he makes his way through the maze of cars until he is out of sight.

That Friday comes sooner than you would’ve liked.

Throughout the times you had met with your “friends,” you had bumped into Seungcheol one-third of the time. Sometimes, you were left alone with him again. Each interaction you had with him became easier the more you talked to him. 

Dare you to admit; his presence wasn’t actually teeth-gritting anymore? At least when he was alone, you didn’t have to deal with his business friends. Despite him not usually laughing at their jokes, he never really stepped in to stop them teasing you at first. Maybe only a few times when he felt things got too heated. He wasn’t your best friend, but part of you did hope he would’ve said something. 

Each time he didn’t, you felt your disappointment rise. He apologized on their behalf constantly, but his apology meant nothing when they kept insulting you. However, lately, he has been stepping in sooner. Although you didn’t want him fighting your battles initially, some things you couldn’t do alone. One thing you and his business friends had in common was that no one really knew where the sudden change of attitude came from. For once, you didn’t complain, though.

You’re tempted to cancel this outing, but talking to Seungcheol a few days ago made you realize he was a little more excited than he was letting on. The reason is unknown to you—maybe he really likes poetry lounges—but you’d feel slightly guilty if you ditch last minute.

It’s not like you haven’t been out on a Friday night with people, yet your heart is beating rapidly in your chest. You have changed about six times, exchanging your accessories with each outfit. Normally, you would dress up more, but these aren’t your friends you’re about to hang out with. They are Seungcheol’s—business majors who think skirts more than two inches above the knees mean you’re a slut. Though, you can’t figure out why that matters. You never dress with the thoughts of others. If you want to wear something that day, even if it’s “over-the-top” for some, you wear it. So, why are you in such a fashion dilemma now?

In the end, you settle for a simple, spaghetti-strapped red dress that is slightly bunched on the sides with strings that are tied in bows. You pair it with a small, heart-shaped purse and white heels. There isn’t any bling in your outfit, which is unusual for you. The accessories you wear are minimal and small. They are a matching cherry set you were gifted by your mother on your 12th birthday. Although it’s been years since you received them, they’re still wearable and delicate enough not to call much attention—unlike some of your other accessories. 

You reach for a white fur jacket only to stop when your fingers graze it. Your eyes travel to yourself in the mirror as you debate on wearing it. The jacket will be too much, you conclude.

The buzzing of your phone catches your attention. It’s Seungcheol telling you he’s five minutes away. After stuffing your phone in your purse, you quickly apply red lipstick and toss it in your purse for later touch-ups.

When your phone buzzes again, you hurry to your front door. Your family is home, and you don’t want Seungcheol to meet them. Life at home isn’t ideal, and the only person who has a hint of what is going on is Dae. You doubt Seungcheol will find that out from one quick meeting, but you don’t want to risk it.

You throw your door open, ready to meet him at his car. Instead, he stands in front of you with a hand raised. He takes a step back in surprise. His eyes glide down your body quickly, but you’re too concerned about your family coming to notice.

“Oh, hey,” he greets. “I was just about to knock.”

Before any of your family can intervene, you close the door and start your way down the porch steps. Seungcheol follows you.

“You didn’t have to. I can make my way to your car by myself,” you answer. Although you’ve never been in his car before, you’ve seen it around. Plus, it’s the only unknown vehicle near your home.

You stand next to the passenger door and wait for him to unlock it, arms wrapped around your body when the chilly weather hits you.

“You sure you don’t want a jacket?” he asks when he notices you didn’t bring one.

“It didn’t go with my outfit,” you explain. It’s a lie. The coat did go with your fit, but you didn’t feel like disclosing the fashion crisis you had gone through.

Seungcheol chuckles. “So, you’re going to freeze instead?”

“It’s not that cold,” you lie again.

“It’ll get colder later, though,” he explains and comes closer to you. You step aside when he is a few inches from you. You press your arms tighter around you, eyes averting from his because of his close proximity. The small distance has you wanting to squirm away, but your feet can’t move. He peers at you with a small smile while he reaches behind you.

“My lady,” he murmurs when he pulls the door open and gestures for you to get inside.

“How chivalrous,” you reply after you force your nervousness away. You carefully slide inside his car, situating yourself comfortably in the seat.

Seungcheol waits to ensure you have all your limbs inside before shutting the door. As he walks around to the other side, your eyes scan his car. The seats are leather, and the interior has higher tech than you thought it would. It is a nice car—not overly luxurious, but enough to show it isn’t cheap. It makes you wonder how much it costs.

“You warm enough?” Seungcheol questions after he gets in and buckles.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, hands resting awkwardly in your lap. The heat from the vents aids in your goosebumps disappearing.

Your mind is already wondering what to expect tonight. You know his friends aren’t fond of you. At least most of them. That guy, Vernon, seems nice enough. He is the quiet one in the group; however, you did notice he has his own quirks that make him unique. You foresee yourself hanging out with him most tonight. But even then, you don’t feel too great about going.

The longer you sit in Seungcheol’s car, the more you regret agreeing to this.

He stares at you for a moment; brows knitted together slightly. You feel uncanny acting so meek, and Seungcheol can't help but notice.

Silence consumes the small area for a few seconds until Seungcheol says, “Seatbelt.”

You look at him confused, then realize he is talking to you. Of course he is, who else?

“Right,” you mumble, quickly pulling the belt over your body.

“You don’t have to come, you know?” he says with one hand on the steering wheel while the other is on the gear stick.

You sigh and gesture to the road ahead. “Let’s just get going. I’ve got stuff to do after.”

It isn’t completely a lie. You still have to work on bringing your designs to life for the show, but it isn’t like you are behind schedule that you need to do that tonight. You just know you might actually back out if you ponder on leaving more.

Seungcheol bites his bottom lip, averting his focus to the road. He doesn’t reply and obliges to your request by shifting the car into drive.

During the ride, your gaze drifts to Seungcheol. He is relaxed in his seat. One arm stretches to hold the wheel while his other rests on his thigh. One which is clad in a pair of light-washed jeans with a black belt between the jean loops. He wears a white shirt tucked in and a black jacket.

You peer forward slightly to read what his shirt says. Propriety of Balenciaga? The Balenciaga? You don’t think he’s wealthy enough to afford one of those shirts. Perhaps it was a gift or a knock-off brand? Maybe he thrifted it… Though, Seungcheol doesn’t seem like the thrifting type.

“Do you need this?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. He’s holding his jacket open to show you what he means. You must’ve been staring too much.

“No, I’m okay,” you say and turn your attention away quickly. “I just didn’t realize you wore glasses.”

Although the comment is true, you need something to say before he questions why you truly are staring at him. You had noticed the spectacles earlier but didn’t feel like mentioning them.

Seungcheol laughs lightly, “Actually, I don’t. I just thought I’d try to improve my fashion. What do you say, did it work?”

He glances at you after stopping at a traffic light; his mouth quirks up in a teasing smile. You turn toward him and scan his face quickly. They do look good on him, but you aren’t going to tell him that.

“They certainly did something, but whether that effect is good or bad is a secret,” you reply, looking away again.

“I’ll take that as you not wanting to admit they look nice on me,” Seungcheol says and continues driving at the green light.

“I think they’d look better on someone else,” you answer. Though, you don’t believe what you said. Something about the glasses on him has you wanting to stare at him more. They fit his face well and make him appear more attractive. You don’t want to sit on that thought for much longer.

“Is that so? Here,” he says, pulling them off his face. The glasses come into your view, and you stare at him, puzzled. 

When you don’t take them, he adds, “They won’t bite.”

You roll your eyes at his comment and finally grab them from his grasp. You pull down his sun visor to look at yourself. After sliding on the spectacles, you turn your head from side to side to see the different angles.

“I think I was right. They do look better on someone else,” you tease and face him as you shut the visor. Seungcheol turns to you at your reply.

His eyes wander across your face, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips.

“Maybe I’ll have to agree with you this one time,” he says. His stare lingers on yours so much that it has you shifting in your seat. When you avert your gaze, your eyes widen.

“Cheol!” you shout as he was about to rear-end another car. Instinctively, he shoots an arm out across your chest that has your back pressing firmly against the seat. The sudden act causes you to reach up and grab onto his arm tightly.

The car screeches as it comes to a sudden halt. Luckily in time to not hit the other car.

You both sit still, breathing intensified at the near accident. After a few seconds, Seungcheol retracts his arm. It’s then you realize you’re still holding onto him. Your eyes dart to his forearm and frown when you see small crescent shapes indented in his skin.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

Seungcheol’s focus is ahead of him but glances at you in confusion at your apology. “What?”

You quickly gesture to his forearm. When he sees the marks, he rubs a hand over them absentmindedly. “It’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you reply, heart rate slowing down to normal.

“I’m alright. Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t make you play dress up in the car.”

“No, it was my fault.”

Seungcheol eases on the gas pedal when the light turns green, keeping a safe distance from the car in front. He remains quiet for a while to ensure you are both safe.

“Are you sure you’re okay? First, you apologize, and now something is your fault?” he jokes.

You don’t remember what you said a few minutes ago, so it takes a while for you to comprehend what he is saying. “Shut up,” is all you can respond with in the end.

Seungcheol laughs but doesn’t pester you about it any longer.

“Oh, you can take these back,” you say and tug off the reason for almost hitting another car.

“Thanks,” he mumbles as he slides the glasses back on his face.

You nestle yourself back in the seat again and glance out the window. As the buildings pass, it dawns on you that you’ve never called him Cheol. The thought of using a nickname for him has your body tingle with an unknown feeling. It’s strange. You aren’t the first to call him that, but you aren’t that close to him to start using nicknames. Annoyingly, you spend the remainder of the car ride fretting about how he felt toward you shortening his name. 

Did he even notice? If he did, did he like it? Had you crossed a line?

When he parks, you become acutely aware of everyone’s attire. Many wear jeans or tights with a plain shirt and jacket. A few have on skirts or dresses, but they are more t-shirt dresses or plain skater skirts, if anything. Plus, they are accompanied by tights because of the weather. No one has as much skin showing as you do.

The sinking feeling of not belonging consumes you. You can’t remember the last time you felt this way, and that alone has you questioning yourself even more.

“I’m too dressed for this, aren’t I?” you think out loud.

Seungcheol turns off the car, eyes raking your body again. Though this time, you’re aware of it. You tug down the bottom of your dress at his stare. It’s not like it’s predatory, but it still has your nerves skyrocketing.

“Since when did you care about what others thought of your outfit?” he wonders. The question has you sighing, momentarily closing your eyes as you remind yourself you dress for you, not for others’ approval.

“Right,” you swallow harshly and sling your purse over your shoulder—mentally throwing away the negative thoughts too. “Let’s just go.”

With that, you open his car door and step out.

“Yn wait—” you hear Seungcheol call out right as you shut the door.

Your hair is immediately pushed from your face as the wind blows past. It makes your body shiver, and for a split second, you wish you took up Seungcheol’s offer to grab a jacket when you were at your house.

Seungcheol’s car beeps as it locks before he stands in front of you. His broad body blocks the wind, and you feel your own ease from feeling a tad warmer.

“I’m sorry if that came off rude,” he apologizes softly. “I think you look great.”

You look at him, face void of emotion. You don’t believe him, but you don’t want to argue. At least not standing in this weather. 

“Okay,” you reply. “We need to go meet your friends.”

You take a step forward, thinking it will get him to start walking toward the building, but he doesn’t budge. You only decrease the distance between you two.

“I mean it,” he whispers.

Goosebumps are forming on your exposed skin the longer you stay out. You blame the cold weather for them, but something in your chest tightens at the way Seungcheol is speaking to you.

“I think red is your color,” he pauses. “You should wear it more, Cherry.”

Your head tilts at his last word. “Cherry?”

The corner of his mouth raises at hearing it from your lips. Slowly, he brings a hand to your face. You stand still as you stare at him with wide eyes. His hand brushes past your cheek before he grazes his fingertips along your ear. 

“It suits you,” he murmurs, eyes moving away from yours. 

You follow his gaze and realize he has been looking at your cherry-charmed earrings. His eyes then flicker to the matching cherry-charmed necklace resting below your bare collarbones. You’re not sure if he means the color suits you or if the nickname he just made suits you. Either way, you’re surprised at his words.

Suddenly, the weather doesn't feel as chilly anymore. Your body heats quickly at his comment, or maybe it’s from how close he is to you. Nevertheless, you need to distract yourself from this warm, odd feeling bubbling in your chest.

You clear your throat and step back. His hand lowers steadily.

“I’ll think about it,” you reply more confidently and clearly.

Seungcheol takes the hint and moves aside, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. He nods his head in the direction of the building, and you start walking toward it. Your pace is slightly faster than his, but you don’t mind not walking next to him. If anything, you need distance from him anyway.

The moment you open the door to the lounge, the heat from inside greets you in full force. You step inside and are welcomed by a worker. He is young, maybe a few years younger than you. He gives you a friendly smile.

“Hi, are you wanting to be seated, or are you with a group already?”

“With a group,” you reply. The worker nods.

“Do you need help locating them?”

You shake your head as the jingle of the door opening sounds behind you. Seungcheol stops behind you. His hand comes to hover over your lower back, not really touching you, but close enough to feel the heat radiate from his hand onto your skin. It has you shuffling away.

“They’re over there,” he says. You peer up to see where he is gesturing. Fair enough, you see his friends at a table toward the back of the building. There are five of them, all smiling at each other. You can spot a few familiar faces—one of them being Vernon. You feel a little at ease knowing he made it here.

“Thanks,” you murmur to the worker before making your way to the table. The closer you get to the table, the slower your steps become. You’re used to keeping your chin high in situations you aren’t completely comfortable in. The whole “fake it until you make it” is on repeat in your head.

Yet the saying is not encouraging you much right now.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Seungcheol asks when he catches up to you. You don’t realize you had stopped a few feet from the table.

“No,” you say. You aren’t mad at him; you just need some space from him for now. You don’t like how you aren’t in control of your emotions when you’re around him. “I’m going to freshen up in the bathroom.”

Seungcheol eyes you for a second before nodding. You make your way to the bathroom, but right before you enter, you can hear the welcoming echoes coming from his table of friends. All of them sound cheerful and excited to see him. You don’t expect any of them to look forward to your presence, yet you feel a little disappointed when no one brings up your name—in a positive way.

After using the restroom and washing your hands, you stand in front of the mirror with your hands lingering under the warm water. Your eyes roam your face and body, taking in your appearance. Compared to your normal fashion, you really did dress down. You sigh when you realize you’re circling back to the same issue.

You retract your hands from the faucet and grab a few towels to dry them.

It doesn’t matter if you’re overly dressed. You usually are and don’t care. You look great. You should feel confident in your fit. 

You gently tug the dress down before turning in front of the mirror.

You look fine. You look nice.

As you reapply your lipstick, you keep repeating compliments and reassuring phrases in your head. 

They’re going to look at you funny. You are going to ignore them.

“That’s right,” you sigh to yourself as you toss the lipstick back into your purse. 

Suddenly, your phone starts to vibrate. You pull it out to see Dae’s name appear across the top. You eagerly answer her call.

“Hey babe,” Dae’s voice comes from the other line. “How’s it going?”

“I’m ready to go home,” you say with a small huff.

“Damn, that horrible? Is he treating you badly?” Dae questions. You had told her about Seungcheol’s invitation when you got home that day. She was shocked, but ultimately supportive of you going.

You shake your head despite her not being able to see you. “No, he’s been fine. I just,” you pause. Although you have your ups and downs with Dae, she has stayed with you when no one else has. You don’t disclose your troubles often, wanting people to not see that side of you, but you’re feeling too low that you can’t stop the confession from coming out.

“I’m way overdressed for this place. Everyone’s in jeans or tights. I don’t belong here,” you say.

Dae sighs sadly. “Jeans are boring. I think I only own a pair,” she answers, trying to make you smile. “Just remember, if you were to die right now, would you want your last outfit to be something boring?”

“No,” you answer slowly.

“Exactly. These are people who are used to looking plain. They’re probably jealous you’re outdressing them. Don’t let them get to you, Yn. I’m sure you look beautiful.”

Your shoulders ease at her words. “Thanks, Dae.”

“No need. If they had the talent to dress themselves better, they would.”

You let her words sink in, but the reassurance doesn’t last long.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you say, beginning to pace the small area in the bathroom.

“It’s good for you to be around people from outside our department. It’ll make you more open-minded,” she encourages. “Plus, Seungcheol isn’t as bad as he seemed, huh?”

There is a teasing tone to her voice that you don’t like.

“One outing with him doesn’t mean he’s my friend,” you argue.

Dae giggles. “No, but it’s a start. Do you like him?”

“No!” you answer quickly.

“I was just asking in general. Not ‘like’ as in crushing on him,” she explains nonchalantly, but you can hear her smile.

“He’s,” you pause as you try to think of a word to describe him, “he’s been alright.”

“Well, I better let you get back to him then. I just wanted to check in,” Dae answers.

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” you say.

“Remember, you don’t need their approval. You never have, and you never will. People want the confidence you have.”

“I’m not feeling too confident right now,” you mumble.

“That’s because you’re overthinking. Chin up, okay?”

Sighing, you reply. “Okay.”

“Good. Talk to you later!”

“Yeah,” you say before hanging up.

Taking one last look at yourself, you roll your shoulders back and exit the bathroom.

Seungcheol is sitting in the middle of Hajun and someone you don’t know. His eyes lift to meet yours when he hears the sound of your heels.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks. 

Nodding, your eyes roam for a spot to sit.

“You knew you were just going to a poetry lounge, right? Not the runway,” Hajun comments with a small scoff.

Your eyes move to look at her, and you quirk an eyebrow. She wears leggings with a graphic tee. Her discarded jacket is slung over the back of her chair. “Are you sure you know that, as well? Or did you think you were just going back to your bed?”

“This is how normal people dress,” she replies.

“Relax, Hajun,” a voice you don’t know sounds. You direct your attention to them. 

The guy has black hair that is parted on the side to expose his forehead. His eyes are narrow, and even though he has a soft appearance now, you’re sure his gaze can be fierce when needed. 

“People don’t need to dress up for special occasions,” he says.

You’re taken aback by his comment. Seungcheol’s friends have always questioned your wardrobe, so for this new “friend” to not agree with Hajun is surprising. 

“No, they don’t, but you gotta’ admit she’s a little overdone huh, Soonyoung?” Hajun replies.

“Hajun,” Seungcheol interjects, giving her a pointed look.

“I understand not everyone knows how to dress. It’s okay, though. I can offer my services if you need some help,” you comment, half tempted to reach in your bag to get a business card. Although you aren’t on campus, you never know when you’ll run into someone who will make a good connection, so you keep them with you wherever you go.

“Services?” Hajun laughs and rests her crossed arms on the table. “And what ‘services’ are you offering? Because from the looks of it, I can tell exactly what you offer. Sorry, I’m not interested.”

Her eyes roam your body once more, indicating that the way you are dressed, means your services consist of paying to be with people in bed.

“I don’t think those services would help you anyway. Your rotting attitude is enough to repel anyone. Though I guess some people are willing to lower their standards when they’re desperate,” you counter.

“You’re such a—” she starts.

“Can we talk?” Seungcheol asks Hajun quickly, but he doesn’t give her the option to answer because he takes her hand and pulls her away from the group.

The table is silent for a few seconds before Soonyoung speaks up again.

“Don’t pay any mind to her. It’s nice to meet you. You must be Yn?” He smiles at you, slightly bowing at you.

“Correct,” you say, trying to not show how irritated you feel.

“Come sit,” he offers, pulling up a chair so you’re sat between him and Vernon. You thank him before sitting in the chair. You sit your purse in your lap as conversations begin to spark again.

Their voices become background noise as your gaze drifts to Seungcheol and Hajun in the corner. They stand close to each other and are in a deep conversation—clearly about you. Seungcheol has his back to you, so you can’t see his expression, but you can see Hajun’s. Her lips are in a frown, her expression not as sassy as before. 

Though her pouting seems forced, her bottom lip a little too far stuck out. Soon enough, she rolls her eyes, an expression similar to how it was earlier. Her eyes then move from him to you over his shoulder. When she catches your gaze, she smiles and raises a challenging eyebrow. However, her gaze doesn’t last long because Seungcheol’s hand comes up and guides her eyes back to him. Even though his hand isn’t touching her completely, she leans into his touch. The act has you stilling.

“Yn?” Vernon questions, tearing you from your thoughts. You don’t realize you’re clutching your purse until your focus goes to Vernon. You ease your grip and raise an eyebrow.

“Soonyoung was asking what your major was,” Vernon explains.

“Oh,” you say, glancing around the table. It appears the others are in their own conversation.

You look at the man to your left. He gives you a reassuring smile that tells you he is patient. “I’m studying fashion design. Are you in business, too?”

Soonyoung shakes his head with a laugh. “I could never. I’m a dance major.”

“Wow, that sounds nice,” you say. “Aren’t your career choices limited with that, though?”

“A little,” Soonyoung replies honestly. He doesn’t seem offended by the question. Maybe he gets it a lot. “But it makes me happy. I can always teach or maybe even become a dancer in a well-known group.”

You hum, understanding his words.

“Isn’t fashion design limited, too?” Vernon asks.

“Clothes are everywhere. I can do a lot with it.”

“But not everyone will wear your clothes,” Hana says, having finally heard your discussion.

“There will always be someone,” you argue, confident in your work. It may be a slow start, but you believe in your designs.

She laughs. “Who? Your mother?”

Your eyes narrow at the mention of your mom, and Hana is quick to notice the change in attitude. Instead of letting go of the topic, she continues.

“Ooh, trouble at home? See? I knew the ‘Great Yn’ isn’t as perfect as she seems,” Hana says. What makes her think you are so “great” is unknown to you, but you aren’t surprised to guess people have made up a persona for you. 

“Stop, Hana,” Vernon says, but it has no effect.

“Oh, so we were right?” Hajun’s voice comes from above. You glance up to see she and Seungcheol have returned. It appears their little chat did nothing to keep Hajun from being a bitch.

“Seems so,” Hana says with a smile. “Care to share with the class what kind of mommy issues you have?”

“No wonder she dresses like that,” Doyun, another one of Seungcheol’s alleged friends, adds. “She’s not getting attention at home. I guess Daddy isn’t there either?”

“That’s enough,” Seungcheol scolds them all.

Your eyes are darting from everyone at the table. Their stares are akin to shrink rays, making you feel tiny and minuscule. You know when you aren’t welcomed, and there’s no reason to stay listening to this. You want to snap back, end the conversation with your own last words, but nothing comes to mind.

In lieu, you push your chair back and stand up. Your hands twitch with the temptation to dump their food all over them, but you just want to get out as soon as possible. 

You waste no time careening for the exit. 

Seungcheol calls your name; you ignore it. The worker from before sees you, telling you goodbye, but you couldn't care less and push past the door before he can finish his sentence.

Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sudden breeze that slams into you. Instantly, your arms wrap around you once more. You glance around and see a bus stop down the street. You don’t care that it’s the other way from Seungcheol’s car. You hurry to the station, not sure when the next bus will come.

The bus stop isn’t deserted despite the cold weather. The area must be busy all the time since the sidewalks are littered with more people than you expect. All the seats at the stop are taken, yet you still shuffle under the shelter in hopes to get away from some of the breeze.

You are shaking, and your teeth are chattering. It’s impossible to force your body to stop since you need to generate heat somehow. You probably look like a pathetic naked chihuahua in winter.

You take out your phone, open up a browser, and search for bus times. Thankfully, there’s one coming in three minutes in the direction you need. The thought of taking the bus is not pleasurable. You hate the idea of your skin touching something so many others have touched. It feels unsanitary.

Accidentally leaning back against the wall while you silently groan has you jumping at the cold material touching your bare skin. Your jolt catches the attention of an older woman who is sitting near you.

“Aren’t you freezing, child?” she asks as she stares at your attire—or lack of. 

“I’ll be fine soon,” you say, not really in the mood for talking.

“Where is your coat? Did you not know the weather was going to be cold?” she continues.

Utterly done with all the people-talk tonight, you hiss, “Focus on yourself. I’ll focus on me.”

She seems startled at your outburst. Her already crossed arms tighten as she turns away from you. Her muttered “bitch” doesn’t go unnoticed, but you don’t say anything about it. There’s no point in arguing with a stranger.

The sound of the bus calls your attention, and you mentally thank the universe for the great timing. After people leave and all the new patrons enter, you finally take a step up the bus’ steps. Before you can climb all the way, you hear your name being called. You look past the bus doors to see Seungcheol running toward you.

Just what you need.

You disregard him and step farther up the steps of the bus.

The bus driver looks expectantly at you, and it dawns on you that you need to provide payment before you can board fully.

“Card?” you wonder. The bus driver nods and gestures to a device to the right.

As you unzip your purse, you feel a hand grip your arm.

“Where are you going?” Seungcheol asks, slightly breathless. His hair is disheveled from running, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Home, idiot,” you huff and pull your arm out of his grasp so you can retrieve your card.

“Just come with me. We can talk somewhere else,” he pleads, a hand stopping your movements again.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Seungcheol,” you hiss. “Now, let go of me.”

He hesitates but slowly releases your arm. He doesn’t leave, though. “I’ll take you home. You don’t need to take the bus. Come on.”

“Go with him or get on! We have places to be,” a passenger exclaims, clearly annoyed with your drama.

You raise your head to the person, narrowing your eyes in a glare that tells them to pipe down. It has no effect on them. They shoot a fierce look back.

“I know you don’t want to take the bus,” Seungcheol comments quietly.

He’s right. Not only do you not want to sit next to a lady whose arms are filled with shopping bags—the only available seat—you really don’t want to add time to your trip home.

Seungcheol reaches out again and carefully takes your hand in his. This time, you don’t fight him as he guides you off the bus. Once you’re both off, the bus doors shut and begin its trip down the road.

You watch it silently, not knowing Seungcheol is discarding his jacket until you feel the warm material cover your shoulders. Your eyes snap back to him as if remembering who you’re with.

“I’m sorry they said all that stuff. I told them not to do that tonight,” he says remorsefully.

“Oh, so you’ll let them talk shit about me another day?” you chide and start walking away from him. Thankfully for Seungcheol, it’s in the direction of his car.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he replies as he hurries to catch up, which doesn’t take much effort as you aren’t walking too fast due to your cold, stiff legs.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll do that whenever they want to. They wouldn’t be the first,” you scoff.

“It doesn’t make it right regardless,” he says. You halt in your steps, causing Seungcheol to stop and turn to look at you.

“I talk shit about people behind their backs, too. Does that make me a bad person?” you question. Perhaps if he sees you as one he’ll leave you alone.

He exhales a deep breath. “Let’s just get in the car, okay?”

“You can admit it,” you challenge and walk closer to him. “Does talking shit about someone make me a bad person, Seungcheol?”

He stares down at you, soft gaze turning dark with annoyance.

“To the car, Yn,” he demands slowly just in case you won’t understand; his tone is sharp in a way you haven’t heard before. You don’t let that scare you away. Maybe if you weren’t so fired up, you would have been a little intimidated.

You laugh darkly and roll your eyes at his command. “You want me to sit next? Bark, too?”

“Now, you’re just being dramatic.”

Dramatic, he says.

“Woof?” you reply, dramatically giving him the best puppy-dog eyes you can muster.

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches at your response—not pleased with your sarcasm. However, instead of replying in an annoyed tone, he takes a step forward. His head draws closer to your face to ensure your eyes are glued to his.

“Wanna be a good girl and go to the car, Cherry?” he murmurs lowly, an eyebrow quirking up for a second.

His sudden change in tone has you stiffening. You want to bite back—figuratively or literately… you aren’t sure yet—but you can’t even remember what you are mad about in the first place.

“Hm?” he croons when you don't reply quickly.

Rather than a sarcastic reply, you simply grumble, “whatever,” before pushing past him to get to his car.

You stand next to the passenger side like before, waiting for him to unlock it. Seungcheol comes beside you and swiftly unlocks the vehicle. Although you aren’t arguing at the moment, you can sense some irritation lingering from him.

You get the feeling he'll always hold the door open no matter how annoyed he is with you.

You feel suffocated.

The air in the car is too hot. The weight of his jacket has you overheating. The tension is unbearable.

Seungcheol keeps his eyes on the road, not throwing you a single glance as he drives. Every once in a while he will tighten his hold on the steering wheel. One time you even catch the way his muscles flex at the motion—now exposed from not wearing his jacket. You never realized how fit he is. This isn’t the first time you have seen him sleeveless, but you just never stared long enough to notice. Or if you did, you simply didn’t care. Regardless, you notice now, and you have to force your eyes away before he catches you staring.

You want to ask for music so you don’t have to sit in this insufferable silence, but your mouth feels dry. You decide to just deal with the quietness, shifting in the seat so you’re facing the window more. Your eyes drift close as you let the hum of the car distract you. 

Seungcheol’s jacket is snuggled around you, and his woodsy cologne fills your senses. It’s pleasant, and you don’t mind if you smell more of it in the future.

By the time you arrive home, you are on the verge of sleep. You stumble out of the car and shut the door without saying a word to Seungcheol. You expect him to drive off, but the sound of his tires moving never comes. Instead, you hear his car door opening and closing.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door,” you say while you glance behind you. Seungcheol is following you languidly.

“No, I don’t,” he says and pauses at the bottom of your porch steps. He places a foot on the first step while a hand holds onto the rail. You have your keys out, ready to slide them into the keyhole when you speak.

“Then don’t,” you reply sternly.

He chuckles lowly but doesn’t say anything about it.

“You can go now,” you say when he doesn't move.

“You have something of mine.”

Puzzled, you stare at him for a second. Seungcheol gestures to your body, and you quickly remember you’re wearing his jacket. You tug it off and toss it to him. He grabs it from the air with ease. The loss of heat makes you wish he didn’t say anything.

“Goodnight, Cherry,” he murmurs as soon as you click open your door. You step inside before turning to face him.

The nickname you used earlier forms on your tongue, yet you can’t find the courage to say it consciously.

“Night,” you answer, then shut the door before either of you can say anything else.

With your head bowed, you turn the lock slowly while you exhale deeply. His nickname falls from your lips under your breath—unable to keep the desire at bay.

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

A/N: Can't believe the first chapter is actually published 😭 I sat and stared at this for a few before hitting "post" because I'm so anxious! dfl;kbjdvs. Please feel free to share your thoughts on it so far!

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

taglist: @iammisstora, @christinewithluv, @lithelust, @musingsofananxiouspotato, @yoozuku, @lockburn-castle, @mystikhal-blog, @oncloudvii23 (couldn't tag :c), @cheolcherries (tysm!!!)

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[forest-hashira]

Noble Blood - Chapter Six

hello everyone! i think this is officially the longest it's been between updates of this fic, but this chapter made me want to put my head through a brick wall until about three days ago, so. you know. i had to step back from it several times so i didn't completely lose my mind. that being said, @mitsuristoleme (kay) definitely saved the fic from dying right here and never moving forward so give him a big hug and a kiss she deserves it & i love them sm. after this chapter and the next more plot things will happen! hopefully...... anyways, please enjoy this chapter!

fic masterlist here | read on ao3 here | wc: ~3.8k | cw: gn reader, sort of discussion of injuries (reader has a concussion), satoru being a drama queen, bonding time with the boys

“When are they gonna wake up?”

“Soon, hopefully, but it looked like they hit their head pretty hard. No, don’t shake them—“

Noise filtered through your hazy mind as you came to, though it was difficult to tell who or what it was. The voices grating against your skull, making your head throb sounded vaguely familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint why.

“Hey, wake up!”

Satoru, you realized, the confusion from earlier dissipating as you registered your friend's worried tone.

“You’re starting to freak me out, wake up already,” he whined insistently, followed quickly by a hand on your shoulder, shaking you a bit. 

The groan that escaped you was totally involuntary, and the hand on your shoulder tightened its grip slightly. 

“I told you not to shake them—“

“But it worked! I think?”

There was a few moments of silence then, and you realized, rather belatedly, that your friend and whoever he was bickering with were likely staring at you. With no small amount of effort, you forced your eyes open, though you immediately closed them with another groan, the lights in the room too much for you to handle. 

“What’s wrong?” the less familiar voice asked, and your brain was too jostled to figure out where you’d heard it before. 

“Please don’t fall asleep again.”

“Satoru-san,” the other voice chastised.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to stop using honorifics with me, Suguru. We’re the same age!”

Suguru. Now you remembered; you had snuck into the Gojo estate to meet the newest arrival in the settlement, and had fallen off the wall in the process. 

“Too loud…” you protested, cutting off any further argument between the two boys.

“Sorry,” they apologized in unison, and you couldn’t fully appreciate the fact that Satoru had just apologized to you because of how much your head still swam.

“Where are we?” you asked; you hadn’t caught a glimpse of anything familiar in the brief second your eyes had been open. 

“The infirmary,” Satoru answered. “Suguru carried you here after you hit your head.”

“Thank you.” You tilted your head slightly in the direction you thought the other boy’s voice had come from. 

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly. “How do you feel?” 

“Eyes hurt,” you huffed. “My whole head hurts, really.”

“The healer said she’d be back soon with something for the pain,” Suguru told you, and you appreciated that, despite the fact that he had only just met you by watching you topple off a wall, he was trying to make you feel better. 

You gave a soft hum in response, not knowing what else to say. 

Almost at the same time, you heard a soft, familiar little chirping noise, and a couple seconds later two small, cold feet touched your forearm. They paused when you let out a soft hiss, but when you didn’t try to shake them off, they continued up your arm, quickly joined by two more. A nose brushed against your cheek briefly, and shortly thereafter a cold weight settled itself over your closed eyes; you were surprised to find it actually felt nice against your skin. 

“Thanks, Kenji,” you murmured, reaching up towards where you assumed the dragon’s face was, and you smiled slightly when he nipped lightly at your fingers, careful not to break the skin. 

“…How did he know that would work?” Suguru asked, seeming rather impressed by the dragon’s actions. 

“I get headaches sometimes,” Satoru answered simply. “It helps me when he does that, so he probably thought it would help them, too.”

“Feels really nice,” you confirmed, finding you were able to relax a bit, now that there was something combating the pain behind your eyes. 

There was a knock on the door, then, announcing the arrival of another person – the healer, you assumed. “I’m back,” a soft voice called, stepping into the room. The footsteps that crossed the room were equally soft , and when the woman spoke a second time, her voice sounded much closer. “Can you sit up at all?” she inquired. “I have something you can take for the pain I’m sure you’re feeling right now, but you’ll need to sit up to swallow it.”

With some help from the boys, you were able to push yourself into a sitting position, which Kenji accommodated by draping himself across your shoulders. You forced your eyes open again, but only to a squint; just enough to see the cup you were being handed so you could lift it to your mouth. 

“It’s going to taste unpleasant,” the healer warned, “but you need to drink all of it.”

With a slight nod, you did as you were told, pressing the cup to your lips and taking a big gulp. You nearly gagged at the taste, but you managed to swallow, then down the rest of… whatever it was that you’d been given. 

“That was disgusting,” you croaked, handing the cup back to the healer and wiping your mouth with the back of your other hand. You moved to lay back down, eager to close your eyes and have Kenji act as a cold compress again, when the healer spoke to you once more.

“You might have a concussion,” she said, “so you really need to stay awake.”

“For how long?” you asked; it was the middle of the night, and you were tired, so being told you couldn’t sleep was the worst thing in the world to you at that moment. 

“All night, if you can make it that long.”

“All night?” you echoed, then groaned, both at the idea of having to stay up for so long, and at the additional pain that flared in your skull from the outburst.

“We’ll stay up with you,” Satoru promised, already settling himself beside you on the bed you’d been laid out on while you were unconscious.

The healer seemed to hesitate another moment, but she apparently knew better than to try and argue with the Gojo heir, so she gave a small bow before leaving the room. 

“Help me lay back down,” you said, once the door to the infirmary was closed once again. Your friend easily complied, helping you settle back down and allowing Kenji to drape himself over your eyes just like before. A small sigh of relief slipped from your lips as the dragon shielded your eyes from the lights once more. “Thanks, Kenji…” you murmured. He flicked his tail lightly against your ear in response.

“You don’t have to stand there, y’know,” Satoru said, clearly talking to Suguru, who still stood beside your bed. 

“...Are you saying I should leave?” Suguru’s response was obviously confused, and had a slight undertone of hurt.

“No, dummy,” you could practically hear Satoru rolling his eyes at the other boy. “I meant you can sit with us.”

It was silent for a moment; you could feel him hesitating, so you offered up a small smile. “I don’t mind,” you assured him. “Besides, I can feel you staring at me while you stand there. It’s weird.” You patted the empty space on your left to emphasize your point, which finally seemed to do the trick. 

There was a few moments of shuffling as Suguru settled himself on the bed next to you, though you could feel that he was sitting up straighter than Satoru was, fully relaxed at your right side. 

“No need to be so tense,” you tried to soothe, hoping you hadn’t made him uncomfortable by insisting he join the pair of you on the bed. 

“You’re not going to get in trouble for not minding your manners every waking second, Suguru,” Satoru added. “I certainly don’t.”

“Yes, but this is your family’s home,” Suguru replied, his voice somewhat pinched. “I’m… I’m just a guest.”

That descriptor didn’t quite feel fitting for the boy at your side, given the reason he arrived in the settlement in the first place, but you didn’t say anything about it. You decided not to push him any further about the way he chose to sit, but before you could think of anything else to say, the sound of snuffling and the feeling of alternating breaths hit your ear, and you flinched slightly at the proximity. 

“Sorry,” Suguru apologized, and there was a soft, confused little chirp as the dragon was pulled away from your ear.

“What’s your dragon’s name?” you asked, realizing you hadn’t heard him say it at all.

“His name is Niji.”

“But he’s black,” Satoru replied; the words quickly earned him a swat to the gut from you. “Hey!”

“I like that name,” you told Suguru, able to feel the way he had tensed slightly at your friend’s words. “Did you choose it for a reason? It’s okay if you think it’s a stupid reason, Toru’s reason for picking ‘Kenji’ as a name is pretty stupid.” The dragon squirmed a bit, made a sound of displeasure. “Kenji is a very nice name,” you quickly added, reaching up and lightly stroking your fingertip along his horns until he settled again.

“My reason is not stupid,” Satoru insisted. “Kenji and I are going to be the strongest dragon and rider pair ever.”

“If you say so,” you agreed, mostly trying to get him to let it go and give Suguru a chance to speak.

“I’ve always loved rainbows,” Suguru explained,a hint of nervousness in his voice, as if he were expecting to be made fun of. “My mother told me they were good luck, and when I was little, my father would carry me around our hometown to help me find the ends of them. I mean… I never did find the end, of course, but…” he trailed off then, and you waited a few moments to see if he would speak again. When he didn’t, you decided to ask another question.

“What’s your home like?” you asked curiously. “I’ve never left the settlement, I want to know what other places are like.”

“It’s not as big as the city here, so everybody pretty much knows everybody.”

“That sounds nice,” you said.

“That sounds boring,” Satoru disagreed. You ignored him.

“It is nice, most of the time, but it means gossip goes around fast. You can’t keep anything secret at home.” Suguru sighed then, sounding both wistful and frustrated. “That’s how word got out about Niji so quickly, I guess.”

“When did you bond with him?”

“Just a few days after my birthday, on New Year’s Day.”

You were silent for a long moment then, and you felt Satoru still beside you, as well; it had been less than two weeks since the new year had started.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru murmured after a few moments, surprising both you and Suguru.

“Why are you sorry?” the dark haired boy asked, genuinely sounding confused.

“Because my parents are the reason you had to leave your home. That’s not fair.”

“...No, it’s not,” Suguru agreed quietly. “But it’s not your fault, Satoru. You didn’t make them bring me here.”

“I guess not,” your white haired friend agreed. “I’m still sorry it happened, though.” 

You slipped your hand into his, then, giving it a gentle squeeze; you were more than a little impressed by his manners, since he tended to be more self-centered, whether he meant to be or not. He squeezed back lightly, then asked a question of his own.

“What do you guys do over there for new years, anyway? How do you celebrate?”

“Oh, uh… sometimes we have sparklers, and usually people make orange cakes. There’s an old man who spends days every year making enough origami animals for all the kids to have a few each. The adults usually exchange good luck charms.”

“What kind of origami animals?” you asked; Utahime’s mother had tried to teach your class origami the year before, but you hadn’t ever gotten the hang of it.

“Cranes, mostly,” Suguru answered, that note of wistfulness returning to his voice, “and swans, for the younger kids. But sometimes he makes really fancy ones. Last year a girl in my class got a unicorn. He let me sit and watch him make a dragon this year.”

“Did he use black paper?” Satoru asked curiously.

“No, actually. He used white paper. He was convinced you and I were destined to meet each other some day.” Suguru seemed to grow a bit bashful then, and you guessed that, had you been able to see him, his face would be dusted with blush.

“I bet he didn’t think we’d meet this soon.”

“Did you get to keep the dragon? The origami one, I mean.” You supposed that maybe it didn’t matter in the long run whether Suguru got to keep the paper dragon, since he was now living in the same house with Satoru and Kenji, but you were eager to know.

“Yeah, he did.”

“Did you bring it with you?”

“No. I left it in my room at home. I knew I was being brought here to meet the real white dragon, so I didn’t see the point.”

You could hear the soft shuffle of fabric, then a small, pleased sound from Kenji right by your ear, so you guessed that Suguru was giving him a bit of attention. 

“How do you celebrate new years here?”

“We have a big festival every year!” Satoru answered eagerly, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “There’s games, and food, and at the end of the night there’s a fireworks show!”

“Games?” The other boy seemed intrigued, and you smiled.

“Yeah! There’s a bunch, but we always spend our time at the ring toss booth. It has the best prizes,” you told him.

“The four of us do make a pretty good team,” Satoru bragged.

“The four of you?”

“Oh, right! You haven’t gotten to meet anyone else yet,” Satoru said, though he in no way sounded embarrassed or bashful at all for having forgotten that Suguru had been pretty much confined to the Gojo estate since his arrival.

You pinched his leg; he yelped in protest.

“He’s talking about our other friends. Technically there are six of us in the group, but only Shoko and Utahime have ever played the ring toss game with us,” you explained.

“So… who are your other two friends?”

You couldn’t tell if he was curious or uneasy, but you pushed on anyway, not wanting the conversation to come to an awkward stand still. “Kento and his little sister Kokoro.”

“Their parents run the bakery,” Satoru cut in, “they make the best chocolate chip cookies ever.” You could practically hear him drooling over the thought of those cookies, which made you giggle quietly, before wincing at the way it made your head throb.

“Why don’t they play the ring toss game with you at the festival? Are they not allowed to go, or something?”

“They help their parents with their stall at the festival, they sell cookies and other desserts during the night.” 

“Ah,” Suguru said, and you could feel the way he relaxed beside you a bit more, no longer sitting up so stiffly. “How old is everybody? You said Kento has a little sister.”

“I’m the oldest.” The smug declaration from the white haired boy earned him another pinch from you, and he yelped again. “Stop that! All I’m doing is stating facts!”

“Stating facts like a menace,” you corrected, and though you couldn’t see him, you knew your friend was sticking his tongue out at you.

“How do you even know what that word means?”

“Because I read.”

“I read too!” 

The sound of quiet, stifled laughter from your left kept the argument from escalating any further, and Satoru sighed as melodramatically as he possibly could before flopping back onto the mattress beside you.

“Satoru is the oldest,” you confirmed, turning your head slightly back in Suguru’s direction. “But not by a lot. Shoko, Utahime, and I are all in the same year of school as him. And you, too, I guess.”

“I see. And the other two?”

“I am a year older than Nanamin,” Satoru grumbled, though he jerked so hard to avoid a pinch from you that never came that he wound up throwing himself onto the floor. The startled oof! that escaped him as he hit the floor had you and Suguru laughing again, and you were relieved that it didn’t hurt as much as before.

“That wasn’t funny,” he insisted, picking himself up off the floor. “If you’re going to be mean and keep making fun of me, I’m going to leave you here and go back to bed.”

“Then I’ll just have to keep talking to Suguru, I guess. Maybe he’ll be my new best friend in the morning.”

The beats of silence that stretched between you were full of the nearly tangible offense Satoru felt at your words. Just as you began to wonder if maybe you’d been too harsh, to think that you should take the words back and apologize, you heard your friend mutter something under his breath about not being replaced, then felt him climb back into the bed beside you, though he made much more of a point to invade your personal space than he had before.

Letting out a soft sigh, you leaned your head lightly against Satoru’s in silent apology. “Kento’s a year below us in school, and Kokoro is two years younger than him.”

Suguru hummed softly after you finished speaking, though he remained quiet, as if he were processing everything you’d told him.

“I’m sure you’ll get to meet everyone else soon,” you offered, hoping it sounded as encouraging as you intended it to. “Right, Toru?”

“Yeah,” Satoru agreed half-heartedly, then perked up a bit as he realized something. “Hey! Suguru, now that you’re here, there’s another boy in the group who isn’t a stick in the mud!”

“Huh?”

“Kento is very serious for his age,” you said.

“Yeah, serious and boring. We’re still just kids, I don’t know why he has to try and act like a grown up all the time.”

“Is he the only one of you guys that has any siblings?” Suguru asked curiously.

“Yes.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“He probably has more that he’s responsible for at home, since he’s the oldest.”

“...Oh. I didn’t think about it like that,” Satoru admitted sheepishly. 

Not wanting an uncomfortable silence to sour the mood, you blurted out the first question you could think of. “What’s your favorite dessert?”

“Me?” Satoru asked, clearly confused. 

“No, I know what yours is already, I was asking—”

“What is it, then?” your friend cut you off. 

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let you move on until you answered him. “It’s those fancy imported kikufuku you sneak in the middle of the night so your parents won’t stop you.”

“No it’s not,” he replied, sounding disappointed that you had gotten the answer wrong.

“What? Since when?” you asked, shifting Kenji slightly so you could actually look up at Satoru. “You have to tell me these things, I’m your best friend! When did the kikufuku stop being your favorite? What’s your favorite now?”

Satoru wouldn’t meet your gaze as you looked up at him, and even in the low light of the room, you could see the blush that burned high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he hesitated. “My favorite now is chocolate chip cookies. Has been since you got them for my eighth birthday,” he murmured, only just loud enough for you to hear.

You froze then, eyes wide as you stared up at him, and you could feel your own face heating up at his words. “Oh, uh…” you started, then trailed off, not knowing what to say to that; it had never occurred to you that the cookies you had gifted him over a year ago had been that important to him.

Satoru nodded stiffly, awkwardly, and, apparently no longer wanting to be the center of attention for once, he cleared his throat and looked over your head at Suguru. “They were trying to ask you the question, before I interrupted. Sorry.”

Equally ready to move past the awkwardness, you turned to look over at the dark haired boy, gently pushing Kenji off of your eyes, letting him curl up on top of your head, instead, even though he was most likely going to make a complete disaster out of your hair. 

To his credit, Suguru looked like he had been trying to give you and Satoru as much privacy as he could, given that all three of you were sitting in the same bed, and he only looked up from where he had focused on Niji in his lap when he was spoken to directly. 

“Hm?” he hummed, then seemed to remember what the initial question had been. “Oh, uh, well… I don’t really like sweets all that much.”

“What?” Satoru exclaimed, looking the most baffled and offended you’d ever seen him, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “What do you mean you don’t like sweets?”

“I just… don’t?” Suguru said, shrugging slightly with a little blush now dusting his own cheeks. “I’ve always preferred salty foods, I guess.”

Looking as if he might faint, Satoru dropped his head to your shoulder, letting out a very dramatic, “He doesn’t even like sweets…”

“Nanami-san sells cookies made with almonds at the bakery sometimes, they’re not as sweet as the stuff Toru likes,” you said, reaching up to gently pat your friend’s cheek as you looked over at Suguru. “Maybe next time they make some I can get one for you.”

The blush on the dark haired boy’s face deepened a few shades. “You don’t have to do that,” he said, looking almost uncomfortable at being under the full force of your attention.

“Hey,” Satoru grumbled in protest, bumping his head lightly against yours. “You can’t get him cookies and not get your best friend cookies, too.”

You just rolled your eyes at him. “Well,” you said, turning back to Suguru once again, “if you don’t like sweets, what kinds of food do you like?”

And so went the rest of the evening, the three of you jumping from topic to topic, Suguru occasionally having to jump in and break apart you and Satoru bickering over silly things, and you having to do the same with the two of them on a couple of occasions. Any time it looked like you were falling asleep, one of the boys would gently nudge you and start asking you questions until they were satisfied that you really weren’t going to fall asleep on them. 

Eventually, though, the late – or was it early? You weren’t sure – won out against all three of you, and you fell asleep half curled on top of each other, soft smiles on all of your tired faces, with Kenji sprawled out in your hair and Niji curled comfortably in your lap.

i gave myself cute aggression writing the exchange abt chocolate chip cookies so i hope you guys found that as adorable as i did (i need to squish baby satoru sooooo bad it's not even funny). also, for full transparency, i'm not sure when i'll be updating this again. my birthday is on friday, my brother & i are celebrating next tuesday, & i have a couple demon slay one shot fics i want to write, which means i need to pick up my kny rewatch asap so i can actually write the characters,,,,,, in character. lol. take care of yourselves in the meantime!!!

taglist: @ghost-1-y @kentohours @whatthefucksatan @why-the-fuck-am-i-so-tired @mitsuristoleme @lu-dao-writes @peachdues @lik0 @deepestartisanhumanoidshark @here-for-the-tea-baby @staryukis @roselleviennesstuff @witchbybirth @marinnnnnnnnn if your url is crossed out, it's because tumblr won't let me tag you for whatever reason. i apologize! & if you want to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply to the post/put it in the tags of your reblog!

[velvethopewrites]

The sob story with this is that I wrote this yesterday and it got deleted before I could save it. I wanted to die cry, basically. Somehow I managed to re-create most of it, after working on it all damn day. (I basically ended up writing over 6,000+ words in one day. Yowza) I still feel as though the first version was better, but…no one knows that but me, I suppose. (And my partner, who got to read it right before the horrors happened). Regardless, I am proud of this and proud of myself for not giving up when it really would have been easy to. So huzzah to the fickle hand of fate and all that stuff.

For Suptober 2023 prompt “starlight”

I tag @fellshish and @canonblastedships and @clarkenting for being super cool reblog buddies, lol (which is just a thing I made up) This is the longest destiel fic I’ve written yet and it will be my first official AO3 destiel! (As soon as I remember how to do that, oy)

Edited: Now with Spiffy AO3 Link! Here!

The Starlight

There were three types of people that visited the Starlight Lounge — drunks, people desperate to score, and the employees that made their bread and butter trying to tame the other two.

Dean Winchester, unfortunately, was a member of that third group. Oh, sure, Dean had been known to put away a fair bunch of liquor in his day, and sure, Dean had definitely been known to do the Bedroom Rodeo whenever the opportunity presented itself. Hell, back when he’d first started at the Starlight he’d often been three types at once. Work, drink, get laid. Sometimes, not even in that order.

But that was past Dean. Current and newly mature Dean (hah) just wanted to work, go home, eat and fall into his bed. Working at the Starlight wasn’t that bad – it had fairly decent pay and it was often interesting. And like everyone else, Dean had bills to pay and he gave more than his fair share to Sammy. Not that Sam really needed it anymore; he was busy working as a law clerk downtown, putting himself through school. But still, Dean wanted to help as much as he could and besides it was his brotherly duty. Heh. Duty.

Tonight, due to the cold and rainy weather, the bar was fairly empty and business had been slow. There was only one of his regulars, a writer by the name of Chuck crying into his notebooks at the back of the bar. To be honest, Dean had never seen Chuck write a damn thing but the man sure could put scotch away like a pro.  There was also a young couple making out in one of the booths near the restrooms. He’d been keeping an eye on them most of the night, actually, making sure no one lost any clothing. The Starlight didn’t need a public indecency charge on the books. At least, not so soon since the last one, at any rate. 

Dean yawned and finished cleaning up the bar, hoping Chuck and the couple on their way to Soft-Porn Town would soon be leaving. Maybe Dean could even push them on their way a bit early, so he could get home at a decent time, for once.  As he walked over towards Chuck to perhaps lightly suggest the writer hit the road, the double doors of the bar blew open – bringing in the rain, the cold rush of the wind and a new customer in a beige trench coat with seriously fucked up hair. Great.

Dean sighed and turned back around as the new guy slumped onto the first stool at the bar. His dark brown, messed up hair looked even worse up close, and he had a scowl on his face as he glared down at the bar in front of him.

“Whiskey. Neat,” Messy-Hair said, voice low and very rumbly.

Dean pulled down a clean glass and poured some of their nicer whiskey into it. Dude looks like he could afford it, at any rate. He had a nice suit on under the coat, now that Dean could properly see it and his watch was one of those big clunky things that could probably tell the time on Jupiter or some shit like that. The man’s hand reaches for the glass before Dean has barely pushed it forward. He throws back the drink in record time and hits the bar with it so that it makes a loud thunk.

“Another one.”

Dean shrugged as the man kept glaring down at the bar as though it contained all the answers to life and everything else; Dean knew for a fact that it didn’t. It didn’t even have a ‘42’ scratched into it or anything. (RIP Douglas Adams)

This time the man just wraps his hand around the glass, his fingers clutching at it and woah, Dean thinks, dude’s got some huge fucking hands. They’re big and they’re strong looking. The fingers are nice and long and graceful and oh, oh, oh. Maybe it’s a kink, or maybe it’s a preference, but Dean loves hands. Manly looking mitts like Messy-Hair here and even smaller, more delicate hands like on most women, with pretty nail colors. But Dean’s not choosy.

He sees motion out of the corner of his eye and notices Chuck signaling that he’d like to pay up. Glancing at Messy-Hair he figures he has a few minutes before having to pour him another so he sets the bottle down and heads over to the other side.

“All right there, Chuck?”

“Yeah, yeah, thank you, Dean.”

The older man is flipping through his wallet and counting out his cash slowly. Dean wipes the bar and puts Chuck’s last glass into the bucket for later cleaning.

“Write anything tonight?” Dean always asks this question. It’s like a little game he and Chuck play because it always has the same answer.

“No,” Chuck says looking up at him. He places his finger to his temple solemnly, almost like he’s holding a gun. “But I did a lot of work up here.”

He always gives Dean this look as though Dean should know exactly what he’s talking about. But, of course, Dean never does. He likes to read but he sure as hell would never attempt to write. Personally, he thinks Chuck is sort of crazy, but hey, to each their own, right?

Chuck pushes his notebooks into his old canvas bag on the bar. It’s bulging with everything he carries with him and looks fit to burst. Dean supposes that writer’s block is heavy business.

Chucks nods goodnight as he slips his bag over his shoulders, buckling a bit under the weight. Dean watches as he wobbles away and he’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the bag. He’d normally be worried (hey, no bar can stay in business if all its clientele got themselves killed), but he knows Chuck lives nearby. He’ll be all right and probably in his same spot tomorrow evening. He puts Chuck’s money into the till and realizes he tipped Dean more than usual. He really did have had a good night, then.

He notices the couple trying to break the world record for smooches in a single night are getting up and putting on their jackets. Maybe Dean can get out early; he’s got the DVR set for Dr Sexy already, but he wouldn’t say no to catching it live for once.

Glancing over he sees Messy-Hair is now resting his head on the bar, but he lifts it as the doors bang shut behind Chuck, the cold burst of wind making his hair looking even more disheveled. Dean heads back over to see if he needs a refill and is suddenly struck dumb by the other man finally looking at him. Holy Mother of Blue, those are some eyes. The dude is handsome. Like old-time movie handsome. Strong jaw, with a smattering of scruff, pink soft lips and eyes that look like they can see into your soul, no, scratch that, not see, but pierce. Dean swallows roughly and picks up the whiskey bottle. 

“Hey, uh, it’s getting late. One more for the road?” Dean assumes the dude doesn’t know the Starlight is technically open until midnight. Assumes, hah. More like prays.

Blue-Eyes stares at him and frowns. “I thought this establishment closed at midnight.”

“Er, yeah. I suppose it does.”

“Then I’ll take another,” Blue-Eyes pauses and holds out his glass. “And keep them coming for the next forty-five minutes, barkeep.”

Dean blinks at the old-fashioned word and pours another round. They stare at each other until he hears a giggle and a clearing of a throat. He looks over to see the couple and wonders how long they’ve been waiting. Judging from the churlish look on the guy’s face and the barely contained laughter emanating from the girl, it’s been awhile. He settles their tab and takes their money (lousy tip, of course) as the two saunter past Blue-Eyes and escape out into the night. Well, at least Dean can see it’s stopped raining.

Making up his mind, he follows them from behind the bar and locks the door after them. He flips off the sign, too. He may be stuck here with Blue-Eyes, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let someone else come meandering in to make him get home even later.

He comes back to stand in front of his customer and makes a decision. Pulling down another glass, he pours some of the whiskey into it and sighs as the warmth of it hits his system. What do they always say about good whiskey? It should warm the cockles of the heart, or something like that. Not that Dean actually knows what a cockle is, but hey, it went down smooth.

He realizes Blue-Eyes is watching him and Dean decides to bite the bullet. He’s tired, bored and probably on his way to cranky town if Blue-Eyes keeps his word about the next forty-five minutes.

“So, what brings you out on a cold and rainy night like tonight, Mr, uh…what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

The other man squints and tilts his head at Dean like a tiny, confused bird. And no, Dean doesn’t find that adorable at all. Nope.

“What have you been calling me in your head?”

Dean purses his lips. Sometimes he’s really an idiot. He gives Blue-Eyes a shaky laugh.

“I said I wasn’t gonna keeping doing that.”

They stare at each other again, neither one budging until Blue-Eyes releases a breath and blinks, shoulders slumping a bit more. By the end of the night Dean expects this guy to be melted into the floor.

“Cas.”

Dean frowns. “Your name is Mr Cas?”

“No, just Cas.” Blue-Eyes, no, scratch that, Cas then holds out his hand so Dean can shake it like they’re fellow professionals meeting at a party or something. As he grips the other man’s hand in his own he realizes Cas’s hand is warm, dry, and, yep, strong. The dude is seriously ticking all of Dean’s boxes without even trying. It’s a bit unnerving, really.

“Is that short for something?” Dean asks, wondering what type of name that is.

Cas just looks at him over the rim of his glass. “Perhaps.”

Neither of them say anything else for a long moment and Dean shakes his head. “People ever tell you you talk too much?”

“Yes. All the time,” Cas says with a smirk.

Dean laughs. “Well, whatever. It’s officially nice to meet you, Cas. I’m Dean. Humble and professional barkeep at your service.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas’s voice is deep but there’s a warmth to it that makes Dean happy.  They chit-chat for a bit, just like Dean would do with any newbie to the bar. He pours them both another round and then tries his question again.

“So, you seemed a bit upset earlier. What brought you through my doors, Cas?”

Cas sighs and glances away. He taps his fingers lightly on the polished wood of the bar. He stares at Dean as though assessing him and then looks as though he’s made up his mind.

“My…er, the person I’ve been dating, dumped me tonight. We went to an expensive restaurant and ordered far too pricey food for the serving size and drank outrageously fancy wine. Then they ordered an expensive bottle of cognac, drank it all and then told me I wasn’t worth it.”

Dean winces. “Ouch. How long were you together?”

“Six months.”

“Well, it’s not too long for a relationship, but it’s long enough to hurt.”

Cas nods, looking sullen again.

“What special occasion was it?”

Cas stares at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Fancy restaurant, the way you’re dressed, the cognac. Nobody orders that unless there’s been a birth or an anniversary or both.”

“It was my birthday,” Cas says, looking down again.

“Fuck,” Dean blurts out without thinking. “And they dumped you? Seriously bad juju, man.”

Cas nods and takes another drink of his whiskey, looking miserable. Dean tops off both of their glasses and hums.

“What was his name?”

Cas whips his head up, suddenly looking confused and more than a little worried. “I never said it was a he.”

“It was your distinct lack of pronouns, dude. Always the dead giveaway. Trust me, as a guy who plays for both sides, I know. Pronouns are key. Hey, relax, Cas, this is a safe space.” Dean points to the small pride flag he keeps above the bar and watches as Cas visibly relaxes.

The silence that falls between them is comfortable now. Welcoming, even. Cas clears his throat and rests his hand on his chin, peering at Dean.

“So…you’re bi, I assume or, pan, perhaps?”

“Got it in one. Just another bisexual loser ruining the world one lay at a time.”

Dean winks to show he’s only kidding. He’s proud to be bi, but it doesn’t mean he can’t make a joke at his own expense. Of course, if Sam or his friend Charlie were here they’d both tell him what they thought of that.

“His name was Bartholomew.”

Dean snorts. “It fits him. Douche-y name for a douche-canoe.”

Cas barks out a laugh and it completely changes his face into something truly beautiful. Dean suddenly feels the need to always make Cas laugh like that. He can’t imagine anyone not wanting to – his laugh is infectious. And the light it puts in his eyes is irresistible.

Cas looks serious again as he swirls the rest of the whiskey in his glass. “To be honest, Bart was just the last in a long line of failed…connections. I’m doubting my own self-worth at this point. Everyone ends up leaving or they get fed up with me. I’m too introverted…too socially awkward to deal with, I suppose.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be doing okay right now.”

“I’ve been drinking,” Cas says, deadpan. “And also I’m paying you.”

Dean chuckles. “Not really, I decided to stop charging you as soon as I poured my first one.”

“Your hospitality know no bounds. Truly.”

Dean laughs. Cas’s dry delivery and poker-faced expressions really are the limit. He feels that familiar warmth he always gets when he meets someone new. A someone new that excites him. But he pushes the feeling aside because he knows on some level that trying to get into Cas’s pants is so not what the other man needs right now. Dean shivers as he realizes how damn mature that sounds. Next he’ll be looking into 401ks and cemetery plots.

“Well, consider them birthday drinks. Of course, this stuff doesn’t cost a small fortune or anything, but I figured you’d already paid out enough tonight.”

Cas smirks and shakes his head at Dean. “Thank you, Dean. It’s actually very kind of you to…take pity on me.”

He says it jokingly but Dean gets the sense that he means it. He reaches forward and touches Cas’s hand.

“Hey, no pity here. You are ridiculously attractive and if I didn’t have a conscience, I’d definitely be throwing out my best lines here to help you relieve some tension, if you know what I mean. And you are not awkward to me, but even if you were, it wouldn’t be enough to stop me from asking for your number or seeing if you wanted to meet up sometime. I barely know you but you seem like a decent guy, Cas. And I think all of those people that don’t get you can just fuck right off. You need to keep trying, man. Don’t give up just because a few losers couldn’t see what they had.”

Cas blinks at Dean, blue eyes getting huge. “You think I’m ridiculously attractive?”

Dean thinks back. Did he say that? Yeah, he said that. Figures that would be the only thing to register with the dude.

“What sort of line would you use on me? I mean, if you were going to, that is.” Cas shyly glances away and then back, a curious look on his face.

“Oh, uh, probably something like, well you know what they say — the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and smirks, faking a leer.

“I’m not sure that would work with me,” Cas says, mirth clear in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You’d make me work for it, I know. But seriously, you need to regroup, clear out the douche-canoes from your life and find a new guy, man.”

Cas smiles at him in fondness, and nope, Dean is not going to do it. He will not break his rule about dating people just out of relationships. Not even for big huge blue eyes that make him feel sappy like a love song. Cas, however, clearly has other plans.

“This may be forward but, um, Dean would you allow me take you out for dinner? As a date, in case you were wondering how I meant it.”

“Oh, wow, Cas, um, I mean…”

Cas’s face takes an interesting journey in two seconds – from hopeful joy to miserable and wretched. Dean feels his heart break a little bit for him in that moment and mentally kicks his own ass for being a tool.

“Oh, I see. I…I’m sorry, Dean. Thank you for hospitality.” Cas fumbles with his wallet and places far too much money next to his glass. “I won’t keep you anymore. Go home and enjoy whatever is left of your night.”

Dean watches dumbly as Cas sits up straighter and then turns in his seat, his broad shoulders unyielding, suddenly. Dean knows he just can’t let it end like this.

“No, wait, Cas!”

Dean practically flings himself around the bar to reach Cas before he can unlock the door and leave without a backwards glance. He rests his hand on Cas’s shoulder, stopping him.

“It’s only because I have a rule about dating people that just got out of a relationship. It has nothing to do with you, I promise you. You need to focus on you, dude. Figure out what you’re looking for. If this one was just the last in a long line of guys who don’t understand you, try and see what people you’re going for. I mean, I’m no expert, and God knows I’ve had my fair share of jumping before looking moments, but I think you just need some Cas time right now, you know? If we ever start something I do not want to be rebound guy and you deserve something better than a one night stand.”

Cas stares at him, blue eyes half in shadow.  Dean holds his breath, hoping he didn’t just lose something. All he can hear is the clock ticking behind him and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

“That was quite the speech,” Cas finally says. “You sound like you know from experience.”

��Cas, man. You have no idea.”

“I have some, like I said, a long line of rejections. Still…”  Cas’s eyes search his face and then nods to himself. “Maybe you’re right. I do tend to do things without thinking in this area of life despite being very practical usually. And you’re also right on anther point, Dean. You do not deserve to be “rebound guy”.”

Dean can’t help his grin as Cas makes the quotes motion with his fingers. They stare at each other for a bit longer before he unlocks the door. Cas steps out as the cold air filters in between them, causing them bother to shiver. Dean pauses, and then holds out his hand. “Let me have your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Yeah, you have one, right? Or have you moved on to something flashier like sky writing?”

Cas snorts and shakes his head. He fumbles in his pockets and then pulls out a slim, black smartphone. He unlocks it and hands it over. Of course, it’d be that kind of phone that can help you bake bread or turn off all the lights in the world with just a click or something. He finally finds what he’s looking for and puts his contact information in.

“There. There’s my number. Text me to let me know you get home, okay? And as for the rest, we’ll take it one day at a time, Cas. Let’s be friends, first.”

Cas smiles shyly as he looks down at his phone and nods. “Friends, first. I like that. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, buddy. Be safe.”

Cas slips out and away, leaving a coldness in his wake as he takes his body heat with him. Dean watches him go, the black of the night almost swallowing him up. Cas pauses to pull his coat tighter, the glow of the streetlight lighting up his profile. To Dean he looks pure—angelic, almost, like a painting or a sculpture. With one last look at Dean, he eventually fades away, disappearing back into the world. Soon all Dean can see is his own breath in the air and the twinkling starlight from the surprisingly clear sky above. He locks up again and finishes his routine for the night. After he’s put the money in the safe and headed out back to his car, he feels happy inside. Like something good just occurred — like some new path has been cleared for him to travel. His drive home is quick and easy, there’s hardly any traffic mostly due to the earlier rain. It’s just as he’s pulling into his driveway that he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. It’s from an unknown number and his heart beats faster as he reads the message.

From unknown: I arrived home safely, Dean. Thank you, again. Would you like to get coffee tomorrow, or, perhaps I should say, later today? Oh, this is Cas, by the way. In case you didn’t know. :)

Dean saves the number and then returns to the message to reply, a grin creeping onto his face before he even realizes it.

Dean: Of course, dude. Coffee sounds great. Around 1pm?

Cas: Perfect. Do you know the Blue Java Café on Marion and Elm? It’s across from the park and one of my favorite places.

Dean: Sounds good. Can’t wait to talk to you sober, ya lush… (lol j/k hah) 

Cas sends him a sticking-tongue-out emoji as a response and Dean chuckles as he locks up his car. He has a nice, happy feeling in his heart as he thinks of Cas. Like maybe this is something special. Or maybe it’s just that it could be and has the potential to be. He knows he told Cas friends first, but Dean’s willing to see where it…where they, can go.

[musings-of-a-rose]

Falling Slowly - Chapter 5

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 5400+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: This is it. The chapter I initially wanted to write. Literally, just a small little one shot. But no. That’s not the Miller way apparently and once again, a Miller man took me by the hand and said “more”. Also I’m sorry please don’t hate me.

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**Divider made by @benkeibear 

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Falling Slowly Masterlist

Tommy Miller Masterlist

Dating changed absolutely nothing between us. It felt the same as it always had, us sharing jokes, laughing, listening to each other, the amazing sex, just being around each other. Tommy and I always got along well and I guess it feels the same because we’d always been flirting. And then fucking. The only thing we never did was officially date.

A couple months in, Joel and Sarah have us over for our weekly family dinner. Joel had asked us to not tell Sarah about the baby until we were sure it was sticking around, which was fair. Since everything was going great with the pregnancy, we all agreed it was time to tell her. 

“We’re having steak? Since when are family dinner’s so fancy, dad?” Sarah asks as she walks into the kitchen, looking over her dad’s shoulder at the plate of grilled steaks. 

Joel nods towards me. “It was Daisy’s request.”

Sarah raises her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize we could make requests.”

“She can. You can’t.”

Sarah scoffs as she sits down, the rest of us joining her at the table. “That’s not fair. Why does she get special treatment?”

Joel starts loading steak onto plates and passing them around the table. “Because she’s stuck with Tommy and I feel bad for her.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy says, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He clears his throat before looking at Sarah. “Actually, there’s a reason. A real reason.”

Sensing the change in tone, Sarah looks up at her uncle. “What’s up? Did someone die? Oh no, you guys aren’t breaking up are you? What did you do, Uncle Tommy?”

“Hey now, what makes you think I screwed it up?” Sarah looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “Alright, fair point. But no.” Tommy takes my hand, rubbing little circles into the back of it. “You’re going to be a cousin.”

It takes her a second, the math playing out in front of her glazed over eyes before she looks at me for confirmation and I nod, my hand going to rest on my small stomach before she screams, launching herself out of her chair and nearly knocking me out of mine as she flings her arms around my neck. 

“Oh my GOD this is amazing news! I can’t believe I’m going to have a cousin!! AAHHH A BABY, DAD! THERE’S GOING TO BE A BABY IN THE FAMILY!” She launches herself at Tommy next, nearly knocking him out of the chair. “I promise I will help and babysit and do whatever you need for the baby! Wait, is it a boy or girl?”

“We won’t find out for a bit yet. But when we do, we’ll let you know.”

Sarah squeaks and hugs Tommy again. “I am so excited! You’re going to be a great dad, Uncle Tommy I know it!”

The rest of the dinner I wanted for nothing, Sarah immediately jumping to help me before Tommy could blink. Joel explained that she’d been dying to have a sibling for the longest time, but this is the next best thing. When it’s time for us to leave, she hugs me but pushes her face to my stomach, whispering things to the baby. Tommy gets in his truck after helping me in, chuckling as he starts it. 

“Well I don’t think we’ll ever have to worry about a babysitter.”

“At least until she finds a boyfriend.”

“Don’t let Joel hear you say that.”

We reach the end of Joel’s street and Tommy stops, his hand hovering over the blinker. 

“Tommy?”

“Move in with me.”

“What?”

He turns in his seat, throwing the truck into park. “I mean it. I’ve been wanting to ask you for…well, forever. I hate you being so far away all the time and fuck I love you so much and I just want to take care of you, and make sure that-”

“Tommy-”

“-that you’re never wanting for anything and-”

“Tommy-”

“-and I want to wake up every day beside you, officially, and-”

“Tommy!”

He pauses and looks at me. “Y-yeah?”

I take his hand and hold it, feeling his warmth seep into my skin. “I love you too and I would absolutely love to move in with you.”

His eyes brighten as a smile stretches across his face. “Yeah? Really?”

“Really. I love you, Tommy Miller.”

He pulls my face to his and kisses me, only breaking it to the sound of a horn honking from behind us. He laughs and pulls back, putting on his blinker and driving towards my apartment. 

“Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow.”

Several weeks later, once we’re all moved and settled in, we go to my OB, an ultrasound wand gliding around my stomach as they take their measurements. 

“Baby is looking good, healthy. Growing just as they should be. Oh which reminds me - do we want to know what we’re having?”

Tommy takes my hand where he stands next to me. “Yes, ma’am we would.”

She slides the wand around for a few moments and then stops, taking a picture of the ultrasound. “You’re going to have a boy.”

Tommy lets out a puff of air. “Are..are you sure?”

The OB smiles. “Oh yes. You see this here?” She points at a spot on the screen. “Definitely a boy.”

Tommy laughs, actually whooping a little and when he turns to me, I see tears welled up in his eyes before he wipes them away. “We’re gonna have a son. I can’t believe it! I’m gonna have a boy!” He leans down and kisses me and my hand comes up to the back of his head to pull him closer. He pulls back a little, eyes looking between mine. “What do you think?”

“Honestly, I just wanted a healthy baby. But I can’t wait to see a mini you walking around. Will it come out with a tiny belt buckle?”

“Oh shut up!” He smiles against my lips as he kisses me once more before letting the tech finish their scans. 

The pregnancy progresses and I start to feel more like a house, sweating whenever I think about walking, struggling to get up from sitting. The Texas heat becomes more and more oppressive and I find myself sweating from places I didn’t know I could. 

Tommy is wonderful. I don’t know what I did to deserve him. Every day he comes home and gives me a massage, paying extra attention to my feet and lower back, even learning how to massage for the sciatica that started up several weeks back. He gets me anything I ask for, no matter how ridiculous, and showers me with love and affection, praising me for the ability to grow a new life. 

“Ugh, I’m so big I can’t do anything!” I slam my fist on the bed next to me where I had tried, and failed, to sit up. 

“You’re in the home stretch, darlin’. Soon you’ll be holdin’ that son of ours and making me want to put another one in you I know it.”

“Slow down there, cowboy. I haven’t finished cooking this one yet.”

Tommy chuckles. “True. But until then, can I help you feel better?”

“How would you oh.” Tommy slides his hand between my legs, gently brushing over my sensitive clit. He leans in and nibbles on my ear lobe, gently pressing a finger over me where I need him and I whine. “Is that a yes, darlin’?”

“Oh fuck yes.”

Tommy continues to touch me as he nibbles on my ear, kissing that spot under it that has my hips jerking into his hand. Then he pushes up and drops between my legs, pulling from me 2 of the most intense orgasms I’ve had this entire pregnancy.

“Feeling good, darlin’?” Tommy asks as he wipes his face, sitting up from between my thighs. 

“Mmhm. But I need you.”

Tommy looks at me, his eyebrows pulled together. “I’m not sure-”

“The doctor said it might help stimulate labor.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. And I am so ready to not be pregnant in this heat. Please Tommy?”

He looks at me and I try to copy his puppy eyed look, but all he does is laugh at me. “You’re so terrible at that.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell me if I hurt you, ok?”

“Of course.”

An hour later, my water breaks.

Calm and collected, Tommy uses every ounce of his training from the army to get us to the hospital on time and safe. Once we’re in the labor and delivery room, he shoves our bags to the side and continues his support, counter pressure on my hips during contractions when I ask him, ice chips, sneaking me honey sticks or whatever I wanted when the nurse wasn’t looking. He lets me tell him what I need and then he did it and I really don’t know what I would’ve done without him. He constantly whispered words of affirmation in my ear, especially as time went on and he could see me getting exhausted. 

“You’ve got this, Daisy. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re gonna breathe this baby out.”

16 hours of labor later, our son Jackson was born. The moment Tommy caught him he had him wrapped around his tiny little finger, Tommy’s tears falling onto his tiny little chest as he took his first breaths in this world. 

“Hey little guy. It’s me. I’m your dad.” His voice cracks on the last word as he turns to hand me our son. I take him, tears streaming down my face at this little tiny human who holds my entire being. 

“Hey Jackson. It’s mom. I’m so glad to finally see you on the outside!”

Tommy cuts the cord and then comes back by us, tears fully streaming down both of our faces as Jackson cuddles further into me. If he wasn’t in my arms he was in Tommy's, his tiny little body curled up and relaxed on his dad’s broad chest was enough to punch anyone right in the baby maker. And I’d just had a baby. 

Sarah is beside herself. She absolutely adores Jackson and spends every moment she can with him. Whenever she can get him away from Tommy that is. Even Joel, who had warmed up to me the moment Tommy and I started dating, melted over him, visions of his daughter playing in his eyes whenever he looked at Jackson. 

A few weeks after Jackson was born, Tommy comes out to find us in the living room, the tv on low as I feed him, circles under my eyes from lack of good sleep, hair in a messy bun, and smelling of milk. He sits next to me and puts his hand on my thigh, rubbing circles into it.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

I scoff. “Oh yeah, I’m sure I look like I’m ready for the runway.”

“I’m serious. You fucking made a human. You did that. Made a human and take such good care of him and you just…I love you.”

I can’t help it, but I cry, half from his words and half from the hormones that are just about out of my body from everything. 

“Marry me.”

I stop crying to look at him. “What?

“I had a whole thing planned but seeing you now? I can’t wait. Will you? Marry me?”

“You wanna marry me when I look like this?”

“Darlin’, you are gorgeous and strong and I fucking adore you. But if you’re not ready and I asked too soon, I promise I’ll wait. I can-”

“Yes.”

“Y-yes?”

The tears fall again, streaming down my face as I nod furiously. “I want to be Mrs. Miller.”

He laughs, pulling my face to his and kisses me, his tongue sliding into my mouth, moaning slightly before a tiny cry makes him pull back.

“Sorry, bud. I just had to kiss your mom. Wait right here.”

Tommy disappears into our bedroom and comes back with a small black box, opening it to reveal a ring, a slim white gold band with a modest sized diamond in the middle, and an engraving on the inside that simply said “Miller” with a tiny daisy engraved with it.

“Oh Tommy! This is beautiful!” He slides it onto my finger and I cry again looking at it. Honestly, I would’ve stayed with Tommy for the rest of my life without a ring. Without even officially dating. And when I told him as much, he laughed and said he wished he’d have known as he could’ve saved a lot of money.

We get married when Jax is about 6 months old in a small ceremony in our own backyard. Tommy, Joel, and Sarah completely transformed our small yard into something out of a story. Twinkling lights strung amongst the tree branches and bushes, a few long, wooden planks are set on stumps to make benches, and Tommy builds an archway for us, decorating it with vines and flowers, Sarah adding lights and a beautiful purple strip of fabric that was her grandmothers. I can see the tears glisten in Tommy and Joel’s eyes before they turn away clearing their throats, memories of their parents flashing in their eyes.

It’s strange. I’ve always heard people say, either in real life or on tv or movies, that they were so nervous on their wedding day. Cold feet. But me? I have none of that. I know that I was meant to be with Tommy, whether we got a receipt or not. And when I make my way down the flower petal clad aisle, staring into his deep brown eyes that are glistening with tears, a smile stretching his face, I know that he feels the same way. 

The celebration goes long into the night, Jax snuggled up next to Sarah, who also passed out in a little makeshift play area she had made for him. When it’s finally time to say goodnight to everyone, Joel quietly picks up Sarah and carries her to his truck and Tommy does the same with Jax, taking him upstairs to put him in his crib. The mess had been cleaned by family and so I follow Tommy, watching as he carefully adjusts Jax in his bed. My little family. I never dreamt in a million years that this is where I’d be at this point in my life, but I know I wouldn’t change a thing.

“What do you think about this one, little guy?” Tommy holds up an apple in front of him, Jax in the baby carrier strapped to his chest. He stares at the apple for several moments before babbling loudly and reaching for it. Tommy chuckles. “Alright, this one it is then.” He kisses the top of Jax’s head and puts the apple in the produce bag and repeats the process with all of the apples, completely oblivious to all of the women looking at him with heart eyes and at me with jealously. I really couldn’t care less. My eyes are glued to my husband, making me feel like I’ve been punched in the uterus. Suddenly, a Buddy Holly song rings out over the store’s PA system and Tommy puts the bag of apples in the cart, quickly moving to stand in front of me. 

“Let’s dance with mommy!”

Jax looks at me, his grin wide on his face with his few teeth showing as Tommy dances and sings with him, moving his little arms in time with me as I dance too. When the song ends, I look up at Tommy and find him already looking at me, his eyes soft and full of love that washes over me, making me warm all over. He takes my hand and pulls me to his side, leaning down to press his soft lips to mine. When he pulls back just a bit, he looks into my eyes and I nearly melt into a puddle there in the produce section. 

“I love you, Daisy.”

“I love you, Tommy.”

“You boys are sure working hard on that sandcastle! You want to take a juice break?” I ask, shielding my eyes from the sun as it blares down on the sandy beach. 

“No, mommy. Build!” Jax waves a hand at me, never removing his eyes from the sand castle Tommy is building in front of him. He’s pointing out different structures, the way to build it properly so it wouldn’t fall over and Jax stares between the castle and his dad with rapt attention. When the wave finally comes in, the water fills the moat perfectly, not even a crumble of sand coming down from the castle. Jax squeals with delight as Tommy hoists him in the air, laughing as he spins him around. 

“Great job, Jax and Uncle Tommy!” Sarah smiles wide at Jax as he takes her hand, pointing out all of the things that Tommy did to her. Joel stands to the side, making notes on what he’d do different until Tommy punches him in the arm.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Language.”

Joel kneels down by Sarah and Jax, attempting to make his changes while Tommy walks back over to me, trying to insert himself next to me on my towel.

“Excuse you, sir. I do believe there is no room on this towel for you.”

He slides his hand over my bare skin, lifting himself to lay partially on me, his hand cupping my face, turning me to him. He leans down, his nose tracing a line up my neck and I let out a puff of air, my hand immediately coming up to scratch his scalp. His lips meet mine, his tongue gently prodigy at my lips and I slowly open them. He moans into my mouth, his hips slightly moving of their own accord. I turn towards him, throwing my leg over his back-

“Hey! There are kids here!” Joel yells from the sandcastle.

Tommy turns his head to the side and yells back. “How do you think they got here?”

“Get over here asshole and help me finish this castle so we can have lunch.”

Tommy chuckles and kisses me once more before leaning next to my ear. “We’ll pick this back up later.”

He pushes himself up, dusting his trunks off before turning and running back towards them, Jax and Sarah screaming with delight as he chases them around, nearly destroying all of Joel’s work. Soon Joel has joined in too, mostly to tackle Tommy into the sand, the kids’ laughter ringing out loud when Tommy’s butt hits the ground.

“It still needs a little work, but Joel and I can finish that up. Maybe make it self sustainable,” Tommy explains as we drive down the very narrow road that I eventually realize is a driveway. We pull up to a cabin that Tommy has definitely undersold.

“Tommy, we can’t afford this. Not even splitting it with Joel.”

We pull up in front of the modestly sized cabin that looks like it belongs on HGTV. And he says it isn’t even finished?

“Well that’s the thing. You remember the Jones’s? That big client we landed right around the time we uh, got together?” Tommy smiles and clears his throat, his eyes quickly darting to the rearview mirror to make sure Jax was still asleep. 

I nod. “Of course. They’re your biggest client.”

“Yeah, well I guess they have too much property and just want to get rid of it.”

“And they’re just giving it to you?”

He chuckles, putting the truck into park and shifting to look at me. “Nah. But they offered it to Joel ‘n me for an extreme discount. Less than what they paid for it, even including the upgrades.”

I glance out of the front window towards the cabin before looking at him again. “Why would they do that?”

Tommy shrugs. “What can I say? Mrs. Jones loves me. Anyway, they have it almost finished, just a bit of work on the patio and then basic stuff inside.”

His eyes are bright and excited. I can tell he really wants to do this and honestly, it would be really great to have somewhere to come to relax and unwind with the family. 

“Tell me more about it.”

His smile lights up the cab and I already know I’m on board with whatever he says. That damn smile with those fucking freckles kills me every time. 

“There’s 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms. All en suite. A big kitchen with those double stoves you always talked about, a nice sized dining area we could put a nice big table in, a stone fireplace that nearly spans the whole wall. Oh, and uh walk in closets and a sort of game room? Activity room? Somethin’ like that. And…let’s just go inside. I’ll give you the tour.”

Jax wakes up at that moment, yawning and looking around with his eyes that match his dad’s as he takes it in. “Daddy, we go in?”

“Yeah, bud. You wanna see?”

He nods furiously. “Yes!”

Tommy gives us the tour, Jax squealing with delight at nearly everything and I can’t blame him. This place is gorgeous. But Tommy also points out the practicality of everything, from the titanium shutters that will board the windows when no one is here to the laundry room that I always wanted, and the fact that he and Joel were planning on finishing the self-sustainable grid and water system, so we wouldn’t have to worry about the power going out, which was apparently pretty common all the way out here.

“And over there?” Tommy points to a space out in the backyard as Jax runs around laughing. “I was thinkin’ we could put in a greenhouse and root cellar. I know how you always wanted one.”

“Really? You think Joel would be ok with that?”

“Darlin’, if we weren’t already married, he’d have proposed after tasting one of your tomatoes.”

“Explains the moaning when he eats one.”

We have a laugh and watch Jax run around for a while between the trees. He comes running up to us and Tommy picks him up, swinging him through the air, Jax’s scream of happiness ringing out. 

“Daddy, we stay here?”

Oh shit. They’re both looking at me with the same puppy eyed look. I cave instantly, although I was already going to agree. 

“Only if daddy and Uncle Joel think they can handle it.”

“Pass me the hammer please, Jax.”

It’s been a few months since we officially purchased the cabin, splitting it with Joel. All of us have spent several weekends here, Tommy and Joel finishing the upgrades to make it self sustainable, adding the greenhouse and other little touches. Today was the day they would finish the back porch. Sarah has been inside the greenhouse with me, helping me plant some vegetables and things in the root cellar. I come up to watch them for a bit, Jax following around his dad, tiny little toolbelt around his waist, complete with a giant belt buckle like his dad’s. He’s turned his hat backwards and is bending over Tommy’s large tool bag, tiny little finger pressed to his chin while his eyes scan the tools. He grabs one using both hands and holds it up, smiling triumphantly as Tommy praises him.

“Look at my strong little man! Let me see your muscles.” He takes the hammer from Jax who immediately flexes his little arms. Tommy squeezes his biceps and whistles. “You’ve got some strong muscles there, son.”

“There’s no way. Let me see.” Joel stops what he’s doing, Jax turning to him and waiting his approval. Joel raises his eyebrows and looks at him. “Wow Jax! I bet you could even pick me up!”

“I can! Watch!” Jax runs up to Joel and throws his arms around his leg, trying to lift him. Joel discreetly goes up on his toes, acting shocked and impressed that Jax could lift him.

They finish the porch and pull out a folding table, Sarah and I quickly grabbing some chairs to put around it, adding a big pitcher of lemonade that Sarah had made to the middle of it. Tommy and Joel argue at the grill for a bit over how exactly to grill the steaks, but eventually we all sit, admiring the setting sun and their hard work. 

Many weekends are spent here, holidays too, all of us loving the peace and quiet. A short ways from the back of the house is a giant lake that is shared with a handful of other cabins across the way. Tommy and Joel vow to look up someone to build a dock eventually, so until then, we have to push the little pontoon boat into the water ourselves, bringing it back up onto it’s trailer and storing it in the outside garage. The fact that this place came with it’s own boat still blows my mind. 

Sarah and Jax end up sharing one of the bedrooms, complete with bunk beds, their laughter and talking echoing down the hall until one of us has to tell them to go to bed. I love their relationship, Sarah treating Jax like the sibling she never had, and Jax the same with her. 

3 years after Jax was born…

“Pancakes, mommy?” Jax asks me as he walks behind me into the kitchen. 

“Let me see, bud.” I rummage through the cabinets, no pancake mix to be found. “Sorry, Jax. No pancakes today. How about a smoothie?” He nods enthusiastically and tells me a laundry list of fruits he wants, some completely made up. I’m gathering up what we have when Tommy comes downstairs, his red shirt unbuttoned, showing off his white tank underneath, stretching out over his large chest. He walks up to me and cages me in against the counter, both of his hands planted on either side of me, smiling when I look up at him. 

“Mornin’ darlin’.”

“Morning.”

He presses his lips to mine, his tongue coming out to slide across my lips and I moan slightly, fisting my hands in his tank top as he closes his arms around me. I can feel him growing more needy but a plastic cup clatters across the floor, breaking the moment. 

“Sorry!” 

Tommy breaks the kiss and chuckles, turning to see Jax chasing down the cup that was bouncing across the tile floor. 

“That’s alright bud. I’ll just have to-” 

Jax squeals as Tommy launches himself at him, chasing our little 3 year old around the kitchen. He bolts and runs towards his room upstairs and Tommy slows, stopping next to me to give Jax a moment to get into his favorite hiding spot, deep in his closet. 

“He’s a fast little bugger, isn’t he?” Tommy catches his breath while I hand him a to-go mug of coffee. 

“That’s why I don’t blink ever… You going to be early today?”

Tommy thinks a moment. “We have to meet the suppliers for this one gig and meet with the Rivieras to try and finalize that building deal. I think I’ve got them, just gotta cover a couple more things.”

“Don’t forget about Joel’s birthday today.”

Tommy takes a sip of his coffe and savors it for a quick second. “Yeah I know. I gotta pick him up today. His truck is in the shop.”

“Again? He really needs a new one.”

Tommy sighs. “Yeah. He’ll wait until that thing is drove into the ground though.” He pauses and looks at the counter behind me where Jax’s smoothie sits waiting to be blended. “Smoothie? No pancakes?”

“Out of mix. I’ll pick some up tomorrow at the store.”

He sticks out his lip to pout and I can’t resist it. I reach out, sliding my fingers behind his large belt buckle and pulling him to me, leaning up to bite his lip. 

“Careful there, miss. Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish.”

I open my mouth to respond when Jax yells from upstairs. “DAAAAAD!”

Tommy chuckles, kissing me one more time. “That’s my queue. We will finish this tonight.” His eyes are dark as they meet mine and I push my legs together, a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by Tommy. He winks before leaving the kitchen, moving exaggeratedly loud up the stairs. A moment goes by before Jax squeals and Tommy comes back downstairs with him hooked under his arm like a football, kicking and laughing the whole way. He sets him down and Jax tries to play fight him. They wrestle a moment before Tommy pretends to get hit hard, crumbling to the floor as Jax jumps on him and he grunts. 

“You got me, little man!” 

“Look mommy! I win!”

“My strong boy!”

Jax puffs out his chest as Tommy stands, giving him a hug before putting on his boots. 

“You be good for your mama today, alright?”

“We go to cabin tomorrow? With Uncle Joel and Sarah? And Uncle Joel's um..girl friend?"

Tommy nods. “Yeah, bud. If they’re still up for it. But-" He glances up at me "- Rose has to work so she can't make it. Guess the hospital needs extra hands."

This seems acceptable to Jax and he bounds back into the kitchen, sitting at the table to wait for his smoothie, pulling some coloring books and crayons towards him that were on the table. I walk Tommy to his truck where he quickly spins me around and pushes my back into it, kissing me deeply, one hand gripping my hip and the other twisting in my hair. He whimpers as he pushes himself against me and I almost tell him to meet me in the backseat. 

“We do have neighbors, Tommy.”

“So?”

“They have kids.”

He sighs before pulling back. “I can’t wait to get you on my own for a bit this weekend. I gotta make sure you remember how to yell my name.”

My knees go weak as his lustful gaze bores into mine. “Th-that’s good because I need to see how many sounds I can pull from you.”

Tommy groans and kisses me once more before he gets in his truck, turning it on. 

“See you tonight. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I watch him drive off, giving me a wave before his truck disappears around the corner. Heading back inside, I see that Jax had moved from the table to turn on the tv. He was pressing buttons on the remote and getting more and more frustrated as the news program won’t click off. Instead, it gets progressively louder as he jams the wrong button.

“...continued disturbances in Jakarta, but are advising US citizens…”

“MAMA HELP!” Jax shoves the remote at me and covers his ears while I tap a few buttons, quickly putting on PBS Kids. He settles on the couch and I let him drink his smoothie there, snuggling up next to him as I sip my own. 

I spend some time playing with Jax, but then decide to start packing for the trip to the cabin. Joel had wanted us all to go for his birthday so I packed up some things for the 3 of us, scanning the cabinets and tossing some small snacks into our snack bag. We’ll have to stop at the store on the way. When Tommy doesn’t show up for dinner that night, I start to worry. He usually calls when he’s running late, although he was trying to close that deal today. I just tuck Jax into bed when suddenly, my phone rings and I rush to pick it up. 

“Hello?”

“Hey darlin’.” Tommy sounds apologetic and I sigh.

“You’re going to be extra late, aren’t you?”

He sighs into the phone. “Yeah. I mean, we closed the deal with the Riveras.”

“That’s great news!”

“It is. But since it’s Joel’s birthday, I told him I’ll take the Riveras out to celebrate the closing deal so he can go home to Sarah.”

“You’re a good brother.”

“The best. ‘M sorry, darlin’. You’ll be ok to pack by yourself?”

“Of course. I’ll pack your bag for you too.”

“Thanks. I’ll have to make it up to you this weekend.”

“I can think of a few ways you can do that.”

Tommy clears his throat and I realize he must not be alone in the room. “I can’t wait. Gotta go. Love you. Kiss Jax goodnight for me.”

“I will. Love you too.”

I cleaned up the kitchen and packed a bag for him, taking my time in getting ready for bed, intending to wait up for him. But the second I start reading my book, I pass out, book open in my hands. 

Until the screams outside rip me from sleep.

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21@gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry  

[anamelessfool]

So my Platonic/Domestic Valentine's Day ficlet project now feels like it has a full fic on its hands already (worth it, there's too much to say)

Terzo is teaching Young Copia darkroom photography to satisfy a HS Art Class Credit. One of the biggest projects Terzo has are Yule and Valentine's Day portraits. Copia actually expresses his desire to take a family photo. It is tougher than it looks.

🥀

“When was the last time we em…took a photo together?”

“You and I? That test one we took on the 1959 Rolleiflex.”

“No, I mean…all of us. You, me, Primo, Secondo…maybe even Nihil?”

Terzo frowned, idly swirling the print in the fixer bath as he thought. “You were a lot shorter.”

Copia shrugged absently.

“Good luck getting all of us together,” Terzo muttered. He hung the next print up on the clothesline, the dark shadows across his face in the red light morphing as he considered Copia’s words.

“I'd…like that,” Copia said quietly. Primo would soon be on his first tour, and Terzo was already planning the equipment he'd bring as the official photographer. And Secondo was becoming more and more absorbed in his magical work each day, not caring much about anything beyond the Atelier. In a few months Copia would be alone, most of his free time spent driven to and from school without much else to think about.

More WIP Excerpt Below the Cut🐀🐀🐀🐀

“Copia…I won't be gone for long.”

Primo was correct. Five months then a small break was not long in the grand scheme of things. But it was the longest Copia had ever been parted from him. Copia couldn't speak anymore. And in those moments he just held out his arms.

Primo always brought him close in a warm hug, holding him even though he was no longer small. Copia closed his eyes and leaned on Primo’s chest, stopping time for a moment. Primo always smelled of something, of his work. If he was out in the garden it was dirt or rain. If he was chopping wood or maintaining the fireplaces it was smoke and pine. Copia even found Primo's post-kitchen range cleaning odor of French fry oil to be soothing and nostalgic. Lately it was an unfamiliar, unearthly scent of incense, of silk and spiritual obligation. Copia tried his best to get used to it.

“What else is on your mind, hm?”

Copia said nothing. If he said anything then Primo would move and the hug would be over. Copia imagined an even, perfect layer of snow with his voice a rude footprint across it. Not now. Not yet.

“Stubborn mausi,” Primo chuckled. “I'll hold you a bit longer. Never too old, you know.”

“Want to take your picture,” Copia finally muttered.

“My picture?”

Copia nodded into the fabric of Primo's vestments. “Your picture,” he repeated into the silk. Something about keeping his eyes covered gave him strength. “I want a photo of all of us. For my school project.”

“All of us. Good luck there.”

“I'm trying.”

“I appreciate that, Copia.”

My AO3 | My Fic List

[inaworldofwordss]

Hey everyone! Hope you guys are doing good.

I thought I'd post here before I dived into writing the next chapter(s) on the weekend.

Part B ends in two chapters! They're both relatively short chapters and I'm viewing them as one big chapter even though they're different p.o.v's. I'm working on them simultaneously. I think it will help me wrap up Part B neatly.

Around a week ago, I read the whole fic for the first time after publishing. I've never re-read the whole thing before out of fear that I won't be satisfied. Reading it was certainly an experience. I think my favourite chapter to write has been Parting of the Ways. It was just a very enjoyable writing experience (as sad as the events of the chapter are) Maybe I just enjoy seeing Elora suffer? Lol.

Part B was Cole focused. Part C is going to be Elora focused. Most of your questions about her - her past and her backstory are going to be answered in this part! It's been a long run. The next couple of chapters may have more hints about her past before the big reveal.

Part C is also the part where the romance officially starts! Initially, this story was going to be an extreme slowburn (they don't get together until the epilogue level of slowburn lol) But that's not satisfying for both the reader and the writer. And I believe you should get to really see how cole/elora are as a couple. Plus, Cole keeping his feelings to himself for months is frankly not very in character. So it's happening much sooner than planned.

I've really enjoyed just building the backstories of some of the side characters (looking at Emma and Wes) because they came out of nowhere lol. I think I have figured Wes out fully.

The story is going to have four parts in case you were wondering. Think this is going to be the longest tdm fic on ao3 in a couple of months. (It's the second longest now)

I just remembered that I never did the note about the last update. Usually all thoughts about a chapter leave my head after updating 😂 but if you guys have any specific questions/observations, comment below and I'd be happy to discuss.

Again, thank you for sticking by this story and this update account.

Good day, all!

[writing-hat]

hi!

i noticed in one of your recent reblogs you mentioned your ninjago oc ava, and i just wanted to say I ADORE HER. literally within the first five minutes of her introduction in bbnb i was freaking obsessed - shes so cool and level headed, but also sooo kind and she makes me want to become a therapist lol. shes probably one of my all time favorite ninjago ocs i’ve heard of!!!

she’s officially jays therapist now (which good for him he definitely needs one 😬) and im just so happy, because i wasn’t sure going into ch. 15 if you were gonna bring her back or just leave her as someone jay met in skybound but who he doesn’t try to reach out to after. knowing that we get to see more of her is so great!

anyway, yeah, i just wanted you to know just how much i love ava and how overjoyed i am that we’ll get to see more of her in the future.

oh also i was wondering if you had any good skybound aus you know about - whether on ao3 or tumblr - that you could share? im always looking for new ones lol

thanks for being such a good writer!!! (i’ve read bbnb 16 times now lmao send help)

-smiley anon :)

heyy sorry for answering late again!

RAAAA I'm so happy when people say they like Ava!! She's my forty years old child that I really like to write. I hope you will like what I have for her in the future!

yeah she was always meant to come back lmao she's very much needed currently and I can't wait to write more about her :D

I've given some reccomandations in the other ask but regarding skybound there should be a lot available on ao3 (there's obviously @/mondothebombo's fic "when you think you're all alone", but there is also @/yourlocaltripleabattery who has a list of the longest fics based on seasons! And there's quite a few fics there that I did enjoy!! Definitely check that out)

But yeah I. I'm not the best person to ask reccomandations for now I'm so fucking sorry aaaa

Thank you for the ask smiley anon! see you around!

[ltleflrt]

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks for tagging me @elvenmother 😊

1 - How many works do you have on AO3? 120

2 - What’s your total AO3 word count? 2,055,236

3 - What fandoms do you write for? Dragon Age, Mass Effect, SPN/Destiel, Baldur's Gate 3. I've also written a couple of City of Heroes fic, but those were a special situation, and I wouldn't say I "write for CoH fandom".

4 - Top five fics by kudos (lol these haven't changed in years but number 6 is creeping up on them, so maybe soon this list will be different!)

Kiss the Baker

Satin and Sawdust

No Words

Cursed or Not

Addicted to you

5 - Do you respond to comments? I respond on multi-chapter fics but not on short one shots. Unless it's for a smaller fandom, which for me is anything not Destiel. If there's only a tiny following, I make sure to respond to all of those to keep a connection with the community.

6 - What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? No Such Thing As Ghosts

7 - What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Other than the fic in the previous question, they're all deliriously happy endings, so I couldn't pick just one.

8 - Do you get hate on fics? Not often. At most I get a bit of disgust about a side pairing, and it's been years since I've gotten something truly nasty.

9 - Do you write smut? Hells yeah. Patron Saint of Shower Smut babeee!

10 - Craziest crossover? I don't write crossovers, but I have lots of fusion ideas that I'll never write.

11 - Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yeah, I've had a fic pop up on Wattpad before. They were quick to take it down when I reported it.

12 - Have you ever had a fic translated? Yup a couple. They're linked to the originals on AO3.

13 - Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not officially. I've had some extremely hands on beta work, both as the beta and the writer, and @bendingsignpost wrote a lovely prequel to one of my fics 😊

14 - All time favorite ship? Uh...I've written the most and the longest for Destiel, so I guess that's my answer for now.

15 - What’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Probably Shameless, and definitely Descent and For Better or Worse.

16 - What are your writing strengths? I think I'm really good at dialogue that sounds like the character even in an AU.

17 - What are your writing weaknesses? Setting descriptions

18 - Thoughts on dialogue in another language? Love it

19 - First fandom you wrote in? Dragon Age

20 - Favorite fic you’ve written? I refuse to choose a favorite out of all my babies, but I wish more people would read Dreaming in Digital 😆

tagging @jupiterjames @anarchycox @slytherkins @littleraeofsunshineda @joasakura and anyone else who wants to play 💜

[house-of-dadneto]

The House of Dadneto 2024 has started with a bang! ✨

Thank you so much to everyone who has been participating in the House of Dadneto 2024 so far, it's been absolutely mind blowing to see how many amazingly talented creators out there have joined us for this event!

In the first week, the House of Dadneto had 25 unique works posted for the event!! How awesome is that?!

So, to highlight all the incredible works that have come out so far, we have created a list below with links to all the fics and edits that were posted in this past week! Be sure to give these creators some love as they've all done an amazing job bringing these prompts to life, and we look forward to see what else is in store for the week ahead!

✨ Before we jump into the list however, just a quick reminder that the House of Dadneto has an official AO3 Collection you can add to if you are posting on AO3! Check out this post for more details on how! ✨

First Week of the House of Dadneto!

Rest now, my child (the day is over) by @superherotiger

Erik helps Peter through the aftermath of a failed mission.

safer to be alone by @creaturejaskier

"With Erik’s children, he’s always dealt with their pain--cut fingers, scraped knees, fire…and arrows--but that’s just the physical." Another child? How can he accept this when he's failed as a father so many times before?

Finding Home by @dick-helmet-magneto

"It hadn’t been like Erik wanted to leave them. There had never been a time since his children were born that he wanted to leave them for any reason. Sadly though, there were times when it had to be done and this was just another one of those occasions. " - Erik goes on a mission and leaves the twins at the school with Charles. After the longest he's ever been away from them, they're reunited.

reunited (yet all alone) by @callie-caje

Time had not been kind to Erik. Years upon years spent in a cell, moved from cement to glass to plastic prisons had begun to show its strain in the man's face. Peter could see it in the lines on his forehead to his gaunt cheeks and dim eyes. It was time to remedy that. OR Peter heads to the Pentagon with his Dad to free his friend Erik from prison. Secrets are revealed.

The Father's Day Cards by @dick-helmet-magneto

"It had taken Pietro a concerning amount of time to come to the, perhaps obvious, decision on how to tell Erik that he was his father. A card. It was simple, easy, and best of all, he could give it to Erik and run away as he looked at it. All around, it sounded like the best plan he could’ve had. And to make it better, Father’s Day was coming up. What better day to give the card to him?"

Misfortune by @theaterpug-writes

“Whatever decisions you make, make them well.” Wanda said, staring into his eyes with a sympathetic expression. “I will.” “I trust you’ll follow your heart.” She continued, “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that.” “Does this mean you trust me to make the right decision?” “No.” She smiled sadly, “It means I trust that you’ll make the decision you believe in.” Wanda and Erik play chess.

Powerless by @dick-helmet-magneto

"When her powers first manifested, he had felt a pride he had never before known. The knowledge that he shared something else with his daughter, something she got from him, he could help her learn to control and master them. But what he hadn’t considered at the time was the target that was going to make on her back. Of course, sharing something with Magneto would be dangerous. He should’ve seen that coming but for some reason, he hadn’t. That only made it worse when he found out his daughter was captured."

Polaris by @theaterpug-writes

Erik takes 7-year-old Lorna stargazing.

Important Decisions by @dick-helmet-magneto

“Did you know there’s a school for mutants?” Wanda asked and Erik paused washing the dishes to look at her. “What?” He asked, “How do you know about this? Where is it?” It wasn't a bad idea, exactly. He couldn’t imagine it being anywhere near their house or he would know about it. “New York,” The girl replied, “Where is New York, papa?” Of course, it would be on another continent. “It’s in the U.S.” He replied, going back to washing, “You didn’t say, how did you learn about this school?” “Someone told me. He said we could all stay and he was the one running the school and his name was Charles. He was in my head. Do people have powers to do that?” ” She replied, rocking back and forth on her feet as she talked to her dad, “Can we go? It would be fun.” - Single father of five Erik homeschools his kids until he's made aware of Xavier's School. A school most of his kids want to go to.

Acceleration, Tangential Speed, and the Practicality of Fatherhood by @theaterpug-writes

As Erik fixes up a broken Training Sentinel in the Danger Room, he and his son have a heart-to-heart.

astronomers by @creaturejaskier

“Up for midnight tea and cookies or something?” “You can’t lead a life such as mine without some things haunting you.” “Oh.”

In the Name of Love by @nathanbellamy

Days after Erik stumbles upon Peter and Kurt covertly kissing in the library, he learns that Peter has a secret he's been too afraid to share, and Erik comes to the only logical conclusion: Peter is struggling to come out of the closet to Erik. Not wanting to force Peter before he's ready, Erik devises the ultimate plan to make Peter feel loved and accepted for his sexuality in every way possible. No matter what it takes, Erik will show Peter that there's nothing wrong with being gay. It’s a foolproof scheme, except for one problem—not only does everyone at the mansion already know that Peter's gay, but now Peter thinks Erik's so obsessed with romance that he'd never have time...for a secret son.

I Think I Saw A Ghost by @superherotiger

Dadneto Edit: Parallels

Nina Ruth Gurzsky by @theaterpug-writes

The night after his daughter is born, Erik contemplates his new role.

Like Father Like Son by @dick-helmet-magneto

“Can you help me find Pietro? I want to make sure he’s okay too?” There was silence after the question and Erik noticed Charles looking off behind him. Erik turned his head to look where Charles was to find Jean and Scott behind him. They were both silent as well and Erik felt his heart drop. “Charles, where is my son?” He asked, his head turning back to look at the man. “Where’s my boy? Tell me he’s okay.” There were tears in his eyes that he was fighting, doing everything in his power to keep himself from panicking at least until he had an answer. - Pietro is hurt in battle with the Sentinels. Erik's reaction isn't out of proportion at all, even if his boy will be okay.

An Overture to the Rest of Our Lives by @theaterpug-writes

When Erik gets shot on a mission gone wrong, Peter contemplates their relationship, and what his father truly means to him.

Weather the storm by Whiplaaash123

Upon overhearing Peter on the phone, Erik begins to wonder what exactly is up with his son, and why does he keep avoiding talking to him all of a sudden? Wherein Erik tries to do what's best for his son.

Work Song by @sunsetuniverse

Dadneto Edit: Good Ending + Parallels

Dear Dad by @theaterpug-writes

You’ve been all over the news lately, so Charles has banned all students under the age of fifteen from watching it because Peter kept getting into fights with other kids over you and the Brotherhood. I know you’re helping mutants, but I still worry about you and I want you to come home, even if that means you’re not helping mutants anymore, I hope that doesn't make me selfish, even though I think it does. After the assassination of JFK and her father's arrest, Wanda writes a letter.

Running Away by @dick-helmet-magneto

“We’re going to ask one more time, Erik, and we both want an answer from you,” Charles said, and Erik had never seen the look on his face before. It almost scared him. “What happened on your last mission?” “Yeah,” Pietro said, “You’ve been acting strange since you came back. We all know something happened. The limping, the sleeping. You haven’t been on a run once,” He listed off, “You run anytime anyone asks, and believe me, I know what it means when someone keeps running away like that.” 

One Son's Worth by @superherotiger

Peter becomes the target of an assassin from the future, and the only way he'll survive the week is with the help of his team, a couple of time travellers, and his father. Only problem is, Peter still hasn't told Erik the truth…

shelter me from the storm by @lunasquared

“This okay?” Peter questioned. Erik nodded and Peter let out a breath, allowing himself to sink further into his dad’s side. He wasn’t exactly sure if this was helping Erik or not but the man told him he could stay so it had to be doing something or at least nothing of harm. OR Erik is scared of storms and Peter is there to comfort him.

Time in a Bottle by @theaterpug-writes

A moment in time between father and son.

We'll be a fine line by Etoilemauve

A character study of Dadneto through Charles' eyes

Scraped Knees and Sweets by @dick-helmet-magneto

Erik could say there wasn’t much that scared him. Not anymore. He felt like he’d lived through the worst of the worst and now he could take on anything and live to tell the tale. There was one thing—person—that could scare him to death though. She had brown hair and his eyes, a smiling four-year-old who was just as stubborn as he and her mama.

If there are any details missing or mistakes in this list please let us know and we will amend it as soon as possible!

Thanks again to everyone who has participated so far! We've loved seeing your creations and we hope to see many more as June continues! ✨

Announcement // Prompts // Event Info

[touchlikethesun]

been seeing your tags in some of the oikage art i repost... it's time for you to come join us on the dark side officially (if you haven't already) 👀

omg trust me i am fully onboard with the oikage agenda!! lowkey i do think it was your blog that introduced me to their potential a few months back, there was one art that you had reblogged (can't remember which one exactly now) and it made something click in my brain and i spent two weeks straight reading every oikage fic on ao3 (my favs tended to be the soulmate AUs, and like it's oikage so obvs the angst was On Point) and ever since i have been an oikage devotee <3

i suppose i don't talk about it as much publicly but that's only because i feel like i don't have as much to add, i do love them sm sm sm~ like i almost feel like it's odd that i didn't really consider them together before this year because like... they're sooo obvious (said with love <3) like you cannot convince me that tobio didn't have a crush on tooru in middle school, and tooru's obsession with tobio when they're in high school is two steps to the left of romantic, but what i love most about them when i'm playing with them like dolls is that their communication styles are so mismatched for the longest time and they have to put in real effort to hash out all that lays between them... and i find it so satisfying when they do, it makes the softer moments feel deserved, and just.

so yeah i have already joined your ranks <333 ty for all the oikage art you reblog i am eternally grateful xx

[dreadfutures]

Welcome to Blue's Blog

Artist, fic writer, and admin @thedragonagebigbang | @thedasincolor | @dadrunkwriting | @dragonagefanevents —but science is my day job!

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Read Fics I've been gifted

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▸ #DA4 (thing) - "DA4" "DA4 gameplay video" "DA4 theory" etc ▸ #DA4 Hype - excitement in the leadup ▸ #DA4 Spoilers - anything related to specific gameplay, plot, or other elements that would count as spoilers ▸ #DA4 Speculation - based on spoilers from news/showcases, but not confirmed

▸ #DA4 Preview Event- spoilers released after Sept 19 ▸ here is a list of other people's tags to block

Currently Promoting

Please check out my murder mystery Dragon Age fanfiction:

it ends, or it doesn't.

Rated T | 7 chapters | 45k. | Complete | Felassan finds himself investigating a murder with a ragtag group of three outcast Dalish, uncovering an ancient ruin hidden in plain sight and the ugly secret trapped at its heart. Illustrated by Adurna-0 with additional commissioned art by sbeep and crunchyncrumbly.

Feel free to make fanart, podfics, and derivative works of mine, as long as a heads-up & credit is given. I always appreciate the creativity of this community. See my full use statement here.

Banner credit.

Characters & AUs

▸ Shadows in the Sun DA4 World State ▸ Bloodied and Broken Fix-It World State ▸ Elvhenan AU ▸ One Wild and Precious Life AU ▸ The Mirrorverse Collaborative AU - OPEN! Halevune Mahariel | [Garrett Hawke]() | Ixchel Lavellan

#Shadows in the Sun - DA4 World State

My official DA4 world state! A Fereldan feral child stumbles across the Hero, Halevune Mahariel, and he helps her find her name: Ixchel. Eventually she flees Fereldan to the Free Marches, where Clan Lavellan takes her in. Fearing that she will never truly fit in, Ixchel volunteers to attend the Conclave as a spy for her clan and prove herself to be useful. Instead, at only 16 years old, she becomes the Herald and then the Inquisitor. She is pulled in many directions by her advisors and companions and generally has a really fucked up world state. By the time Corypheus is defeated, Ixchel comes to think of the Inquisition as her family—a family that no longer needs an Inquisitor. With her clan massacred, Ixchel has no purpose and no place in the world. She travels with Kieran, Morrigan, and Mahariel for a while, but once Mahariel grows too sick to travel, Ixchel leaves, for she thinks that she's intruding on that little family's grief. She doesn't know that they considered her family, too. She attends the Exalted Council in the midst of a deep depression made worse by the Anchor's destabilization and the tension of politics surrounding the Inquisition. Solas's revelation—and his refusal to let her join him—drives her nearly to the edge of her sanity, and she never fully recovers. She spends a few years trying to thwart his plans or come up with an alternative, but she views it as a hopeless cause, and she leads a lonely existence in an empty Skyhold. In my Bloodied and Broken world state, she dies at this point. But in my DA4 world state, Kieran comes to her and pleads for her to help him find his mother, who bears the Well of Sorrows and has gone missing. Ixchel, now 26 or so, sets off with Kieran, now 21, to find the very farthest edge of Thedas—and what lies beyond it. (Assuming the Inquisitor does not make an appearance in DA4.)

Fics in this world state:

Mahariel x Morrigan & Kieran drabbles: #old blood older still

Other drabbles and prompt fills: #shadows in the sun

Bloodied and Broken - Fix-It World State

My longest Dragon Age series. It follows Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan and her battle to find hope for herself, and hope for Thedas. As the world ends, Ixchel is resurrected under mysterious circumstances and is sent back in time to the Conclave. Ixchel is furious, convinced of her own futility, and yet she cannot give up again. These are the stories of how she gets better. ▸ TOO LONG, DIDN'T READ? (A summary of Dead Pasts and Dread Futures, if you want to get caught up. ▸ COMPLETE Fic Reading Order.

Fics in this world state:

Her story begins in Dead Pasts and Dread Futures—with her suicide.

Her journey to find hope and share it with the world continues in The Brave Guide.

Complete World State Fic Collection including things friends wrote.

Stories about Halevune Mahariel, Morrigan, and Kieran: Rust and Bone.

In-continuity tumblr drabbles found under #bloodied and broken bits.

Ships from this world state:

Solavellan: #broken mirrors

Mahariel x Morrigan & Kieran: #old blood older still

Platonic: #cage of the ribs

#Elvhenan Au

A resurrected Ixchel gets sent back not to the Conclave but to Elvhenan, with a fragmented memory. This is not Solavellan but rather Dirthamen x Lavellan.

Fics in this AU:

Tumblr prompt fills: #Elvhenan AU and #Arlathan AU

The Inexorable Tide - [kittynomsdeplume]. | Oneshot | A beautiful gift. Ixchel appeared in Elvhenan in an explosion that leveled Falon’Din’s temple. Dirthamen takes her in, for she wears his vallaslin, and slowly teaches her the Elvhen language…and they fall in love.

#One Wild and Precious Life

Solas and Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan defeat Corypheus, heal the Veil, and thwart the Evanuris, but Solas falls into uthenera again. He wishes that now-immortal Ixchel would live a full life, and to her own surprise…she does. She falls in love with the widowed Prince of Starkhaven, and he with her.

Fics in this AU:

Tumblr prompt fills: #one wild and precious life

The Mirrorverse Collaborative AU

The Dragon Age Fanfic Writers Discord Server anniversary (Aug 2021) generated a bunch of crossover-type gift fis and introduced the idea of a multiverse connected by eluvians. Thus, the Mirrorverse was born. ALL ARE WELCOME!! If anyone wants to play in this sandbox or read OCs interacting in each others’/an in-between reality, I have an OPEN collection for fics that have any Dragon Age OCs crossing universes via mysterious eluvians! They’re fun to play with and people are making gifts for their friends or just having their own OCs interact, it’s great! We love seeing this device, please use it and tag us/submit to the collection! This isn’t limited to friends-of-mine/members of any server. We just love this gimmick and would love more multiverse interactions out there. It’s such a fun way to play with OCs.

Mirrorverse fics with my OCs:

The Bar at the End of the Multiverse - [CrackingLamb] | Oneshot | Multiple Inquisitor Lavellans wander through mysterious eluvians and find themselves at a bar for some bonding time.

Walkers of the Lonely Path | Multichapter | Complete | A gift fic I wrote for six Lavellans and one Mahariel. It’s essentially a dungeon crawl, with lots of lore, angst, and elven bonding.

a butchered tongue still singing - [RosellaWrites] | Oneshot | Rhiannon Mahariel travels to Halevune Mahariel's world just as Tamlen dies.

i want to share your mouthful - [RosellaWrites] | Oneshot | Virelan Lavellan post-Trespasser struggles to let go of the weight of her responsibilities as Inquisitor and mother. Ixchel helps with sparring, bathing, and some sex.

turning stones to look for light | Oneshot | A gift fic I wrote for Rosella-Writes, where Ixchel holds Virelan’s Solavellan baby and muses about whether Virelan’s version of Solas has any hope of redemption.

to call for hands of above (to lean on) - [RosellaWrites] | Oneshot | Tulin, Virelan and Solas's son, wants to receive his own vallaslin but is afraid to ask his father. Virelan asks Ixchel to speak to him, since she took the vallaslin for reasons beyond dedication to the gods.

the eternal now of experience | Oneshot | A gift fic I wrote for Rosella-Writes, where Ixchel comes through the eluvian and witnesses and elderly Virelan and Solas sharing a peaceful and loving moment.

The Brave Guide's Friend - [ExaltedDawn] | Oneshot | Talenna Ethera faces the end of her world and knows she must save her children. She brings them through the eluvian to Ixchel's world and says goodbye. Heart-wrenching.

tell me if i drown - [Lalaen] | Oneshot | Gethrael Lavellan, reeling after a horrific experience in Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts, goes to the Bar at the End of the Multiverse and runs into Ixchel.

to all who feel rain - [inquisimer] | Oneshot | Neria and Ixchel share a warm drink and a moment of peace.

Death is an Open Door | Oneshot | A gift fic I wrote for AmmoniteFlesh, where Ghila Mahariel and Halevune Mahariel step through separate eluvians in search for the source of the Blight in the world. They find each other, and more than they'd bargained for.

Unbreakable, Unbowed, Unyielding | Oneshot | A gift fic I wrote for WarpedLegacy, in which her Theresa Trevelyan and Cullen stumble into the dragon that calls the Emerald Graves home. Ixchel appears and fights alongside them.

[itwoodbeprefect]

fic writer 20 questions

i was tagged by @luredin! thank you! <3

i feel like i've done this one (or one very like it) at some point before, but i couldn't find it when i went searching, so maybe i just read through it and composed answers in my head? or my very confused tagging system is understandably failing me.

How many works do you have on AO3?

right now, 242!

What's your total AO3 word count?

587,542.

What fandoms do you write for?

several! these days mainly starsky & hutch, but h50 is still very present too, and i think both stargate atlantis and 911 may also be worth mentioning. beyond that there's a lot of other things for which i'm working on a single fic, or there's a document with multiple of them but i only open it once in a blue moon.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

well. four out of five of these are for a fandom i wouldn't write for anymore today for obvious reasons, and the other one (Tell me I'm perfect) is a Shadowhunters fic:

It's the truth

Tell me I'm perfect (but tell me the truth)

I dare you to dare me

Finders Keepers

That escalated quickly

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i wish i did! i keep trying to get into a healthier habit on that front, because i love comments and i'd like to say thank you and engage with people more, but it's a complicated thing - not in real life, but in my head, unfortunately.

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

not an easy question, and it's not because there's too many to pick from! i'll indulge in a little melancholy at times, and maybe even a somewhat things-aren't-perfect ending, but generally there's at the very least a solid spark of hope even if the rest of the fic was sad. i think maybe Sobering (a mash hawk/trap fic) could qualify for actual angst, but even that one i seem to have tagged as "angst? i think?" when i posted it.

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

now this, this is where we get tangled up in weighing a hundred fluffy fics against each other to decide happiness rankings! maybe something like Flowers for no reason but you missed me (starsky/hutch) or And I love every inch of you (And then some, and then some) (h50 steve/danny) because both of those are just pure giddy happiness start to finish, which means the happiness has been building for the longest by the time the ending rolls around.

Do you get hate on fics?

thankfully, not really! most of my stuff is deeply inoffensive. there's been a sporadic comment here or there over the years of someone randomly telling me they didn't agree with something i wrote (by which i don't mean people pointing out genuine mistakes - that's very different, and very helpful), but even then i wouldn't necessarily classify that as "hate", just as a very awkward way to respond to reading something that annoys you for whatever reason. what springs to mind is one that started with "i have not seen the episode" and then proceeded to interpret an in context line from a character as my personal beliefs on whether children are capable of evil, so. that kind of thing.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

not officially! but unofficially i've been told that it's fun and really really sweet, so no surprises there.

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

not usually, which means that the craziest (and only) one on ao3 is probably the h50/s&h crossover (Said the apple to the orange), which is truly very uncrazy.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i wonder about that sometimes (i feel like after many many years and with the recent bot stuff on top, the answer should maybe be "probably"), but not that i know of!

there was an instance once of someone copying a story title, but they did so in a way that didn't even work. i was writing in dutch at the time, but english titles were Very Cool, so my story was called "ladies, bugs and ladybugs", and the other person took that, translated it to dutch, and used that for their story, which. those words don't match up the same way in the slightest, so it's just a random sequence of things by that point.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! actually, i was probably the first person to translate any of my fic - all of the very, very early stuff posted to ao3 was just an english copy of originally dutch stories - but these days there are also a lot of russian translations (russians seem to be very active in h50 fandom!), some mandarin, some french. one italian, i think. it's very cool!

also, shout out to people who do podfics, too. <3

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

a few attempts were made over the years, but most of that never went very far for one reason or another. none of it is on ao3.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

as of right now, probably starsky/hutch!

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

oh, i'm afraid i could fill, well, lists. one that immediately comes to mind that's technically a little past this category because i know i'll never finish it is a very long h50 project in which i took up about a hundred different little threads from the series and tried to weave them together into a giant fix-it-ish getting together coming out case fic sort of thing, and i still think the plotting work for that one was sound, but i'm just never going to actually get 100k down for a fic like that at this point in my life. (note that this is not a fic that's already up on ao3 in part - i'll finish those, one way or another.)

and oh my, for maybe a better answer: the starsky-watches-cowboy-movies starsky/hutch fic. i want to write that one, i do! and i am, and i do have real hope that i may one day finish it, but it's a fairly ambitious project in multiple ways, so there are some serious obstacles i will need to find some way around.

What are your writing strengths?

i love the patter of writing dialogue! people tell me characters sound believable and like themselves, so that's nice. also, balancing ridiculously fluffy things in such a way that it doesn't tip over into saccharine, and i also think i manage good jokes sometimes. i've been working on descriptions and atmosphere, and that's been fun.

What are your writing weaknesses?

i've completely unlearned how to write long stories! and ironically, i do write a lot of overlong sentences. also, i'll turn to google for absolutely anything, but deep down i'm a pretty impatient writer when research is needed and it doesn't happen to be a subject i'm already interested in, which oftentimes means i'd rather handwave things or scrap the idea entirely, even though i think really well-researched fic is amazing. and on that note, no matter how much american media and internet content i consume, i'm not american and have never been to america, which can be a challenge when writing for almost exclusively american fandoms. (i think i understand beds now, but i'll have to google sinks one of these days.)

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

ha! this was a thing that was very, very common for a while in my dutch fic writing community, because more or less all of the fictional properties and/or real life celebrities people were writing about were british or american (maybe with tokio hotel as the one notable exception), so there was A Lot of fic written in dutch with stilted high school english dialogue thrown in. i was never very into that, but hey, if it makes you happy, definitely go for it, and that goes double if it's just a few sentences for flavor! compared to what i used to see, ao3 culture is extremely conservative with these sorts of things.

all of which i say while also still, in the back of my head, considering the possibility of writing a really obnoxious ted lasso fic with 90% dutch dialogue, so. i too might become guilty at some point in the future.

First fandom you wrote for?

twilight! it was nessie/jacob, with i think a love triangle with a vampire thrown in. we all have to start somewhere.

Favorite fic you've ever written?

i recently reread How To Build A Triangle (or accidentally fall headlong into one, or whatever the fuck) and i still think it's really good and fun, plus it's a minor miracle that i got it finished so easily! there's a decent chance i'd name a different fic if you asked me again tomorrow, though.

Tagging

I have no idea who has already done this or been tagged for it, so I'm just going to throw a few names out there (@redgoldblue @actingcamplibrarian @stephmcx @spurious @goneahead), and then give the usual disclaimer that obviously i'm tagging you all with no pressure, and that if anyone sees this and it seems like a fun list of questions, i'm tagging you too! ✨

[the-last-thread-of-my-sanity]

I was in the middle of editing and proof-reading this in AO3 when the power went out in my house for like two hours 🫣😅 The universe almost prevented me from posting wth

On another note- this fic is now officially the longest thing I’ve ever written at 144,109 words (and counting). So that just goes to show you how insane the brain rot is 🫡

[strandnreyes]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

@rmd-writes @welcometololaland @three-drink-amy thanks for providing me with procrastination material <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

58

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

957,577. with the unpublished words of meet you after dark, I'll be very close to 1,000,000. I'm almost certain I'll hit it by the end of the year (at least that's my goal)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

911 Lone Star

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

anchor up to me, love (this being my top fic by kudos is so shocking to me lol it's just a 3x05 coda that I think I wrote the day after the episode aired, I really didn't think it was that special)

pushing boundaries

haunted by the ghost of you

one single thread

yours for the weekend

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

Yes, I try to respond to them all! That being said, I've very behind right now but I promise I'll get back to you!

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

hold on - This is probably the only 'unhappy' ending I have, but it's more so just unresolved because it's a 3x01 coda written before any of the other episodes in that arc aired. and 3x01 is not a happy episode lol

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

they pretty much all do in general so I don't think I could pick one specifically that stands out

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really, but it has happened a few times

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

Yes, but usually incorporated within a story, not as a standalone. I think the only PWP fic I wrote is when push comes to shove. and even that has some plot

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

No crossovers

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I'm aware, no

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so

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

Not officially

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Carlos and TK <3

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

idk if I can call this a WIP, but there's always been an idea in my mind about writing a fic inspired by the book Carlos was writing in as if you were a mythical thing. it's a 1970s camp counselor slasher murder mystery style fic that I wrote a little bit of for this prompt fill, but I don't know if a full au will ever come out of it. shame because the playlist and moodbord would slap

16. What are your writing strengths?

world building, banter, angst that feels like a punch in the gut, giving the happy ending room to breathe

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

smut I feel like. need to learn new ways to say the same exact thing

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

I think it makes total sense and feels authentic for it to be there every once in a while for non-crucial story details if a character speaks another language

19. First fandom you wrote for?

911 Lone Star

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I'm going to go with your first string. I think that has my most full-fledged character arcs and full circle storyline. It's my longest fic and I never really got sick of writing it, which is a pretty good indicator that I enjoyed it

no pressure tagging @reyesstrand @carlos-in-glasses @theghostofashton @orchidscript @freneticfloetry + anyone else!

[iamfujoshiwe]

Have you ever read a good story with amazing writing style and every fiber of your being is just..... filled with so much joy?? So much happiness?? So much serotonin??

THISSS!!!!

I can't express how much I love this author's writing style. I literally had to stop reading every few minutes to scream to my pillow or just to roll in my bed like an idiot. And I swear all the while reading this fic my face was just like a constipated monkey because damn, stiffling my scream my giggle my laugh wa soooo hard.

The only fic I can remember that made me felt like this is from Durarara titled "Mezhdu Dvukh Ogney" by Delphicy with Shizuo/Izaya Pairing. Yes I remember the title and author clearly without having to search for them although the title is not even in english (it's an english fic tho, if you have ever in Shizaya fandom I'm sure you knew this masterpiece). That's how much I love this fic. Sadly it's still ongoing and the last update is like 10 years ago so wherever you are Author-san, I hope you're okay.

Now back to the VegasPete fic above, I absolutely LOVE everything about it (well except the OC/Pete part, but I can easily skip that). Vegas' and Pete's characterization is *chef's kiss*. The way they talk, their gesture, the comedy... are GOLD. Like, I can imagine them behaving like that in official episode. I don't even know how to say anymore. I already made a big ass comment on ao3. The longest comment there in chapter 9 is mine lol.

My favorite:

Pete audibly gulped and cleared his throat, trying to swallow the pool of saliva that threatened to spill from his mouth, which was now slightly agape. No, not slightly, it was wide enough for Pete to park a freaking minivan in there easy, no parallel parking required.