#but after some consideration i changed the wording of this post bc the jokes he makes are right; what else could he have done

[chemicalarospec]

Dan Howell's faith that he would have ended up a lawyer if he didn't become a youtuber amuses me. He has never given any indication that he enjoyed any part of law school, and the video he made about dropping out presented it as a decision made entirely independent from youtube because of how depressed he was. Without at least some major detours along the way, Daniel Howell would not have graduated from law school.

[alyss01]

hihi! i thought abt this last night, but i fell asleep before typing jt lol-

so, non comfy cartel ask bc i'm dumb no plot

so just regular bb sykunno lol

alright now- reader lives with sykunno, no one knows this. reader says they have a boyfriend, and no one knows who it is. they also have explicitly said that they don't have corpse merch. so they're streaming, wearing sykunno's corpse merch, and sykunno peeks his head in after he did all of his among us tasks after being killed first and goes to hug them and be very clingy bc i feel like clingy-kunno would be so fricken cute, and then since proximity, he says, while chat's freaking out, something along the lines of 'can i have my hoodie back baby?' and everyone in the proximity just goes dead fricken silent and then reader and syk start laughing and explain themselves.

<33 have a good day!!

|[Relationship reveal]|

[Sykkuno x GN! reader]

-------------------------------------

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1.3K

Requested: yes

Synopsis: When you’re streaming among us, Sykkuno comes in to see you in his Corpse hoodie. Your relationship with him gets revealed and he stayes with you through the rest of the stream.

Warnings: 1 curse word, other than that just fluff

A/n: so guess who accidentally deleted the written one shot when it was nearly done? ..... I tried to write it again as accurately as the first time but I’m sorry for the hold up. I’m always down for some Sykkuno fluff though. Why do I feel like i only just figured out that's it's spelled Sykkuno instead of Sykunno??

Masterlist

-------------------------------------------

You started up stream, greeting the people that streamed into the chat as you explained that you would stream among us for a bit with Toast's lobby.

It was hard to keep up with the chat as it raced past, your eyes scanning the messages as they raced by.

Multiple people noted on the black hoodie you wore. The black fabric with the red print was easily recognisable as they asked if your corpse hoodie had finally come in.

It had become somewhat of an inside joke within your community, you often complained that the post office was screwing you over on purpose because your hoodie was the last to come in out of all your friend group.

"Yea, I guess you could say that" you addressed it with a small smile on our face, entirely forgetting to change out of Sykkuno's hoodie you had pulled on that morning.

Leaving the topic what it was, you joined the among us lobby and discord call.

You could see that Sykkuno had also already arrived in the little space ship, a Corpse mask on his little avatar as he stood beside him.

A small grin formed on your face as you selected the green striped scarf for your little avatar to wear.

In the meantime you watched chat with a side eye before you'd have to stop reading as the round begun. You muted yourself in the discord call as you thanked some new subs and donators.

The chat flashed with questions about your boyfriend, you had announced your relationship only recently but left the identity of him in the dark.

Your fans didn't know it was Sykkuno yet, but the two of you had decided it would be alright to reveal your relationship relatively soon, the fans were bound to find out one way or another and both of you preferred it being on your own terms.

The game started as you wished the others luck, clicking away the chat as you focussed on your tasks around the spaceship.

Sykkuno's little avatar walked away with Corpse to another part of the spaceship as you joined Rae with her tasks.

It was quite a peaceful round in your opinion, you ended up sharing a lot of tasks with Rae so you walked almost the entire time with each other.

The two of you talked about the food you'd be ordering after the game, discussing different cuisines and deciding on your favourites and comparing them with one another.

That peace however was disturbed as a meeting was called, teleporting you to the meeting room. You looked to see who had died, only to see the small avatar of Sykkuno crossed out at the bottom of the screen.

"Who could do such a thing!" You gasped loudly as your group started discussing.

You accused Corpse since you had seen them leave dropship together, "We split up at medbay, it could've literally been anyone."

"His body was in specimen." Toast pointed out.

"Could've been a self-report." Rae continued as the two of you vouched for one another.

“If its in specimen and Corpse left Sykkuno in medbay, then it has to be an older kill right?” Lily asked as the rest of you hummed in response.

Sykkuno could hear your bickering as he approached your streaming room. He had died relatively early in the round and had enough time as a ghost to finish his tasks.

He knocked softly on your door, in response to Rae's newest argument you hummed in agreement.

Sykkuno opened the door in response, you couldn't see him approach but as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind you couldn't help but lean back into his touch.

"So there my hoodie went, I was looking for it." You pecked his cheek from the side as he rested his head on your shoulder.

Neither of you had expected the mic to pick up his words, but the way the among us lobby silenced immediately had said enough.

"Wait what the fuck? Is Sykkuno unmuted?" Lily was the first to break the silence.

Chuckles escaped your mouth as you started laughing, leaning back into your chair and into Sykkuno's hold as you laughed louder.

Beside you Sykkuno grew red as he realized what had happened, awkward chuckles joining yours as you explained to the group what was going on.

By then the meeting had ended, teleporting you back to the meeting room where you could hear your friends loudly talk over one another.

A smile was plastered on your face as you quickly turned around, pulling up a chair beside you for Sykkuno so he could stay in your room for at least the current game.

You couldn't see chat because of among us, but you knew they were most likely going insane at the news.

Sykkuno sat down beside you, his arm snaking around your waist as he pecked your cheek. As you handed him a secondary set of earphones that laid on your desk and connected them to your desktop, you repositioned your microphone to hang in between the two of you.

When your friends had congratulated you and calmed down you went on with the game, staying by Corpse's side this time as he spoke up, "So that hoodie was Sykkuno's all along"

"In my defence, it was cold and the sweater was warm. Simple math." He chuckled as Sykkuno laid his head on your shoulder, watching your monitor with a small smile on his face.

"I could've kept your hoodie behind as well and delivered it with Sykkuno's," he stopped mid-sentence as his avatar stopped moving as well, "wait but how come I didn’t see you when I brought Sykkuno's merch over?"

Sykkuno was faster to answer him as he spoke up from beside you, softly pulling you tighter against him, "Y/n went out with friends that day, didn't want to make you uncomfortable or overwhelmed or anything."

Corpse laughed softly, making a smile form both your and Sykkuno's face as you continued your tasks, "It would've been fine, but thank you for being so considerate."

You pulled Sykkuno's hand on the mouse on your desk so he could control the character on the screen partially so you could wrap your arm over his shoulder as your hand found his hair.

Your fingers tangled between the locks on the back of his head, gently messaging his scalp as a small satisfied smile formed on his face at the gesture.

"Don’t mention it, if anything you'll now have an excuse to come over again." Corpse chuckled at your joke as Sykkuno finished your tasks while you walked the character around.

It took you a few hours to finish your stream, Sykkuno by your side the entire time as he hadn't been streaming anyway, only leaving briefly to leave the lobby on his own computer.

Your hand was clasped in his as you finished the stream, saying goodbye to your chat before going offline. Leaning back in your chair, Sykkuno brushed some hair out of your face with his free hand.

"How much do you want to bet that Twitter is blowing up right now?" you warily eyed your phone which laid screen down on the side of your desk.

A small laugh escaped his lips as he hand left yours, instead cupping your cheek and gently positioning your head to face him, "No matter what Twitter says, we'll be fine."

You gave him a small smile, "I know, I know," streams were exhausting and you couldn’t wait to just be able to hang on the couch with your boyfriend, "I'm glad it's out there. Now we won't have to be so secretive about everything anymore."

Sykkuno stood up, pulling you along with him and guiding you to your living room, "we can just order take out and chill today?"

You nodded your head, smiling at how well Sykkuno knew you by now, "I love you" you muttered as he pulled you onto the couch, other hand grabbing the remote to turn your tv on.

"I love you too."

[poodlejoonas]

Dad!BC AU - before and after

Because I’m feeling so soft tonight, I wanna share my thoughts on the guys before and after they become dads. Everyone knows that kids change people, but sometimes the change is nice and wholesome. 

I blame Joel and his sentimental edgy ass for that post on Instagram earlier.

(Under the read-more for length)

As the first dad of the group, Joonas was terrified of what the change would bring for him and Kirsten. He knew he would make his mistakes and he dreaded the day they would come. He was afraid that he was too immature to be a father - he read the comments online about him as a punk, about his Danish girlfriend who could barely read the hate comments written about her, and about their baby and how so many people “wished the poor girl luck” in dealing with a childish father like him. On top of that, Kirsten’s parents were begging her to leave Finland and him so they could help raise Sohvi because they thought they could do a better job than him. He was motivated to become the best dad he could be to prove them all wrong, but also to give his daughter the best life she deserved. He admits to his mistakes in the early days of fatherhood - he knows he should have been kinder to Kirsten when she was struggling mentally as a new mom.

Years later, with their third child on the way, the first two are a little bit older and they adore the hell out of their dad. Sohvi loves music like him and unapologetically stands her ground on the things she believes in. Lukas is a cannonball of a personality who loves the ice and playing hockey as much as his cousin Enkka. And the youngest of the Porkos, Jakob (aka “Jaska”) grows up to enjoy the softer things in life - reading, baking, knitting, and cuddling on a lazy day. Even through his busy schedule, he makes time to make memories with each of them in a way that matters to them - jamming out with Sohvi, skating with Lukas, and reading bedtime stories to Jaska. They all take his punk attitude, the very thing that many people used to discount his abilities to raise one child, let alone three. His family is perfect, and he realizes now that he had nothing to fear when he held his daughter for the first time.

--

Joel had never given the thought of a family of his own much consideration. He was too busy being a rock star and conquering the world, and he was afraid of what the change after having a kid would look like for him. He wanted to be happy for Joonas when he told the group in Rotterdam that he was going to be a dad, but he was afraid of losing his best friend to an uncertain future. He grew to love his niece, after some time and a little bit of effort on his part, but he still thought they just weren’t for him.

When he went out on a blind date with Emilia Peltonen months later, he wasn’t expecting it to go anywhere from there. But she gave him a second chance, and a third, and so on, until they were finally living together. Milli finally asked him what he thought of the idea of having kids, and he thought he needed “some time” to think on it. It took him all of about 12 hours to make up his mind, but they waited almost a full year before they were finally successful. In that time, he asked her to marry him, regardless of whether a baby would even come along. Still, he had his doubts about his own abilities to give his son a happy life - he was impatient and snappy, his mental health would fall apart some days, he was never the most affectionate person. And yet, none of that matters to little Viktor; Joel is his idol and, in his mind, he’s the coolest guy on Earth and he wants to be just like him someday. He teaches Enkka to skate and fosters his love for hockey and music. When Enkka needs a hug, either when he’s sleepy or he just woke up from a bad dream, he knows his dad will be there to catch him. So many people love to see that he went from being a dark edgelord online with a pessimistic sense of humor, to being the best dad and husband of their group whose public presence is covered with the signs of his pride in his family. Joel’s transformation surprised so many people, but the change was a welcome sight.

--

(TW: mention of miscarriage)

Niko wanted to be a dad from the beginning. When he dated Jenna in high school, the hopeless romantic in him dreamed of their little family and the future they would build together. He was devastated when they went their separate ways, thanks to their very different paths in life. He gave up on his dream of their little ones, until they crossed paths again. He knew he would be a fool to give up his second chance. He was overjoyed to learn that Jenna was pregnant with their first child; unlike the first two dads, he had no fears in the back of his mind that he would be a good one. As soon as he stepped into his house, he turned off the rock star Niko the world sees, and became Leevi’s dad and Jenna’s husband with every ounce of his being.

They made a promise to each other: when Leevi says his first word, it’s time for baby number two. Blissfully unaware of his parents’ plan to give him a sibling, Leevi watched Rommi walk by and blurted out his first word: kissa! Within two months, they were expecting their daughter to round out their little family. Lahja Rose was born the next February, two weeks past her original due date. Her father was a little heartbroken - she was supposed to be born on his birthday, hence the name Lahja (“gift”). But he was happy to finally have his little Rose to pay tribute to his favorite film (even if people made their fair share of jokes about it). They hit their first real snag as a family when, between 6 and 11 months, Lahja lived with on/off inner ear infections. Her parents did everything they could to help relieve her pain, eventually opting for surgery to fix it. Niko was a wreck for the full five months, refusing to leave his family’s side and being more than willing to fight anyone who disrespected his decision to have privacy with his family. Niko helped Jenna through the painful process of losing what would have been their third child. They mourned, they healed, and they decided that they were at peace just having their two.

--

Olli wanted to be a dad, but he was terrified when he learned he had two on the way. Kaarina wanted to laugh at his adorkable response to the news - “count them again” - but she knew his fears were valid. She’d known this man since they were children, and his response to the news was typical of him as an anxious mess under his cool and seemingly collected personality. Her fears were the same; after all, she had no idea what changes were to come for her health. But both girls had a hold on his heart long before they were even born. Olli was willing to do anything to make Riina and the twins feel comfortable until their arrival a week before Christmas. The moment Elina was placed in his arms and he saw the way Elisabet fit in Riina’s, he wondered where those fears even belonged now.

Well... just a little more than three months later, when he was convinced he’d gotten his wife pregnant again, Olli was rightfully scared shitless. He loved his girls, but he couldn’t have three kids before the first two even celebrated their first birthday. Having narrowly dodged that nightmare, he took all the next steps to ensure that it never happened again. He was happy with his two, and so was Riina. The Matelas spend their summers at their beach home, the twins developing as much of a love for the ocean as him. They wear the best coordinated outfits - but not matching though, Olli and Riina want them to maintain their own personality outside of being twins. He’s more than happy to let them put a tiara on him and invite him to their “garden tea party” in their shared room. It was tough at first, but he soon became a master of carrying one in each arm while they felt tall and safe with him. But he can be a bit strict with them sometimes; he loves them, but he doesn’t want them to follow in his footsteps as a rock star. He knows it can be difficult and fun, but he doesn’t want his daughters to fall victim to the lifestyle. And yet, Elisabet was determined to forge her own path in music, while Elina took to the ice like Lukas and Enkka as a figure skater. There was no use in trying to stifle their dreams. Olli’s proud of his girls, and he’s always wanted them to be happy.

--

Tommi’s family came pre-started. He was introduced to Marja Oksanen, a single mom to a young son who escaped a dangerous relationship with the father of her child. She was afraid that learning about her son would drive him away, that he wouldn’t bother with a single mom if she couldn’t put their relationship first. But Tommi loved this woman already, and someday he was sure he would love her son. He had his reasons to be wary around the boy since he’d never had a father figure in his life (outside of his Uncle Niko for the year or so that Marja and Miikka lived with him and Jenna). He let Miikka accept him first, and he waited for his cue before he grew into his role as his step-dad.

He readily agreed when Marja asked him if he wanted a baby with her (or “another cub” to fit the bear theme they adopted for their family). Tommi would have been happy to have several cubs with her. But when her pregnancy with Anna left her on constant bed rest and their daughter was born a month earlier than she should have, he couldn’t put her through that stress again. Marja’s health mattered more than the thought of a large family. Besides, he was more than happy with “Baby Bear” (Miikka) and “Cub” (Anna), because despite the fact that Miikka was not his son by birth, he was his son by love. And he was willing to defend that from anyone who dares to insult their family dynamic. Tommi is a master of being a dad; his energy calms both kids down when they’re stressed or in need of some love and understanding. It’s not an uncommon sight to see him with one on either side of him as the three of them relax in his recliner. So many people know Tommi as a man with a tough exterior, who doesn’t let his emotions show, doesn’t talk much, and doesn’t garner much attention in a room. But Tommi with his children is a different person altogether. He shares a side of him that belongs to his family.

--

As the last to become a dad, Aleksi had a wealth of experience to rely on when he needed help with his son. He made the difficult decision to voluntarily become a single dad when his ex-girlfriend Laila expressed zero desire to become a mother. He endured so much stress and heartache in the process, from Laila dragging him in the media over his decision to announce the pregnancy to being banned from Noah’s birth altogether. He first laid eyes on Noah when he was just under an hour old, having only been held by the nurses who prepared him to meet his father. He spared no expense in spending two nights in the hospital with him in a suite, even when Laila had long checked out and left without saying goodbye to either of them.

He felt a twinge of shame when he accepted help from Joonas in taking care of his son. He wanted to do it by himself and prove that he could be a good dad alone. But having a village of friends behind him helped ease him into everything that fatherhood would throw at him. When Noah is diagnosed on the autism spectrum when he’s three, Aleksi immediately learns everything he can to understand his son better. He becomes his biggest defender when people try to push him out of his comfort zone, telling him that they can respect his decision to wear his noise-cancelling headphones when he needs them or they can leave both of them alone. He learns sign language to communicate with Noah whenever he goes mute and he shows solidarity when Noah stims in public. He stays out of the dating scene for years to stop a revolving door of strangers from coming around his son who is shy around new people and lives with separation anxiety from losing his mother at a young age. But Hanna Laaksonen was the perfect exception, as a child psychologist with a Master’s degree in early childhood development. The rest of his friends watched as Aleksi fell in love with her and as Noah began to call her Mom. Still, Aleksi always put Noah first, the same as he always had, and Hanna respected that fact.

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[oftenderweapons]

Mold Me New (1) – Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons story

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Wordcount: 3.2k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!!  Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Introducing the reader’s backstory, exploring her life as a wife and then as a single woman who is slowly getting to know herself as an individual person.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There are mild curse words, a bit of a sad vibe regarding falling out of love and getting a divorce, description of several bad dates and good ones that end badly, mention of getting drunk, mention of sex toys, mention of one night stand.

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines, and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

I forgot to mention, bc I’m dumb and bc we’re becoming one body with two souls, but this chapter (as most of the decent, edited things I post) was beta read by the magical @joheunsaram​ (she’s recently lost her previous blog and she’s rebuilding it, please go say something nice and YOU SHOULD FOLLOW HER SHE’S A QUEEN ,,,,, my queen 🥺✨)

Enjoy 💜✨

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 

When you fall in love with someone, the feeling is like entering a chocolaterie. The scent engulfs you, full and rich and sultry, igniting your senses, the heat making your skin glisten in a light sheen of perspiration, making you exceedingly vulnerable to pointless stuff, like the way your lover exhales. Or their hands skimming your arms.

At least, that was what your best friend had told you.

You had none of that. To you love was a daisy being twirled under your nose, sharing cotton candy, the smell of crisp apples, flannel sheets, the sound of dead leaves crackling under matching footsteps, a sturdy but shiny steel band around your finger suddenly substituted by a golden one.

That had been the beginning of the end. When practicality and simplicity had turned into conventionality and disinterest.

When gifts stopped being things you loved and became things he thought you loved. And then things everyone loved.

When love became a chore, that's when everything crumbled. When kisses became just a good morning and a welcome back, when there were no more laughs echoing in the kitchen, when leaves kept falling but it was your footsteps alone making them crackle, when flannel sheets kept feeling warm but still something was missing — because someone was missing — when suddenly there was no more time for fairs and cotton candy, when daisies became roses, Love stopped making sense. It stopped having a meaning for you.

You were no longer sure of the life you had built with the man of your dreams, the boy you had fallen in love with when you were eight, the guy who had walked with you across the corridors of your high school, who had made you twirl under the lame disco ball of your prom, who had gone through college finals with you, who had spent three summers making your hangout spot into a home, turning the small old shack into a proper place for you to build a new life together. He was your first kiss, your first valentine, your first time. He was the man at the end of the aisle, the man who would walk with you until the last of your days.

But one day he started running and you still walked.

Or maybe you were both running in different directions, no longer on the path to the same destination, your priorities somehow switched.

Of course, it wasn't his fault.

It wasn't yours either.

You had both participated in this small unraveling, and you had both expressed the intention of changing, of finding compromise, an in-between, without either of you actually making the effort of fixing your trajectory, small habits and old pet peeves pulling you even farther apart.

The attempts — multiple ones — were painstakingly embarrassing. There were tears on both sides as you wondered what had caused this sudden rift that separated you — except it wasn't sudden, only your realisation was; the crevasse had been there for way longer. Maybe it had started as a small chipping the very day you met him, and it wasn't until now that you realised how the small sign had turned into an ominous presence, and then into unfathomable, inevitable doom.

And then the divorce.

It had been disgustingly easy, both parties agreeing on the procedures.

You didn't want the house. And you didn't need it. He didn't either.

Selling it had been exceedingly painless, you had shared the money, since he wanted to offer you stability. He already knew you would both suffer and he didn't want you worrying about rent. He was still your friend, after all.

Going back to being alone scared you at the beginning, until you realised that few things were truly bothering you. At least there wasn't this ghost of a human making you doubt all of your plans. You could plan dinner five days ahead or improvise. You could go to the restaurant as a last minute deal. You could go on long walks without the 'I'm sorry baby, emergency' making you rush back to town.

It felt like a bit of a liberation.

And your family's bookshop was doing well enough, since it was situated near the college and it also offered printing service.

Of course there were bad days. Sometimes you woke up searching for a body beside yours, however that feeling had significantly subdued after you had gotten used to the new bed. You missed human contact, being close, intimate with someone, having someone who knows you that deeply.

And then the true nightmare.

Finding someone new.

You were genuinely uninterested in dating. You had given it a go and it had sufficed.

It wasn't your world.

How could it possibly be?

You had never dated. You had basically offered your heart to the person that has always owned it. It's not like you had any experience in that labyrinth that is dating. All those unspoken social norms and the pining and tension. You only knew the comfort of a warm hug, the beauty of a kiss sparking from innocence and affection and slowly turning into steady, warm passion. You didn't like infernos, you liked candles. You liked the domestic hearth. You liked moderation.

And dating was all about extremes, from strangers to 'I'm inspecting your throat' on date one. And then suddenly it's date three and the same guy who brought you to a pizza place and a diner is suddenly going out of his way to bring you to a pretentious, expensive restaurant as a way to propitiate the possibility of you dropping your panties.

You had allowed this foolery only three times. Apparently all the suitable suitors were either really prone to pushing the pedal or had a passion for tongue gastroscopies.

The first one, Albert, had been quite the gentleman on date one. On date two he started making inappropriate jokes with a heavy body shaming undertone — a bit cliché for the stereotypical gym rat. And on date three he had dropped all pretenses at politeness and had outright palmed your ass in public, which made you rightfully uncomfortable. As you pointed that out, he proceeded saying that after all it was your third date and it was time to loosen up a little.

You didn’t even bother staying for dinner, left a bill on the table and left.

No matter the first disappointment, you decided not to let that disrespectful fool slow you down. And since your best friend knew everything about rat headed number one, you allowed her to set you up with one of her colleagues after she reassured you he was nothing like the one before.

Except somehow he was. The first date was at the local pub, and you somehow found yourself getting along well, his jokes were funny and he had good timing, he was relaxed, confident but still a bit clumsy and shy. He could be a good candidate.

But that was before he pushed his tongue to your tonsils as he kissed goodbye.

You gagged.

On date two he admitted you weren’t exactly his type. You were glad to reciprocate the statement after he told you his dream was having four children and a farm, alluding to the fact that his bride needed to be the perfect housewife.

You were pretty adamant that was not the kind of future you wanted for yourself.

Candidate number three was a guy you had met while grocery shopping, and somehow he had impressed you in an absolutely positive way on date one and two. Everything had been perfect, he was kind, considerate and well-mannered. Date three had been innocent, simple, down-to-earth. And then date four. Perfect dinner at his place. He had made you swoon and he had a very pretty cat he was very affectionate with.

He was the first man you had felt desire for in a very long time — almost eight months after your divorce.

The sex had been decent for being a first time.

And then he had entirely disappeared and never texted or called you back, which didn’t sit entirely wrong with you. You wished him all the best but you were actually glad. You liked being you and doing your own thing: having someone too much down your neck, getting in a relationship, having to check in with another person again felt more like a burden than a win.

Maybe it was just a coping mechanism to avoid facing the fact that he had been someone you could have liked, someone you could have built something with.

You were a happy woman, and it’s not like you really felt lacking or incomplete, like some of your single friends felt. And you had no intention of starting a family anytime soon, no matter if your old high school classmates had begun popping out kids left and right. You were more than happy to live the teen and early-twenty years you had spent in a relationship.

You were getting to know yourself in a way most of your friends didn’t have time to — you could already see them going through a midlife crisis after their kids became old enough to navigate life by themselves, which meant no more need for overprotective, and sometimes borderline suffocating, mothers, who suddenly found themselves with too much free time and too little tasks to complete.

Knowing your needs made you a stronger, better woman, and solitude had gifted you a level of introspection and balance that you doubted they could ever reach; maybe that was an arrogant consideration, but you knew there was no way knowing and loving yourself would ever bring you to crying over disrespectful, ungrateful youth whose only fault was that of growing up out of their mothers’ plans.

Unfortunately, there was no way your family — especially your grandmother — could ever tolerate the idea of you not needing a man and a family to be happy.

“Oh, come on, isn’t it time for you to bring a nice fellow back home?”

You shook your head as you and your grandma took a walk along the river, the sunny March afternoon feeling way too nice to stay at home. “Granny. There’s no people like Grandad anymore.”

“Oh, darling. You’re starting with the wrong role model. Not even back in my days we had men like him. He was the exception.” She nodded to herself with a sweet smile, remembering the husband she had lost a few years back.

“It’s so frustrating. And after all that happened… You know how it was. We were together for years. He was the only one I had. I don’t even know how to do these things. And books cannot teach you stuff like that. The more you read, the more you realise that most of these men had never even seen a rom com.”

“Oh, come on, but you have the internet these days! Can’t you find him in there? You have all these phones and computers and everyone has them, there must be a good one in the internet.”

She always said that “in the internet”. Like it was a physical place.

“I don’t even want to look in there, Granny. There are so many dangers in there.” You shuddered as you thought at the funny instagram pages where the people posted screenshots of the worst descriptions. All the embarrassing playboys and the fishermen and the lame wanna-be poets.

“Right… How can you know he is really is a person?” She considered, patting your back proudly. “You’re pretty. And you’ve always had the most perfect bum of all your cousins. Just like mine!” She grinned cockily, giving a playful smack to your ass, making you laugh loudly.

“It won’t last long.” You said, looking down. Solitude scared you sometimes. Being old and alone could be hard on the spirit and you had a feeling that old hag you would curse your dumb arrogance and inconsideration. However, for now you were still somehow making it through. Your divorce was finalised almost ten months ago. You could still consider yourself just fresh out of it.

“You’re smart. And I’m sure you have a lot to offer. You’re a good woman, and you’re far from being too old. There’s never a thing such as too old. Don’t let yourself be fooled. Look at me.” She said. “I’m still living a good life. Herbert has left me but I’m still here. Walking. Cooking. Drizzle keeps me good company.” She smiled sweetly at the mention of her dog, a lovely large poodle elegantly strolling at her side, its light grey fur finely trimmed by your grandmother’s expert hands. She had been a hairdresser for decades: learning how to keep Drizzle’s coat had been a cup of tea for her and he’d kept her distracted from grief after your grandpa passed away.

Her face formed a meditative pout. “Maybe you should just get a dog. Or even better, a cat. You’ve always looked like a cat child to me. So quiet and focused, like you knew some secret that nature would speak to you alone. You were always so attentive as a child!”

You smiled and looked at the path under your feet. Drizzle stayed unbothered as a loud, angry dachshund walked towards him, barking annoyingly. You had never felt sympathy for that small evil breed.

“I think I could get a kitten one of these days. Or a cat, from the shelter.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it in the internet!”

“So we’re really doing the party thing?”

“Listen, baby. It’s gonna be your first party as a free woman. Real mind blowing birthday sex.”

“I’m not a virgin, you know?” You stared at your face in the mirror, spreading some moisturiser over your forehead, inspecting the small lines there. You shrugged and let them be.

Maybe you would spend your best years single and find a sugar baby in ten or twenty years. Wait, weren’t those called toy boys?

Who cares.

Maybe it was time to get the post-grad you had always dreamed of. You would need to check your bank account before making that decision — maybe finally telling yourself yes could be the real birthday gift. That is, beside the huge dildo waiting in your drawer. Not being attracted to men or women didn’t mean you didn’t like sex.

You just found it difficult to imagine being with someone.

“Darling I’d bet an arm and a leg he never gave it to your right. You just need a bit more experience.”

All you needed was a hot bath, some candles and a good book. No man, no one night stand, no birthday sex could possibly make you as happy as decent jazz, wine and a novel.

“Why aren’t we doing that wine tasting at the winery out of town?”

“Because I want you choking on cheap alcohol, having all the fun you didn’t have on your twenty-first birthday because you were planning your own wedding. And I bet you’re the only one who wasn’t fucked in the bathroom of the Wickhead.”

Terry could be incredibly crude, but you loved her nonetheless. You loved her even more for it. She had never hidden anything from you, she had told you even the most embarrassing details of her own life. And she had always been the kindest, most faithful friend: she had driven you way out of town when you were eighteen and your period was late and you needed to buy a pregnancy test without all everyone and their dog knowing; she had chosen your wedding dress for you, spotting it and telling you it was going to be the one before you could even see it. When your marriage had started crumbling, she had spent countless nights with you, keeping you company when your husband was busy with his business trips. Though Terry had insinuated cheating, you knew he would never break your trust like that, and she had decided to trust your better judgement.

You had simply fallen out of love with each other.

And when you had moved into your new apartment, Terry had helped you repaint the walls and build the extra bookcases and install the shelves and fill your wine stand. Before leaving she had grabbed an unfamiliar box from her car, placing it on top of your bed, opening it and spreading out a set of “single necessaire”, as she called it. A couple toys, lube, condoms. To celebrate your re-found sexual promiscuity, she had said, though you objected, it was hard rediscovering something you had never had.

She had shaken her head and left you to “familiarise” yourself with everything.

“You know I’m not exactly a party person, Terry. This will end badly.” You said, sitting on your bed with your back against the headboard, your legs stretched out before you.

“You can allow yourself some fun once in a decade, you know?” You could hear her scoff on the phone.

“But I do have fun. Book. Wine. Bingo!” You explained, rolling your eyes as the booed.

“Come on, do it for me. Do it for your single friend who wants to get drunk and possibly sixty-nine? Please?” The other thing wrong with Terry is that if you ever met her in person, you would face the sweetest five foot three and a half — she insisted on the half — human being you could ever meet, with pretty wavy blonde hair and wide, sweet green eyes, the most boopable button nose and a sprinkle of freckles on her golden skin. She literally glowed in sunlight and her flowy gowns always made her look like a goddess: you could see men fighting for her, dying for her and going to war for just one of her gentle smiles.

“Don’t you have a FWB for that sixty-nine thingie?” You asked with an exceedingly inquisitive tone. It had been a while since she last updated you.

“Dumped him.” She replied curtly.

You tutted before exhaling. Emotionally constipated people — what’s wrong with them?

“He’s dating someone since he was ready for a relationship.” Terry sounded a bit colder than usual.

“And you weren’t?” You asked. You felt your tone hesitate with slight concern. You knew she would just put up a wall and ignore your question.

Fortunately, she didn’t. “I’m not ready to talk about that. It’s complicated, Frog.”

She was hurt and wanted a distraction.

“Okay, Terry. We’re going to get rip roaring drunk this Saturday.”

The line went silent.

“You know I love you right?”

“I love you too, sweetie. Now go to sleep, you have an early shift tomorrow.”

The line went silent after you bid each other goodnight, your body settling underneath the sheets once you realised your eyes were fluttering shut  as you tried to read a few pages to put yourself to sleep.

Placing down the book, you hugged the extra pillow, settling your face in the corner between your sleeping pillow and your spare one, the heavy woolen comforter acting like a weighted blanket. You placed another pillow behind your back, making a soft cocoon all around you.

Yes, sometimes you still missed being hugged to sleep.

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

[kurosarium]

𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔

𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

A/N: Finally back with some content yaaay! It’s 8am and I have yet to go to bed...but I could go on and on about atsumu, he’s such an interesting character.

This was a request, but I accidentally deleted it, so I’m posting it separately. 🥺

Feedback is appreciated!

His communication skills suck at the beginning of the relationship. I mean, he does like communicating his feeling to other people, but most of the time he’s just talking out of his ass with little to no consideration for the other person’s feelings. It takes him seeking out Alan and/or Kita for relationship advice to realize that behaving like a pubescent fuck-boy won’t get him anywhere in a serious relationship. I say this with young adult Atsumu in my mind, shortly after graduating, at the beginning of his pro career etc.

Because it’s a bit different for adult Atsumu. Adultsumu is aware of everything I mentioned in the bullet point above, he’s still a fool, but more considerate of other’s feelings. Still can’t communicate with his partner properly, because he knows his words are sometimes too blunt, he knows that if he’s being too blunt and his words come out sounding mean he could seriously hurt your feelings.

Atsumu usually isn’t a very forgetful person, but when he’s super busy or has a lot on his mind that can change. He absolutely forgot about the date you two had planned, or the thing you asked him to get on his way home. He always feels extremely bad once he remembers or is being reminded, and tries his best to make it up to you.

You could probably ask for anything, he’d do everything to make up for being neglectful. He knows he can be an ignorant idiot from time to time, that why he tries extra hard to make up for a forgotten date or anniversary. He would never tell you, but he’s actually afraid of losing you over something like that, because he knows that volleyball takes up the biggest part of his life, but he still tries very much to be a good boyfriend and not neglect you.

He doesn’t expect you to, but he’d be super happy, if he found you awake and waiting for him, on days he would come home late. If you weren’t too tired you’d sit down in the kitchen together, talking about how your day went while he warms up leftover food in the microwave or makes some tea. On days you would feel too tired to stay up any longer, he’d take you to bed, join you under the covers and tell you about his day with a soft smile on his lips while holding you close and stroking your hair. (doesn’t that sound amazing)

It’s not a secret that Atsumu loves getting on other people’s nerves, especially the ones closest to him, and it’s no different with you. He constantly teases you and tries provoking you with that shit eating grin sitting on his lips. He draws the line at jokes involving your insecurities, though. At least he tries to, because from time to time he may accidentally overstep your boundaries, he just can’t keep his mouth shut. He may be a blunt shit at times, but he’s not cruel, especially not to you. Maybe a bit. Sometimes.

Contrary to his wannabe-smug-fuckboy side is a side of his you’ll get to experience the more comfortable Atsumu grows in your relationship, Softsumu It doesn’t happen every day, and it definitely doesn’t show when people (aside from his brother) are around, but when he goes into soft boy mode it’s like a switch has been flipped.

 Softsumu just hits differently. It often shows when the two of you spend time together after not having seen each other in a while or when he feels down, or exhausted. Coming up to you for a hug every so often, kissing your temples, playing with your hair and you hands, he just can’t get enough of you. Return his affection when he’s in that kind of mood and you’ll make him the happiest man alive. He may not outright say it, because it’s a little embarrassing, but he loves receiving your affection. bc sometimes he’s like ew affection I don’t need that soppy shit but he does

He likes taking baths together. It’s pillow talk of some sort, but bathtub talk. Until you look like raisins.

You’ll have to show him how you want to be treated by him. Atsumu used to be an egoistic and a pretty damn cocky person, just a frigging brat in general, and while he changed a lot, for the better, after starting his volleyball career, he still has problems reading others feelings/behavior from time to time. It’s not that he doesn’t care about other people, he certainly does, but Atsumu mistakenly assumes that the people around him express their feelings the way he does, that they want and need what he wants and needs. Does that make sense? Also, he’s just really awkward around you in the beginning and has no clue how to treat you right.

Not really the jealous type. Okay, maybe a bit jealous from time to time. And he sometimes has phases where he feels particularly insecure, and vulnerable. When one of those phases hit him he gets a bit clingier, and jealous, when he thinks you’re giving somebody more attention than him. It really comes down to him being afraid of not being good enough for you, as in not being there enough for you or not being able to fulfill you wants and needs properly. Such a phase doesn’t last very long, though, and after you give him reassurance and some affection he’ll be back to his confident, idiotic self in no time.

Atsumu had a short temper when he was younger, I imagine that he gets more patient with time and experience, but the temper’s still there, you know? If you’re having an argument with him and it starts getting a little heated, he tries his best to stay calm. You will hear him sighing heavily and see him rubbing his temples a lot, he really does try, but in the end,  he still gets frustrated rather quickly. Especially if you don’t get his point and he has to repeatedly explain something.

Really bad at apologizing, his pride is a little too strong. He quickly realizes when he made a mistake or is in the wrong, but he has a hard time coming forward and admitting his wrongdoing.

When he’s really mad he’ll either leave and not come back until he cooled down, or try to give you the cold shoulder. Both methods work semi-well, because he can’t stay mad at you for long, he’s pretty stubborn though, so the argument will come up again until you resolve it.

Catch him huffing and muttering mean remarks under his breath when he’s mad at you for something minor, or something that isn’t even worth mentioning, because he’s the only one that thinks you did something wrong, and also a petty little shit.

Loves you A LOT. All the way. And he likes showing you exactly how much he loves you, in private as well as in public.

That being said, Atsumu has absolutely no problem PDA. He likes having an arm around you, and will gladly hold your hand while you’re walking together.

He’s a very passionate, and wild lover. Sure, he doesn’t act inappropriately with you in public, but in private he’s a hands-on kind of guy. Literally. He has to have his hands on your body, not even in a sexual way. He just like knowing, feeling, that you’re there, beside him. That make sense?

Usually more of an outdoor dates kind of person, but if he’s feeling rather exhausted or socially spent, he would prefer a relaxing evening at home, preferably with you, watching movies or playing some games.

If you’re quite a bit shorter than him you bet he’ll use your shoulder or even your head as an armrest, and this action often comes with a teasing remark about your height.

Will put stuff, especially foods/snacks you love, on the top shelf. Because he thinks it’s funny watching you climb the kitchen counter like a monkey.

Absolutely loves giving you back hugs and resting his head on your shoulder or nuzzling his nose into your neck! Doesn’t happen that often, but it’s a sight to behold. He especially likes to do this when you’re going on about your day at home, or when it’s still early and you’re lying in bed together.

[uhhhhyandere]

hey! hope it's not too weird to ask this on a yandere blog, but what nice or considerate things (if there are any lmfao) would Light from Orphic do for his s/o? it can be in a headcanon format, but I don't mind either way!!

headcanons??? i have never done them... but i want to so bad bc they always look so much fun to do and i love having fun. also, im sorry this was lost and you’ve had to wait three centuries i really am a terrible person who doesn’t know how to run a blog yet

so after writing my last glorious peace lets have some nice Light Yagami. just nice. considerate??? we’ll see. these turned out more light yagami in general. 

anything nice light yagami does is for a greater purpose. nothing is genuine. nothing. he’s 0/10. (love him tho) 

♢ So, Light obvi knows that if yall are together he can’t be manipulative, asshole, and bitch all the time, (he needs to hold things over your head and keep his charm so you still at least kinda like him)

♢ So, in this Orphic universe post-canon, he’s all about showmanship. His next step in his plan is building his own name so he can “come out” as Kira, so he kinda becomes like famous like L but everyone knows who he is kinda like Sherlock Holmes a bit

♢Getting that out of the way, Light is going to take you to those expensive ass restaurants and parties where high names are, where he knows he’s going to be seen. You just get to come along (you have to look nice in his eyes. u dont look good enough? get changed) yeah... not very nice

♢At parties as such, he’s all about appearances as a loving, doting boyfriend/fiance to his s/o. his arm is around your waist, he is joking with you, dancing with you, flirting with you like a high schooler, fixing your hair, giving you small kisses, everything

♢because he has to (but they’re nice at the moment)

♢in those restaurants he is pulling out your chair, holding your hand from across the table, smiling at your attempted jokes 

♢another not so fancy, elegant, showboat date is shopping!? grocery shopping, clothes shopping, etc. ignore the fact it’s about how he can control what you wear, eat, etc. , 

♢clothes shopping you get to try on outfits while he waits in the waiting area, having you turn and help you zip up a suit or dress, experiment with new clothes, and judgment from the store clerk who wants him away from the changing areas (if you identify as a female in the female locker room, that is)

♢he buys the clothes too

♢grocery shopping is fun too. you get to ask for snacks and he says no. you also get to ask to go out for lunch after and he also says no. it’s quality time???

♢also buys the groceries 

♢sometimes he will sneak a cake-like treat in there for you. 

♢another outside date I think he’d do is exercise dates. so playing tennis, going for walks/runs, going to the gym. he has to take care of himself to keep up his image, and, if you’re with him, your image as well. 

♢but he’s actually nice in these areas bc if you’re not so used to working out often he’s supportive and vocalizes his pride you’re there with him (is it just for show? the world may never know...) 

♢late night impromptu dates? you have to drag his ass but he will not have you walking to a grocery store at 3am for ice cream by yourself. With dark circles, he will accompany you and stand half-asleep next to you in the aisle as you decide between peanut butter blast, triple chocolate, or peanut butter triple chocolate with fudge. he’s protective after all. you did run off for four years.

♢more low-key inside the house stuff does happen 

♢cooking for you. he always be firing up the stove and trying new recipes. a big headcanon i have for him is being a super good cook given how self-sufficient he is. loves when you tell him it’s good.

♢when he’s uhh “writing” he’ll allow you to rest your head in his lap if he’s doing in on the bed or couch bc your home is hella private. Might use your head as a table though if his arms getting tired. 

♢when he’s done he’ll set it aside and run his fingers through your hair while he watches the late news. othertimes he’ll toss your head aside and walk away. it’s always a surprise with him.

♢also reads to you. mostly news and stories about kira from newspapers and scholarly articles. one day you’ll convince him to read you If You Give a Moose a Muffin. One day.

♢showering together! it’s going to be moreso of you washing him. another headcanon i have is he loves being bathed and washed by someone else. makes him feel powerful. especially if they’re your hands. you though? maybe. 

♢if it’s a bath, then sure you can slide in between those long legs and lie up against his back. not for long tho. when he gets stiff, he’s pushing you right out of there, but it’s nice while it lasts. 

♢movie nights! if you want to have one he better not have work that next morning or you’re SOL. but he will because he knows a lot of times you end up falling asleep and he can go to bed as well. 

♢he’s warm under the blankets. 

♢if you watch a scary movie and get scared, light will hit you with that “what’s scarier than a god of death?” and all of a sudden clowns aren’t so scary anymore considering who you’re cuddling with. 

♢loves when you hide into him. that power he has over you in those moments. 

♢speaking of the c-word

♢yes! honestly, okay. on the outside he’s like “bitch you’re disgusting don’t touch me” but on the inside, he loves having control over you. To have you cuddled up to him like he’s protecting you? he’s wanted you like this for so long. he’s going to enjoy it.

♢it’s moreso you wrapping your arms around him and him taking you all in. whether you be on the side, or lying on his chest and listening to his heartbeat.

♢he’s the knife big spoon. always. if you were the big spoon it’s an insult to his pride. he doesn’t need to be coddled. he wants to feel your form against him. focusing on how it feels and nothing else. nothing else but him.

♢in the end, this is light yagami. whether he is yandere or not, he is going to manipulate, put his appearance and yours first, have his facade game strong in public, and when not in public, he does things to remind himself and you that you are his to control, and he is yours to love and devote yourself to. He’ll do what he has to to make sure you know that, no matter if he hates it or not. 

[cristallsnoww]

i saw dear evan hansen livee (review)

i meant to post this sooner but school was busy so here i am

this was the national tour in sac

i went w/ my sisters and my friend plus her siblings

i had upper balcony seats, i wish i got to see it closer, but i’m grateful they even came to my city uwu

let’s get to it~

STAGE & INSTRUMENTAL

*the stage was same as the og

* the projection of the social media posts were a good touch for the bg

* the lights were good too, the bg would change color (orange in sincerely me, pink in only us)

* the sound effects sounded real

* the lights were glowing the same as the the beat in good for you

* the way all of them kept walking around looking at “social media posts” on the projection bgs in some songs

* showing evan’s speech on the bg and the videos for the connor project too

* we can see the musicians bc they had a balcony where you can see a few of them

* the sound and instrumental were sounded real (guitar and piano)

* props to the musicians

ACTING:

* sam primack played evan

* he was super good !

* he portrayed evan well, the anxiety and all

* he gave a young fresh vibe of evan

* the panic in his voice, the sobbing and sniffing were so well acted

* evan looking lost in waving through a window

* the “WOOOOOOAAAHHHH” at the end of waving through a window

* them high notes in for forever and words fail tho 👌🏼

* “i’M NOT hYpERVenTILaNG!!” and then “Dear Connor Murphy..”

* when he dropped the note cards in you will be found

* he kept apologizing and picked them up w/ a small voice

* he sat on the ground for a while and starts to have a breakdown

* he tugs his knees and sobs there 😢

* when he walked up and KNEELED DOWN in only us, zoe was sitting on the bed, it was at evan’s verse, he went up to her and kneeled w/ both knees while singing + staring into her eyes singing “so it can be us~ it can be us and oooonly us~ and what came before won’t count anymore or matter we can try that~”

* that was unexpected by me since the only version i saw was the og broadway performance and it didn’t have that which rlly knocked my socks off

* the sloppy kissing tho 😔👌🏼✨

* he’s so LoUD in act 2, like damn he went all out

* his voice was squeaky/cracked from broken sobs at some points

* the way he looked so StResSed & shouting when talking to jared and alana before good for you

* his begging when connor took his letter and when alana posted the “suicide note” so painful but good

* also the way evan always wiped his hands on his pants when zoe would stick her hand out

* how panicky he was when he freaked out that zoe was gonna “break up” w/ him

* their chemistry honestly 😭💙

* he also said a lot “what do you means” throughout the show i noticed

* his lines in good for you w/ heidi, jared, and alana singing in bg were so overwhelming but in a good way

* just an overall fresh, awkward, anxious vibe to him 😔💙

* noah kieserman played connor

* his voice reminded me of the og broadway

* the face connor gave at cynthia when larry and zoe said he was high

* the way he play punches evan in sincerely me

* the choreo in sincerely me is so iconic

* “if i stop smoking POT then everything might be alright”

* he was snapping when he sang that which i thought was new lol

* that dance they did for “our friendship goes beyond..” between connor and evan

* “..your average kind of bond” they had their arms around their shoulders and stared into their eyes before evan said “BUt not Bc we’Re gAY-“

* living for treebros moments y’know

* his high notes in disappear tho

* “when you’re falling in a forest, and there’s nobody around, all you need is for somebody to find you..”

* evan was crouching down and connor crouched next to him when he sang

* “when you’re falling in a forest, aND WhEN YoU hIT THe GrOUNd,,ALL YOU NEED IS FOR SOMEBODY TO FIND YOUUUU~”

* he stands up and reaches his hand before leaving the stage

* one of my fave lines in deh honestly

* “did you fall? or did you let go?” will always hit

* “you can’t even tell yourself the truth” also

* when evan told the truth and the murphys left the living room, they showed connor too and he also left walking away w/ disappointment/pity

* zoe was played by stephanie la rochelle

* she was good and sounded nearly the same as the og broadway/laura

* the way how zoe was nice in the beginning to evan, distant to him at first in her house about connor, then slowly opens up to him and accepts him for who he is is just 🤧

* in for forever, “there’s nothing that we can’t discuss, like girls we wish would notice us but never do” evan looks at zoe and dramatically clears his throat and continues singing

* in if i could tell her, when evan said “he thought you looked rlly pretty ER-you looked pretty COOL when you had indigo streaks in your hair” she says “he did!” and evan says really fast “he dID AHAHAHAHAH”

* it made the theatre laugh and same

* the intro to only us “i need something for me”

* “i want...you”

* 🤧🤧🤧😭😫💙💙💙

* just;;;;;; i cry

* the way zoe would hold evan’s hands and the way evan would hold zoe’s hands—

* how she and evan would copy each other’s tone of voice

* “ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ” “ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵐᵉⁿᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᶦᵗ”

* “you’re so weeeeeird.” “i knooooww.”

* i love me so bandtrees ok, my crops have been watered and is flourishing

* jared was played by alessandro costantini

* his portrayal was accurate to the og

* “i have skills son”

* his laughs were A++, especially in sincerely me

* his evil maniac laugh in the sincerely me reprise

* he was so smol compared to evan and connor, especially during sincerely me

* vocals were gr8 in sincerely me and you will be found

* the dance w/ connor when he tried to put himself into the story

* he runs so fast to the stage when his parts came, tiny lil quick feet uwu

* he tilts his head a lot when giving evan the ‘duh’ face

* we all live for his sarcasm and jokes

* “do you need a paper bag? you’re having a considerable trouble time breathing—“

* the bitterness/sad look when evan says he doesn’t have any other friends/when zoe comes up and kisses evan

* my kleinsen heart 🤧💔

* alana was played by ciara alyse harris

* she was more lively than the og but sounded exactly similar

* she acted well, her vocals and the way she exaggerated words

* vocals in good for you 👏🏼

* alana singing “on the outside always looking in will i ever be more than i’ve always been cuz i’m tap tap tapping on the glass, i’m waving through a windoww”

* “very close acquaintances”

* all the titles + positions she gives herself in the connor project video

* while evan said he was just co-president

* murphys were played by claire rankin and john menphill

* cynthia had some light raspy voice? it was interesting

* larry sounded the same as the og

* the way they hugged each other so tight in you will be found and the lights were all on them T-T

* high vocals in requiem

* cynthia’s thank yous to evan

* break in a glove had some good vocals too

* when connor’s “suicide note” was posted around and “YOU ARE NOT ALONE” kept singing while the murphys were looking lost and afraid

* opposite to the other soft “you are not alone” while the murphy parent were hugging

* heidi was played by jessica e. sherman

* she was good, close to the og

* her gestures and little dances to evan to cheer him up

* she SNAPPED after going to the murphys house

* “DO YOU KNOW HOW MORTIFYING IT IS TO KNOW THAT YOUR SON WAS SPENDING TIME AT SOMEONE ELSE’s HOUSE AND YOU DIDNT EVEN KNOW?”

* her good for you performance was great

* during the bridge, “i’ll shut my mouth and i’ll let you go..”

* she STRUTTED that walk ok ✨ w/ all the lights on her

* so big/small was calming w/ the guitar

* the way they hugged u~u

* “when it all feels so big!” teasing evan saying he’s growing after they hugged

* he laughs 🥺 w/ a cracked voice from crying

* all the family fighting were so real, the shouting, the raising of voices

im so grateful i got to see it, such an emotional ride 😔💙

i hope people who wants to see it gets to see it, you’ll be blessed

or should i say you will be found

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

Hey! A bit ago I saw that you were wondering if anyone was interested in a tutorial on dialogue?? And I just wanted to say that I would totally love to learn how to write dialogue/banter like you do, if you’re still interested in creating that tutorial of course

Hi yes of course I’m still interested!! But before I jump in, let me say that this is by no means a be-all-end-all, and this is just what works for me. If it works for other people, that’s great! If it doesn’t, that’s totally valid! Maybe this could be a jumping off point for other pieces of advice, idk. But anyway, let’s gooooo

Okay so I’m gonna be pulling out a bad example of my own writing, and a good example for each point, which is extra but will hopefully show the differences, & I’ll be doing it without putting anyone else down so yeet!

SAY IT OUT LOUD, MAKE SURE IT FLOWS, MAKE SURE IT MAKES SENSE

Another point to this one is, can you imagine real life people saying it? If the answer is no, then you gotta rework it. If the answer is yes, then yay!

Otherwise I’m not really sure how to explain this. Making sure it makes sense is easy enough, and saying it out loud is too, but making sure it flows is different. What I do for this is maybe not the best advice, but I use less periods. Commas, dashes, and ellipses keep it from being choppy. Also, adding words/phrases such as ‘well’, ‘like’, ‘I mean’, ‘uh/um/er/etc’ can help connect sentences/thoughts together in a realistic way.

BAD EXAMPLE:

“Bruce shrugged. “I knew, but didn’t realize, I guess. I’ve known he was young since I first learned about him.”

Clint, who was blanching, said, “he looks like a kid. Or an underage father. Think about what he had to go through as a kid, though."” - posted on July 1st, 2014

Why it’s bad: (Ignoring the horrible blocking dskljflksdf)

It doesn’t flow! Bruce’s line here feels just a little off, probably bc I was trying to put information where it shouldn’t have been (more on that later), but even without the second sentence, it’s still off. Time to reword, then; I’d change it to “I learned about it when I was studying him, but I kinda…forgot.” Idk about yall, but I can see Mark Ruffalo saying this, shrugging sheepishly. This flows a lot better and in my experience, it’s more likely someone would say this instead of “I didn’t realize, I guess”.

Clint’s lines should be combined, and there should be some diction added in. “He looks almost like a kid, or like, an underage father. God, think about what he had to go through!” Way less choppy & has some rhythm to it, instead of sounding like a robot is saying it.

GOOD EXAMPLE:

““Stop texting me weird stuff so late at night.”

“It’s not weird,” Sam denies immediately, “You just don’t appreciate it.”

“Why would I appreciate—” Steve reads carefully off his screen, “—Buzzfeed’s ‘Which Possible Illuminati Member Are You?’ quiz?”

“Because everyone thinks you’re in the Illuminati anyway, so why not see if you get yourself, you know?”

“Okay, but at four am? What were you even doing up that early?”” - posted on March 2nd, 2019

Why it’s good:

This is one of those I suggest reading out loud to understand the flow. Banter, at least in this case, is like slapstick comedy, and it’s gotta go back and forth without going way off course (unless that’s the desired effect!). Steve says something, Sam picks something specific to react to & adds a comment that makes it seem like they’ve maybe had this conversation before, and from there, they pass the rhythm to each other. Going from the second-to-last to the last lines is part of the flow; Sam makes a point that Steve doesn’t want to refute, so he continues it in another way. “Okay, but” is like the hinge connecting one flow to another. I’m just talking in circles now but anYWAY THIS IS BACK AND FORTH.

TRY TO FIT THE CHARACTER

Think specifically about the character, and if it sounds like something they would say or not. That’s kinda hard at times, so just make sure you aren’t having them say things you can definitely NOT imagine them saying. I’m gonna go with Batman because we all know him enough to know what he absolutely would never ever say.

BAD EXAMPLE:

Batman says, “And I was like, ‘oh my god, is this serious? You’re just turning yourself in?’ And he said ‘hell yeah I am!’ and I almost died from the shock!”

Why it’s bad: 

Batman is a character who doesn’t ramble and wouldn’t retell an event like this (by paraphrasing it & recounting exact exchanges). He’s a very stoic person, and this whole thing is more emotionally open and telling than he would be comfortable with. And while this flows, I can’t picture him saying it unless it’s a heavily AU’d version, which is generally not what you want.

GOOD EXAMPLE:

Batman says, “The Joker turned himself in last night. I assume he’s planning something, something big if he’s willing to go to Arkham for it.”

Why it’s good: 

This is a lot more subtle with the emotions, and a lot more monotonous, which is what Batman would probably want to sound like when recounting an event like this. He WANTS to sound like a textbook or police report, which are serious and straight to the point. But he can still add his thoughts into the mix, e.g. “something big…”, which shows how he’s kind of surprised and is thinking about what it means.

YA CAN’T ALWAYS INPUT INFORMATION INTO THE DIALOGUE

Sometimes you really want or need to share some information with the readers, and an easy way to do that is with dialogue, right? Sometimes! This, like everything else, hinges on flow & the realisticness of the words. Some pieces of info need to be conveyed through thoughts or actions, and some of it just shouldn’t be shared, no matter how much you might want to include it.

BAD EXAMPLE:

“Bonnie asked, “so…Original vampire? What does that mean, exactly? If you don’t mind my asking, I mean.”

“It means that my siblings and I were turned into the very first vampires after the death of my youngest brother. Also turned were my father, sister-in-law, and nephew. All vampires in existence come from us.”” - posted on March 6th, 2017

Why it’s bad: 

The OG vampire in question here is Elijah, and while it makes sense for the character to quickly summarize it, it doesn’t flow. He would probably react firstly to Bonnie’s last sentence, then answer more concisely, “It means that my family and I are the first vampires in existence.” Maybe with an additional comment about them being the source of all other vampires, but not much more. Being so specific chops up the rhythm and makes it harder to understand, almost, ‘cause that’s a lot of people to keep in consideration.

GOOD EXAMPLE:

““What are you talking about, Kev?” Cheryl sets her phone down, the picture of fully-invested. “Schools don’t just shut down in one day.”

Kevin flops into the other chair, breathing calmed for the most part. “Apparently they do. Dad told me they arrested a teacher there for selling Jingle Jangle to students, and when they were going through his office they found meth. The basement was being used as a meth lab. The whole thing’s being quarantined and shut down until further notice.”” - posted on August 2nd, 2018

Why it’s good: 

It flows!!! For being secondhand information, it’s clear enough to understand without bombarding readers with extremely specific details. It reads almost like an online article, with enough feeling to make it interesting, while still explaining exactly what’s happened.

DIFFERENT MOODS/DYNAMICS

Something to think about when writing dialogue is what mood your characters are in, and what kind of relationship they have with the character(s) they’re talking to. If person A is in a bad mood and talking to someone they like, they might try to tamp down on the mood in order to be nice. If person B is in a great mood and talking to a stranger, they might be pretty exuberant and friendly. Etc etc. Gonna use Superman as an example (this is extremely cheesy but it shows the difference).

BAD EXAMPLE: (Mood)

Extremely annoyed, Superman tells Lex Luthor, “Lex, you’re crazy! Trying to take over Metropolis with a hair growing scheme is just stupid! I’m leaving!”

He goes on to his date with Lois, now as Clark Kent, and says with a smile, “Sorry I’m fifty-seven minutes late, Lex kept me at work! Anyway, how was your day?”

Why it’s bad: 

Okay I know this is cheesy I’m sorry I wrote this at 2 am last night lkdjflksjdfhskjdfhjashf ANYWAY. Superman goes from talking to Lex, who he doesn’t like and is quite annoyed with, to talking to Lois, who he does like and presumably isn’t annoyed with at all. The problem here is that you usually can’t turn moods off like a switch. Even though Superman likes Lois, he wouldn’t walk into the date perfectly happy. The annoyance from dealing with Lex would stay with him (though it would probably fade the longer the date went on). I think instead of smiling, he would be rolling his eyes a little and complaining like, “I swear, he’s so inconsiderate….”, instead of immediately jumping into “how was your day?”

GOOD EXAMPLE: (Dynamic)

Superman laughs as Robin does a flip off his shoulder. “Good job! Maybe next time we could try it from a little higher up,” he winks.

Robin cheers, “Yes! Thanks, Uncle Clark!”

Superman nods and leaves, finding Batman in the hallway. Seriously, he says, “Batman.”

“Superman.”

“Did you get your report done? They’re due by this afternoon.”

Why it’s good: 

Again with the cheese that’s my bad lmao. This is mostly to show that characters are gonna sound different when speaking to different people. When talking to Robin, who is a child and quite a friendly one at that, Superman is teasing and joking around. Then, when he talks to Batman, who’s a grown man and also his coworker, he’s more serious and to the point. Both situations fit his character but show he’s got different relationships with different people.

IN CONCLUSION, uhhhhh yeah follow these points and hopefully dialogue will come a little easier. Experiment and have fun with it (these aren’t rules, but guidelines!), and if there are any questions I’m happy to clear them up/answer them/whatever lol.