#Click to Call Software

[prpservicesin]

Click to Call Service - PRP Services

A premier Click to Call service provider in India, offering seamless communication solutions. Connecting businesses and customers effortlessly through a user-friendly interface, enhancing customer engagement and satisfaction. Enjoy real-time conversations, boosting conversions and accessibility. Elevate your communication strategy with our reliable and innovative services.

[iamcode]

The amount of third part programs you have to download just to get Windows 11 to be slightly less of a flaming bag of dicks is ridiculous.

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

if I've learned anything from grad school it's to check your sources, and this has proven invaluable in the dozens of instances when I've had an MBA-type try to tell me something about finances or leadership. Case in point:

Firefox serves me clickbaity articles through Pocket, which is fine because I like Firefox. But sometimes an article makes me curious. I'm pretty anal about my finances, and I wondered if this article was, as I suspected, total horseshit, or could potentially benefit me and help me get my spending under control. So let's check the article in question.

It mostly seems like common sense. "...track expenses and income for at least a month before setting a budget...How much money do I have or earn? How much do I want to save?" Basic shit like that. But then I get to this section:

This sounds fucking made up to me. And thankfully, they've provided a source to their claim that "research has repeatedly shown" that writing things down changes behavior. First mistake. What research is this?

Forbes, naturally, my #1 source for absolute dogshit fart-sniffing financial schlock. Forbes is the type of website that guy from high school who constantly posts on linkedin trawls daily for little articles like this that make him feel better about refusing to pay for a decent package for his employees' healthcare (I'm from the United States, a barbaric, conflict-ridden country in the throes of civil unrest, so obsessed with violence that its warlords prioritize weapons over universal medical coverage. I digress). Forbes constantly posts shit like this, and I constantly spend my time at leadership seminars debunking poor consultants who get paid to read these claims credulously. Look at this highlighted text. Does it make sense to you that simply writing your financial goals down would result in a 10x increase in your income? Because if it does, let me make you an offer on this sick ass bridge.

Thankfully, Forbes also makes the mistake of citing their sources. Let's check to see where this hyperlink goes:

SidSavara. I've never heard of this site, but the About section tells me that Sid is "a technology leader who empowers teams to grow into their best selves. He is a life-long learner enjoys developing software, leading teams in delivering mission critical projects, playing guitar and watching football and basketball."

That doesn't mean anything. What are his LinkedIn credentials? With the caveat that anyone can lie on Linkedin, Mr. Savara appears to be a Software Engineer. Which is fine! I'm glad software engineers exist! But Sid's got nothing in his professional history which suggests he knows shit about finance. So I'm already pretty skeptical of his website, which is increasingly looking like a personal fart-huffing blog.

The article itself repeats the credulous claim made in the Forbes story earlier, but this time, provides no link for the 3% story. Mr. Savara is smarter than his colleages at Forbes, it's much wiser to just make shit up.

HOWEVER. I am not the first person to have followed this rabbit hole. Because at the very top of this article, there is a disclaimer.

Uh oh!

Sid's been called out before, and in the follow up to this article, he reveals the truth.

You can guess where this is going.

So to go back to the VERY beginning of this post, both Pocket/Good Housekeeping and Forbes failed to do even the most basic of research, taking the wild claim that writing down your budget may increase your income by 10x on good faith and the word of a(n admittedly honest about his shortcomings) software engineer.

Why did I spend 30 minutes to make a tumblr post about this? Mostly to show off how smart I am, but also to remind folks of just how flimsy any claim on the internet can be. Click those links, follow those sources, and when the sources stop linking, ask why.

[insertdisc5]

🎮 HEY I WANNA MAKE A GAME! 🎮

Yeah I getcha. I was once like you. Pure and naive. Great news. I AM STILL PURE AND NAIVE, GAME DEV IS FUN! But where to start?

To start, here are a couple of entry level softwares you can use! source: I just made a game called In Stars and Time and people are asking me how to start making vidy gaems. Now, without further ado:

SOFTWARES AND ENGINES FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T KNOW HOW TO CODE!!!

Ren'py (and also a link to it if you click here do it): THE visual novel software. Comic artists, look no further ✨Pros: It's free! It's simple! It has great documentation! It has a bunch of plugins and UI stuff and assets for you to buy! It can be used even if you have LITERALLY no programming experience! (You'll just need to read the doc a bunch) You can also port your game to a BUNCH of consoles! ✨Cons: None really <3 Some games to look at: Doki Doki Literature Club, Bad End Theater, Butterfly Soup

Twine: Great for text-based games! GREAT FOR WRITERS WHO DONT WANNA DRAW!!!!!!!!! (but you can draw if you want) ✨Pros: It's free! It's simple! It's versatile! It has great documentation! It can be used even if you have LITERALLY no programming experience! (You'll just need to read the doc a bunch) ✨Cons: You can add pictures, but it's a pain. Some games to look at: The Uncle Who Works For Nintendo, Queers In love At The End of The World, Escape Velocity

Bitsy: Little topdown games! ✨Pros: It's free! It's simple! It's (somewhat) intuitive! It has great documentation! It can be used even if you have LITERALLY no programming experience! You can make everything in it, from text to sprites to code! Those games sure are small! ✨Cons: Those games sure are small. This is to make THE simplest game. Barely any animation for your sprites, can barely fit a line of text in there. But honestly, the restrictions are refreshing! Some games to look at: honestly I haven't played that many bitsy games because i am a fake gamer. The picture above is from Under A Star Called Sun though and that looks so pretty

RPGMaker: To make RPGs! LIKE ME!!!!! NOTE: I recommend getting the latest version if you can, but all have their pros and cons. You can get a better idea by looking at this post. ✨Pros: Literally everything you need to make an RPG. Has a tutorial inside the software itself that will teach you the basics. Pretty simple to understand, even if you have no coding experience! Also I made a post helping you out with RPGMaker right here! ✨Cons: Some stuff can be hard to figure out. Also, the latest version is expensive. Get it on sale! Some games to look at: Yume Nikki, Hylics, In Stars and Time (hehe. I made it)

engine.lol: collage worlds! it is relatively new so I don't know much about it, but it seems fascinating. picture is from Garden! NOTE: There's a bunch of smaller engines to find out there. Just yesterday I found out there's an Idle Game Maker made by the Cookie Clicker creator. Isn't life wonderful?

✨more advice under the cut. this is Long ok✨

ENGINES I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT AND THEY SEEM HARD BUT ALSO GIVE IT A TRY I GUESS!!!! :

Unity and Unreal: I don't know anything about those! That looks hard to learn! But indie devs use them! It seems expensive! Follow your dreams though! Don't ask me how!

GameMaker: Wuh I just don't know anything about it either! I just know it's now free if your game is non-commercial (aka, you're not selling it), and Undertale was made on it! It seems good! You probably need some coding experience though!!!

Godot: Man I know even less about this one. Heard good things though!

BUNCHA RANDOM ADVICE!!!!

-Make something small first! Try making simple: a character is in a room, and exits the room. The character can look around, decide to take an item with them, can leave, and maybe the door is locked and you have to find the key. Figuring out how to code something like that, whether it is as a fully text-based game or as an RPGMaker map, should be a good start to figure out how your software of choice works!

-After that, if you have an idea, try first to make the simplest version of that idea. For my timeloop RPG, my simplest version was two rooms: first room you can walk in, second room with the King, where a cutscene automatically plays and the battle starts, you immediately die, and loop back to the first room, with the text from this point on reflecting this change. I think I also added a loop counter. This helped me figure out the most important thing: Can This Game Be Made? After that, the rest is just fun stuff. So if you want to make a dating sim, try and figure out how to add choices, and how to have affection points go up and down depending on your choices! If you want to make a platformer, figure out how to make your character move and jump and how to create a simple level! If you just want to make a kinetic visual novel with no choices, figure out how to add text, and how to add portraits! You'll be surprised at how powerful you'll feel after having figured even those simple things out.

-If you have a programming problem or just get confused, never underestimate the power of asking Google! You most likely won't be the only person asking this question, and you will learn some useful tips! If you are powerful enough, you can even… Ask people??? On forums??? Not me though.

-Yeah I know you probably want to make Your Big Idea RIGHT NOW but please. Make a smaller prototype first. You need to get that experience. Trust me.

-If you are not a womanthing of many skills like me, you might realize you need help. Maybe you need an artist, or a programmer. So! Game jams on itch.io are a great way to get to work and meet other game devs that have different strengths! Or ask around! Maybe your artist friend secretly always wanted to draw for a game. Ask! Collaborate! Have fun!!!

I hope that was useful! If it was. Maybe. You'd like to buy me a coffee. Or maybe you could check out my comics and games. Or just my new critically acclaimed game In Stars and Time. If you want. Ok bye

[ivredge]

Click-to-Call Solution for Instant Connectivity

Redefine the way you engage with your customers! Discover our click-to-call solution to experience seamless and hassle-free connectivity. Get in touch with us to enhance customer engagement, streamline conversations, make accessibility easy, and step into the future of effortless business communication today!

[sffgtrhyjhmnzdt]

Are you looking for a click-to-call dialer? We offer you click-to-call White label VOIP solutions that fit your business needs.

[aticalltracking]

Auto Technologies Inc.

Marketing Agency

Marketing Agency

Address- 7500 College Blvd., Overland Park, KS, USA 66210

Phone-   +1 866-673-5476

Email-   info@andalign.com

Website- https://aticalltracking.com

Unlock the power of data-driven decision-making with our comprehensive Call and Advertising Tracking Services. Elevate your marketing strategies by gaining unparalleled insights into customer interactions and campaign performance.

Key Features:

1. In-Depth Analytics: Track and analyze every customer call to understand the effectiveness of your advertising efforts. Gain valuable insights into caller demographics, preferences, and behavior.

2. ROI Measurement: Quantify the return on investment for your advertising campaigns with precision. Our services provide detailed metrics on the success of your marketing initiatives, enabling you to allocate resources effectively.

3. Dynamic Number Insertion: Implement dynamic number insertion to seamlessly track calls originating from various advertising channels. Know exactly which ads are driving customer engagement and conversions.

4. Keyword-Level Tracking: Pinpoint the keywords that generate phone calls. Optimize your advertising strategy by focusing on high-performing keywords and eliminating those that don't contribute to call volume.

5. Real-Time Monitoring: Stay informed in real-time with live monitoring of incoming calls. React promptly to campaign performance and make adjustments on the fly for maximum impact.

6. Multichannel Visibility: Whether it's online or offline advertising, our services provide a unified platform for tracking calls across multiple channels. Understand the holistic impact of your marketing efforts.

7. Call Recording: Enhance customer service and training by recording and analyzing customer calls. Gain insights into customer feedback, identify pain points, and refine your advertising approach accordingly.

8. Location-Based Tracking: Understand the geographical reach of your advertising campaigns. Identify regions where your ads are most effective and tailor your strategy to target specific locations.

Empower your business with a comprehensive solution that bridges the gap between advertising and customer engagement. Our Call and Advertising Tracking Services revolutionize the way you measure, analyze, and optimize your marketing efforts, ensuring every call contributes to the growth and success of your business.

Business Hours- Mon - Fri: 9AM - 5PM

Payment Methods- All forms of payment accepted CC, Amex, Discover, Paypal, Venmo, Check, Wire

Year Est- 2002

Owner Name- Roberta Long

Follow On:

Facebook-   https://www.facebook.com/autotechnologies

Twitter-       https://twitter.com/autotechnologie

LinkedIn-    https://www.linkedin.com/in/autotechnologies/

[gender-euphowrya]

refreshed, healed, content, thriving, ready to take on the world <- just reorganized his desktop icons

[loveperfectcreationcollecto-blog]

Healthcare Voice Broadcasting in the USA | KingAsterisk Technology

Discover KingAsterisk Technology's cutting-edge Healthcare Voice Broadcasting solutions tailored for the USA market. Our industry-leading platform empowers healthcare providers with a reliable, HIPAA-compliant means of reaching patients and delivering critical updates, appointment reminders, and health education. With a focus on patient engagement and satisfaction, our services are designed to enhance healthcare communication. 

Trust KingAsterisk to streamline your healthcare outreach efforts, ensuring that vital information is efficiently conveyed. Benefit from our expertise in healthcare communication technology, delivering the latest in patient-centric solutions to meet the evolving needs of the healthcare industry in the USA.

Feel free to Contact us anytime for better service and support.

contact : +91 968 773 3355 Whatsapp : +1 (786) 414 2610 Skype : kingasterisk OR king.asterisk Watch Live demo of our solution : http://www.kingasterisk.com/live-demo EMail : web.kingasterisk@gmail.com visit our website : https://kingasterisk.com

[ozzgin]

I may not be that original anon but could we pawhaps have some platonic yandere computer virus 👀

I'll go with Internet Monster since that's the standard computer-based OC I have. If that's alright with you. :)

Yandere!Internet Monster with a computer-illiterate Reader who keeps getting into trouble.

That’s how the digital horror stumbled upon you: it had been accidentally downloaded onto your computer. It smirked to itself, enjoying a certain pride in the fact that it managed to sneak around undetected, until it discovered there was no defense to begin with. You were just a dumbass, clicking around cheerfully oblivious.

By the eldritch Gods, you really have no sense of danger. It found viruses, bugs, old software, even a spying extension triggered whenever you’d turn on your webcam.

Well, someone has to look after you. It began cleaning your computer thoroughly, perching its binary ears whenever you loudly remarked the sudden, unexplained speed and efficiency. You wondered if your digital assistant had somehow fixed itself.

Moreover, you are now under strict surveillance, as the Internet monster ensures there won’t be anymore hacking and scamming.

“What the…” you huff and click the button again.

Are you sure you want to download this file? Your antivirus protection has detected suspicious contents.

You pout at the screen. Is there no way to skip these bizarre checks? When did they even show up, anyways?

Another click.

Sorry, (Y/N), you can’t be trusted. No download for you.

You stare, bewildered and mildly embarrassed to be called out like that.

[witherby]

imagine how cute would be if Bruce brings the little wayne to his work on wayne tower 🥺 the moment would be ruined if some paparazzi taking photos with flash and scaring the baby

Sooo the baby didn't end up getting scared, but this idea did make me spit out 2000 words worth of content. I hope that's a fair compromise :3

THE LITTLEST WAYNE: TAKE YOUR KID TO WORK DAY

Featuring: Bruce talking to you like a colleague, a newspaper article, and an overprotective Damian.

"Morning, Clarice. Donuts and coffee are getting delivered in five minutes if you wanna pop downstairs and help yourself. Afterwards, do me a favor and rebook the consultation with Lexcorp for sometime next month? The further out the better."

Bruce's secretary nodded, fingers flying across the keys to accommodate his request. She tucked a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and shot him a polite smile.

"Of course, mister Wayne — oh, goodness gracious."

Bruce's placid expression quickly became embarrassed. He tried to walk past her but she was already on her feet and rounding the desk, heels clicking over the linoleum floor to stand in front of him and the bundle on his arm.

"Who is this!" She cried, immediately fawning over you. You stared blankly at her as you suckled on your binky, wrapped up in a tiny Nightwing onesie (Dick got to the clothes first this morning) and hugging your father's arm. "Oh, my, you're the most adorable baby I've ever seen! I'm Clarice! I'm your father's personal secretary, and apparently the last person to find out anything, including when he adopted yet another child!"

"This wasn't a...planned acquisition," Bruce muttered, the tips of his ears pink. He let the blonde gently squish your fat cheeks and you preened under the attention, lifting one fuzzy-wrapped hand to brush against her wrist.

"A planned acquisition. Like you're another company he bought on a whim and not a precious angel," Clarice giggled. "What a doll... If you ever need a babysitter, Mister Wayne, please don't hesitate to call me!"

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, exasperated but smiling good-naturedly. "Have a great day, Clarice."

"You, too! Bye-bye, angel!" She waved, and squealed when you waved back.

Bruce disappeared into his office with you, bouncing you gently on one arm while the other shrugged off the duffel bag he carried with him. Zipping it open, he quickly tugged out a pop-up bassinet to place you in, then the pieces to an enclosed play pen he built and filled with some blankets, a couple toys, and an extra Red Robin binky (Tim got to the toys first this morning).

"Okay," he sighed, scooping you up and relocating you to the pen. "I've actually got to run my own company for a bit, and the others are busy, so you get to hang out with me today."

Bruce rested his arm on his desk, then his chin in his hand, and stared down at you. You were staring intently back at him, the binky bopping up and down as you suckled on it.

"You're a little young to learn the ropes, but I'll explain what I'm doing anyway. Every baby book I've looked at tells me you get something out of it even if you don't understand what I'm saying, so today it's time to do payroll. I'd make you sign an NDA, because you're about to see a lot of personal files, but you don't know how to hold a pencil, read, write, or speak yet, so I think we're fine."

Bruce had two monitors on his desk. He duplicated his screen and spun the other one around so you could watch what he was doing in real time.

"I don't like to delegate this task to other people because the last six times I did, they were eventually found embezzling money. Unfortunately, that tends to happen when you live in Gotham. Right now I've opened the pay software — it's this icon here, where the mouse is circling — and I'm going to ask it to open the time sheets for the last two weeks..."

---

A NEW FAMILY MEMBER? BRUCE WAYNE SPOTTED IN WAYNE TOWER WITH INFANT, SPECULATION GROWING

CEO of Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne seen with a baby after exiting his office this afternoon!

[An image of you in your Nightwing onesie, tucked securely in a smiling Bruce's arms as he walks out of an elevator, is printed on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.]

Sources say Wayne filed another adoption form with the courts a week ago and is being met with mixed reviews. Large portions of the public are joking that Wayne has an "adoption problem" while others speculate he is too inexperienced to foster an infant.

"Wasn't his youngest kid, like, 9 when he adopted him?" Asks one Carmine Falconi, recently released from Blackgate on good behavior. "None o' my business, of course, but I don't think he knows how to raise a tiny tot like that. My guys ain't touchin' a hair on that one's head, though. Kidnapping the odd teen or two, sure, go nuts, but even us crooks got codes, and that one's off-limits in my book."

Wayne declined to comment when the Gotham Gazette reached out and remaining family have further refused interviews about the subject.

(Alfred got to the phone first.)

---

The newspaper clipping was already framed and proudly sitting on the dining room table when Bruce woke up the next morning and shuffled downstairs for breakfast with you in his arms. He spared it a tired glance, put you in your high chair, and relented to Damian's insistent shoving so the boy could sit next to and feed you (he got to the pantry first).

"The next time you plan on actually doing your day job," the boy hissed, "bring one of us with you. There was an abysmal amount of security protocols you ignored when leaving work to allow paparazzi the chance to grab photos. I won't let your frivolous behavior cause them harm."

"Are you volunteering?" Bruce asked, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee Alfred handed over. He quietly greeted Dick and Jason as they filed into the room and had a quick rock-paper-scissors match to see who got to sit on your other side. Jason won. "Any networking events I have to attend, you almost always find a way to weasel out of."

"If it will keep our new charge safe," Damian huffed, "I can handle a few stupid luncheons."

"That's not a pass to skip school. If it's between a social or a class, you're going to class."

Damian looked simultaneously pissed and relieved. His fist clenched tightly around the small, silicone spoon, before he forced himself to relax and continue feeding you. You opened your mouth obediently for another offering of mushed-up bananas, apples, and cinnamon baby food from a high quality brand, giving a happy hum.

"Then the duty falls to one of you fools," he snapped at Jason and Dick, "which is akin to trusting a mosquito not to drink from you at the first possible opportunity. You'll pick up the slack when I'm otherwise indisposed."

"No can do, baby bat," Dick said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. He quickly snapped a picture of you with your mouth open to accept another spoonful of food. "I have a day job, too. I don't even live here. I'm just on an extended vacation until the end of next week, then it's back to Blüdhaven."

Damian focused his glare on Jason next, who smirked back and shook his head.

"Legally dead. So, 'less you want Brucie Wayne and an innocent baby seen all around town with Red Hood, the crime lord, it's a no from me."

Damian weighed the pros and cons. Bruce shot him a look and shook his head, dismissing the idea entirely.

The boy grit his teeth. He scraped the last of the baby food from its jar and fed it to you, then delicately wiped the remnants from your mouth. You gummed at his finger and made grabby hands, indicating your desire to get out of the high chair. Jason scooped you up first with a swift call of "dibs!", carrying you away to get bathed and dressed for the day.

"Then...then you have to go into work with Timothy!" Damian demanded, facing Bruce again, who had finished his coffee by now and was eating a slice of buttered toast. The man raised a brow, looking only marginally more awake than he was at the start of the day.

"Tim hates being at the office with me," Bruce explained as Alfred came around to set a plate of pancakes, eggs, and freshly-squeezed orange juice in front of Damian. "Says the Brucie act is annoying to be around and it drives productivity down at least 8% every time. It's a lie, I've checked the numbers, but if he doesn't want to be at the Tower at the same time as me then I'm not going to push a non-issue."

"You?" said Damian, incredulous. "You aren't going to push a non-issue? You push everything. It may as well be your middle name."

He cut into his food with more force than necessary, cutlery scraping unpleasantly against the plate until he lifted his hands again. He shrugged off the hand Bruce tried to place on his shoulder, chewing angrily on a mouthful of pancake.

"I'm open to ideas, son," the man said, "but here are the facts: You have to go to school Monday through Friday. I won't let you homeschool because you need to socialize with people in your age group. Jason isn't interested in declaring himself alive right now. Dick doesn't live at the Manor full time and has separate responsibilities. Tim is juggling college, Wayne Enterprises, and patrols. Alfred is too ol— is aging gracefully, and might prefer to have more time to himself instead of watching the baby all alone for hours on end."

Alfred took Bruce's empty plate away with a very sharp look, then excused himself back to the kitchen.

Bruce turned in his chair to fully face Damian, who glared at his breakfast like it personally caused this mess, and not one hyper-empathetic man and his bleeding heart for orphans.

"Now, can you tell me how best to solve this problem without the occasional "take your kid to work day," or enrolling the baby in a daycare program?"

Yes, he could. But unfortunately for Damian, he had inherited a bleeding heart of his own, which constricted at the thought of giving his little sibling back up for adoption. Instead, he swallowed his next mouthful of food and sighed.

"More research is needed," he mumbled, which was the closest he could ever get to admitting he didn't know something. "However, my complaints still stand. Let the paparazzi get a bad photo if it means keeping the babe safe. Their well-being is your top priority, so act like it."

"Heard," Bruce said, sounding far too fond for Damian's liking. "Finish your breakfast and then get ready for school."

The boy grumbled but complied, and soon stood next to the door waiting for Alfred to pull a car up to the driveway. He watched Bruce carry you in his arms after he slung the duffel bag with your essentials over his shoulder, tugging the small hood of your red oneside up (Jason dressed you first today) over your head to ensure you didn't get cold.

"Have a good day, Damian," Bruce told him.

"Sure, whatever." Damian took you from his father and adjusted your hood himself. You grabbed his finger in your small fist with all the strength you could muster and tried to put it in your mouth. He gently pried it free, and Bruce popped a Batman binky in there instead. "You will be safe today. When I'm finished conforming to what American society deems a proper education, I will retrieve you myself."

Your binky bopped up and down as you suckled on it, staring silently at Damian. It was practically a yes to him, so he took it.

Glancing briefly at his father, he hesitated a moment, then kissed your forehead and quickly passed you back to Bruce before heading outside to let Alfred drive him to school.

Bruce watched him go with an unreadable expression. He quickly turned and faced Dick once Damian was out of earshot.

"Did you —"

"I'm texting you the picture right now," Dick said, thumbs flying across the keyboard. "What should the caption be for my Twitter post? #BestBrotherEver or #SecretSofty?"

"Either way, he's going to kick your ass."

[vertagedialer]

Now or Never: When Click to Call Becomes Your Competitive Edge

Discover how utilizing Click to Call, Click to talk, click to dial can give you a competitive edge. Learn how to boost your business starting now.

[prettydaisygirl]

Can I ask for a streamer!James that asks the reader to join a stream with him? Maybe he's teaching the reader how to play a game.

I am obsessed with all your writing but mainly streamer James

Hi, nonnie! Thank you so much for your request! I had a lot of fun with this one! I am sooooo in love with streamer!James, and I def want to keep expanding the streamer!marauders stuff, maybe even eventually including the girls?? I imagine they have their own little streaming house lol. Hope you enjoy!!

streamer!James Potter x fem!superfan!reader who joins James on his live-stream ✿ 1.6k words

cw: NSFW 18+, fem reader, marauders as live-streamers, dry humping, fingering, watching it on camera, reader is on James' stream, reader is bad at video games

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

previous part | next part

The backseat of the uber is supposed to be spacious, James has the money to make sure he gets the safest and most comfortable rides. And the car that you’re in is very roomy and comfortable, that isn’t the problem at all.

The problem is James. And, well, you really can’t even call it a problem.

James is wrapped around you, your thigh atop his after he guided it there, his arms wrapped around your middle as his nose nuzzles the skin of your neck. The uber driver eyes the two of you and even as your cheeks flame, you still aren’t as embarrassed as you were when James greeted you at the airport, screaming your name so loud the whole floor went silent and then he pretty much tackled you. You’d be mortified if you weren’t so in love.

He refuses to let you carry your bags when you get to his flat, and you barely even manage to say hello to the other marauders before James is dragging you into his bedroom. He kicks the door shut with his foot behind him, muffling the whooping and hollering of his best friends. His lips are on yours and you giggle into the kiss as he gathers you into his arms.

“Shit, angel,” He whispers before taking your bottom lip between his own and sucking it gently, making you moan. He lets go of your lip, whispering again, “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

He buries his face into your neck and hugs you tight, arms around your middle and hands sprawled across your back. The scent of his body wash lingers, musky and sweet, and you slide one hand up to tangle in his curls, fingers gripped around the dark, unruly strands. Your body fits perfectly against his, your heartbeats in sync as James just holds you for a while. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are so soft and full of love you find yourself melting. “Love you,” You mumble, pressing your nose into his shoulder as you feel your cheeks warm from his attention.

“I love you too,” James says, pressing a gentle kiss to your crown before he pulls back from the embrace, one hand moving to rest against your hip. He gestures toward his desk with the other. 

“Here’s where the magic happens,” He tells you, and you gape a bit as you take it all in. You let yourself look around his bedroom, seeing the background from his stream in real life. It has you feeling lighter than air, and you giggle as you practically pounce onto James again, pressing your lips to his. 

James steadies you easily, and he giggles into the kiss for a bit before pulling away, cupping your face in his hands. “Come on, love. I have to show you how the controller works before stream starts.”

He guides you over to his desk, hand still on your hip. He plops down onto his gaming chair, legs spread gently, and places you on top of his lap. You find your heart beating wildly out of your chest.

James has one arm wrapped around you, hand sprawled on your stomach under your shirt. His thumb brushes the skin there gently as his other hand clicks around on the computer, your eyes not able to follow the quick movements as things change. He pulls up his streaming software, and there you are. James pulls up the screen with no game visible, just the two of you filling up the monitor. You must have a strange look on your face that James sees in the camera and he turns his head, nuzzling his nose against your temple.

“Hmm?” The noise is a simple question, his lips brushing over your ear. You watch his movements on the monitor, every single part captured by his camera and reflected back to you. You try not to squirm but it is becoming increasingly more difficult as heat pools in your lower belly. 

“I just…” You tense when his tongue barely brushes the shell of your ear, and you can practically feel him smirking, “I’ve thought about this a lot.”

Your eyes meet in the monitor, and a slow smirk spreads over James’ face. He leans back a bit, tilting his head for a moment as though he is thinking about something. You watch his eyelids narrow as they meet yours in the reflection. 

“When you’re touching yourself?” James asks, and you can see him move in the monitor as you feel his hand begin to slide down your front. His long, thick fingers begin to rub gentle circles over the fabric there, just barely any friction and clearly not nearly enough.

“Yeah,” You admit softly with a short nod, leaning your head against his. Your hips rock against his touch, seeking more, and he lets out a soft grunt in your ear. Both of you watch as he stops his movement, hands finding their way to your hips again. He guides you against his lap, your eyelids fluttering at the pressure against your clit when you rub on his bulge, even through all of the layers of fabric. “Usually while I was watching.”

The sound James makes has your head spinning and you reach down to grip the fabric of his sweatpants. He speeds up the pace of your rocking, beginning to slowly thrust his own hips up into yours.

“You touched yourself while you watched me play?” He asks breathlessly, and one of his hands goes under your pants and your underwear to play directly with your folds. Your toes curl and your mouth parts in pleasure. When you don’t answer, he chuckles and nudges at you with his nose again. “You hear me, lovely?”

“Y-Yeah,” Your voice is strained and you swallow thickly, the heat quickly building in your abdomen with each roll of your hips and circle of his fingers. You get distracted again when he gently pushes his middle finger inside of you, and he smirks knowingly. 

“C’mon, lovie, a bit louder for the camera,” James encourages soothingly into your ear and something about it makes everything light up like fire. You whine loudly, and James laughs, sure his roommates could hear but not caring. He always finds ways to embarrass you, and you hate that you love it, especially right now. 

His thumb plays with your clit as he curls his finger inside you, gentle movements that have your nerve endings alight. You end up gripping the arms of the gaming chair, your legs opening a little wider. You can see the way his hand moves under your pants in the monitor, the way your body shudders and his hips buck slightly. 

The pressure snaps when his finger curls again and you cum, shuddering, and James watches the entire thing on his screen. When your ears stop ringing and you can finally open your eyes again, you see his expression. He’s smug, practically beaming with pride. 

His hand slides out of your panties and he switches back to the game screen. Less of both of you is visible in this one, just from the chest up. 

James keeps you on his lap, reaching down to grab a set of headphones he bought in your favorite color and placing them on your head before his own. He sets up a controller for you, also in your favorite color, and turns on all of his lights for stream. You watch, heart pounding excitedly. You can’t believe you’re going to be on live with him, it’s like a dream come true.

He shows you what each button does, and how the joysticks work on the controller. You feel a bit overwhelmed, especially when his alarm goes off to signal the start of stream and you still don’t know what X does.

He keeps you on his lap as he moves to start stream, bulge still evident beneath you. You try not to focus on it as you watch his stream starting soon screen begin.

Stream Title: teaching my gf to play minecraft (impossible)

Prongs: Hello, hi chat! Welcome in, everyone! As you can see from the title of today’s stream, I am showing my wonderful girlfriend, yourusername, how to play minecraft. Baby, is this your first time playing minecraft? Or any video game?

You: Yeah, I have never even held a controller like this before. I used to play games on the wii, though.

This makes James laugh loudly, and his chat seems excited to watch you play. It’s immediately evident that you are really bad, given your lack of past experience with video games other than Just Dance and Wii Sports. It makes for hilarious content, with 75% of it being James laughing while you struggle helplessly.

Prongs: Angel, you have to punch the tree

You: Punch it? Why would I punch a tree? That would hurt!

Prongs: Okay, that’s a zombie, baby. Hit it with your sword.

You: AHHH! HELP! Do I have a sword? Dies

You don’t make much progress in the game throughout the stream, but everyone has fun, including James’ chat. They make sure to say how much they love you and want you on his stream. Some even suggest you start your own channel. James presses a long kiss to your lips for the fan edits before he ends the stream with a click. 

The streaming software doesn’t close for a long time after that, though.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[blissfulflw]

Hii!! So um 🥺, im not sure how to write a request but um here's mine 👉👈

Loser Fem Reader x Popular Cool Girl Karina

So the plot goes like, Reader and Karina go to the same school and of course Karina is popular at their school and Reader knows it but she doesn't have like the cliche crush on her but she just knows. So one day they were both late and Reader rides their bike and tried to speed up but she didn't check around her corner and was suddenly hit by someone's car. Reader tries to get up fast, embarrassed by the fact that they got hit, someone gets out of the car to check on her, and asks Reader if they're okay, Reader recognizes the voice and realizes that it was actually Karina, so she gets more embarrassed and just brushes off the fact that she got hit by a car and just rides away ignoring the pain. Of course Karina was bewildered by this and just stares at Reader's back as she bikes away. Soon after, still in pain Reader tries to attend school, acting normal like usual, but then Karina recognizes her stuff like that and they talk eventually, like Karina now recognizes that Reader goes to their school and stuff like that.

So yeh thats the whole intro, as for the whole plot you can think of it lol, I just thought it would be a funny story like most introverts would act like they're ok as if they didn't get hit with a 100kg force lol.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐵𝑖𝑐𝑦𝑐𝑙𝑒 𝐶𝑟𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠

Pairing- Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem reader

Genre- Fluff

Word count- 6887

Mornings are supposed to be quiet. That’s your thing. The soft click of your bike chain, the chill air brushing your cheeks, earbuds in and the world tuned out. You like your little routines—the ones that keep you out of the way. You’re not trying to be late. You’re not trying to be seen.

But the universe had other plans today.

Your phone never buzzed with its usual alarm. Maybe it died overnight. Maybe the software glitched. Maybe fate just woke up with a sick sense of humor. Either way, you woke up forty minutes later than you should have, heart already hammering before your feet hit the ground.

The panic didn’t settle—it bloomed. You barely had time to wash your face. Forget breakfast. You threw on the first hoodie you saw, a faded one from some band no one remembers, and forced your arms through the sleeves of your ragged backpack. One shoelace was still untied as you slammed your front door and grabbed your bike from the porch like your life depended on it.

The wind felt sharper than usual as you sped down the street, legs burning with every pedal. You could already picture the tardy slip, the teacher’s passive-aggressive sigh. More than that, you hated the thought of walking into a classroom last, everyone looking up to see which loser couldn’t manage to get to school on time.

You leaned into the curves of the street like a practiced rider—sharp, fast, automatic. You were almost there. One more turn and you’d be in sight of the side lot. You didn’t slow down. You didn’t think.

You didn’t look.

That was your mistake.

The honk came too late. Tires screeched against asphalt. Your front tire clipped something hard and metallic, and your body pitched forward in a messy blur of panic and gravity.

The landing hurt. A lot. Not broken-bone hurt, but definitely I’m-going-to-feel-this-tomorrow hurt. Your elbow grated against pavement. Your knee twisted weird. The breath rushed out of you in a harsh exhale as you hit the ground and skidded a few inches before stopping.

You groaned softly, already burning with embarrassment before you could even assess the damage. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, hoping—praying—no one saw that.

“Are you okay?” a voice called, slightly breathless.

You froze.

You knew that voice.

A car door slammed shut behind you. Shoes crunched over gravel. You turned your head, wincing at the motion, just in time to see her.

Jimin.

Of all people.

The girl walking toward you looked like a magazine cover come to life, even in a simple school uniform. Her blazer was perfectly fitted, her long dark hair falling over one shoulder like it had been styled that way on purpose. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but her skin still had that unfair, flawless glow that made you want to disappear.

You knew who she was, obviously. Everyone did. She was that girl—the one you hear laughing from down the hallway, the one whose Instagram account somehow had more followers than the school’s official page. She was friends with everyone, enemies with no one, and untouchable in the kind of way that didn’t seem real.

And now she was standing over you. Worried. Looking directly at you.

Her brows furrowed as she took in your torn jeans, your bleeding elbow, the blood already soaking through your sleeve.

“You’re bleeding,” she said softly, crouching beside you.

You sat up straighter on reflex. “I’m—uh—I’m fine.”

You reached for your bike, but the handlebar had twisted completely sideways and the chain had popped off. Still, you tugged it upright like that would undo what just happened.

Jimin tilted her head. “You sure? You kinda hit the hood pretty hard.”

Her car was sleek, black, and parked just a few feet behind you. It gleamed in the morning sun, not a dent on it. Of course it didn’t. If anything, your bike looked worse than her bumper.

“It’s fine,” you said again, this time more insistent, your voice rising with panic. “I wasn’t paying attention. Totally my fault. Sorry about—your car.”

Jimin blinked at that. “My car’s fine, but—seriously, you don’t have to—”

You didn’t wait for her to finish. Your face was already flushed with heat, your arm pulsing, and the longer she looked at you, the harder it was to breathe.

You shoved the bike forward, forced the pedal into place, and ignored the sting shooting through your knee as you pushed off. “Sorry—g-gotta go. I’m late.”

“Wait—!”

But you were already pedaling away, crooked and shaky, sweat beading at your hairline as you tried not to cry. Not from pain. Not even from fear.

Just sheer, mortifying embarrassment.

_____

Your knee throbbed with every step as you limped your way through the school gates, trying to make your movements look casual. You weren’t limping. Nope. Definitely not. Just walking with a little… attitude. A swagger, maybe. Definitely not a result of being sideswiped by a luxury car driven by Yu freaking Jimin.

You could still hear her voice echoing in your head.

“You’re bleeding.”

You rolled your eyes at yourself as you shuffled past the front office. She probably said that to people all the time. It wasn’t like it meant anything. She was just being polite. Or concerned for legal reasons. You might’ve dented her bumper with your body.

God, could this day get any worse?

You slid into homeroom just as the bell rang, dropping into your seat with a wince as your knee made contact with the edge of your desk. You hissed under your breath, pulling your hoodie sleeve over the bloodstained cuff. No one noticed. Not that you expected them to.

Being invisible was a kind of superpower. You’d trained for it. Eyes down. Words mumbled. Walk fast. No sudden movements. It worked like a charm. Until now.

Because someone did notice.

And that someone was now standing just inside the classroom door.

Yu Jimin.

Your heart sank. Not again.

She scanned the room like she was looking for someone. And when her eyes landed on you, you could actually feel it. Like a pin dropping directly onto your skin.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just tilted her head the tiniest bit, like she was still trying to figure you out. You quickly looked down at your desk, pretending to be intensely fascinated by the geometry textbook you hadn’t opened all semester.

Jimin moved to her seat a few rows ahead, her friends already buzzing around her like satellites. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she wasn’t laughing like usual. And—worse—she glanced back at you. Twice.

You were doomed.

_____

You made it through two more classes before you had to go to the nurse’s office. You told yourself it was for the bandages, not the fact that your leg was screaming every time you moved. The nurse barely glanced at you before handing over antiseptic wipes and some gauze. She didn’t ask what happened. You didn’t offer.

When you stepped back into the hallway, you weren’t expecting anyone to be there.

But of course, Jimin was.

She was leaning against the opposite wall like she’d been waiting. When she spotted you, her arms crossed and one brow lifted.

“You,” she said simply.

You froze mid-step. “Me…?”

“You ran away this morning.”

You gave her a flat look. “I didn’t run. I biked. Poorly.”

A corner of her mouth twitched, and you hated how perfect her smirk was. “And now you’re limping. So… not that poorly.”

You glanced around, hoping no one else was witnessing this interaction. “Did you follow me?”

“No,” she said, tilting her head. “You just looked like someone who’d hide in the nurse’s office.”

“Ouch.”

“I meant it in a nice way.”

“You hit me with your car.”

“That was your fault,” she said easily, but not unkindly. “You didn’t check the intersection.”

“You didn’t stop at the stop sign.”

“I did! You just came out of nowhere like a street goblin on a rusty bike.”

You blinked. “Did you just call me a goblin?”

“I said it affectionately.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or die. Probably both. Maybe at the same time.

There was a pause. And then Jimin’s expression softened.

“Hey,” she said, a little quieter. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

Your throat tightened a little. She said it like she meant it. Like she actually cared. You didn’t know what to do with that.

You nodded quickly. “I’m fine. Just a few scrapes.”

“Your elbow’s still bleeding.”

You looked down. So it was.

“Damn it.”

“Come on,” she said, reaching forward before you could stop her. She gently tugged your hoodie sleeve back to look at the wound, frowning when she saw the half-dried blood. “That’s not gonna heal right like that.”

You pulled your arm back on instinct. “It’s fine. I don’t need a—”

“I have a first aid kit in my locker.”

Of course she did. Queen of preparedness.

Before you could protest, she turned and started walking, tossing a casual “Follow me” over her shoulder.

And, somehow, you did.

Her locker was near the science wing, lined with pink stickers and Polaroids of her and her friends. She punched in the combo without looking, then pulled the door open to reveal an immaculate interior: mini mirror, gum, emergency deodorant, mascara, and—yep—first aid kit.

“You run a small hospital in there?” you muttered as she rummaged.

Jimin pulled out the kit and handed you a fresh antiseptic wipe. “Can’t always trust the nurse’s office. The Band-Aids in there expired in, like, 2012.”

You bit back a smile and wiped your elbow, wincing as the sting hit.

Jimin watched you. “You don’t go here much, do you?”

You frowned. “I’ve been here for two years.”

“I mean… like, go here. You keep to yourself.”

You shrugged, not answering.

“I notice things,” she added after a second.

You raised an eyebrow. “Like street goblins?”

That made her laugh. It was warm and real, not the showy kind she used with her crowd.

“Okay, I deserve that.”

“Why are you even talking to me?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. Your voice was quieter now, the edges a little raw. It wasn’t meant to sound bitter—but maybe it did.

Jimin blinked, surprised. “Because I hit you with my car?”

“That was this morning.”

“So?”

“So you don’t usually talk to people like me.”

She tilted her head, like she was genuinely confused. “What do you mean, people like you?”

You looked away. “Forget it.”

“No,” she said. “Say it.”

“People you don’t notice.”

There was a pause. Jimin leaned back against the lockers, studying you.

“Well,” she said finally, “I noticed you now.”

And for some reason, that made your chest ache a little.

_____

You didn’t expect anything to come of it.

People like Jimin existed in a different orbit. She brushed against the edge of your world today because of a car accident. That didn’t mean she’d stay.

And yet—

You caught her looking at you again in third period.

Not a subtle glance, not an accidental flicker of her gaze. A real, sustained look. She was sitting across the room, one row over and three seats down, next to her usual group. She didn’t laugh when someone showed her something on their phone. She didn’t flip her hair or roll her eyes dramatically the way she always did. She just watched you.

You did your best not to shrink into your hoodie.

When lunch came around, you made your usual exit before the bell. That way you could get to your usual spot in the back corner of the library, where the only noise was the occasional printer malfunction and the rustle of gum wrappers. You didn’t eat in the cafeteria. You’d made that mistake once last year and got bumped so hard into a tray of spaghetti you’d sworn off the lunchroom for good.

But as you reached the double doors to the library, a voice called out behind you.

“Hey!”

You flinched before you turned.

Yu Jimin.

Again.

She jogged up, her bag swinging against her hip. “Where are you going?”

You blinked. “Library.”

“To eat?”

You lifted your sandwich from your hoodie pocket like a badge of honor. “Yeah.”

She frowned. “Why don’t you eat in the cafeteria?”

“Because it’s loud. And crowded. And smells like someone microwaved fish.”

She laughed. “That’s… true.”

“Anyway,” you said, hitching your backpack higher, “you’ve got your table, right? The big round one by the vending machines. With the beautiful people.”

“You know where I sit?”

You gave her a flat look. “Everyone knows where you sit.”

She looked oddly pleased by that. Not in a smug way—just like she hadn’t realized it mattered. “Come sit with me today.”

You stared. “What?”

She gestured casually. “Come on. Just today. I’ll even protect you from any rogue spaghetti.”

Your stomach did a somersault. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny,” she said. “And you got hit by a car. That earns you at least one free lunch.”

You hesitated. Your instincts screamed at you to run. Hide. Retreat to safety.

But then Jimin tilted her head, smiling just a little. It wasn’t her usual confident smirk. It was softer. Curious.

And against your better judgment, you said, “Okay.”

The cafeteria didn’t implode when you walked in with Jimin.

But it felt like it might.

Heads turned. Conversations paused. You saw more than one person lean over to whisper something. You kept your eyes locked on the back of Jimin’s head as she led you through the maze of tables like she didn’t notice any of it.

You sat beside her.

Her friends were already there. Minjeong, Yizhou, and two others whose names you only vaguely remembered. You braced for them to laugh or ask what you were doing there. But surprisingly, they didn’t.

Minjeong gave you a small nod. “You’re the bike girl, right?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Jimin cut in, voice cheerful. “Her name’s Y/N. And I hit her with my car this morning.”

“Ohhh,” Yizhou said, leaning in with interest. “You’re the one.”

“I didn’t press charges,” you said dryly, and the table laughed.

You blinked. You hadn’t meant to be funny.

“You’re okay though?” Minjeong asked, more seriously. “That was kind of dramatic.”

“I’ve had worse,” you muttered. “But yeah. I’m fine.”

“You should’ve seen her,” Jimin said, smiling now as she peeled an orange. “She bounced up like it was nothing. Just dusted herself off and rode away like some kind of anime protagonist.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” Jimin insisted. “Very mysterious. Very main character energy.”

You tried not to turn red. You failed.

The lunch period passed in a strange blur. You didn’t talk much. You didn’t have to. Just being there, with them—part of the conversation instead of outside it—was enough.

And every time you thought maybe you’d said something stupid, you’d glance up and catch Jimin looking at you again.

Not like she was amused.

Not like you were some novelty.

Like she was trying to understand you.

_____

After lunch, things felt… tilted.

You’d expected things to go back to normal. That was always the way with people like Jimin—they touched your life like a meteor streaking across the sky. Bright, fast, unforgettable. But ultimately gone.

Except she wasn’t gone.

She walked with you halfway to your next class. No big deal. She said she was “just heading that way.” But she didn’t even turn down the hallway when you parted—just waited at the corner and watched you disappear into the crowd.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the day. Your body ached in slow waves—especially your knee—but that wasn’t what made your skin feel too tight. It was her.

Yu Jimin.

You didn’t have a crush on her. You were sure of that.

Right?

It wasn’t like one of those stories where the nerdy girl falls for the popular girl and everything goes spiraling. You weren’t imagining holding hands in the rain or carving her name into your desk. You were just…

Noticing.

The way she looked at you like she was listening with her whole body.

The way she made you feel like maybe you weren’t invisible after all.

You hated that it mattered.

When the final bell rang, you moved through the hallway like a ghost. Familiar. Invisible. Safe.

At least until you reached the bike rack.

Your poor ride was still half-broken, its front wheel warped, the chain slacked off and hanging like a busted necklace. You sighed and crouched beside it, trying to fix it before anyone could walk by and see.

“Need a ride?”

You jumped.

Jimin was standing there again, like she’d spawned out of thin air. Her bag slung over one shoulder, a casual breeze ruffling her hair like she was in a music video. She gestured toward her car, parked illegally beside the curb with zero shame.

“I’m good,” you said quickly, tugging at the chain. “Thanks.”

“You’re not good. Your bike’s crying.”

“It’s just—bent. A little.”

“I can drop you off.”

You stood up and wiped your hands on your hoodie. “Why are you doing this?”

Jimin blinked. “Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to me. Offering rides. Sitting with me at lunch like we’re friends.”

“Maybe we are.”

You snorted. “No offense, but I don’t think you need another friend.”

“Maybe I need you.”

The words hung there, heavier than they should’ve been. You searched her face, waiting for the joke. The punchline.

But she wasn’t smiling.

“I didn’t mean that in a weird way,” she added, softer now. “I just meant… you’re different. People around me usually want something. Attention. Clout. A seat at the table. You didn’t even want me to help after I hit you.”

You looked away. “Yeah, well. I don’t really like attention.”

“I noticed.”

She hesitated. “But I want to give it to you anyway.”

Your heart stuttered. You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you climbed into her passenger seat like a coward.

_____

The inside of her car smelled faintly like cherry gum and vanilla. The seats were leather. The air conditioner whispered cool air against your skin as she pulled out of the parking lot like she’d done it a thousand times—with one hand on the wheel and sunglasses she didn’t even need.

“You always drive like you’re in a K-drama?” you asked, trying not to fidget with your sleeves.

Jimin grinned. “Only when I’ve got a mysterious runaway on board.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please stop calling me that.”

She didn’t answer. Just hummed something tuneless under her breath and drove.

You gave her your address reluctantly. It felt weird, letting someone like her into your world. You half-expected her to comment on your neighborhood when you got close. Not because it was bad, but because it was normal. Uneventful. A little rundown in spots. A lot like you.

But she didn’t say a word.

She parked in front of your house and turned off the engine, not moving right away.

You glanced at her. “What, you wanna come in and see my extensive collection of socially-awkward trauma?”

She snorted. “Only if you’ve got snacks.”

You cracked a smile despite yourself. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for not suing me.”

She met your eyes, and for a moment, it felt like you weren’t just someone she hit with a car. You were someone she saw.

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “So… see you tomorrow?”

“If you don’t dodge me again.”

“No promises.”

As you stepped out of the car and started toward your front door, you could feel her watching. Not in a creepy way. Just… lingering. Like she didn’t want the moment to end.

You didn’t look back.

But you smiled the whole way inside.

_____

You woke up sore.

Not the good kind of sore that came from working out or some accidental burst of physical activity. The dull, thudding kind. The kind that settled in your joints and made getting out of bed feel like a bad idea.

Your knee hated you.

Your elbow looked like someone had taken sandpaper to it. And your pride—well, that was still quietly bleeding out somewhere behind your ribcage.

You stared at the ceiling, letting the early morning light leak in around your curtains.

And then your phone buzzed.

A message.

From a number you didn’t recognize.

[Unknown Number]: Morning. Don’t bike today.

[Unknown Number]: Seriously. I mean it. I’ll be outside in 15.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You already knew who it was. No name needed.

[You]: How did you get my number

[Unknown Number]: I’m Yu Jimin. I have people.

[Unknown Number]: Also Ningning stole it from the attendance sheet

[Unknown Number]: But mostly I have people.

You blinked, rereading it three times.

[You]: This is weird

[Yu Jimin]: So is getting hit by a car and refusing a ride

[Yu Jimin]: 10 minutes now. Don’t make me get out of the car again.

You stared at the screen.

And then slowly sat up, bones groaning in protest.

_____

Ten minutes later, you stepped outside.

The air was crisp. Clean. The kind of morning that made everything feel a little too real. The sunlight wasn’t quite warm yet, and your hoodie was zipped to your chin.

Her car was parked at the curb.

And she was leaning against the hood like she was posing for a magazine cover.

Sunglasses. Hoodie. Coffee cup balanced in one hand. Looking devastatingly casual.

You walked up, tugging your sleeves down over your fingers.

“You weren’t kidding.”

“I never kid about transportation.”

You eyed her. “You do realize I have functioning legs?”

She smirked. “Barely.”

You opened the passenger door and slid in. It still smelled like vanilla and something floral you couldn’t quite place. She climbed in after you, started the engine with one hand.

For a few minutes, you drove in silence.

Then Jimin glanced over. “You always listen to nothing in the morning?”

You blinked. “What?”

“No music. No podcast. Just vibes and existential dread?”

You laughed, startled. “I guess I never thought about it.”

“Well, today’s different,” she said, tapping her phone. “You’re in my car. That means you get the Jimin Morning Mix™.”

She hit play.

A soft beat filled the car—some Korean indie track you didn’t recognize. Gentle vocals. Dreamy synths. It was… weirdly nice. It didn’t match what you thought she’d listen to. You expected hyper-pop or something loud. This was… quiet. Introspective.

“Didn’t think this was your vibe,” you said.

Jimin shrugged. “People assume a lot about me.”

You watched her for a second. Her hands on the wheel. Her mouth pressed into a line that didn’t quite smile. Her voice had a weight behind it, just for a second.

You looked back at the road.

“Yeah,” you said. “I get that.”

At school, she parked illegally again like she had diplomatic immunity. You followed her in, trying to keep your hood up, but of course, people noticed.

The whispers started almost immediately.

“She’s with Jimin again—”

“Didn’t she get hit by her car or something?”

“Are they… friends?”

You did your best to shrink into your hoodie.

Jimin noticed. Of course she did.

“Ignore them,” she said, holding the front door open for you. “They’ll find something else to talk about tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I’ll make them.”

You turned your head slightly. “You’re scaring me, Yu Jimin.”

“I’m charming.”

“You’re something.”

She laughed.

 That morning, you found her waiting outside your classroom when the bell rang.

You blinked. “Do you not have class?”

“I do,” she said. “But I figured we could walk together. You limped less today, by the way.”

“Thanks. I healed overnight. Like a Pokémon.”

She grinned and fell into step beside you.

It was subtle, the way people looked at you differently now. Some of it was curiosity. Some of it felt more like envy. But the weirdest part?

You weren’t invisible anymore.

And it was because of her.

And the strangest part?

You didn’t hate it.

_____

The final bell rang, but today, it didn’t mean the usual rush to pack up and scatter. Instead, you found yourself standing by the front doors with Jimin, watching the stream of students spill out into the afternoon sun.

“Wanna grab something?” she asked, voice easy but with that unmistakable glint of challenge you’d come to recognize. “There’s a new convenience store that opened a few blocks from here. They’ve got weird snacks and those fancy iced coffees you like.”

You blinked. “How do you know I like iced coffee?”

She smirked. “I have my sources. And I’ve been paying attention.”

You hesitated for a split second, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? Could be worse than sitting in the library alone.”

Jimin grinned and led the way out, her steps confident and relaxed. You followed, trying not to think about the strange flutter in your chest every time she looked back at you with that half-smile.

_____

The convenience store smelled like cold air and plastic wrappers. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating the rows of snacks and drinks like they were treasures waiting to be discovered.

Jimin wandered over to the iced coffee section and picked up a couple of drinks, handing one to you without a word.

You took it, fingers brushing hers just briefly, and looked around. “So… this is your favorite hangout?”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “No. But it’s the kind of place where I can be… normal. No cameras, no expectations. Just me and a bunch of junk food.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as someone who just hangs out in convenience stores.”

“Yeah?” She took a sip of her coffee, eyes on you now. “Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

You cocked your head. “Okay, mystery girl, spill.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, she looked less like the untouchable queen of school and more like someone you could actually talk to.

“My family’s… complicated. I guess I learned early how to put on a show. But that doesn’t mean I always want to be the center of it.”

You nodded, surprised by how much you wanted to keep listening.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “I just want to sit in a place like this, drink a bad iced coffee, and not have to be anyone’s idea of perfect.”

You took a long sip of your own drink, feeling like you were seeing her for the first time.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said after a beat. “I don’t usually do this stuff with people like you.”

You blinked. “People like me?”

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “You know. Not part of the usual crowd. You’re… different. Not trying to impress or compete.”

You felt your cheeks heat up but managed a smile. “Maybe I’m different in a good way.”

“Definitely,” she said, smiling back.

As you walked back toward school, side by side, you realized something:

This—whatever this was—wasn’t about popularity or status anymore.

It was about two people starting to understand each other.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

_____

The days after that convenience store trip passed in a strange sort of blur. School felt different — not because classes changed, or the workload eased, but because Jimin’s presence shifted the gravity of your usual orbit. Somehow, the walls you built around yourself felt less necessary. Like maybe someone finally saw the real you, and wasn’t running away.

That afternoon, you found yourself sitting on the cracked pavement behind the school, your backpack carelessly tossed aside. Jimin was next to you, chewing on a straw from a soda she’d swiped from the vending machine, legs stretched out in front of her like she owned the world. Or maybe just this corner of it.

Neither of you said much. You didn’t need to.

The silence wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was easy, like the pause between notes in a song — the part that lets everything else breathe.

You glanced at her sideways. “Why do you always hang out back here?”

She shrugged, eyes fixed on the sky. “Because no one usually comes here. It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

You nodded, understanding that more than you wanted to admit.

“You ever feel like you’re playing a part all the time?” she asked suddenly.

Your heart skipped. “All the time.”

She looked over, and for the first time, you caught a flicker of vulnerability beneath her cool exterior.

“I’m supposed to be perfect. The best. The most popular. But sometimes, I just want to be me — whoever that is.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. “Maybe you’re more ‘you’ than you think.”

She smiled, soft and real. “Maybe.”

For a moment, it felt like the world shrunk down to just the two of you, sharing secrets in the quiet afternoon light.

Then she nudged your shoulder gently. “You know, if you ever want to get away from the chaos — even for a little bit — you can come find me.”

You met her gaze, feeling the weight of her words. They weren’t just an offer. They were a promise.

And somehow, you knew you’d take her up on it.

That evening, your thoughts kept drifting back to Jimin — her easy smile, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the room, the soft way she’d touched your shoulder. It was confusing and new, and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

The next morning, you woke to your phone buzzing. It was her.

Jimin: Hey. You up? I’m outside.

Your heart sped up, a strange mix of excitement and nerves curling in your stomach. You threw on your hoodie and jeans, grabbed your bag, and stepped outside.

Her car was waiting at the curb, just like yesterday.

“You’re persistent,” you teased as you slid into the passenger seat.

She grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

The morning air was crisp, and the car smelled like vanilla and cherry gum — the scent somehow comforting now.

As she drove, she reached over and lightly brushed your hand.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Her fingers lingered for a moment before pulling back, but the spark between your skin stayed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all week,” she admitted, eyes on the road.

You laughed softly, heart pounding. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” she said, turning to look at you with that half-smile that made your knees weak. “I’m glad I finally did.”

For the first time, you let yourself lean a little closer.

Maybe this was the start of something neither of you saw coming.

You weren’t sure when it changed.

When a late ride to school became something like ritual. When the silence between you and Jimin turned warm. When your body started remembering the brush of her fingers before your mind could catch up.

But it had.

And now, sitting beside her in the car again — parked at the edge of a quiet overlook just outside town — it felt like you were both pretending it hadn’t.

She hadn’t said anything outright. Neither had you. But the tension lived in the space between your knees, barely a few inches apart. It hummed in the way she kept stealing glances at you and looked away a moment too late.

You were sipping from the iced coffee she’d bought you (again), staring out the windshield at the empty horizon, when she said it.

Quiet. Like she was afraid it might scare you off.

“Do you think we would’ve ended up here if I hadn’t hit you with my car?”

You blinked, lips parted around the straw. “Wow. Way to romance me, Jimin.”

She laughed, pressing her head back against the seat, her hand curled in her lap. “I’m serious.”

You glanced over. Her expression had softened. There was something behind it — like she was trying to say more than her words would allow.

“I think…” you started slowly, “…you would’ve still caught my attention eventually. You’re kind of impossible to ignore.”

She looked over. “Even when you weren’t into me?”

“I never said that.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

You didn’t look at her, not fully. You just stared down at the condensation on your cup and said, “I didn’t have a crush on you. That part was true. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious. Or aware.”

“So what changed?”

You swallowed.

“You started seeing me,” you said. “Like… actually seeing me. Not just someone at school. Not just ‘that girl who bikes in too fast and eats lunch alone.’ You looked. And you didn’t look away.”

Jimin was quiet for a long beat. The kind of silence that made your heart race because you didn’t know what would come next.

Then: “I don’t usually get to look at people like this.”

You turned, finally, eyes meeting hers. “Like what?”

“Like it matters.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it hit you in the chest like a punch — all soft edges and raw honesty.

“I’ve had people obsess over me, sure. Crushes. Fans, even. But it’s always from a distance. They’re chasing something that isn’t real.”

“And me?”

“You never chased,” she said. “You just… stayed.”

The words hung there between you, heavy with something unnamed.

She turned toward you fully now, one leg bent on the seat, her elbow resting near yours. “It’s terrifying,” she said softly. “How easy it is to talk to you. How quiet the world feels when I’m near you.”

Your heart stuttered.

“You’re not what I expected,” she continued. “You don’t try to impress me. You don’t shrink away either. You’re just you. And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until I found it.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your mouth was dry, and your chest felt tight in a way that wasn’t unpleasant — just unfamiliar.

“You make me feel… less alone,” you admitted. “Like I don’t have to apologize for being quiet. Or awkward. Or not perfect.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re not awkward.”

You laughed under your breath. “You hit me with a car and I apologized.”

She grinned. “Okay, yeah. That was awkward.”

You looked at her again.

Closer this time.

Her hand was still near yours, fingers barely brushing. She didn’t pull away. You didn’t either.

“I think I’m starting to get a crush,” you said suddenly.

It came out fast. Unfiltered. Real.

She blinked, then smiled — slow and small and dangerous in its sweetness.

“Yeah?” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

You didn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

But something passed between you — electric and impossible to take back. A silent agreement.

Something was happening.

Something fragile. Something real.

And this time, neither of you looked away.

You didn’t want to go home.

Not yet.

The sky was bleeding into that pale watercolor haze between late afternoon and dusk, and the car was still warm with sunlight trapped in the windows. The kind of warmth that makes you drowsy, that makes the silence feel alive instead of empty.

Jimin hadn’t moved since you last spoke — still watching you, her body turned toward yours, her elbow brushing the center console, her eyes soft in a way that made your chest ache.

You were the one who broke the silence, voice low. “Can we just… sit for a little while?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We can sit.”

No hesitation.

No teasing.

Just her voice, quiet and steady.

You shifted, tucking your legs under you on the seat, facing her completely now. The iced coffee in your hand had long since gone lukewarm, but you held onto it like it anchored you to something. Something real.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on your face — not in the way most people looked at you, as if they were trying to figure you out or pick you apart. She looked like she was learning. Memorizing.

You tried to hold still under that kind of attention. It wasn’t easy.

“You know,” she said softly, “I thought I knew everything about this school. All the faces. All the stories.”

You tilted your head. “And?”

“And then you came crashing into me. Literally. And suddenly I realized I didn’t know a damn thing.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest,” she said. “It’s different with you.”

“Different how?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “With you… I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to talk just to fill silence. I don’t have to be ‘Jimin’ with the capital J.”

She paused.

“With you, I can be just Jimin.”

That made something inside you ache — the kind of ache you didn’t have a name for. The kind that only happened when someone peeled back a part of themselves and handed it to you, open and fragile.

And you wanted to hold it carefully. Gently.

“I like just Jimin,” you said quietly. “A lot, actually.”

She let out a breath that sounded like relief. Her smile wobbled slightly at the corners.

Then she reached out — slowly, like giving you a chance to pull away — and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

Her fingertips brushed your skin. Your breath hitched.

“Y/N,” she said, your name soft like it wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but the first time it meant something.

“Yeah?”

“If I did something impulsive right now, would you hate me for it?”

You swallowed, pulse thudding loud in your ears.

“That depends,” you said. “How impulsive are we talking?”

She hesitated, her hand still hovering by your cheek. Her thumb brushed the corner of your jaw, feather-light.

And then she whispered, “I kind of want to kiss you.”

Your whole body went still.

Then warm.

Then weightless.

You didn’t answer with words.

You leaned forward just a little — enough.

That was all she needed.

Her lips brushed yours, soft and careful. A question, not a demand. You answered it by kissing her back — just as soft, just as careful.

When you pulled apart, neither of you said anything for a long moment.

The air inside the car felt different. Heavy with new meaning.

Jimin let her forehead rest lightly against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you biked away from me with half your body bleeding,” she murmured.

You laughed — really laughed — and she did too, and it felt like something cracked open between you. Something easy. Something terrifying. Something true.

“You’re the worst,” you said into her shoulder.

“I know,” she replied. “But I’m your worst now, right?”

You didn’t answer.

You just nodded into her hoodie and stayed there.

And she didn’t move.

_____

The next Monday morning, you walked into school not as “the girl who eats lunch alone,” or “the one who got hit by a car,” but as someone different.

Not because of the stares. Not because of the whispers.

But because Jimin was waiting for you at the front steps.

She leaned against the railing like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t the most talked-about person in the building. Like she wasn’t wearing your hoodie — the navy blue one you’d left in her car two nights ago.

You slowed as you approached, heart thudding behind your ribs.

Jimin looked up. Smiled. That same soft, quiet smile she only ever gave you now.

“Morning,” she said.

“Hey,” you replied.

She tilted her head. “You sleep okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Not really.” She stretched her arms overhead, hoodie sleeves hanging past her hands. “Kept thinking about you.”

It was so casual. So effortless.

Like she’d been waiting to say that since the second you left her car.

You looked down at the sidewalk, trying not to grin like an idiot. “You’re really not subtle, huh?”

“Not with you,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice dipped, quieter now. “I don’t want to be.”

The hallway behind her buzzed with early morning chaos — lockers slamming, friends shouting across the stairs, the shrill echo of the bell. But none of it mattered.

Not when she was standing this close. Not when her hand brushed yours again — this time not a question, but a claim.

“I don’t care what people say,” she said, voice low. “I want to do this for real.”

You looked up at her, heart hammering.

“This?”

She nodded, her fingers gently curling around yours. “Us. I’m not good at slow. Or quiet. But I’ll try, if that’s what you need.”

You squeezed her hand.

“I don’t need perfect,” you said. “I just need you.”

And it was enough.

It was more than enough.

Because the girl everyone thought had everything had found someone who saw her — not the shine, not the surface, but the soul underneath.

And you — the quiet, awkward girl who never asked for much — had been seen too.

Truly seen.

For who you were. For everything you were still becoming.

And this time, neither of you ran away.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

AI, Plagiarism, and CYA

Shout-out for all the students gearing up to go back to school in increasingly frustrated times when dealing with all this AI bullshit. As you've probably noticed, lots of institutions have adapted anti-plagiarism software that incorporates AI detectors that - surprise - aren't that great. Many students are catching flack for getting dinged on work that isn't AI generated, and schools are struggling to catch up to craft policies that uphold academic rigor. It sucks for everyone involved!

As a student, it can really feel like you're in a bind, especially if you didn't do anything wrong. Your instructor isn't like to be as tech-savvy as some, and frankly, you might not be as tech-savvy as you think either. The best thing to do, no matter how your school is handling things, is to Cover Your Ass.

Pay attention to the academic policy. Look, I know you probably skimmed the syllabus. Primus knows I did too, but the policy there is the policy the instructor must stick with. If the policy sets down a strong 'don't touch ChatGPT with a ten-foot pole' standard, stick to it. If you get flagged for something you thought was okay because you didn't read the policy carefully, you don't have ground to stand on if you get called out.

Turn off Autosave and save multiple (named) drafts. If you're using Microsoft Word because your school gives you a free license, the handy Autosave feature may be shooting you in the foot when it comes to proving you did the work. I know this seems counter-intuitive, but I've seen this bite enough people in the ass to recommend students go old-school. Keep those "draft 1234" in a file just in case.

Maintaining timestamped, clearly different drafts of a paper can really help you in the long-run. GoogleDocs also goes a much better job of tracking changes to a document, and may be something to consider, however, with all this AI shit, I'm hesitant to recommend Google. Your best bet, overall, is to keep multiple distinctive drafts that prove how your paragraphs evolved from first to final.

Avoid Grammarly, ProWiritingAid, etc. All that handy 'writing tools' software that claims to help shore up your writing aren't doing you any favors. Grammarly, ProWritingAid, and other software throw up immediate flags in AI-detection software. You may have only used it to clean up the grammar and punctuation, but if the AI-detection software says otherwise, you might be screwed. They're not worth using over a basic spell and grammar check in both Word and GoogleDocs can already do.

Cite all citations and save your sources! This is basic paper-writing, but people using ChatGPT for research often neglect to check to make sure it isn't making shit up, and that made up shit is starting to appear on other parts of the internet. Be sure to click through and confirm what you're using for your paper is true. Get your sources and research material from somewhere other than a generative language model, which are known for making shit up. Yes, Wikipedia is a fine place to start and has rigorously maintained sources.

Work with the support your school has available. My biggest mistake in college was not reaching out when I felt like I was drowning, and I know how easy it is to get in you head and not know where to turn when you need more help. But I've since met a great deal of awesome librarians, tutors, and student aid staff that love nothing more to devote their time to student success. Don't wait at the last moment until they're swamped - you can and will succeed if you reach out early and often.

I, frankly, can't wait for all this AI bullshit to melt down in a catastrophic collapse, but in the meantime, take steps to protect yourself.