#(let's not get into my inability to take my own go make a first draft advice atm lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

answrs · 2 years ago

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asdfhjkl this is fuckin,,,,,, 17 pages of unfinished and rewritten dp/msa crossover. from TWO THOUSAND FRICKIN FIFTEEN. i am not going to be able to resist editing/adding more to this (which is the ENTIRE REASON IT NEVER GOT POSTED IN THE FIRST PLACE COUGH COUGH SELF) so i am sticking it under a cut, pressing send, then going to do errands in order to physically stop myself from spending 16 hours nitpicking it. also tunglr.hell deletes all the original formatting when pasting stuff in so all the italics/bold/strikethrough are missing rip.

please note! this is an original draft and then a rewritten (but mostly just different parts of the outline) second part.

im just. gonna paste the second one’s author note here (written circa 2016) and leave y’all to it:

stern fatherly disapproval I've been going back through the old dp/msa posts and I have to say, I am very disappointed in all of you. honestly, with such pride we take in over-angsting for BOTH fandoms, that there wasn’t much if any discussion to be seen on this is shocking. (Though, to be fair, I just now remembered I wrote this all the way back then and never published it, buT THE POINT STANDS. My inability to write more than ¾ of a fic before getting distracted and forgetting to finish it is only moderately related to this discussion.) At least it’s edited now, I guess? By which I mean completely rewritten. (you can still tell the parts connecting the main sections are a bit ‘eh’ but, well, ‘eh’.)

Summary: Danny captures Lewis in the thermos (as he does) and tosses him in the Ghost Zone like the rest of the town’s ghostly visitors. This is a bad thing.

“dp/ms zone - Created Aug 27, 2015″

The Skulls are driving through amity park, arthur at the wheel, vivi shotgun with the current traveling deadbeat curled at her feet (the rest are at home guarding the mansion), and Lewis in the back with mystery. Danny's ghost sense goes off as this van passes by, almost as ridiculous looking as his parents own vehicle. he looks in to see a large ghost apparently hiding in the back, the two tourists up front unaware. whatever it's planning can't be good, so he shoots in, sucks up the ghost, and flies off to the alarmed shouts trailing behind him. rather than just being startled at a ghost in their van like Danny thinks (though they are, at him just popping up suddenly), the humans cries are at seeing Phantom abduct their boo for seemingly no reason. not even mystery could react before the kid was off, grinning and waving back at them like he'd just had a job well done. the poor deadbeat is terrified, master has just been taken by a ghost hunter but they have to stay with mistress vivi and mister arthur. arthur slams on the breaks, throwing the van around to tear after the ghost, but he's disappeared. the four are devastated, turning back to the hotel, vivi clutching the now crying spirit like a lifeline. immediately they set to work researching phantom, hoping for any clue to find him and their taken spirit. the next day, Danny comes downstairs to find his parents talking to... visitors? clients? they look exhausted but kind of familiar, so he listens in from the steps outside the kitchen. please, you have to help us. phantom took our friend and you're the people who study this town you must know where to find him we just got him back we can't lose him again please help us we've looked everywhere please- what do you mean, phantom's taken your friend? had the ghost finally started attacking humans outright? there was this big flash and he was gone and he was holding this metal thing and oh honey, its okay, don't worry, there's no way that could have been your friend. phantom uses one of our thermoses and it only works on ghosts. but Lewis IS a spirit! how can you be friends with a ghost, that doesn't make sense. they're too violent and unstable to have consistent rational thought, let alone form attachments... what? how could you- how dare you say something like that! we've been paranormal investigators for years and Lewis is our best friend, don't you dare accuse him of being a mindless creature! how can you call yourselves scientists when you're just as prejudiced as all those stupid hunters we meet! if you won't help us, we'll find phantom ourselves, and we'll get our friend back no matter what we have to go through to do it! Danny sits frozen as the two storm out, guilt creeping in as he absorbs the conversation. he'd just done what he normally did on patrol, how was he supposed to know this ghost was somehow different? he was just taking it out before it could do anything funny, but now he was the one in the wrong? (he won't admit he sees ghosts like his parents do, always up to something malicious and never just innocent bystanders) not liking this feeling, he slips out of the house and trots after the group, quickly catching up. uh, hey. i, uh, heard about your friend and I think I can help... meet me outside Fentonworks at 11 tonight, my parents will be asleep by then so don't ring the doorbell. before they can get a word in, I have to go back, so dont be late! and runs back, turning a corner and going invisible before they can catch up. okay, he's just bought himself some time to fix this, he just needs to make some calls first... he'd just tossed the disoriented ghost (Lewis?) through the portal, not dumped him further in like he does with some of his enemies. he shouldn't be that hard to find. 1030 finds the three living members of the mystery skulls standing before the fentons house. at her side, vivi clutches a bag housing their remaining spirit, warded with nearly every spell in the book and some others besides. if phantom tried to take their deadbeat too, he was gonna have to fight for it. the research they'd done that day didn't make their moods any lighter. video clips of fantastical ghost fights helped them piece together that phantom took his captured enemies to a place called the ghost zone. further study had pulled up dozens of reports on the place, from an incident stranding part of the town there. while interview descriptions of the event ranged wildly, the common details said it was huge, green, and swarming with aggressive ghosts. and from the videos of some of these fights, no matter how strong he might be, Lewis's chances weren't looking good. Sam and tucker round the corner to see three unknown silhouettes clustered on the sidewalk ahead. reflexively their hands dart to their weapons, before they connect Danny's descriptions to the group ahead. damn, they were early then. hopefully Danny was ready and not just doing something stupid. (oh who were they kidding, he was always doing something stupid.) as they approach, the dog tenses, and the two humans whip around to stare at the teens. seeing as they've been spotted already, they close the remaining distance with quick strides. the woman is the first to speak, suspicion bleeding into her worried voice. and who might you two be then? I'm sam, this is tucker. we're here to help Danny find your ghost since he's a horrible driver and couldn't read a screen to save his life. so since you're here already I'll just text him to come let us in. they get a grunt in acknowledgement from the male, but it's otherwise silent for the few minutes they spend waiting for the door to open. greengreengreen EVERYWHERE, no ground beneath your feet to stop you falling, falling... the space scattered with thousands of pointed rocks and green fog twisting through them... and if this is Arthur's reaction, Lewis is even worse off. and he's been stuck here not for minutes, but hours, days. reliving his death over and over, no reprieve from the constant memories. the team is so focused on Arthur's reaction it's not until mystery renders him unconscious they turn to vivi. standing stock still, unfocused eyes staring unblinking out the window, trembling with near invisible tears trailing down her face. because her boys aren't the only ones with memories of the cave, and while she may be the "strong" one of the group, when it comes to reminders of that night her ptsd is no less real. there you are dipstick! I've been looking all over for you! not now, ember, get out of the way. can't you see I'm busy? not until you tell me why you thought it was a good idea to toss a spirit into the ghost zone. are you completely mental? huh? don't play dumb with me, not even you wouldn't be able to tell. he looks nothing like a ghost! it's all we've been able to do by keeping guard, none of us can even get close to the guy with the state he's in! what are you even talking about-! vivi shoves his head away from the glass, calling out to the flaming musician. yell at him later, tell us where Lewis is now! ember looks down at the new human, sizing her up before nodding, gliding away. I still don't get it, what was she even going on about? I mean yeah, I shouldn't have tossed the guy in here, but the rest of that? what did that even mean? I believe I may be able to explain, a voice calls from the back, and all three kids jerks their heads around to stare at the (talking!) dog. (what the hell?) sam nearly crashes the speeder into an island before she collects herself enough to glance back at the window. ignoring their reactions, mystery continues to speak from his place in Arthur's lap, the mechanic petting him robotically (heh.). I didn't recognize it at first from the descriptions, but now I'm here I can tell this ghost zone, as you put it, is one part of the realm of the dead. the place we just left, your real world, is the realm of the living. ghosts, at least the ones that you know, are formed and exist in this dead realm. it's where they draw their energy from, regardless of whatever focus or reason they have for their being. a ghost that spends too long in the human world would begin to break down, the very reality chipping away at them piece by piece. similarly, a human spending too long unprotected in the ghosts world would suffer similar effects, their body fighting against what knows they should not be there. that's why, for instance, demons must be summoned from their own realm and strike deals with humans to stay on that plain. he looks straight at Danny beings that have rights, as it were, to both places may come and go as they please with no ill effects. i, for instance, may pass through both living and yokai realms if I were to so choose.

[anchor is physical, ties to world]

Lewis, however, is a spirit, brought forth and tied to the living realm. he's one of the, we call them ghosts, but imprints might be a better title, that make up the majority of 'ghost' activity humans encounter... well, outside of this town, at least.

I assume the ghosts you know of fall into different types or species, probably based on their power level or abilities. our own ghosts, or spirits as the name here for them seems to be, are much the same. they can range anywhere from vague wisps of an idea to a fully formed consciousness equal to or even above their former human status.

[these former-living are connected to physical objects, vessels, their soul reside in. this anchor, as we call it, thus ties them to the human realm, being a real, semi-physical object. it's a shell of sorts, breaking a ghost's anchor destroys the (self contained environment), releasing and exposing their soul, which unprotected dissipates very quickly.]

as for how this relates back to the idea of realms, well, the lower the power of an entity the easier it is to be torn apart... he pauses at Vivi's sudden realization, dashing to the forgotten bag on the seat. tearing open the pouch, she lets out a quiet 'oh thank the gods' as a tiny pink head pops out, chirping in concern. it winds its way into Vivi's arms, nuzzling her cheek. the woman looks at mystery, hoping that protection he had talked about was working on the deadbeat too. he nodded, as long as they were to stay in this vehicle, they'd probably be safe from harm. probably. I'd also suggest arthur stay too, even if he wasn't already... compromised, he looked over to the teens, still listening closely. suffice to say the scenery would certainly not be good for him. and for him to be the first thing Lewis sees after such an episode, arthur stiffens and the dog looks up at him sadly, even if he knows rationally it's not the you he thinks it is, he won't be in his right mind... it's gonna be okay, arthur. vivi settles beside the blond and leans against him, careful not to squish the spirit nestled in her arms. it'll just be like those first few weeks with the dreams. which i mean isn't ideal, obviously, but we've survived it once already, we can do it again if we have to. and it's not like before where he'd been alone for a year, it's really only been, what, a few hours, a day? um, actually... the trio (plus one) looks up, having already forgotten they weren't alone in the vehicle. i, uh, so that whole thing with different realities your, uh, dog? was talking about? heh, yeah, so... funny thing about the zone is, um. time goes differently in here. so like, an hour here is only a few minutes in the real, or, erm, living world... vivi completed the kids thought ...and a few hours on our side would be... days... oh gods no, Lewis. Danny flinches, another shot of guilt stabbing his conscience. ugh, of all the ghosts (or, er, spirits?) he could have snagged yesterday it had to have been this one. the only ghost in the whole town that couldn't live (unlive?) in the zone and was apparently afraid of the color green. just perfect. good Phantom, best hero. the speeder slows as ember approaches a group of ghosts, floating in a protective circle around an island about the size of a small house. they turn to glare at the vehicle, but at embers dismissive wave part to let the craft land. as soon as the door opens a blue blur shoots out, followed closely by a smaller white figure and finally the ghost child. the sight of Lewis when they finally reach him is horrible. he'd flown blindly until he found a larger rock to land on, one with a sort of raised wall on one side to keep his back to. images from the cave played out in a high definition loop before him, even curled on the ground he could still feel himself falling, falling...

now his hands are digging into the flesh around his eyes, still desperately begging the images away. even scrunched into a ball the gaping hole that is his chest is obvious, the constant trembling and whimpers only adding to the gory display. his heart, golden and whole before, has gone pitch black, more cracks than actual pieces at this point and only held together by the strange atmosphere of the zone. the same atmosphere doing a number on the rest of him, draining his power to dangerous lows. they can see the rock behind him, and not just through the bloody window in his chest. it's been so much longer for him, even without the flashbacks draining him at this point he'd still be pretty bad off. he feels like he's been left to rot, abandoned for days, months, years, only his mind for company. maybe karma has finally caught him up and dragged him to hell, just like he must deserve for what he's done. what else would this place be for, catered so perfectly to his failures? he doesn't know how long it's been, only that he's so, so tired. even the agonizing pain in his chest has faded, his whole body numb. cold. who is he? he can't remember, his mind is too foggy. where is he? he shouldn't be here. why? this place is... bad. green. green makes bad things happen. the green had laughed. not-green had been hurt. when? who was green? why? (Lewis!) L..ew...is? something about it sounds familiar. like purple and pink and warm and happy. but. no. Lewis is black and white and cold cold cold. like him. is he him? he can't tell what his color is. was. are? something is touching him. it moves the dark away and he sees blue. blue... what is blue's name again? it says something, but all he hears is static. he can't move and blue is raining. no, that's not right. blue is happy and smiles and love, not sad, never sad, why is blue sad?

his last coherent thought, before finally fading out, is please don't be sad, blue. as vivi reaches the collapsed spirit, her fear of losing Lewis again somehow worsens. she knows what lengths Lewis would go to before using this form, and that she can see straight through him means his energy is even lower than she'd feared. grabbing a wrist she pries a hand from his eyes, only for the revealed pupil to be a dull and cloudy purple. there's no sign of recognition, though she hopes some of her panicked rambling is making it through the haze. a whimper at her side draws Vivi's attention to mystery, worriedly sniffing the abused and battered locket, which looks like it's one small breath away from crumbling completely. we need to get him inside and home, now. she doesn't have to look to see mystery shifting, the gasp behind them is enough. the kitsune can take care of Lewis, she needs to focus on his anchor. unwinding her scarf, she makes use of the wonky gravity to wrap it around the locket, both preserving its shape and making sure pieces can't fall out when she moves it. with her part done and mystery gathering Lewis in his tails, vivi grabs the delicate package and hurries back to the waiting craft. she shivers as the static feeling of the speeder's shield passes over her, but it's a small price to pay to keep everyone safe. not from the ghosts, who she really needs to thank now she thinks about it, but the reality itself.

the shield, built on the presumption all ghosts held this strange ecto energy, blocked based on the presence of it. thus, the human Danny, locket, and eventually Lewis, all pass through it no problem.

Sam and tucker had stayed in the speeder as the trio ran out, ready to make a quick getaway if this all turned sour. they couldn't really see what was happening outside, but Danny could handle it (probably). he'd call if he needed them. (maybe.)

they kept to watching the last stranger still in the back of the vehicle. well, stranger plus the weird… pink... thing.

“zone new rewrite - Created Nov 15, 2015″

stern fatherly disapproval

I've been going back through the old dp/msa posts and I have to say, I am very disappointed in all of you. honestly, with such pride we take in over-angsting for BOTH fandoms, that there wasn’t much if any discussion to be seen on this is shocking. (Though, to be fair, I just now remembered I wrote this all the way back then and never published it, buT THE POINT STANDS. My inability to write more than ¾ of a fic before getting distracted and forgetting to finish it is only moderately related to this discussion.)

At least it’s edited now, I guess? By which I mean completely rewritten. (you can still tell the parts connecting the main sections are a bit ‘eh’ but, well, ‘eh’.)

Summary: Danny captures Lewis in the thermos (as he does) and tosses him in the Ghost Zone like the rest of the town’s ghostly visitors. This is a bad thing.

The Skulls were finally arriving in the famed Amity Park, having driven for hours now to reach the paranormal hotspot. This rotation found Arthur at the wheel, Vivi riding shotgun with the current travelling deadbeat curled at her feet, and Mystery and Lewis lounging in the back. Perhaps the hours watching mile after mile of fields and trees fly past had dulled their reflexes, allowed what happened next to be, none reacting fast enough to stop it.

Danny had watched the orange vehicle with a vague passing interest as it turned down the street, the van’s appearance almost as gaudy as his own parents’. Probably another group of "ghost hunting" tourists, here to putter around a few days buying overpriced souvenirs before running back home at the first sight of the Box Ghost. Nothing he needed to bother dealing with.

But as it passes by, a cloudy wisp escapes his throat, and suddenly it does become his business. Shooting from his post he flies through the van's wall, barely taking in the sight of the big hulking skeleton hiding behind the two oblivious tourists before sucking it up in the thermos. He only pauses to shoot the passengers a quick smile as a “you’re welcome” for his job well done before barreling straight back out, ignoring the alarmed shouts that follow.

Startled at the sudden apparition, it takes the living members of the team a few seconds to react, but by then it’s far too late. Phantom’s already abducted their Lewis, their friend, trapped him and flown off to who knows where, grinning all the while. Arthur slams on the brakes, whipping the van around (sorry girl, he’ll apologize for the rough treatment later, but Lew’s far more important right now) to tear after the fleeing ghost, but he’s already disappeared.

The poor deadbeat is terrified, Boss has just been taken, and their connection to Him feels cut off, blocked somehow. All they can do now is cling to Miss Vivi, hope she and Mister Arthur will fix this.

After nearly an hour barreling down the streets seeking the white-haired spectre, the four are forced to give up the frantic searching, turning back to the hotel. Vivi clutches the shaking pink spirit like a lifeline, this is the second time Lewis has been taken right in front of her and she could do nothing to stop it. Immediately upon entering the room they set to researching Phantom, praying for any clue on how to find him and their stolen spirit.

The next morning, Danny comes down the stairs to find his parents talking to… visitors? clients, maybe? They sound anxious but look kind of familiar, so he listens in from the top of the steps, out of view from the kitchen.

“You don't understand though, Phantom’s taken our friend! Come on, you’re supposed to be the experts in this town, you must have some idea what happens to them-” That must be the girl he saw speaking.

“But honey, what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense.” His mom sounds like she’s trying to calm down a small child, “We may think that Phantom is malicious, but he’s never directly hurt a human, as far as we know.”

“Has the Ghost Boy finally started attacking humans? Yes!” His dad’s outburst is cut off by what must be three very angry glares, before he sheepishly clarifies, “Er, wait, no, not like that, it's horrible. But I mean, this will finally prove to everyone he’s dangerous! So they’ll stop thinking they don’t need protection from him!”

His mom takes the conversation back over before Jack can drive it even further (if unintentionally) into the ground.

“Okay honey, can you tell me what happened again? When the ghost boy took... Lewis, was it?”

“We were just driving around and Lew was in the back just sitting there not even doing anything and then there was this big flash and he was gone and then he was holding this metal thing and then he was gone too and we can’t lose him again, not so soon after we finally found him again, please-”

There’s a small silence, the woman stopping to regain her composure, the two hunters taking in the information. And then,

“Oh! Oh then it’s okay, sweetie, (well I mean no it’s not because your friend is still missing but), you don’t have to worry about Phantom having taking him! See, the ghost boy uses a Fenton Thermos he stole from us, but it only works on ghosts, not humans. So whatever he captured couldn’t have been your friend, don’t worry. He's probably still out somewhere you visited before and whatever it was was just impersonating him to follow you.”

“But Lewis IS a spirit!”

There's a pause.

“Er, what? No, that can’t be right…”

“And why not?” There’s a fourth voice, quieter but hard, with the same undercurrent of exasperation Danny himself has when discussing ghosts with his parents. “Don’t you think we’d know if our bo-best friend was a spirit? I mean, if the floating and the skull wasn’t obvious enough there’s always the fact that we had to- had to... to...” He trails off, but it’s easy enough to piece together the unsaid words.

Still, that doesn’t stop his dad from speaking, the large man prone to rambling in tense moments.

“No, we mean… How do I say this, it just, it isn’t possible! Ghosts are just too emotionally unstable to have consistent rational thought, let alone form attachments… regardless of whoever they might’ve been based off of in life. That’s what makes them so dangerous to be around, even for us. I know it may be hard to hear, but-”

The halfa jumps as something very heavy slams down on the table. It sounds almost like metal, but what-?

Then it’s the man's voice again, dangerously calm and dripping with venom that makes even Danny go still.

“You call yourselves scientists, but you’re not, are you? You’re too blinded by your own prejudices to be anything more than the next hotshot group we come across, shooting anything just for not being human. Never matters they were perfectly normal before, now they're just monsters to be shot at! Because anything that isn’t 100% human can’t really think, really feel, they’re all just mindless things to you. Hell, I don’t have a human arm, does that mean I’m not sentient? Do you-”

“Arthur that’s enough.”

If his voice is a rock hers is cold hard steel.

“But-”

“Taking our frustrations out on them does nothing but waste time and energy we could be using to find Lewis. And don’t you dare give me that look, I don’t like them talking about him like that any more than you do, but now is not the time.”

There’s the sound of a chair being pushed out from the table, and the woman takes a deep, steadying breath.

“We’ve been paranormal investigators for years, we know when a lead is bust. We came here in hopes you’d have some information to help us, but I can see now it was a lost cause. With that mindset, there’s no way you’d be able to follow the dead’s thought process, let alone accurately anticipate their next move. Ghosts work in patterns just like humans do, we have enough experience that we can get Lewis back without your help.”

There's a deep, resigned sigh.

“Look, I know we aren’t going to change your view of the dead from this, but I hope one day you reexamine what exactly makes you think about them the way you do.”

“Now come on, Arthur, let’s check in with Mystery at the hotel and see if he’s managed to dig up anything actually useful for us.”

Danny stays frozen on the steps as the door slams shut, guilt slowly creeping in as the situation unravels. It had just been a normal patrol yesterday, how had it managed to go this fantastically wrong? Just fly around, suck up some ghosts, and toss them back through the portal. How the hell was he supposed to know this one was any different? All he’d done was take out the guy before he could do anything funny, stop the problem before it even started, but now he was the one in the wrong? (He won’t admit he’s much like his parents when it comes to judging ghosts, even when he knows plenty of them aren’t malicious. Guilty until proven innocent, but with his track record meeting ghosts he couldn’t be to blame. Shoot first, ask questions never, but wasn’t that the same thing he chastised his parents for? …No, best to cut that train of thought off right now-)

Not liking these feelings of guilt, he slips out and trots after the two, following them down the street until he judges it to be a safe enough distance from the house his parents won’t see them if they look out the front door.

“Hey, uh, you’re the guys looking for your... friend, right?” He shuffles his feet awkwardly as they stare at him, unsure how to actually go about doing this. Damn him and his lack of planning.

“So, I overheard what happened and er, I... think I could help? Like my friends and I know lots about Phantom… My parents don’t know about it but I can show you where I, uh, where the ghosts go. When he catches them I mean. Except they’re also there whenever they aren’t in Amity so I guess then too, which would be most of the time then? but, uh.” Jack isn’t the only one in the family to ramble, but the blond man (Arthur?) is tapping his foot impatiently and giving him a look that reads ‘just get on with it’.

The blue haired girl, who he still doesn’t know the name of, looks suspicious, but they’ve followed worse leads before, and if this kid knew what he was talking about, well, it would certainly help…

Of their group Vivi is generally the one known to be impatient, not one for idling, nor interested in “just going over the transmission again, Vi, I swear it’ll only be like ten minutes, honest.” But right now Arthur is upset, and angry, and an upset, angry Arthur is a snappy Arthur, and also an Arthur that just wants this kid to get to the god damned point already so they can leave and keep looking for their missing teammate.

“Right, sorry. So, uh, come back to Fentonworks tonight at, like... eleven thirty maybe? Mom and Dad should be asleep by then so don’t ring the doorbell or anything, it would probably end up being the only time ever that they didn’t sleep like rocks, with how my luck tends to be…”

Before they can press for more information, he’s off like a shot, throwing a “sorryseeyagottagobye!” over his shoulder at the two. They may give chase, they may not, but he isn’t looking back to check. He’s never been great at lying, and if these guys are as actually experienced with ghosts as they say, their questions will likely be a lot harder to weasel his way out of. He’s not gonna chance being found out any sooner than he has to. So as he rounds a corner he flickers invisible, and sure enough the woman rounds the bend mere seconds later, pausing to catch her breath and swear (quite creatively, he must say) as she sees he’s disappeared.

Okay, he’s bought himself some time to fix this, he just has to make a few calls…

Luckily, he’d only tossed the disoriented skeleton through the portal, not dumped him further in like he’d started doing with some of his more... annoying enemies. He shouldn’t be that hard to find.

(famous last words.)

Eleven on the dot finds the remaining Mystery Skulls standing beneath the gaudy neon lights of the Fenton household. At her side, Vivi clutches a bag housing their remaining spirit, heavily warded with every spell in the book (and some others besides). If Phantom tried to take their deadbeat too, he would have to fight them for it, and they were taking absolutely no chances.

The research they’d done in the meantime hadn’t make their moods any lighter. Video after video of Phantom showcased his fighting abilities and power, spectacular battles around the city that left buildings in shambles and craters in their wake. But from a myriad of soundbites they managed to salvage, they’d pieced together that after the fights Phantom took his captured opponents to a place known as the “Ghost Zone”. Further searching pulled up dozens of local reports on the place, from an incident apparently stranding part of the town there a few years prior. While witness accounts ranged wildly, the common threads marked it as huge, green, and swarming with aggressive ghosts. And looking back at some of the opponents in those fights, however strong Lewis might be his chances weren’t looking good. At all.

Sam and Tucker round the corner to see two strange figures clustered on the sidewalk ahead. Their hands reflexively dart to their weapons, before connecting Danny’s descriptions to the group ahead, along with what was probably their dog. Damn, they were early then. Hopefully Danny was actually ready and not just doing something stupi-oh who were they kidding he was always doing something stupid.

They haven’t moved twenty feet before the dog growls, and the two humans whip around to stare at them. (So much for sneaking past and kicking Danny’s butt into gear, then.) Seeing as they’ve been spotted already, the teens close the remaining distance with quick strides.

The blue haired woman is the first to speak when they reach the house, suspicion not quite covering up the worry in her voice.

“And who might you two be, then?”

Sam thinks for a moment, then decides, fuck it, they’re going to learn soon anyway, might as well go with the (partial, at least) truth.

“I’m Sam, this is Tucker. We’re here to help Danny find your ghost since he’s a horrible driver who couldn't move straight to save his life. And for backup since, well, he can hardly go five minutes without getting into some kind of trouble.”

they get a grunt in acknowledgement from the blond, but it's otherwise silent for the few minutes they spend waiting for the door to open.

------!!!!-------

greengreengreen EVERYWHERE, no ground beneath your feet to stop you falling, falling... the space scattered with thousands of pointed rocks and green fog twisting through them... and if this is Arthur's reaction, Lewis is even worse off. and he's been stuck here not for minutes, but hours, days. reliving his death over and over, no reprieve from the constant memories. the team is so focused on Arthur's reaction it's not until mystery renders him unconscious they turn to vivi. standing stock still, unfocused eyes staring unblinking out the window, trembling with near invisible tears trailing down her face. because her boys aren't the only ones with memories of the cave, and while she may be the "strong" one of the group, when it comes to reminders of that night her ptsd is no less real. there you are dipstick! I've been looking all over for you! not now, ember, get out of the way. can't you see I'm busy? not until you tell me why you thought it was a good idea to toss a spirit into the ghost zone. are you completely mental? huh? don't play dumb with me, not even you wouldn't be able to tell. he looks nothing like a ghost! it's all we've been able to do by keeping guard, none of us can even get close to the guy with the state he's in! what are you even talking about-! vivi shoves his head away from the glass, calling out to the flaming musician. yell at him later, tell us where Lewis is now! ember looks down at the new human, sizing her up before nodding, gliding away. I still don't get it, what was she even going on about? I mean yeah, I shouldn't have tossed the guy in here, but the rest of that? what did that even mean? I believe I may be able to explain, a voice calls from the back, and all three kids jerks their heads around to stare at the (talking!) dog. (what the hell?) sam nearly crashes the speeder into an island before she collects herself enough to glance back at the window. ignoring their reactions, mystery continues to speak from his place in Arthur's lap, the mechanic petting him robotically (heh.). I didn't recognize it at first from the descriptions, but now I'm here I can tell this ghost zone, as you put it, is one part of the realm of the dead. the place we just left, your real world, is the realm of the living. ghosts, at least the ones that you know, are formed and exist in this dead realm. it's where they draw their energy from, regardless of whatever focus or reason they have for their being. a ghost that spends too long in the human world would begin to break down, the very reality chipping away at them piece by piece. similarly, a human spending too long unprotected in the ghosts world would suffer similar effects, their body fighting against what knows they should not be there. that's why, for instance, demons must be summoned from their own realm and strike deals with humans to stay on that plain. he looks straight at Danny beings that have rights, as it were, to both places may come and go as they please with no ill effects. i, for instance, may pass through both living and yokai realms if I were to so choose.

[anchor is physical, ties to world]

as for how this relates back to the idea of realms, well, the lower the power of an entity the easier it is to be torn apart... he pauses at Vivi's sudden realization, dashing to the forgotten bag on the seat. tearing open the pouch, she lets out a quiet 'oh thank the gods' as a tiny pink head pops out, chirping in concern. it winds its way into Vivi's arms, nuzzling her cheek. the woman looks at mystery, hoping that protection he had talked about was working on the deadbeat too. he nodded, as long as they were to stay in this vehicle, they'd probably be safe from harm. probably. I'd also suggest arthur stay too, even if he wasn't already... compromised, he looked over to the teens, still listening closely. suffice to say the scenery would certainly not be good for him. and for him to be the first thing Lewis sees after such an episode, arthur stiffens and the dog looks up at him sadly, even if he knows rationally it's not the you he thinks it is, he won't be in his right mind... it's gonna be okay, arthur. vivi settles beside the blond and leans against him, careful not to squish the spirit nestled in her arms. it'll just be like those first few weeks with the dreams. which i mean isn't ideal, obviously, but we've survived it once already, we can do it again if we have to. and it's not like before where he'd been alone for a year, it's really only been, what, a few hours, a day? um, actually... the trio (plus one) looks up, having already forgotten they weren't alone in the vehicle. i, uh, so that whole thing with different realities your, uh, dog? was talking about? heh, yeah, so... funny thing about the zone is, um. time goes differently in here. so like, an hour here is only a few minutes in the real, or, erm, living world... vivi completed the kids thought ...and a few hours on our side would be... days... oh gods no, Lewis. Danny flinches, another shot of guilt stabbing his conscience. ugh, of all the ghosts (or, er, spirits?) he could have snagged yesterday it had to have been this one. the only ghost in the whole town that couldn't live (unlive?) in the zone and was apparently afraid of the color green. just perfect. good Phantom, best hero. the speeder slows as ember approaches a group of ghosts, floating in a protective circle around an island about the size of a small house. they turn to glare at the vehicle, but at ember’s dismissive wave, part to let the craft land. as soon as the door opens a blue blur shoots out, followed closely by a smaller white figure and finally the ghost child. the sight of Lewis when they finally reach him is horrible. he'd flown blindly until he found a larger rock to land on, one with a sort of raised wall on one side to keep his back to. images from the cave played out in a high definition loop before him, even curled on the ground he could still feel himself falling, falling...

now his hands are digging into the flesh around his eyes, still desperately begging the images away. even scrunched into a ball the gaping hole that is his chest is obvious, the constant trembling and whimpers only adding to the gory display. his heart, golden and whole before, has gone pitch black, more cracks than actual pieces at this point and only held together by the strange atmosphere of the zone. the same atmosphere doing a number on the rest of him, draining his power to dangerous lows. they can see the rock behind him, and not just through the bloody window in his chest. it's been so much longer for him, even without the flashbacks draining him at this point he'd still be pretty bad off. he feels like he's been left to rot, abandoned for days, months, years, only his mind for company. maybe karma has finally caught him up and dragged him to hell, just like he must deserve for what he's done. what else would this place be for, catered so perfectly to his failures? he doesn't know how long it's been, only that he's so, so tired. even the agonizing pain in his chest has faded, his whole body numb. cold. who is he? he can't remember, his mind is too foggy. where is he? he shouldn't be here. why? this place is... bad. green. green makes bad things happen. the green had laughed. not-green had been hurt. when? who was green? why? (Lewis!) L..ew...is? something about it sounds familiar. like purple and pink and warm and happy. but… no. Lewis is black and white and cold cold cold. like him. is he him? he can't tell what his color is. was. are? something is touching him. it moves the dark away and he sees blue. blue... what is blue's name again? it says something, but all he hears is static. he can't move and blue is raining. no, that's not right. blue is happy and smiles and love, not sad, never sad, why is blue sad?

his last coherent thought, before finally fading out, is please don't be sad, blue. as vivi reaches the collapsed spirit, her fear of losing Lewis again somehow worsens. she knows what lengths Lewis would go to before using this form, and that she can see straight through him means his energy is even lower than she'd feared. grabbing a wrist she pries a hand from his eyes, only for the revealed pupil to be a dull and cloudy purple. there's no sign of recognition, though she hopes some of her panicked rambling is making it through the haze. a whimper at her side draws Vivi's attention to mystery, worriedly sniffing the abused and battered locket, which looks like it's one small breath away from crumbling completely. "we need to get him inside and home, now." she doesn't have to look to see mystery shifting, the gasp behind them is enough. the kitsune can take care of Lewis, she needs to focus on his anchor. unwinding her scarf, she makes use of the wonky gravity to wrap it around the locket, both preserving its shape and making sure pieces can't fall out when she moves it. with her part done and mystery gathering Lewis in his tails, vivi grabs the delicate package and hurries back to the waiting craft. she shivers as the static feeling of the speeder's shield passes over her, but it's a small price to pay to keep everyone safe. not from the ghosts, who she really needs to thank now she thinks about it, but the reality itself.

they kept to watching the last stranger still in the back of the vehicle. well, stranger plus the weird… pink... thing.

#dp/msa #mystery skulls animated #mystery skulls #danny phantom #wip #VERY wip :')#so wip it's not even funny please know that going into this #answrs writes #mine

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goshdangronpa · 9 months ago

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This is super old and has been in my drafts for who knows how long, but let's break these down one by one

Teruteru: Well, this would definitely be a change of pace for DR's rather sexless protags (we love to hc Hajime as irresistible and Kaede as ladykiller, but based on in-game portrayals alone, these guys ain't fuckin). Imagine that each time he likes someone, that person immediately dies, like THH Ch. 1 repeated across an entire game, until he likes someone who turns out to be the killer? Also imagine his reaction to Giant Junko. Okay, I've talked myself into supporting this just for the funny

Mahiru: Did you know she was originally considered for the protagonist role? I guess a lot of you did, or yall just really like her, and/or yall have read Danganronpa MK2. I'm not personally convinced that she'd be all that interesting a change, seeing that she plays just as much of a "serious person surrounded by kooks" role as Hajime. That said, she's much more of a take-charge type, which could take the story into intriguing new places.

Peko: Underratedly spicy. For one, she actually has someone from her own life to protect, upping the stakes of the killing game. For another, her obsessive protectiveness lends itself naturally to a leading role in investigations and trials ... and a lot of angst over each new death. Plus, shit like the Shining Justice gambit show that she's creative in a pinch and terribly persuasive. She could commit to something crazy like that in every trial. Like Kokichi if he wasn't an asshole. Whoa, did I really just compare those two?

Ibuki: I think it's a great idea!

Hiyoko: Honestly, who is better suited for a coming-of-age narrative than Hiyoko Saionji? She hasn't even had her growth spurt yet. There are good reasons why quite a few fans think she should've survived. Starting off as a far less friendly protag than Makoto, she could gradually grow into the hero they all need. As for trials, she may make up for her lacking investigative brains with her sheer intolerance for bullshit (what horrible things would she say instead of "No, that's wrong!" ...). Plus, imagine her in the last trial, coming back from the brink of despair, memories regained, WITH HER GROWTH SPURT. The symbolism!!

Mikan: It's funny: besides Hajime, the real hero of the first trial is arguably Mikan. Her testimony as the medical expert saves everyone from falsely voting Nagito, and Teruteru's inability to recall her indecent tumble seals the killer's fate. With Hajime dead, she could easily emerge as the go-to girl for solving murder mysteries. That said, it's hard to believe the Ultimate Nurse would go through the Despair Disease crisis without getting infected as well ... but what if she IS, and someone else commits murder before she can, and we spend the rest of SDR2 with a protag in Junko's thrall? Mikan might be the next-best MC for illustrating the story's theme of finding hope even in despair's greatest worshippers.

Nekomaru: The first chad protag AND the first IBS protag? Representation! But really: Nekomaru's a smarter guy than he lets on, he knows people well, he cares deeply about everyone in his group, and he would sacrifice himself to save them all - a killer combo for a DR main character. Plus, the dude's all about supporting other people from the bench. It might be nice for him to get the spotlight for a change.

Gundham: Well, he already thinks he's the main character of the universe ... I complain sometimes that when creators have more fun with a side character than the main character, they should just make that side character the main character. That said, and as much as I love the guy, it may be better to get Gundham's giant personality in trickles than through a fire hose, you know? He's a fun dude, but maybe only in moderation.

Fuyuhiko: The survivors have an advantage over the victims in this thought exercise just from having a complete character arc. Of course, there's a whole lotta game before that, and you barely see Fuyuhiko in Chapter 1. Hey, wouldn't it be fun if you play as him, don't even get the option to do FTEs, miss the party altogether, then become the lead investigator when things go murdery? You'd have to piece everything together without having even been present. There's potential in this Protag Fuyuhiko concept.

Sonia: It must be said: a Westerner going to Japan and becoming the leader and hero of her group may be, perhaps could only be, white savior-y. Humble origins are also important for making DR protags relatable, so her royal status would clash with that, too. Those are my only objections, really - Sonia's smart, tough, caring, a true leader, more fun than some would credit, just a good darn character - but they're big. This isn't an attack on the voters who drove her to 3rd place (!), just something worth considering ...

Akane: Fun fact: early in development, she was supposed to be the rival for Hajime, her reliance on gut feeling rubbing against his deductive reasoning. She's literally designed to be the opposite of a DR protag: quick to act on emotion, reckless and combative, not the brightest candle in the menorah. That may make her the coolest and most interesting choice in the whole bunch! I love the idea of Akane as Junko's nemesis, an analytical genius ultimately losing to a girl who knows it's better to be kind than smart.

Kazuichi: He was happy for once. Scared of girls, scared of his dad, scared of the world ... and now he's on an island resort with a bunch of hotties his age! I'm greatly amused by the idea that he'd fight not for hope or the world or anything grand but for his chance to enjoy a sweet vacation. It'd prove futile soon enough as he learns to be scared of his friends, then himself ... which would make it all the more beautiful if he, the cowardly creep, can find it in himself to become the Ultimate Hope. Just saying, don't dismiss his potential as an interesting protag just because you find him a little cringe!

#teruteru hanamura #mahiru koizumi #peko pekoyama #hiyoko saionji #ibuki mioda #mikan tsumiki #nekomaru nidai #gundham tanaka #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #sonia nevermind #akane owari #kazuichi souda #if you feel differently and voted/would've voted differently then I ain't judging #I just thought it'd be fun to consider all the options in detail #sdr2 has such a fantastic cast that could make for so many interesting stories beyond what we got in the game #I love them all man. yes even that one

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sothischickshe · 3 years ago

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2, 12 and 15 for the writing asks that I didn't reblog 😈😈

❤❤❤

so rUde!! just say you hate my meme waah

2. What form of response to your work gives you the most serotonin?

one thing i super love is when someone picks up on a pretty buried joke. i LOVE that experience from the other side as a reader (or watcher! or listener!) so it's such a fun kick if an easter egg type thing lands for someone <3

12. Do you have any advice for writing sex scenes?

this i tried to answer, and i guess my conclusion was broadly: it's gonna depend on (what you're trying to achieve with) the scene/s, and the best way to improve at writing sex scenes is probs to write (varied, in mAny senses) sex scenes, and considering what you do/n't like abt sex scenes in stories is probs a great way to crack what you're trying to do. (which i think is advice that can be applied to writing whatever, it’s not specific to sex scenes really.)

i guess i'd add: (just) write some!!! again this is probs also my advice abt writing anything lol, bc a draft is a tangible thing which you can mess with & improve!!! much easier to do that than with a lack of a thing!!!! and you don't need to share/post it ever if you don't want to!!!! & maybe this eXtra goes for a topic which a lot of ppl feel shame or awkwardness abt

also, i tend to plan what im writing at least to some extent based on what im trying to gain out of it. for example, im planning on writing a (s h o r t) dean pov cr*ckfic, partially as a warm up exercise for the band au (which i think is gonna have a fair amount of dean in it, bleugh), and the rio-dean bodyswap fic (ft onscreen dean! wot!) was partially a warm up FOR said dean pov thing. i def think one can do the same with sex scenes (or indeed anything else).

something else ive found helpful is: writing or planning theoretically similar sex scenes (involving the same 2 losers) ~contemporaneously in pretty different fics (say rathEr angsty vs relatively fluffy) -- bc ok maybe the mechanics will be similar, but focussing in on the DIFFERENCES (in terms of mood and physicality and communicativeness and detailedness of pov etc etc) can make a scene feel specific and resonant so idk maybe that’s a good ~exercise to try generally?

15. What’s the worst synonym suggestion you’ve ever encountered?

ooooof....... ok so like, i’ll buy pretty much anything as a synonym if you sell me on it. i’ll buy lamps or orbs or globes or backpacks or sequins or w/e as a synonym for eyes IF it’s set up!!! (like if u go ‘blah blah’s eyes were heavy and grey-flecked like their backpack’, u can probs reel in referring to their eyes as ‘those (optic?) backpacks’ later cos i know what’s up!

i think the issue with (maybe particularly online?) thesauruses is that a lot of context is lost -- you’re being told abt words that have similar but not identical meanings & a lot of the time you can’t just swing in a replacement word in to an already constructed sentence and have it make sense.

im sure this isnt the worst but i see it quite a lot so:

afaik anyway, ‘to don’ does NOT mean ‘to wear’, it means ‘to put on’. if someone dons an item of clothing, that means they weren’t wearing it before!!! just looked it up and ‘don’ is absolutely listed as a synonym of ‘wear’ (as in to be clothed in) on thesaurus.com and hmm...i guess that’s not wrong per se cos once you put something on you are wearing it but....hmm i don’t think they quite mean the same thing so you can end up with some unintended hilarity using it

quand même

#ty <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 #writing #fanfiction #(let's not get into my inability to take my own go make a first draft advice atm lol #i mean....storing it in your head works...maybe............)#thesauruses are great!! they can be very helpful!! but i don't think you're really supposed to use one without a dictionary?#(well i suppose it depends what you're using one for #i am often searching for a word i've temporarily forgotten lol #so im like it's kinda like this other word but not really? and then im like oh ya found it ty #or i look at the suggestions and im like what no terrible i want a word like X!#and then ive found it while yelling outraged at the ridic suggestions lol #yelling really can move a brain into gear i swear ha)#on writing #Writing advice

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waywardsummoner46 · 3 years ago

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You do Kaz? Sweet! I know you’re busy right now and you don’t need to rush into it, but I just want to send you an idea before I forget it. It’s a Kaz x reader where they both like each other, but the only problem is that reader has always dreamed of starting a family and she knows she can’t have that with Kaz because of trauma. Afraid she might leave him, maybe Kaz has the crows steal a baby from an orphanage and kind of shoves it in readers hands and is like “this is our baby”. He has a bit of yandere behavior but he’s still the same old Kaz.

Our Baby

Pairing: Slightly Yandere!Kaz Brekker x reader

Summary: You loved Kaz and he loved you but his phobia to physical contact became an obstacle to what you really wanted: a family. Noticing this, Kaz takes it upon himself to get you a child, securing your happiness. But what you don't know, is that you're being hunted and Kaz has ulterior motives rather than just supplying your solitude.

Word Count: 1584

Warnings: hints to violence, slight yandere behaviour, hints of being hunted and subjected to slavery and manipulation

A/N: Helloooooo! Two fics in two days? That’s a result of my illness, welp. Anyway, to the anon that requested this I am so sorry that it’s taken me so long to get to this but thank you for requesting and for giving me another series idea whilst also adding to my Darkling draft idea. Let me know what you guys think and I hope you’re all having a wonderful day :)

________________________________________________________________

It was becoming increasingly obvious to Kaz that you wanted a family.

For the past few weeks, all you had wanted to do was leave the Crow Club in exchange for exploring the richer and better kept areas of Ketterdam to watch the little children running around the streets and to watch how they interact with a multitude of things. You were practically drooling over the family dynamic you saw in various families and your desire to become a mother yourself was becoming unbearable; you tried to suppress it but Kaz is the Bastard of the Barrel for a reason… he noticed.

Initially you never stated why you wanted to leave the Barrel, claiming you wanted to explore the city and become more familiar with it which was understandable considering you were Ravka-born and raised. Yet Kaz’s observation skills were as impressive as ever and he read between your innocent little lies.

By no means would you ridicule Kaz for his trauma and inability to commence physical contact which is just one reason out of many he adored you: your patience and acceptance of him was something he’d very rarely come across. To trust someone enough with that information in the first place implied that you were a majorly important person to him.

He respected you and you respected him.

These brief interactions and silent staring from afar of the children continued until Kaz pulled you into his office one evening and confronted you about it.

With furrowed brows, you knocked on the door to Kaz’s office and after hearing the faint sound of acknowledgement, you cautiously took a step in. “Jesper said you needed me, everything alright?” You asked the figure rigidly leaning over his desk.

On further observation he didn’t actually seem to be analysing any of the papers or maps on his desk, rather caught up in his own head which was never something good. His eyes were shut and his brows mirrored your own - furrowed.

Your hands were itching to reach out for him but you knew that’d only make the situation worse given his haphephobia so you resisted, leaving them twitching slightly by your sides. Hesitantly, you opened your mouth to ask him something else but he cut you off.

“I’ve noticed how frequent your visits to the other districts are, (Y/N),” his gravelly voice cut through the suffocating silence.

You gulped. “Uh-um-uh, yeah! Yes, yes I have been going quite a lot. But that’s because I wanted to explore the city, Kaz. It’s quite big, I’ve come to realise,” you awkwardly laughed. He left the table then and fixed his jacket, grabbing his cane and slowly limping over to you.

Once he was standing directly in front of you, he lifted a violently shaking hand up to your cheek… you waited for the contact of his gloved hand but it never came. You diverted your eyes away from his hands to study his face instead. His jaw was clenched tightly and he was blinking quicker than usual as though he was debating his next move.

Brow slightly raised, you said, “Don’t force yourself, Kaz. Tell me what’s wrong.” Before you could second guess your actions, you quickly raised your own hand to place it over his. He took a brief intake of breath but didn’t move away, nor did that drowning feeling overwhelm him as it usually did.

He took an inaudible gulp before continuing. “Don’t lie to me, (Y/N).”

It was your turn to clench your jaw now and to avert your eyes. And just as your little moment started, it ended abruptly with Kaz taking a big step back and donning his scheming face. Or the hostile and terribly scary one he wears when confronting potential enemies.

You straightened your back and stared defiantly into his eyes. “Leave it, Kaz. It doesn’t matter.”

He gave you a malicious grin, “Oh my darling. It does matter. You want a family and knowing that I can’t provide you with one, you start developing an unhealthy obsession with others. Leaving the Barrel for hours at a time, not letting anyone know you’re leaving or when you’ll be back. Even taking notes on how to be a good mother and researching the orphanages stationed around the city, am I missing anything?” He listed in the same monotonous voice he uses on political challengers.

Your gaze now rested shamefully on the floor with your hands nervously fidgeting behind your back, something you knew Kaz didn’t like. “Stop acting like a child and answer me, (Y/N).”

Deciding to comply with him, you straightened to your full height and swallowed the lump in your throat. “It was never meant to be like that Kaz. If I hurt you in any way then I’m sorry but unlike you, some of us can’t suppress what we desire. Not me, not Inej with her ship, not Jesper with his gambling, not Nina wanting to avenge Matthias,” tears welled in your eyes at the pain you and your friends have experienced. “Yes, I’d like a child but I’m perfectly content with loving you only for the rest of my life, despite what you may think I do love you and our personal obstacles won’t affect that.”

His head was angled up, looking down on you. He didn’t respond, instead storming out of the room and leaving you wondering just what in Saints’ name just happened.

That evening you waited in his office for a good few hours before retiring dejectedly to your own room, heart heavy and tears flowing.

You didn’t see Kaz the next day or the day after that and you were convinced that you’d overstepped; whether with the physical contact or the verbal declaration of love you didn’t know. So who could blame you when you jumped out of your skin when he sat down right in front of you in the bar?

You’d ordered the heaviest drink you could from Jesper (who was on bar duty for a change) and was about to chug it down and wallow in your misery for the rest of the night but of course Kaz had to ruin your plans. Taking in a shaky breath you risked glancing up at him but almost died from shock when you saw a baby in his lap. You stuttered and tripped over incomprehensible words as you tried to even process the sight of Kaz Brekker with a literal baby in his hands.

He looked something akin to a child being scolded, face angled down, eyes slightly wide and legs twitching slightly. Never had you seen him so nervous. “I-uh, went to the orphanage when I left and got this for you,” he said uncharacteristically quietly, it was unnerving. Yet you couldn’t quite swallow the chuckle that came out of you at him addressing the child as “this”.

You smiled slowly at him, realising that he didn’t look like a scolded child but instead one looking for approval. “Thank you, Kaz, you have no idea what this means to me.” Reaching over the table, Kaz practically dumped the child in your arms leaving you giggling. A small smile was painted across his face, one you mistook for happiness instead of self-satisfaction, and he raised himself from the table with the promise he’d see you later and approached Jesper at the bar.

The two Crows slyly watched you, playing with the baby and making it giggle with the funny faces you were making, from the corners of their eyes before Jesper whisked Kaz’s drink up and plopped it onto the table.

“Gotta say, boss. That was a brilliant plan. I mean not only did you give the Mrs what she wanted but you secured yourself an heir! Wow,” Jesper said to Kaz. In return, he raised an unamused eyebrow, signalling that he saw past Jesper’s bullshit. Jesper raised his hands in mock surrender with a matching mocking smile on his lips.

“Alright, you got me,” he drew in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “How close was he this time?”

Kaz downed his drink in one and carded a hand through his hair. “There were five Heartrenders in the street beside where she usually goes. Not far behind them Zoya Nazyalensky and the King himself were spotted but Nikolai seems to still be The Darkling’s little demon. No sight of The Darkling himself yet though,” Kaz returned in an equally quiet tone.

Jesper looked at you worriedly. “What’s the next step, boss? I’ll help as much as I can.”

“I need you to send a message to my Crows; tell them that the lost Shadow Summoner has been found. (Y/N) is still a Crow as far as I’m concerned and I’m not letting The Darkling enslave her like he did Alina.”

“You got it, Kaz. As soon as I’m done with bar duty, I’ll get on that,” Jesper replied.

Kaz suddenly had a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Jesper?” a murmur of acknowledgment. “I thought you were on door duty.” Then a loud groan and a slightly annoyed expression came onto Jesper’s face but he knew better than to refuse.

“Nothing escapes you, does it?” He asked, then sauntered off, chucking the towel down on the counter.

Kaz took the liberty of pouring himself another drink and turned to look at you. Nothing would take you away from him. He’d make sure of it, even if he had to store you away from the entire world.

#Kaz Brekker #kaz brekker x reader #dark!kaz brekker #dark!Kaz Brekker x reader #shadow and bone #Grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #the darkling #the darkling x reader

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 2 years ago

Text

Impulse (Tyson Jost Imagine)

This is my entry for @antoineroussel ‘s summer fic exchange! This fic is for @senditcolton so I hope you like it! I know you said you’re in an angst period, but I accidentally ended up writing fluff-- hope that’s okay! I actually have 90% of another fic done, because I changed my mind about it at the last second lol

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! It was inspired by the song Tattoos Together by Lauv

Rating: T

Pairing: Tyson Jost/fem!reader

Words: 3567

Warnings: light description of getting a tattoo

Summary: You’re not an impulsive person, until Tyson is involved. Turns out, some bad decisions mean more than you think.

As much as you try to control your impulsivity, as long as you’ve worked to learn to take a breath before making decisions, as much improvement as you’ve made in this particular arena, something in you snaps every time Tyson gives you his most earnest look and says “you wanna do something stupid?”.

Luckily, it usually ends up being fun. Like jumping into a pool at a wedding, or letting some kids at the park teach you to skateboard, or soaking all of JT’s socks in salt water so that they’re crunchy next time he puts them on and he has to practice with sticky feet. You’re not sure what overcomes you when he gives you that wide-eyed, excited look; you’re just glad no one else has the same effect. You couldn’t imagine how much more chaotic your life would be. This particular level of chaos is just right.

You’ve known Tyson since he was an awkward, gangly kid, dreaming of a future in the NHL. He’s achieved that particular dream now, and you love being able to remember every step he took to get here. Travel leagues had been your first introduction to not having him around all the time, but the two of you had made do. Sneaking through your window to talk and laugh loudly enough that you’ve realized in hindsight that your parents must have overheard.

Having that experience has made it easier to deal with him being away for most of the year. It also means that you’re perpetually waiting for him to come through your window to make you smile.

You’d spent most of the summer together, the rest of your friends understanding the time constraints and leaving you to be with him, for the most part. Between your work and his training, the time limit is even tighter, so you pack as much quality time in as possible. If you spend time with friends, he tags along. If his training runs long, you go cheer him on. You’ll probably have to dust your apartment come September, because you spend most nights at his place. Having his arms wrapped around you, his steady breathing ruffling your hair, is more than worth some cleaning.

It’s not, like, sexual. Your families had thought so at first, assuming it was a teenage romance. There had never been anything of that nature, though. Even as difficult feelings had started bubbling up in you over the years, everything had stayed strictly platonic.

He still has this hold over you, commandeering your thoughts year-round. Even when he barely has time to talk when the season ramps up, he still sits firmly in the back of your mind. Above all else, he’s your absolute best friend, the person who knows you the most. You think that’s a good enough reason for your near-obsession.

It’s a good enough reason for your inability to tell him no, too. For instance, he’s giving you that enthusiastic look that makes you smile back, and you know that you’ll do whatever he’s about to suggest.

“Let’s get tattoos,” he says, taking your hands in his own to shake them once in excitement, “Matching ones.” For the first time, you pause at the idea. Not necessarily because you’re mulling it over. More that there’s something so overwhelming about the prospect of him getting something so permanent to memorialize you on his body. A piece of you that he can carry around with him, like the little stuffed yeti you’d gotten him when he got drafted to the Avalanche. Only, there’s no chance of him forgetting this at home.

“I know a place,” you say, grinning and squeezing his hands. You’d gotten a few tattoos before, so you know that you can walk into the same shop and get served almost immediately. Your artist might have an appointment, but all of the artists there were good enough for your taste.

The shop is small, and the bell above the door jingles as you enter. You haven’t let go of one of Tyson’s hands for the entire walk here, but that’s not out of the ordinary. The woman behind the counter has tattoos winding up her arms, across the part of her chest bared by her tank top, up her neck. Her piercings are numerous, and the ones in her cheeks accentuate the smile that overtakes her face when she sees you.

“Hey Y/N!” she greets, leaning over the glass counter to give you a hug.

“Hey Valerie,” you say in return, “How have you been?” She was an apprentice when you’d been here last, but you’re sure she’s a fully-fledged artist by now. You chat with her for a minute or two, introducing Tyson as you do. He gives her his most charming, lopsided smile. She gives him a quick once-over before smiling back, giving you a sly look. You roll your eyes in return, but her approval warms you.

“I’m the only one open right now, but I can do you both,” she says, an offer you’re more than happy with. You’d seen a bunch of her work before, and you’re sure she’s only improved with time. Tyson looks to you for reassurance, so you squeeze his hand with a smile.

“Do either of you have an idea?” she asks. You feel stupid for a minute, because you hadn’t even thought of it on the way here. You were just overcome with the joy of Tyson’s suggestion. Luckily, it seems he’d given it some thought.

His suggestion is almost overwhelmingly sweet. Hell, it is overwhelming, if you’re being honest. When the two of you share a bed, you tend to hold hands in your sleep. It’s one of the sappier things you do, but it just fits right. That’s why you find your fingers entwined so often during the day, too.

The concept is simple and subdued. Almost secretive. A small sun and corresponding moon on the insides of your fingers, positioned so that they’ll match up when your hands are together. You agree immediately, already knowing Valerie’s next comment. She explains that hand tattoos, especially in places that experience a lot of rubbing, tend to fade and need to be redone. Apparently Tyson hadn’t known this, but you’d heard it before. You’re more than willing to get touch-ups, and it seems he is too.

The only thing you have to negotiate is who will get which symbol. You think he should get the sun, because he’s the embodiment of sunshine, but he returns the same sentiment. You feel like the moon more appropriately represents you, with your night owl tendencies and calmer disposition. You also think of how you’re just living parallel to him, reflecting the light that he gives off, but you don’t share that part.

Eventually, you convince him of your point of view, and he agrees that you’re the moon. You smile at your success, and Valerie gives you a look heavy with meaning. You’d introduced Tyson as your best friend, and you’re used to the looks people give you about it. Anyone from family and friends to near-strangers have and will make it known that you’re obviously in love with him. Which is true, and you don’t really try to hide, but is completely irrelevant. You’re obvious about your feelings, and Tyson has never reciprocated, and that’s all you need to know. If other people don’t understand, that’s their problem.

“We should swap them,” Tyson says, “So that we have each other around all the time.” Again, you’re amazed by how sweet he is. The concept is perfect, and Valerie takes a few minutes to make tiny patterns for each of you.

You’re used to the buzzy pain of tattoos, so the quick work is nothing to you. It hurts a little bit more than others had, because it’s in such a sensitive spot, but it’s still not bad at all. You hold Tyson’s free hand when he gets his, trying not to laugh as he flinches and scrunches his face up. Hockey players try to act tough, but they’re big babies.

Once you’re both finished and wrapped up, Valerie gives you the spiel about caring for a fresh tattoo, stressing that you can’t hold hands on that side until it’s fully healed. That means you won’t be able to do so when you sleep, but you think resting your hand next to his will be good enough.

Luckily, you have another hand. After you pay and say your goodbyes, you switch your typical positions as you walk so that you can twine the non-injured hands together. You both laugh about how weird it feels.

Tattoos take a long time to heal, and you know there’s not enough time before he goes back to Minnesota. The tattoos look great, even as the skin starts to grow back over them, and you get used to sleeping on your other side, because Tyson insists you still be able to hold your good hands while you sleep.

The drive to the airport is as bittersweet as it always is. Riding in the back of the car with him, he reaches out so your fingertips touch.

You have a system for the season. Every other night, Tyson will call or facetime you, and you’ll chat until he gets too tired and says goodnight. The way his eyes go sleepy and half-mast, his entire face softening, gives him away every time. You should probably cut him off once it starts, so he can get more sleep, but you’re too selfish to shorten your time with him.

The saving grace of the season is that he has to come to Edmonton eventually. If there’s pressure to spend time together over the summer, having him in town for one day at a time is the next level. Your friends know when he’s coming, because you’ll fly into a bit of a frenzy the couple days beforehand. Some of your newer friends try to calm you down and get you to rest, but the ones that you’re truly close with had given up on that a long time ago. They know you need to get the frenetic energy out, lest you explode.

It’s excitement and anxiety tangled together, wanting to make sure that everything is perfect for him. It doesn’t have to be, and he doesn’t expect it to be, but if you didn’t run around cleaning your apartment, you’d have to think. That’s never a good idea.

That’s especially not a good idea when you’ve spend the past couple months reminding yourself constantly that you shouldn’t rub the inside of your finger. The urge is like a kid rubbing the tags of their clothes or sucking their thumb— a way to comfort yourself with the reminder that Tyson is out there somewhere, and he still loves you. Which is the other problem.

Tyson has been your best friend for the majority of your life, and he’s loved you as such the entire time. Still loves you as such. As his best friend. But the selfish part of you wants him to love you differently. You want him to love you romantically, to stop seeing you as the awkward kid you once were and start seeing you as the adult you’ve grown into— as someone he could love in more ways than one.

You clean and arrange and prep because you don’t want to think about your feelings and the little tattoo on the finger where an engagement ring would go. You don’t want to think all the hopeful, impossible thoughts that keep springing up. You’re not stupid enough to believe that this is anything more than what it is. As much as you tell yourself that, you can’t get your brain to stop imagining love declarations that hurt as much as they make your heart float. There’s no point to getting caught up in all of that, just to disappoint yourself later. It’s not like you’re ever going to tell him how you feel, anyway. You’ve kept it to yourself for this long, forever isn’t that much longer.

You pick Tyson up after morning skate, sitting in the back seat with him while his mom and sister grill him from the front. He’ll have lunch with his family, but you always come alone to pick him up. You just can’t wait to see him.

They drop you off at your apartment shortly after, heading out to some restaurant you’d seen in an article some time. That means you have a couple more hours to yourself before Tyson comes over for his pre-game nap. You make sure the ingredients are ready for his snack later, before spending half an hour more staring at your laptop screen than actually watching the show playing on it. You grab some yarn and a hook and begin to crochet, hoping that doing two things at once will help you concentrate. Even if it doesn’t, at least you’ll make some progress on this year’s birthday presents.

A knock on the door announces Tyson’s arrival, and you have to scramble out from your pile of yarn to answer the door. You know he has a key, so he must have forgotten his keychain again. Hopefully he has it at the hotel and hasn’t locked himself out of his apartment… again.

He greets you with a huge hug, just as he has this morning. This hug is actually a little bigger, his arms just a bit tighter as he sways you side-to-side. You bury your face in his shoulder and enjoy acting like one of those annoying couples that dramatically reunite every time they’re apart for more than five minutes.

“I missed you,” he says, slowly walking you backwards without breaking the embrace.

“I missed you too, nerd,” you reply. You really have missed him, even if it’s only been a few weeks. Everything just feels more right when he’s here.

Tyson waddles you all the way into the bedroom, managing to kick his shoes off in the process. It’s more affection than you’re used to, but you’ll take it happily. Whatever happened during lunch must have put him in a good mood. Eventually, he has to let you go so that you can both get ready to sleep. You change into shorts and an oversized Wild t-shirt he’d gotten you after the trade. Changing together feels domestic, comfortable and practiced.

You still have time before he actually needs to go to sleep, so you clear your things off the bed and wake your laptop up. Tyson climbs under the covers first, holding out his arms so you can snuggle into his bare chest. It doesn’t take long to get situated, laying your head back against his shoulder to continue the show you’ve been watching together over FaceTime.

The show is a good choice, because it doesn’t take too much brain power to keep up with. You’re already kind of sleepy, so you don’t have much brain to spare.

When Tyson jostles you awake, someone on screen is dramatically kissing their love interest. It’s the middle of the episode still, so you’re pretty sure this romantic tryst won’t be all flowers and rainbows. Tyson pauses it and shuts the laptop, so you’ll have to find out later. Laying down with Tyson’s head on your chest is more important. He’s warm against your side, arms wrapped around your torso in two hot lines. Out of instinct, you press a kiss into his hair. He sighs in response, sinking further into you. The contact is helping bring back some of the tiredness that had begun to subside when he woke you. You’ve been so stressed— for no reason— that the relief of his presence feels like a weight off of you.

“You should move to Minnesota,” he says a few minutes later, apropos of nothing. It shocks you both more and less than you’d have anticipated. Him suggesting you pack up everything to be closer to him doesn’t surprise you as much as it should, but how little you oppose the idea floors you. Your friends, your family, your job, your home is all here, and you’d pick it all up, move to a different country, with very little convincing.

“Why?” Is the only question you can think to ask. He gives you a squeeze.

“I want my girl with me,” he says. My girl.

“You’ve gotta stop calling me that,” you reply, “People are gonna think we’re dating.” At that, he props himself up on one elbow to look at you.

“Aren’t we?” He asks. The question shatters all rational thought.

“Are we?” You ask in return. You’re wracking your brain for some conversation that you forgot or misunderstood, but you can’t fathom overlooking something so monumental. Besides, your brain is mostly just repeating “aren’t we” on a loop. The simple statement is ridiculous— ridiculous in the fact that it’s so casual, so sure of itself. Like this is something you should have already known. If it’s any consolation, Tyson looks just as confused as you feel.

“I facetime you every day,” he says, as if that explains everything.

“You facetime your mom almost every day,” you respond.

“I say I love you at the end of every call,” he says.

“You’ve always done that,” you dismiss, no less confused than you were sixty seconds ago.

“Because I’ve always loved you,” he says, as if it’s a foregone conclusion. He doesn’t tack on “as a friend” like you do when you think of his feelings. Just an outright, simple declaration of love. Like, love. Like what you’ve been fantasizing since the day in your early 20s that he’d brought you ice cream after a breakup and told you the guy was an asshole and you’d realized you would never love anyone the way that you love him. You almost slam your head into his, sitting up so quickly.

“You meant it like that?” You ask, bewildered. Why hasn’t he told you? Tyson’s smile is small and genuine.

“Y/N,” he says, “We got matching tattoos.” He pauses as you gape at him, before adding, “That touch when we hold hands.” Okay, yeah, that’s kind of a good point. Ill-advised decisions are a hallmark of your friendship, but the tattoo thing had been a little much, even for you. The thing is, looking back on the past couple months, nothing had changed. Everything you did were things you’d been doing forever.

“Nothing changed,” you say, only sort of a question. Tyson shrugs as best he can in his position.

“We’ve basically been dating for years,” he says, “so why would it?” Everyone had joked about that exact thing since you’d met, but it’s kind of true. You’ve always been closer than usual, even for childhood friends. Talking literally every day is also more a relationship thing than a friendship thing. Spending so much time together when he’s home that every invitation to hang out with a friend includes Tyson by default is also relationship-y. And sharing a bed. And his mom calling you her daughter-in-law. And saying “I love you” to end every call. Okay, so maybe you’ve been dating unofficially since you were teenagers. But still.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask. His smile turns sheepish.

“I kind of thought the tattoo thing would do it,” he says, “and then I just forgot to actually ask you out.” You smack his shoulder and can’t help but laugh.

“Of course you did,” you laugh, the overwhelming emotions finally breaking in the face of his stupidity. Forgetting to ask you out may be the most in-character thing he’s ever done. He laughs along with you, flopping back onto the pillow.

“The answer is yes, by the way,” you add, your smile threatening to split your face in two. What a ridiculous way to end up with the love of your life.

“No, no, you gotta let me ask!” He objects, sitting up again. You laugh again, motioning for him to continue when he just stares at you for a moment. The immediate switch to being serious almost gives you whiplash. His face is bright and earnest when he cradles your face in his hands.

“Y/N,” he says in a way that would be laughably sappy in any other circumstance, “Would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?” You touch your fingertips to the back of one of his hands.

“Of course,” you reply. His genuine excitement makes your heart flip.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he says, and your combined laughter nearly makes it impossible. You manage it, his lips soft as they move against your own as if they’d been doing so forever. It’s the easiest first kiss you’ve ever had, years in the making. Your entire body is alight with the feeling, with the surety of it all, both physically and emotionally.

Eventually you have to part, because he really does need to sleep at some point. You can’t help but steal a few pecks as you settle back in, though. His head on your chest feels different, the shirt he bought you feels different, having his number plastered across your back feels different, and yet it all feels exactly the same as it always has. When he tangles his fingers with yours, your tattoos align for the first time.

#tyson jost imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #RI #andis coping mechanism #tjost

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lamentingwclf · 8 months ago

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Bucky watches her with the same level of indifference he watched Steve with when he was sitting by the lake - hair white, shrunken with age, and could have almost fooled them all believing nothing had changed at all. But it is a mask, a carefully constructed one that is always donned when speaking of such things. There is a reason he won't go back, a reason Steve didn't ask, and a reason he's not going to share now when there were so many secrets between them. So he takes the hit, as he has taken many others before. He lets her yell, and assume things about him and thinks about how cruel time really is.

They had been a victim of it combined with circumstances. Their relationship never would have made it if it had ever started in the first place. They were always just going to have those few short hours the night before he left that pushed their childhood friendship over the edge. He had pushed them over the edge with his own selfish desires and left her to pay the price. Now, so much time had passed - for him to be in and out of a conscious state while his body moved forward, and her in an essential sleep - they felt like pieces of broken glass trying to fit themselves together again all while missing the pulverized pieces.

It was never going to be the same.

"Do you have any idea how selfish you sound?" It's out before he can take it back. It's doesn't change the intention, he believes she sounds selfish, but her selfishness is driven by his inability to shed some light. He's accusing her of a very mean thing when she does not have the bigger picture because he is selfish. "You think Wayne and Russell believe there's nothing for you to go back to? You think they didn't wonder what happened each night while they tried to sleep in a stranger's house when they could have been with you? Or why they weren't good enough for you to even try and continue?"

Did she really think, for a second, he wouldn't have jumped at the chance to go back and take care of his family if he could? Did she really think there wasn't something holding him back?

"You had so much - " He cuts himself off, shakes his head, and for a moment, Bucky can't speak because of the rage that consumes him. He shakes with it. Gwen has a choice that he does not, and she is using him as an excuse and it is unfair. The entire thing is unfair, and he hates that he's simplifying it into the same concept a child would when they don't get a toy from the store.

"What do you think would have happened if I didn't go to war when I was drafted?" He asks, but gives her no time to answer. "I would have been charged and imprisoned. I would have been branded a traitor and a coward. Do you know what that would have done to my family? My ability to make money? I had to go. I didn't have a choice. Neither did Steve, not after he became Captain America. They would have hunted him down, carved him up, used him as a science experiment if he had run away. But you don't care, because all you see is how our being there fits your needs."

Because she loved him so much she went and bought a wedding dress for someone else.

"I'm sorry that my death caused you so much pain, Gwen. If you even noticed, it was pretty inconvenient for me too." As he says it, he's already backing away, his gloved hands waving outward in a dramatic flair punctuating his anger.

He walks away, continuing down the street, and lets his anger dissipate into shame for his behavior. But he does not apologize when he comes back and slips into the car. He says nothing the entire drive home, just lets them both stew in their own emotions until they are back at the apartment and she is walking away from him. "Your biggest problem," Aside from still being utterly blind to him, "is you're so damn afraid to ask the right questions."

There was so much that she didn't understand, and as time slowly ticked on, she feared some of it she never would. It wasn't missed on her that for whatever reason Steve got to choose to go back, yet Bucky was still here. She didn't ask. She figured with the little knowledge she had about Steve and his rankings and the- oh what were they called?....The Avengers- that he had enough say to those powerful enough to send him home. Maybe only one could? She didn't know, but the fact that he could now being revealed, didn't sit well with her or make her any less confused. But the hope is too strong.

And yet it comes crumbling down faster than it had came.

Harry died. In 1945. He wasn't home. He didn't die an old man warm in a bed. He didn't marry. He didn't have kids. He didn't get to have the life he deserved. And she wasn't there. She wasn't there to mourn him. To say goodbye. It didn't matter if she'd stayed out of the chamber, he would have been gone. The three boys sent to war died there. Her future ended the moment Bucky fell from the train.

For a moment she wonders if that's why they never retrieved her- her parents saw the way Bucky and Steve's death destroyed her. She was nearly gone when she went in the chamber, surely Harry's death would have given her that final push to fade away.

Gwen can hardly hear him as he continues to speak. There's something he says about not being able to go to Steve, and through the ripping pieces of the remainder of her heart, that makes her wince. And then he tells her he'd leave her. That she would be alone. She'd have her family...but not Harry, not Steve, and not him. The one that started this all.

And now a small laugh leaves her, and it's the saddest noise she's ever heard herself make. But she won't cry. She's so tired of crying. She's so tired of hurting. She pulls her hand from his gently to run it through her hair, forcing herself to stare at the house before she turns back to him and suddenly it doesn't matter that they're older. It doesn't matter that it's not ladylike. It doesn't matter that he's been through enough physical violence. Nor does it matter that she can't hurt him. Suddenly they're standing in 1939 and her fist comes up to strike his right arm before shoving him back. And as horrible as it was, it was the closest thing to herself she'd felt in years.

"Why would you do that to me? Why?" She bites her lip as hard as she can to keep her tears inside. "Why would you tell me I could go back when you knew- you knew there was nothing to go back to?! And who's to say my parents wouldn't die in another car accident? This time with my brothers in the car? Huh? A-And even if that didn't happen, I couldn't go see Steve? I couldn't go see someone who was apart of my life for so long- who I miss terribly? How does that work? A-And Harry-" Her voice cracks but she shakes her head. "I'd be just the near equivalent to a widow? Were you expecting me then to go for the next one? I don't want that. Do you believe they'd even entertain the idea even if I did? Surely Thomas told them when I disappeared- he didn't have be as a puppet anymore."

She's not making sense, she knows it. She's being emotional and causing a scene. But fuck the standards, fuck how she's supposed to act, even that means taking her anger and sadness out on him.

"And do you honestly believe that I would go back without you? God, do you have any idea what your death did to me? You know it wasn't just to present an image for my father and boost his career? I-I just wanted to stop feeling one goddamn moment. I wanted to escape. Everything good stopped the moment you fell. A piece of me died with you. All I wanted was you. I laid at your grave every single day and pleaded for God to take me too. I went mad. And then Steve....I begged him not to go back because I knew- I knew that he'd die too. I told him that. I got on my knees and begged for him to run away with me. I did everything I could to keep him from going back but...but he was so goddamn stubborn and never outgrew that righteous for justice and was so reckless. And then....and then I heard the screams in the hallway while I was recovering in the hospital....I heard the radio broadcaster say he put a plane in the water. And then- and then suddenly two of the most people in my life- two people I loved most in the world were gone. A-And I didn't even have a place to go mourn over his empty box. They didn't bury the boy who'd left Brooklyn all but twice in his entire life before he got that serum in Brooklyn. They didn't bury him next to you or Sarah. They buried him in DC....fucking DC. You were gone....and I'm just supposed to go back to that? Go back to nothing.."

Her head turns once more to the house. "It's a lovely house....it has potential. But I want to go rest now." She turns opening the car door, sliding in the passenger seat then slams it shut. Her seatbelt crosses over her before she curls up, wrapping her blanket up as high as she could as she hugs the box to her chest. Guilt and grief swarms her as images of Harry play in her mind, his touch, their memories. His smile. Slowly the thoughts morph into his final moments. What he may have been thinking, what it may have looked like, until she feels ill. But she still doesn't cry, not until they're back in Brooklyn, and she's locked herself in Bucky's room.

#chamberedbeauty #s : no grave can hold my body down #q. the white wolf rests

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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earned it [05]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. domestic abuse, car accident, slight angst, sexism, suggestive scenes, unedited and my naoya simping is obvious with this one,

notes. TEAM NAOYA LET’S GOOOO *sighs* finally got this out from my drafts. anyways, here’s an earned it update while i recover from migraines because my schedule was so hectic last week and i’m so tired, might be sleeping a lot these days hence the hiatus :( also ik i keep saying this but future chapters will finally be more...UH SPICY AND MORE DRAMATIC, I guess? this is mostly an angst fic btw so please don’t expect too much fluff of heartwarming romance. there WILL be romance,,,it just takes some time hehe, anways ENJOY...or not :)

series masterlist

Women were weak. Trained to be voiceless, compliant, and unable to fight – Naoya found them weak.

His own mother was the perfect epitome of that. For years, he’d watched her leave his father’s room with dried tears, wiping them away with the back of her sleeves. When she saw a little Naoya standing at the edge of the hallway, she’d immediately usher him back to his room, her tears replaced with a smile so convincing Naoya wouldn’t have believed she’d been crying if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. How could he be when day and night, he’s surrounded by tutors, expected to take over his clan and lead them all to a brighter future?

How could he be stupid when he can’t sleep at night, for the screams and cries of his mother, the sound of palm hitting cheek resonating just from the other room, accompanied with the insults directed her way by his own father?

How could he be so stupid when he looked up to his mother – who he believed was the only source of light in the rather desolate walls of their manor – only to see that her beauty faded with each passing day, the brightness of her eyes now filled agony, with pain, with fear? She no longer smiled; not even for him. She no longer came around his room to read him bedtime stories no matter how much Naoya pleaded because he’d gotten tired of reciting scriptures and poetry. She no longer kissed him on the forehead as a morning greeting, opting to stay in the sidelines with her head bowed, acting as if she was a servant and not his mother.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. As the future leader of the Zen’in Clan, it was his duty to hear and see everything, to be wary of everyone around him and to observe. He knew his father abused her. He knew his father hated her, looked down on her, stepped on her at each moment he could. And as if that wasn’t enough, Naoya found out they weren’t married in the first place.

She had been nothing but a mere concubine whose role was to birth an heir. Now that Naoya had come to life, her purpose to live ceased to exist. And people who had no role in the Zen’in estate had no reason to stay any further.

“Mother,” Naoya cried out, tugging at his mother’s sleeve. “Mother, please don’t go, don’t leave me!”

She was crying again; he wished she’d stop doing that, that she’d stop being so weak. He wanted his mother to be strong and fight back, but she’s not even attempting to wipe her tears away this time, displaying her vulnerability and meek self to him. Had his father been there, she’d be scolded again, claiming that Naoya shouldn’t be exposed to behaviors of surrender and weakness.

His mother cupped his face, trying her best to keep the younger version of himself from dangling onto her robes; the expensive, silk material the last evidence she’d ever been a part of them.

“Naoya, baby, it’s okay. You need to grow up strong and be the clan leader, okay?”

“But why do you have to leave? Why do you never fight back?”

“I’m sorry, dear...” was all she said, finally kissing him on the forehead like she’d failed to do so for the past months. Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any better. Instead, Naoya’s cries grows louder with each minute, loud enough that he caught the attention of his manservants who paled at the Young Master’s wails that was sure to displease his father locked inside his study. His mother sent a glance their way that expressed messages he couldn’t yet understand due to his innocence. Strong arms wrapped around his smaller frame until they dragged Naoya away from his mother, the sight of a luggage behind her turning him weak in the knees.

“Remember, Mother always loves you.”

“No!” he fought against their hold. His servants did all they could to not harm the Young Master’s skin, but Naoya was too strong, too desperate that they were unable to hold him back.

Naoya kept running and running, uncaring of the fact his loose robes hindered him from going at full speed. He didn’t stop, even as his servants had trailed after him, desperate pleas for the Young Master to come back falling into deaf ears. His mother had arrived on a nearby bus from the open roads that led outside the Zen’in Estate’s outer gates, her hand frozen on the doors with her head slightly tilted to the side.

That slight moment of hesitance – to look behind or leave everything behind – was what made Naoya stop in his tracks. He breathed hard, sweaty palms on his knees as he silently prayed to the divine beings to bring his mother back, for her to look at him one last time.

But she didn’t.

And Naoya was frozen in his tracks, everything colliding into one crash and burn that he failed to make sense of everything. He stood there and watched his mother hop into the bus, her decision to leave him behind final and irrevocable. What had rung louder then? The way his heart shattered into pieces, or the loud honking of an incoming car that not even his skilled team of guards could protect him from?

Naoya figured it must’ve been the muffled cries of his mother behind the windows that rung the loudest even if he hadn’t heard it.

Until now, he carried the mark his mother left behind; a gnarly scar running inches from his kneecaps that throbs until now. It reminds him every day what could happen to someone once they’re weak, once they’re vulnerable, the horrifying consequence of not being strong enough to face in this world like a huge slap in his face. In a way, he felt grateful for the scar; at least it was proof he’d done his best to run after his mother, and this injury just taught him it was best to face things head on instead of running away.

This scar would always tell him that running away was never the option, and that was why Naoya felt so strong, so disappointed when he met you. Naoya saw much potential in you – the wrath firing in your eyes and the will to fight back is what pulled him in on the first place – and yet you were already trembling on the ground, your sweat dripping on the floor.

“Stand up!” he demanded, tapping his cane on the ground as he wobbled to his feet. “Do you really think being weak will make you survive in this world?”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” he spat out, matching the intensity of your glare. Had you been any lesser of a woman, a servant, he’d have your eyes gouged out. But to him, you were a vessel of hope, an embodiment of strength he could help you hone that he let you off. Still, he felt extremely let down that he expected so much from you, and you’ve been pathetic so far.

Naoya shook his head as he left. “You’re going to die the moment you step out of here. And to think I actually had high hopes for you. As expected, you women are weak and pathetic. Each one of you is useless.”

He didn’t get very far when his injury throbbed again. Naoya fell to his knees and immediately bit down on his lip to conceal his groans, but it was too late. You’ve rushed to him in an instant, already pulling his slacks upwards to get a good look at his knee. Worry is painted all over your features still drenched in sweat and exhaustion, and he pried your hand away, a frown deep on his lips.

“Get away from me. I don’t need a woman’s help.”

“You’re so uptight, you know that?” you rebutted with a roll of your eyes. Naoya watched as you skipped to the nearest medical kit he always kept in his training grounds (which he rarely used) and popping out painkillers to hand to him. “Just shut up and let me take care of you. Unlike you, I don’t walk around calling people weak, and you having this injury never made you weak in my eyes, but you’re not impotent either,” scoffing at him, you pushed the bottle of water to a very annoyed looking Naoya. “At least let me take care of you every once in a while.”

His whole life, Naoya knew nothing but the familiar bitter cold. Being served tea, scaring his servants with his mere presence, the toxic view that everyone was below them drilled into his own head – that had been his life, and his feelings about it were neither hot nor cold.

To him, it was just the way he’s supposed to be.

But the warmth of your hands, the tenderness of your touch to his scars not because you found him weak but rather you cared for him…it tugged at his heartstrings. That had been at least five years ago and Naoya still remembered that moment very clearly.

He couldn’t understand whether he hated his inability to run away or not, because to be around you confused him to no end. One moment, he saw you as nothing but his one way ticket to fortune, but when he was alone with you, he was beginning to see you more as a woman rather than a pawn to his game. Soon, you became more than that, and nothing had terrified him even more that he let someone in his heart just like that.

Did he love you? No, most definitely not. A man like him didn’t know how to love. But with you – every time he saw you – Naoya is confident to admit that he could somehow understand what love meant.

It had been a hellish trip – one he’d never admit it out loud that he wished to never go on again. He was just happy to be home before he laughed, because home? He’d never thought he’d ever say that, yet there he was, beaming at the sight of you pushing your weight off the limousine.

You looked as stunning as usual, running up to him even with your heels before wrapping your arms around his neck. Usually, Naoya didn’t like public displays of affection since it could greatly deter his reputation, but everyone knew both of you weren’t each other’s weaknesses that he didn’t care whether his people could see their leader grinning as his wife welcomed with a kiss. Naoya balanced himself on his cane to encircle a hand to your waist, pulling you closer and burying his face in your hair.

“I missed you,” you mumbled with your head buried in his shoulder.

Naoya’s smile wasn’t any less affectionate. “I missed you more.” And he did – a whole lot. Even as you both made it inside the limousine, the tablet passed to him per the usual to update him on what happened on the few days of his absence, Naoya couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His cane balanced between his knee and the door, while his free hand intertwined with yours, mindlessly caressing the matching rings that symbolized more trust than love.

“How did it go?” he brought your knuckles up to his lips and kissed it, his attention still focused on today’s stock market. “Did you convince him to lend us the lab?”

“Yes, my love, everything is under control. I told you I had it.”

“Cunning little minx,” he smirked at the confidence and triumph dripping from your voice. Naoya shut his tablet off with a click, hauling you until you were resting on his lap. Giggles erupted beautifully from your lips as you pressed your forehead to his, both your smiles equally mischievous. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No. Satoru is still hopelessly in love with me, so it didn’t really take much to push him to the edge with a few tears and white lies,” you smiled at him, soon dropping from your face when Naoya’s eyes darkened with an unreadable – no, unfamiliar hint of worry behind them. “Naoya,” you caressed his leg, “I don’t care about him anymore, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I just want to survive and put everything behind,” you cupped his face and forced him to look you in the eye, making sure he heard every bit of sincerity in your voice. “You know I love you, right? I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Him coming back doesn’t change a thing.”

“I know that,” he said, although deep down, in the dark recesses of his heart, something agonizing stirred within.

You were a smart woman – too intelligent that he may have feared you had he been any lesser – who could easily read through him, but Naoya wanted to be a step ahead of you that he caught your lips to stop you from seeking beneath his soul already. He knew that if you looked a little too close, you’d see everything, and that would be the last thing he wanted.

Snaking his tongue past your lips, he greedily swallowed your moans. Naoya’s touch was possessive as he gripped your thigh, seconds away from ripping off the material of your dress. He only stopped once he saw his driver pale in awkwardness, and he chuckled to himself, squeezing your hips to stop you from grinding on his thigh.

“You’re always so good for me,” he praised, “I might just reward you once we get home.”

Home. Prior to meeting you, home had been nothing but a word in his extensive vocabulary. Home had been nothing but something that carried a meaning but no significance in his living, but now that he’d met you, home felt familiar. Home smelled like rose-scented shampoos, it resonated of bubbly laughter and curious hands finding its way to its belt. Home…you’d just given him something to lose.

As per the plan, you managed to sneak past Satoru’s defenses. Naoya had once said that your secret weapon was not your tempting nature as a woman, but rather your intelligence that sometimes put his to shame. He’d shamelessly announced his plan to use you again with the goal of taking matters into your own hands, looping Satoru into the picture until you have him wrapped around your finger again.

It turned out to be easier than expected. Truthfully, you wanted to refuse. It wasn’t because you were worried you’d beat yourself in your own game and fall for Satoru again, but because it felt so uncomfortable to hold him like that, to kiss him like that.

Each second you spent with him just served as a painful reminder of how he’d mindlessly pushed you to the side from a failed plan of ‘protecting’ you.

However, you couldn’t complain nor deny Naoya’s wishes. He wanted to use your abilities to the fullest of its extent and bring out your potential. Besides, you trusted him wholeheartedly that you’d never question his motives, even if it included seducing Satoru with crocodile tears and a faux broken heart to get him to bend and move at your will. After all, your will was also Naoya’s, and that was what made the both of you so dangerous together.

Standing here now in Satoru’s laboraty, sending him phoney desperate glances as you clutched your husband’s hand, the game had just begun.

He was giving you both a tour of what you could use from his laboratory, and Naoya had kept silent the whole time. The whole drug manufacturing was more your expertise than his. He simply observed everything with watchful eyes, his gaze darting between Satoru’s longing ones and yours. It was a play pretend of push and pull, everyone in the room except for Satoru unaware that soon, you’d bare your fangs to rip his neck apart, and then you’d stand aside and let Naoya finish the business.

You would’ve laughed had Naoya not tightened his grip on your hand. Both you and Satoru paused as Naoya desperately shushed you up, his eyes wide and floating from one corner to another.

Suddenly, a loud explosion came out of nowhere. The blast crushed half of the building to bare rubble and concrete and you saw nothing but black, inhaled so much smoke that your lungs quivered. The ringing in your ears didn’t stop as you wobbled to unsteady legs, waving the smoke away and coughing whatever filled your system. Satoru was right beside you, his long limbs quicker than yours before he hauled you up, checking to see if you had injuries but you were too scared, too desolate to care for his worry.

For your husband laid under a pile of rubble, an arm and his head the only parts of his body saved from the explosion.

“Naoya!” You screamed and pushed Gojo away, taking your heels off before darting straight to where he was. Jumping from broken debris to one another, your feet scraped and burned with each contact, the ringing in your ears growing louder along with the pounding of your heartbeat.

“Naoya, baby, no!” you tried to pick up the heavy slab of concrete that had crushed his body, tears blurring your vision until Naoya’s blond hair swiveled with his dark clothes. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t you fucking dare-”

“Gojo,” he choked out blood. You fell to your knees as you cupped his face and grasped his hand all the while, your entire body shaking. His name kept falling from your lips as you asked him to stand up but he pushed your hand away, not sparing you another glance as he glared at the shock still man behind you. “Take her someplace far – somewhere he won’t find the both of you. It’s T-Toji.”

“No, Naoya, please! I’m not leaving without you!” It was too late. Satoru had easily carried you and threw you over his shoulder, running away from the scene because that was what he was best at. You pounded at his back as the smoke enlarged and covered the entirety of the building that had fizzled with chemicals inside, your husband starting to disappear from view. “Satoru, let me go! We can’t just leave him there!”

“Listen to your husband! He knows what he’s doing!”

As the smoke cleared for a split second, your world stilled. Naoya’s face was smothered with dirt and stains, pain evident on his twisted features, and yet – he was smiling. “Go,” he mouthed, hands outstretched far enough for your matching rings to glint under the sparkling lights. “Live.”

You slumped into Satoru’s arms. It was too late.

You couldn’t comprehend the events that happened afterwards. Satoru had pushed you inside his car before taking off to who knows where. All you knew was that you’d left your husband behind, and you stared emptily at the streets that flashed by, unable to feel or understand anything. It wasn’t until Satoru dragged you out by the wrist and a plane whirring before you snapped you back to life, your feet turning heavy as you plant yourself on the ground.

Satoru looked back at you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shook your head, “I’m not leaving him behind, Satoru, he’s all I have. I need to save him – even if it means I die.”

“You’re not going to die,” he starts off slowly. Satoru moves to place his hands down on your shoulders as if to brace you, even going as far as to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you couldn’t really listen, not when the plane hummed to life and remnants of the explosion still clung to your skin.

“Listen, Naoya is a smart man, okay? You know that yourself. He’ll survive, you just need to trust that he’ll make it. Now we have to go before Toji catches up to us and we end up all dying here!” he shook you back to life when your sobs overpowered his speech that fell on deaf ears, and you cried harder, much less like a little girl who quivered in his arms. Satoru sighed, perhaps just as broken from seeing you this way. “He told you to live. Naoya isn’t asking you to die for him, he’s asking you to live and if you don’t get on the plane, we can’t fulfill his wish,” he convinced, but you only bit your lip, still looking back at the car. You could steal it – one punch to his nose and you could easily get away, get back to Naoya, until he said, “You love him right? So respect his wishes.”

You love him. You love Naoya. He would’ve wanted me to live. He asked me to live.

That was the only consolation you could give yourself as you allowed Satoru to take you inside. His right hand man, Geto or something, quietly closed the cabin doors behind you. He was making sure his boss was situated, who in turn was fretting over you. All it took was one last warning glare sent Satoru’s way before he backed off, raising his hands in surrender and falling back to his seat.

Sooner than you’d like, the plane had took off, leaving your heart right behind with each passing second. The higher you flew up in the air, the number you became.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a base in Italy. We should be safe there for a while. Gather resources, plan our next move, contact friends...we’ll be fine,” Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose. It was hard to believe things would be fine when he too seemed restless; whatever happened between him and Toji must’ve really left a scar; not that you cared. You huffed away from Satoru and stared outside the windows instead, your heart dropping the farther Japan was becoming. “Hey. You should get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

“Whatever,” you snapped at him. You couldn’t stand his voice, not even if he’s saved you.

The only thing that mattered now was living up to Naoya’s wish, and as much as you hated it, Satoru was right. You had to hope he would survive.

The chances of him making it out were low, but knowing Naoya, low chances weren’t zero. As long as he had a little bit of something, he would keep pushing. You just had to place your trust in him.

Kissing your dusty ring, you wiped away your tears one last time, eyes shut tight as you chanted over and over, live, live, live for me! Live! Naoya couldn’t give up that easily. You both had a long way to go, still so many places to travel, thousand more enemies to conquer and defeat. He promised you the fun was just beginning and that you’d get your revenge soon, and Naoya never broke his promises. So you had to trust, had no other choice but to believe that soon he’d be right beside you. He may not be able to completely walk anymore, though none of that mattered. You just wanted to be with him again.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until Satoru’s hushed whispers woke you up. Sitting up straight, you saw him scowling to whoever he’s talking to on the phone. He looked grim, long, slender fingers caressing his forehead as he sighed. Whatever he heard, it couldn’t have been good, and curiosity got the best of you before you could help it.

“What is it?” Satoru stilled at the sound of your voice, having not expected you to be awake. He refused to meet your eyes as he shut his phone. It angered you further and you stalked his way, slapping a palm down the table before him. “I said, what is it?”

“It’s Naoya...” he said through clenched teeth, still refusing to look you in the eye. “He didn’t make it.”

notes. team naoya...let’s go...cry 😭 when I said I would write more gojo x reader scenes and that they’re still the pairing, I meant it, I just had to take a dark route anyways DO YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND WHY IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO UPDATE THIS, I DIDN’T WANT TO DO THIS TO NAOYA BAE 😭 but on the bright side, italy arc is gonna be SHEESH

taglist open (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @asshxcm @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap @yumeneji @dora-the-grownup @jotazinha @themrsgojo @d34r-s4t4n @marai-t @toji-bee @hai-cool @badsadbby @stesphy @peach-buns-unicorns @misslezah @riri-marley @gracefullyfallinglikeanime @iwaplant @mikiminaccch | bolder users cannot be tagged

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perpetual-stories · 4 years ago

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How To Fight Writers Block

hello, hello. hope everyone is doing well. as you can all tell, this post will be about how to fight writers block.

it’s really annoying to me when I hear people say “oh you don’t have writers block, you’re just lazy.”

first of all, yes, I am naturally lazy. second of all, how dare you. writing isn’t as easy as many think. granted, all you have to do is write down words on paper, but it’s not always easy to find the right words to express what you are feeling, or what you wish to say.

I have had terrible writer’s block for the last few days and it’s horrible! as a business owner or a small writing store, I have to be ready to write and fulfill my clients’ ideas and orders.

it’s not easy. It takes a heavy toll on my imagination, and digs me a deep pit of blockage, drowning in the lack of originality because of the constant writing and repetition or certain phrases and sentences in different projects.

i am making this post in the hopes to remind myself about over coming the dreaded and sometimes skeptically believed writer’s block.

What is writer’s block?

Yeah, I know. We all know what that is, but let me define it.

is the state of being unable to proceed with writing, and/or the inability to start writing something new

some people believe it to be a real problem, others believe it's “all in your head”

What Causes Writer’s Block?

in the 1970s, clinical psychologists Jerome Singer and Michael Barrios decided to find out

they concluded that there are four broad causes of writer's block:

Excessively harsh self-criticism

Fear of comparison to other writers

Lack of external motivation, like attention and praise

Lack of internal motivation, like the desire to tell one's story

How to overcome writer's block: 20 tips

1. Develop a writing routine:

Author and artist Twyla Tharp once wrote: “Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.”

it might seem counterintuitive

if you only write when you “feel creative,” you're bound to get stuck in a tar pit of writer's block

The only way to push through is by disciplining yourself to write on a regular schedule. It might be every day, every other day, or just on weekends — but whatever it is, stick to it!

2. Use "imperfect" words:

A writer can spend hours looking for the perfect word or phrase to illustrate a concept

You can avoid this fruitless endeavor by putting, “In other words…” and simply writing what you’re thinking, whether it’s eloquent or not

You can then come back and refine it later by doing a CTRL+F search for “in other words.”

3. Do non-writing activities:

one of the best ways to climb out of a writing funk is to take yourself out of your own work and into someone else’s

Go to an exhibition, to the cinema, to a play, a gig, eat a delicious meal

immerse yourself in great STUFF and get your synapses crackling in a different way

Snippets of conversations, sounds, colors, sensations will creep into the space that once felt empty

4. Freewrite through it:

free-writing involves writing for a pre-set amount of time without pause — and without regard for grammar, spelling, or topic. You just write.

The goal of freewriting is to write without second-guessing yourself — free from doubt, apathy, or self-consciousness, all of which contribute to writer's block. Here’s how:

Find the right surroundings. Go somewhere you won't be disturbed.

Pick your writing utensils. Will you type at your computer, or write with pen and paper? (Tip: if you're prone to hitting the backspace button, you should freewrite the old-fashioned way!)

Settle on a time-limit. Your first time around, set your timer for just 10 minutes to get the feel for it. You can gradually increase this interval as you grow more comfortable with freewriting.

5. Relax on your first draft:

Many writers suffer form perfectionism, which is especially debilitating during a first draft

“Blocks often occur because writers put a lot of pressure on themselves to sound ‘right’ the first time. A good way to loosen up and have fun again in a draft is to give yourself permission to write imperfectly.” — editor Lauren Hughes

perfect is the enemy of good,” so don't agonize about getting it exactly right! You can always go back and edit, maybe even get a second pair of eyes on the manuscript

6. Don’t start at the beginning:

the most intimidating part of writing is the start, when you have a whole empty book to fill with coherent words

instead of starting with the chronological beginning of whatever it is you’re trying to write, dive into middle, or wherever you feel confident

7. Take a shower:

Have you ever noticed that the best ideas tend to arrive while in the shower, or while doing other “mindless” tasks?

research shows that when you’re doing something monotonous (such as showering, walking, or cleaning), your brain goes on autopilot, leaving your unconscious free to wander without logic-driven restrictions

showering is my favourite thing to do if I may add

8. Balance your inner critic:

successful writers have in common is the ability to hear their inner critic, respectfully acknowledge its points, and move forward

You don't need to completely ignore that critical voice, nor should you cower before it

you must establish a respectful, balanced relationship, so you can address what's necessary and skip over what's insecure and irrelevant

9. Switch up your tool:

a change of scenery can really help with writer's block. However, that scenery doesn't have to be your physical location — changing up your writing tool can be just as big a help!

if you’ve been typing on your word processor of choice, try switching to pen and paper. Or if you're just sick of Google Docs, consider using specialized novel writing software.

10. Change your POV:

great advice from editor Lauren Hughes: “When blocked, try to see your story from another perspective ‘in the room’ to help yourself move beyond the block. How might a minor character narrate the scene if they were witnessing it? A ‘fly on the wall’ or another inanimate object?

11. Exercise your creative muscles:

Any skill requires practice if you want to improve, and writing is no different! So if you’re feeling stuck, perhaps it’s time for a strengthening scribble-session to bolster your abilities

12. Map out your story:

If your story has stopped chugging along, help it pick up steam by taking a more structured approach — specifically, by writing an outline

13. Write something else:

Though it's important to try and push through writer's block with what you're actually working on, sometimes it's simply impossible

feel free to push your current piece to the side for now and write something new

14. Work on your characters:

It follows that if your characters are not clearly defined, you’re more likely to run into writer’s block

15. Stop writing for readers:

write for yourself, not your potential readers

this will help you reclaim the joy of being creative and get you back in touch with what matters: the story.

this is something I really need to do. because of my etsy business i don't write for fun anymore, but instead as a business and a deadline. i'm going to have to pull out my old crappy wattled fanfics or write some new ones.

16. Try a more visual process:

when words fail you, forget them and get visual. Create mind maps, drawings, Lego structures — ideally related to your story, but whatever unblocks your mind!

17. Look for the root of it:

writer’s block often comes from a problem deeper than simple “lack of inspiration.” So let's dig deep: why are you really blocked? Ask yourself the following questions:

Do I feel pressure to succeed and/or competition with other writers?

Have I lost sight of what my story is about, or interest in where it's going?

Do I lack confidence in my own abilities, even if I've written plenty before?

Have I not written for so long that I feel intimidated by the mere act?

Am I simply feeling tired and run-down?

once you identify what's wrong, it'll be so much easier to fix.

18. Quit the Internet:

If willpower isn’t your strong suit and your biggest challenge is staying focused, try a site blocker like Freedom or an app like Cold Turkey

19. Let the words find you:

meditate, go for a walk, take that shower

Word Palette is a great app that features a keyboard of random words, allowing you to simply click your way to your next masterpiece.

You can also try AI auto-completers like Talk to Transformer, where you can enter a phrase and let the app “guess what comes next.”

even though they often produce nonsense, it's a great way to help that writer's block.

20. Write like Hemingway:

And if your biggest block is your own self-doubt about your prose, Hemingway offers suggestions to improve your writing as you go

it's a pretty cool app if you ask me.

it highlights your sentences (if need be) and makes suggestions on how to improve them!

well, there you have it! a lengthy post on how to fight writer's block. now i just hope i can combat my own soon.

like, comment and reblog if you find this useful! feel free to reblog in instagram and tag me perpetualstories

Follow me on instagram and tumblr for more writing and grammar tips and more!

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #original writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writersconnection #writersofig #writersofinstagram #writings

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stutterfly · 4 years ago

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Love Bytes 09 | Trivia: 01001100 | KNJ (M)

Last time on Love Bytes 08: After a night that left your head spinning, your best friend confessed his feelings for you. Now that you’ve admitted the same, everything is different.... but is it?

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Word Count: 17K

Series: Love Bytes (9/9)

Genre: Friends to lovers, IDIOTS to LOVERS, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, angst, pining, sexual tension, SMUT, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, IT/Nerd!Reader

CW& Other Tags: corny humor, nipple play, an absurd amount of kissing, dirty talk, grinding, fingering, hair pulling, sexual instruction, let’s play just the tip, cunnilingus, blowjob, protected sex, sexual roleplay, unprotected sex, adoring boyfriendJoonie, suave Joonie, supportive friendships, love talk, dorks in love

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

Posted January 2021 by stutterfly & cross-posted to ao3. Do not repost.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You’ve crossed the line you’ve been so afraid of only to discover there really isn’t anything to fear at all. Namjoon has already made you a totally non-burnt breakfast and told you about the success of his student following the release of the poetry program. When he brings up the poem he wrote as an example, you beg him to read it for you.

He apologizes again for that day when you clicked on the document containing the draft, with dozens and dozens of half-thoughts and scribbled words placed within. He wasn't ready to show you then. He settles on the couch and opens his laptop. You look over his shoulder as he clicks a vaguely familiar document labeled: Trivia_L_Final. Unable to sate your curiosity, your eyes scan through the first few lines but he quickly flips the screen down.

“Patience."

"Ugh," you complain. "But you said I could see."

"I said I was gonna share," he clarifies with a snort. "That doesn't mean I want your speed-reading ass going through it at lightspeed without understanding any of it."

"Fair." You cross your arms but stare at him expectantly, trying your best to be patient.

“Is this love?”

He pauses to spare a glance up from the screen and freezes when his eyes meet yours. Even after everything you’ve shared he still finds himself sweating through the thin tank top he’s put on. Although he’s sure he’s masked his apprehension behind a wall of stone, all it takes is your soft, reassuring smile to break through. A wave of serenity quickly douses the anxiety. It crashes against his wall, and erodes its harsh edges until all that’s left is a familiar longing to kiss your lips.

“Is this love?” he repeats with emphasis. “Sometimes I know. Sometimes I don’t.”

He can’t stop grinning at the way your smitten gaze matches his own. It’s a difficult decision, but ultimately he chooses to ignore the urge to pull you in for the hundredth kiss of the morning and continues on instead. You sit and listen, hanging on every word you know was painstakingly thought out and written for you.

You're my person. You're my desire. You're my pride.

You're my love. One and only love.

The closing words are left echoing in your head. It’s so easy for you to forget that Namjoon is as smart as he is. Right now you feel too stupid to respond. Nothing can possibly match the perfection of his poem.

“Please say something.” He quickly closes his laptop and sets it aside. “Actually, wait, don't. It was too much wasn’t it?” He reaches over and places a large palm over your forehead and begins lightly rubbing. “Delete it from your brain.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat. “What are you doing?”

“Wiping your hard drive.”

His response has you cackling. Did he really just make such a lame joke all on his own? You grab his wrist and pull him close while a big cheesy grin graces your features. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

He groans as he leans in and pauses before kissing you. “You are.”

His hand gently cups the back of your neck as he slips his tongue inside your mouth. You lose yourself to the rhythm of your tongues rolling across one another, hungry to keep tasting and feeling. It takes every ounce of self control you have to pull away long enough to breathe out a compliment.

“You’re incredible. Your poem is so good.”

“I had a good muse.” He smiles and moves in for another kiss but you press a finger to his lips.

“I mean it. I love what you wrote. I don’t think anyone’s ever written anything so beautiful with me in mind.”

To spare himself from the embarrassment tingling in his belly, he presses his lips to the pad of your finger with a few light, teasing kisses before moving to repeat the motion against your neck. Goosebumps immediately prickle at your flesh and you can’t help the way your hands travel along the warmth of his body, seeking to consume his heat to assuage the chill in yours.

“You make it easy,” he mumbles, kissing a line up to your ear.

“Do I? I thought I made it harder.” Your smile grows impossibly bigger as you reach down to palm him through his basketball shorts and find exactly what you’d been hoping to.

A breathy sigh warms the shell of your ear. “Fuck. You know you do.” He drags the lobe through his teeth and exhales another sigh at the way you tease his shaft. “Wanna practice?”

He whispers the words against your ear like they’re some secret he’s almost too shy to reveal and you deliver your response with equal timidity. “Please?”

Warm fingers press into the skin at your stomach and travel upward. The action disregards the flimsy white fabric of your borrowed shirt, which slides up with the rising of his arm. You think he's about to cup your breast when he suddenly changes direction and slides his fingers around your ribs to tickle you.

"Na-Namjoon!"

You're a little offended that he would do you dirty like this when you basically just begged him to fuck you for the second time today. But, if you're being honest you're also incredibly grateful. He knows how to take the nerves out of everything with such ease that you almost forget how new this aspect of your relationship is.

You grab at his hand, effectively pulling him down into a kiss brimming with laughter between the pair of you. When you try to retaliate he grabs your wrists to keep your cold fingers at bay. As his tongue dips into your mouth again, he slowly guides your hands above your head. You shift beneath him, spreading your legs so he can slot a knee between them and get even closer. It feels like it's always been this way. Nothing's going to change. This is just you guys. It's always been you guys.

At the heart of your friendship, it's always been about you being dorks together and having each other's backs. You'd never considered the possibility of adding even more physicality to it before but now you don't want to imagine life without it because it feels so fucking good. It feels so fucking right.

Instead of bearing his weight down on you, he drags your bottom lip through his teeth and lets it snap back. He hums a satisfied sound as he rises, pulling you to your feet with him. Your head feels light and for a moment it feels like you might float away, but his arms are strong and they ground you in a tight embrace. He begins walking you backwards and peppers your neck with light kisses.

“Trying to get me back into your bed, huh?” you tease.

He brushes his nose against your neck and inhales deeply, taking in your scent before expelling an airy, audible sigh. “Ah… You see right through me. I mean we could do it on the couch if you prefer. I just thought it might be a little more comfortable, you know, somewhere where I can lay you down so you don’t get a leg cramp or anything.”

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his statement. “How considerate.”

“Yeah, you know, ‘cause I plan on being between your legs as long as it takes.”

“Oh?” You feign ignorance. As he spins you towards him you’re glad he’s holding you steady because it feels like you’re about to faint. “As long as it takes for what?”

The tone of his voice drops low as he leans against your ear. “To make you cum.”

You stiffen in his embrace, frozen by interwoven fears of inability and inadequacy.

“Is that okay?” he asks, guiding your stiff form towards the bed.

The large, borrowed t-shirt bunches up around your thighs as you sit on the edge. It seems like every few days he’s telling himself he’s never seen you look so beautiful. Maybe you’re really to blame for the increased frequency. Now you’re looking at him in a similar light to the way he’s always seen you, and it’s added a new layer to everything.

“Yeah.” You nod, pausing to chew on your lip. “Just… don’t expect too much, okay?”

“Hey, no pressure. I promise. I just want to make you feel good.”

You pull him into a kiss before wiggling backwards up the bed. He follows your lead, slotting a knee between your legs as he climbs over you in an attempt to chase your lips.

“You do make me feel good. All the time.”

He assails your neck with kisses until he’s hovering above your lips. “Really good, though. Like right now. Right here.”

He takes a moment to meet your eyes as he ghosts his fingertips over your stomach, traveling down towards your mound. Almost as if he second guesses himself he stops and moves his hand back up to rest just above your navel.

“Can I try again?”

An embarrassed smile creeps across your face. “You really want to, huh?”

“Of course.” He pauses and his voice drops to a low whisper. “Will you show me how you like it?”

Your palms slide up your cheeks until your fingers cover your eyes. You purse your lips and try to keep your brain from short-circuiting. “Joooon.”

“What?” He shakes his head and offers a small laugh. “Why are you so shy now?”

“Because,” you murmur.

“Because...?” he prods when you leave the explanation unsaid.

“I’m embarrassed.” The words tumble out in a whisper but he seems to catch them regardless.

Hot, sweaty palms encircle your wrists and push them aside. It doesn’t take much effort to separate your hands from your face and when he does he slides his hands up to meet yours. In perfect sync, the pair of you weave your fingers together like you have a thousand times before.

The truth is that you want him. You want him so badly that your cheeks are on fire and all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears. Despite seeing his mouth in motion, every nerve ending in your body is preparing for his touch. Anticipation overrides every other command in the forefront of your mind as your knuckles press into the pillows beside your head.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Your body is perfect. I could spend all day exploring it, exploring you. I wanna learn what feels good for you. Teach me. Teach me how to make you cum.”

In a stupor you blink slowly and gape at him in wonder, offering a tiny wordless nod. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to instruct him with much success. It’s not like you’re a teacher in any sense of the word and it’s definitely not something you’ve ever tried to talk through with a partner. But his eyes seem to sparkle in the dim light and the sight floods you with the determination to try, even if you don’t know how to begin.

Luckily Namjoon has an idea to assist with comfortability. He carefully positions himself beside you and runs his fingers down your chest, basking in the sight of your areola, which are perfectly visible through the faded fabric.

“You look so hot in my shirt.”

Your ears flush with heat at the compliment. Massaging light circles around the nipple he’s chosen to tease, he watches in wonder as it grows rigid. He experiments, alternating featherlight touches with a tiny pinch between his fingers.

“Do you like this?”

Words seem to escape you at the moment so you nod and mirror his actions on your other nipple. The barrier between his fingers frustrates your growing desire for skin on skin contact. You slowly hike up the shirt past your stomach to expose your breast. His eyes widen and guiltily dart away.

You pull the shirt back down abruptly and sit up with hot embers of embarrassment heating your cheeks. Maybe he's having second thoughts now that he's seeing you up close again. Before your mind can spiral too far he places his hand over yours.

"Sorry. It's not that. I just— Promise me you won't ask me to forget? I want to remember how you look, how you feel, how you taste.”

Relief cools the fire in your face and you half-heartedly chuckle as you climb over his lap. Cupping the side of his face, he Instinctively he leans into your touch.

"Joonie, I don’t think I could ever do that now. There's not a single restore point we could go back to, and I don't want there to be. I never want to pretend like I don't love you with my whole heart ever again. Because the moment you kissed me it's like this weight lifted from my shoulders. Everything I'd been locking away in my heart finally broke free. And it felt… incredible. It felt right. There's not a doubt in my mind. You're my person. You're my light. You're my pride."

"My one and only love," he adds with a kiss to your palm.

You smile and nod, pushing down the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes with a joke. "Are you gonna change your mind now?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." He smiles at you softly, watching you struggle to regain your composure as you sit back on his abdomen.

"Good. 'Cause it's like a totally binding thing now."

"Oh, okay," he laughs and lifts himself with his elbows to get a better look at you. "You gonna type up those terms and conditions for me? I'll sign, Geeksquad. Get me those papers."

"Yeah, yeah. Let me write a draft right now.” You press him back against the bed and lean over his chest, splaying your fingers out for a moment before pretending they're tapping away at a keyboard.

"Under this agreement, I, Y/N, agree to the following conditions..."

"God, you're a dork."

"We have fun. We have lots of…" you stop to giggle and wiggle your eyebrows, "you know, sex when we both want it."

He rolls his eyes but he's smiling so big his cheeks hurt. "You're so corny and I'm here for it."

"And…" you pause and meet his eyes as you fake-type the next condition. "We don't ever feel bad about loving each other. I'm in love with you and I don't want to waste another minute of my life acting like I feel any other way."

He looks down at his chest. Your fingers have stopped moving. "Is all that going in the, uh, love contract? It's a binding thing, you know."

"Yes, yes," you agree, pretending to catch up on typing. "If something doesn't work, we will talk about it. Deal?"

He doesn’t even stop to think about it before he answers, looking down at your fingers like they'll show him an invisible dotted line. "Okay where do I sign?”

"See I'm typing on your heart because that's how this works. So..."

You bite your lip and lift your shirt over your head, watching his eyes struggle to stay focused on your face. You really don't deserve him.

"You type and sign right here." Your fingers lure his gaze down to the valley between your breasts and then slightly to the left. "Right on my heart.”

He ghosts his fingers over the area you’ve pointed to and licks his lips, trying to hide his smirk. “Actually your heart is a little bit lower and a little bit…” He massages his fingers against your breast. “Here.”

“Hmm. Educational and strategic. What a combo.”

"Do I gotta type the whole thing up before I sign?"

You roll your eyes. "Depends. You gonna type as shitty as you usually do?"

He tongues his cheek as he starts tapping away at your breast with his two pointer fingers. It’s too true to reality. “Under this agreement I, Kim Namjoon--”

“Nevermind this is taking too long,” you complain, wiggling over his lap. He quickly drums his fingers over your chest. “--Agree to everything you just said. Signed... Namjoon...” His fingertips trace his name along your breast. “It’s a deal.”

“Okay, okay.” You laugh and reciprocate. “If you break it I'll probably cry and Jennie will beat you up."

“Like I would ever…” he mumbles.

With a rut of his hips he cups your breasts in his hands and resumes gently working his fingers over your nipples. Following the slow rhythm he sets, you grind yourself down and thumb at the band to his basketball shorts, pulling them down just enough to reveal that sliver of dark hair leading below. A loud groan escapes with his breath. His heart aches to feel you against him again, without barriers.

He sits up and heaves his shirt over his head with reckless abandon. His arms are immediately wrapping around your waist, fingernails digging into the skin of your back with the hope feeling your body can assuage the ache in his chest. The heat of his mouth envelops your nipple before you can comment on his earnest behavior and you whimper instead. His rough embrace draws you closer, and his sinful tongue batters your nipple as you loop an arm around his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair.

The suction of his mouth makes you throw your head back. “Fuck, Joon.”

He moans and skims his lips across your chest to show your other breast love. Despite his adoration for the current position of his face, it’s not enough. Greed overtakes him. He holds you tight and musters the strength to flip you onto your back. The tiny squeal you make in response makes his dick twitch. You make such wonderful sounds.

As you draw him into a kiss, the barrier of silky basketball shorts do nothing to conceal his hardness. It makes you crazy. You want to feel his dick glide against your folds again. When you raise your hips to grind your clit against him he meets your motion with equal enthusiasm.

“Take them off,” you mumble. “Put it in me, Namjoon. Please.”

It’s hard to say no when every fantastical thought about you he’s ever had is now coming to fruition. How long has he yearned to hear those words? He thinks of earlier. He thinks of the disappointment he holds for his own performance, how he squandered his opportunity to make you feel the way you deserve.

“But I wanna go down on you,” he insists, slowly making his way down your torso. He plants deep kisses as he goes, working a trail of tiny dark marks into the surface of your skin.

“Joon…” Your fingers claw at his back as he descends.

“Show me how you like it. I’m a good student. I promise.”

The ever present flames in your chest burn hotter, searing a path to your cheeks. He kisses along your hip and pauses to inspect the bruise from your earlier slip. He carefully creeps past it, and instead focuses on the skin of your inner thigh. Taking your hand in his, he positions it over your cunt. He rests his cheek against your thigh to watch the way your fingers settle in place.

“Are you gonna be looking at me like that the entire time?” You laugh, covering as much of your sex as you can with your hand.

“I’m a quick learner,” he assures you. “Plus…” He leans in and laps at the glistening slick in the space between your fingers. “I could taste you all day.”

“It’s after noon,” you mumble, drawing your fingers away to allow him greater access to your folds.

“Mmm,” he hums against you, letting his tongue explore every crevice of your labia. “You want me to keep going?”

Your head falls back against the pillow and you lift your hips with a whimper. “Yes.”

“How?”

Pulling his mouth back just enough to allow your finger to creep back into place, he offers a blissful sigh as you work light circles against your clit. He places a finger over yours and follows the movement, listening to your quiet breathing. He cocks his head to the side and repositions, sliding his finger beneath yours to take control.

“Like this, baby?”

It’s been so long. You’d forgotten just how good it feels to have someone else touch you, to not have to put the work in yourself to attain the reward. It feels so good. Maybe you will be able to let go.

“A little more pressure.”

You guide him again by pressing down over his finger and moving him towards the peak of your clit. He immediately gives in to the change of pace. After a little while he finds his own rhythm and you move your fingers to the back of his head where you tangle them in his hair.

“Yes, like that.”

Confident in his ability to hit that spot again, he glides his fingers down to tease your entrance and brings his lips to your clit. Your entire core tingles as he presses down and creates suction around the tiny bud. As your hips lift in ecstasy he wraps an arm around your thigh and slips two fingers into your slick cunt. Much to his delight you moan in tandem with your desperate exhale.

A proud grin spreads his lips apart and he does his best to hide it by battering his tongue over your clit instead. How many fantasies has he indulged in? How is it that they all pale in comparison to your true taste and sounds? Determined to keep himself on task, he focuses on the spot you seemed to favor and presses his lips back down while rolling his tongue along you. His fingers curl up and search for the promised sweet spot within your cunt.

You tense and clench around his fingers, body desperate to draw him deeper, to take more of him inside of you in any way that you can. Then you feel it: the unmistakable pleasurable pressure steadily rising within. You don’t want to let it slip away this time. With the pads of his fingers pressing as close to your g-spot as he can, the area of your clit you need him to hit with his tongue seems to shift.

Palms shaking, you pull on Namjoon’s hair to guide him to your newest point of pleasure. “Right there. Right there.”

He moans and expels shaky breaths through his nose. Immediately feeling guilty for being rough, you soften your grip and lovingly smooth back his hair. Disheveled, sweat-slicked strands fall against his forehead, rebelling against your touch.

“Sorry,” you mumble, cradling the sides of his face, trying to draw him up from his position. “Did I hurt you?”

He doesn’t budge. Dark brown eyes flicker upwards. The electric tingle in your heart steals your breath as you’re caught in his lurid gaze. He digs his fingernails into the soft flesh of your inner thigh and the energy contained in your chest bursts. Shockwaves of internal chills scatter throughout your body.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he whispers. “Pull me however you want, baby.”

His voice is so low and soft that it barely registers to your ears. Your brain doesn’t have time to process the words before he drags his nose over your clit and sucks on your labia. You gasp out his name as he moves back to tongue your clit. He keeps his eyes on you as he plunges his fingers into you with a renewed sense of urgency, desperate to make you say it again. It doesn’t take long for a stuttered verse of his name to sputter from your pretty lips.

Another shockwave of excitement pulses through your gut. He makes it so easy to lose yourself in the pleasure he offers. Any shame and anxiety falls to the wayside, making way for your impending orgasm. You gasp out a pitiful sound and grind your pelvis towards his soft, plush lips to create even more pressure where you need it most. There’s no doubt he feels the way you clench around his fingers and because he reaches as far as he can in search of your g-spot and looks to your face for any sign of discomfort. Instead he finds you looking back through half lidded eyes that threaten to close any moment. With your eyebrows knitted together and quivering lips parted, he knows you’re on the brink of coming undone.

You reach for the back of his head as you lift your hips and cry out. You might not make those exaggerated pornstar moans, but yours are infinitely better. It’s better than anything he could have imagined. His name spills from your lips again, tired and quiet as you come down. There’s no need for you to tell him to stop or push him away this time. His softened lips are already crashing down against your mouth.

As you glide your tongue along his, the tang of your own juices fills your mouth. It doesn’t bother you. If anything it spurs you on to wrap your arms around his back and pull him closer. You tug on his shorts again. This time he raises no argument. He inhales a shaky breath as he goes in for another kiss and works the clothing down his legs until he’s steadying himself over you and clumsily struggling to kick them off.

You take his face in your hands while he gracelessly fights the fabric caught around his ankle and he smiles at you. Another jolt of electric butterflies pulse in your gut, frazzling your senses as they travel outward from their point of origin. By the time the sensation reaches your brain, it carries along the weight of your feelings. You reflect on how he cares for you, how he’s always cared for you. Navigating the key pleasure points mapped to your body is just one more way he can show it. You’re so incredibly lucky to have someone in your life so attentive and considerate of your needs. It makes you wonder how you meandered through life without a guiding light like Namjoon to lean on for support. Meditating on that thought threatens you with torrid tears.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Before he can respond with you draw him into a deep kiss, crossing your legs behind his waist to pull him closer. His shaft presses against your sensitive clit as he grinds himself down. While your body reacts with a twitch, you still roll your hips up to meet him. His bottom lip quivers and you suck it between your teeth, slowly drawing it away from him. When it snaps back to him he chases your mouth and presses you down into the pillows.

He follows the enticing motion of your hips with a loud groan. The slippery nature of your folds promises to make his entrance effortless. Each pass his cock makes over your cunt is another strike against his willpower, but god if it doesn’t feel amazing. It would be so easy to slip in, just a little bit, just enough to satisfy the aching need of the tip that inches closer and closer to your cunt. The way you lift it for him only serves as a greater invitation.

He rolls himself through your slick folds, floating on the high of the pleasure, encouraged by the moans you breathe into his mouth. He ruts into you, coasting into your entrance just enough to make him break the kiss with a whispered expletive. You whimper as he retreats and try to beckon him back with another gentle roll of your hips. He sighs, allowing himself to rock back into you enough to coat the tip of his dick with your warmth. Your cunt pulses against him, seeking to lure him further inside.

Again he surrenders to your salacious advance, sheathing the head of his cock in its entirety within your heat. You gasp and moan at the welcome intrusion, pulling on his hair as though it will move him closer than he already is.

“Please,” you whisper. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Desperate to feel the stretch of his cock diving deep inside, you make your best attempt to raise your hips higher to take more of him in. He moans into your mouth, gently rocking himself further into your cunt and then slowly pulling back out.

Playing this game is dangerous. He knows that. But with each gasp and moan he pulls from you, the stakes rise. He tells himself he’s allowed to drive another moan from you with his teasing. Just one more time. One more sound. He tests his own resolve with each shallow thrust, never sinking deeper than before.

“Joonie,” you whine as he pulls back again. “Please. Stop teasing. I want your cock in me.”

His stomach does a somersault and it snaps him back to reality before his hips can snap forward instead. He leaves the comfort of your sweet cunt to lean over you and fish for the packet in the drawer of his nightstand. It should be right on top, but it’s not. Where the fuck is it?

The sticky wet head of his cock slips against your belly while he frantically rummages through the drawer. You shudder and reach down to take him in your palm, earning you a breathy curse in response. He spares a glance towards your mischievous eyes before looking down at the way you gather the moisture from the peak of his cock and pump it down to the base. His eyes roll back in delight for a moment and he drops onto the weight of his arm. The drawer rolls out farther than it should and promptly clatters off its track and onto the carpet below.

“I can fix that,” he announces.

“Are you okay?” You laugh, trying to sit up to help.

“Fine,” he murmurs, leading you back to the pillows with a kiss. “You just got me a little...”

His eyes wander to the nightstand. Perched on its surface are the remaining foil packets he’d been searching for in the drawer with its contents now spilled on the floor.

“Oh my god.” He sighs.

“Yes?” you press with a smile. “You good?”

“Mhm.”

He quickly snatches one up, fumbling it in his hands for a second before he recklessly rips it open. He leans back on his knees to roll the condom on, but about halfway down his shaft the rubber splits and snaps against his fingers. He vents a frustrated sound from his throat and scolds himself internally for being too excited, too eager. He wasted another one in his haste.

“I’m sorry,” he says in defeat. “Hold on.”

You’re already carefully opening the last packet while he rises to discard the bits of ruined rubber. “It’s okay. Come here. I got you.”

As he approaches the bed you reach out and begin to slowly roll the new condom down his shaft. He watches your hands roam over his cock with wonder. You seem much more confident now that he’s made a complete fool of himself for the millionth time today. Maybe you won’t think of him as so much of a saint now. He’s just as much of a mess as you are.

“You don’t have to worry so much,” you say with a slow pump of your hand over his cock. “I always have that five dollars, you know?”

It’s difficult to take your eyes off of the perfect shape of his dark cock. It’s veiny and thick in your palm, and long enough to make you wonder how it might feel hitting the back of your throat. You manage to shift your gaze to his face and beam at him.

His worried expression melts into a dimpled smile. “Geeksquad saves the day again, huh.”

“Yeah. Pretty great, right? So, come here.” Despite feigned confidence, your jaw trembles with anxiety as you settle against the pillows once more. Nerves set your body alight with excited anticipation. “And put your cock in me.”

He slots himself between your thighs and cups your cheek, catching the subtle shiver of your body.

“Cold, baby?”

“Excited,” you admit, grazing your fingers over the expanse of his back until they’re nestled in the hair behind his neck. You kiss him.

It doesn’t matter how much time he’s had to recuperate. As soon as your lips are on his and he’s teasing himself into you, he knows he’s in trouble. You’re so tight. How is he supposed to last? Inch by slow inch you take him in, then out again. Your fingers twirl around strands of his hair until you’re sure it can’t be twisted any further.

“Oh fuck.”

Your jaw drops and you gasp a stuttered slew of nonsense as he bottoms out. He remains there, unmoving as your body adjusts to the stretch of his cock. Every executable file in your brain stops working as you lie beneath him with your mouth agape, eyes wide, and fingers tangled in his hair.

“Need a minute?” he asks, peppering kisses along your bottom lip and lightly working it between his teeth.

Finally you find the command in your brain to resume all processes. You moan into his kiss and purposefully clench around him. “Do you?”

“Evil,” he murmurs as he begins setting a slow, steady pace with his hips. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy, exposing your neck for his mouth to latch onto. Your hands explore the muscles of his back, digging into the sculpted flesh with your nails. He grunts against you, sucking a mark into the crook of your neck to muffle the sound. Taking time to follow the creases dividing the defined muscles of his triceps, your palms drift further down to curl around the pillars of his forearms. Without disrupting his pace, he reaches up to lace his fingers with yours.

The back of your palms press into the soft pillows beside your head. You’re connected as deeply and as literally as two people can be and still you crave more. When you moan his name into the open air he trails a line of sloppy open-mouthed kisses to meet your lips. You meet each slow thrust with a roll of your hips and a desperate need to keep him inside of you forever. Frenzied panting fills the space between you as you break the kiss.

Dark eyes full of adoration peer down at you, focused on the way the force of his accelerated thrusts shake every part of your body but leaves your gaze untouched. It’s insane just how much he cares for you. By now you must be sick of hearing his declarations of love, but he wants to say it all the same. He wishes he could make you cum for him like this. He would do anything to make you cum a second time before he does. Maybe with more practice he’ll learn your body well enough to make it happen. For now he’ll settle for making you feel good. You’re enjoying yourself at the very least.

A smile spreads across your face and a sweet laugh slips out. “What?”

“What?” he echoes, lost in the sight of you beneath him like this.

It’s like his head goes empty when you laugh like that, when you look at him like you’re shy and infatuated at the same time.

“Looks like you wanna say something.”

The serious expression plastered on his features matches the intensity of his whisper, “Yeah. Maybe I do. You wanna know what it is?”

Every muscle in your cunt contracts around him. He purses his lips, takes a slow breath through his nose and relaxes his pace.

He leans next to your ear and whispers in a quiet tone, “You’re just so fucking sexy.”

You’re so flattered that all the embarrassment resting on the tip of your tongue dissipates the moment you open your mouth. Flustered words form and then decompose the moment they’re to be spoken into existence. All that comes out is a broken sound of uncertainty.

It’s like the lights dance in his eyes as he takes a moment to straighten up and regard your features. His lips press against your forehead, then your nose and he pauses over your lips.

“I love you.”

The words fall from your mouth easier than ever. “I love you too.”

He kisses you like it’s the first time: passionate, desperate, and needy. You break off to rest your forehead against his.

“So are you gonna cum inside me or what?” You can barely conceal the smile that breaks through your pursed lips.

“Wow. So am I just a piece of meat to you, Geeksquad?” he jokes.

“I mean… Protein right?” You make a ‘yikes’ face at him and start to laugh.

He shakes his head but he’s grinning like a fool. “Well if it’s what you want…”

Just like that he calls your half-bluff. He ducks his face into the crook of your neck and begins to suck another mark over the fading mark from his earlier endeavors. Your laughter quickly turns into a string of moans as he resumes the previous tempo of his thrusts. A surge of adrenalin flips your stomach on itself and excitement pulses through your body at the thought of his cum slowly dripping out of your cunt.

“I do.”

You squeeze his hands and shimmy him away from your neck so you can sink your teeth into his shoulder to hide the shame of your desire. A broken moan rattles its way up his throat as he entertains the fantasy you’ve conjured in his mind.

“You want me to fill you, hmm?” he whispers in a breathy tone between shallow breaths.

There’s no doubt in your mind that he feels the way your cunt tenses at his words to offer a wordless answer, but you also offer a muffled hum of affirmation.

“You want me to fuck my cum into you just like this, baby?” His words are followed by the sound of his balls slapping against your ass at a new feverish pace.

“Yes,” you whimper and bring your lips to his, high off the sensation of his dick plowing into you.

“Gonna take it all for me?”

“Mhm. Cum for me,” you plead between sloppy kisses. “Cum inside me.”

“Oh shit, baby,” he gasps.

You don’t get another opportunity to coax him into letting go because he’s already slamming his hips into you and crushing his mouth over yours. He’s buried deep inside of you when his hips still but you wiggle beneath him and purposefully clench to give him the tiniest overdose of pleasure. He sighs as he leans back, finally releasing his death grip on your sweaty palms.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re sweet,” you murmur, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Good lay too.”

He rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. “Likewise.”

When he pulls out to rise and dispose of the condom you already miss his shape, but the unmistakable ache starts to set in: the ache of a pussy pounded too well after a long hiatus. You clamp your legs together and roll onto your side to expose the skin of your sweaty back to the cold air of the room, closing your eyes as you listen to the patter of raindrops against the window.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmm.” You don’t bother opening your eyes. “I seriously need another shower. Sorry about your bed.”

He kneels on the floor next to the edge of the bed and carefully moves the hair from your face. “You can soak my sheets any time.”

“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind. Sounds gross though. Definitely don’t wanna lay in the puddle behind me.”

“Tired?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna sleep right there?”

“No.”

You’re such a liar.

He lets a few seconds of silence pass before he speaks again. “How about shower and movie?”

You peek at him from beneath one eyelid. “What movie?”

“Thinking The Kick, unless you have something else in mind.”

“No, that’s— Wait, what time do we have to be at Tae’s?”

Namjoon’s eyes widen and he rubs the back of his neck. “Later… Uh, about that. Are we— I mean on one hand I don’t wanna make a big deal about it but…”

You bolt upright. “Oh no. They’re gonna make such a thing out of it. Nevermind. I’m never seeing them again.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

“Won’t it? Oh my god, if I show up in your clothes…”

“Geeksquad.” He grabs your face.

“Joonie.”

You reciprocate the action and squish his cheeks towards the center of his face, causing his lips to pucker. He quickly takes your hands into his own.

“Hey. Look at me,” he pauses to make sure you meet his eyes before he continues. “You’re fine. Stay. We’ll figure it out when we get there and we’ll do it together.”

“Okay,” you breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Be my ride?” He flashes you his wide dimpled smile.

“Only if you’re mine later.” You wink and draw him into a chaste kiss.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

"Geeksquad."

His voice sounds distant and soft while reminding you you’re home. In this moment, you’re safe, you’re warm, and you’re loved. It’s too comforting to move away right now, too comforting to bring your eyes to open, so you cling to the heat of his body.

“Hey,” he tries again, gently nudging your shoulder. “Geeksquad, wake up.”

You make sure that your distaste is apparent with a loud grumble. You nuzzle against his chest with your cheek and hum like it will drown him out. He laughs softly as the sound fades away. He briefly lets silence fill the space, which allots you the precious seconds needed to hit the imaginary snooze button and doze off again. It seems he isn't having it when he lets out a loud sigh.

“You missed the end and it’s already five,” he tries to reason. “Weren’t you the one who told me not to let you sleep too long? Unless…” He carefully snakes his fingertips down to your side, hoping to remain undetected. “...You changed your mind about going home to get all cute because you finally realize you are cute, you know, without trying."

You groan against his chest and that seems to be enough to keep him quiet. Just as he feels your head begin to drop down he starts talking loudly.

"Oh, I see. You just really wanna be out flaunting how good you look wearing my clothes. That’s it, right?"

You lightly smack your hand against his chest but don’t allow yourself to let your guard down until you’re certain he's given up.

"That must be it," he continues. "Not you... Being a pain in the ass to wake up. At all.”

With your head pressed against his chest, you find it difficult to drift back off with every loud word dropping from his mouth and vibrating straight into your eardrum. Still you rock your forehead against him and try to ignore his booming voice. When his fingers dig into your side to tickle you, your body jolts up straight and you can’t help but laugh.

“Wow. She speaks,” he jokes. “...Kinda.”

You wiggle against his grip, thrusting your chest up while dipping your head back. You attempt to scold him with his name between a fit of giggles. “Stop,” you wheeze.

“But I love the way you laugh.” His fingers relax despite his words. He leans in to press his lips to your perfectly exposed neck.

Your breathless laughter quickly transforms into a subtle slew of whimpers. He swathes his tongue across a particularly sensitive spot and your breath hitches. You grab his arm and pull down like you want him to crush you like a bug. He doesn’t. Instead he smirks against your neck when he feels your nails dig into his bicep.

“Joonie…” you whine.

He offers his inquiry in the form of a hum that radiates vibrations from the point of contact with your skin.

You’re embarrassed to admit the million things you want to ask him to do right now in place of complaining about his teasing. “Come closer.”

“Closer how?” he murmurs before kissing that spot again.

You take the hand at your side and slip it beneath the worn fabric of your shirt. You don’t have to lead him very far until he’s molding the flesh of your breast with his hand and you’re panting shallow breaths into the air around you. The sweet kiss at your neck turns into a sinful demonstration. The things he could do to you, for you. Do you truly know?

You know you never want him to leave. The heat from his mouth seems to sear a path of lava straight to your core. Your fingers glide through his hair and settle at his jaw. It takes all of your self control to gently push him away from that delightful spot he’s found so that you can plant a soft kiss against his jaw.

You draw out a groan as you pull away. “Maybe we should just cancel.”

“Mmm, don’t tempt me. You know I will,” he murmurs, chasing after your lips.

You lean back just a bit further, a grin plastered on your face as you allow him to press his mouth against yours just one more time.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

The rain has been reduced to a light patter against your windshield now. You’re grateful that visibility is decent as you pull up to the familiar curb in front of Namjoon’s building. Already waiting just within the building’s entrance, he sprints out at the sight of your headlights. He eagerly hops into the passenger seat and you do your best not to look over at him. Suddenly, you’re nervous. Have your palms ever secreted this much sweat in your life? Still you keep your hands planted on the steering wheel, staring ahead like you’re playing the role of a first-time chauffeur.

Sensing a lingering apprehension, he clears his throat as his seatbelt clicks into place. “Everything okay?”

Keeping the car in park, you allow yourself to look over at him. He smells good. He looks incredible, even in a simple black tee and jeans. And he’s looking at you like all he wants to do is kiss your lips for the millionth time today. It’s like you can feel the anxiety melt from your face.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, shaking out your hands as though that will clear the sweat from them. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

Your sheepish laugh causes him to reach out for your sweaty palm. To your surprise his hand is just as hot and moist as yours. Regardless of how uncomfortable it is, he holds on tight and laces his fingers between yours.

“It’s okay. Me too.”

The pair of you stare at each other for a few seconds in silence, just smiling and trying to think of what you were going to say before promptly getting lost in one another’s eyes. How is it you’ve never noticed the softness in his features when he looks at you like this? It still feels kind of surreal. But your heart skips a beat and you allow yourself to acknowledge the way heat radiates from your cheeks. You want to kiss him, to reassure him you’re not going to waffle on him again, but you’re too entranced by the infatuation smeared across every aspect of his face.

When you finally speak, he starts at the same time and you both have to pause and laugh. Silence falls between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s charged. It’s shy. It’s excited. He bites his lip and drags it through his teeth as his eyes rake over any part of you they can.

“You look beautiful.”

You lick your lips and your smile grows larger in response. “I- Thank you. I’m. We-- I mean, you look…” A nervous laugh slips into the breath between your words. “Hi.”

He leans across the armrest and plants a soft kiss against your lips. The moment you reciprocate his tongue dips into your mouth and glides against yours. It takes all of your willpower to keep the car running instead of plucking the keys out and dragging him back into his apartment to fuck him stupid. Still you rely on him to break the kiss.

“Hi,” he whispers, dragging a thumb across your cheek as he cups your jaw. “Still nervous?”

You nod. “My stomach hurts.”

“Hey, they’re our friends. It’ll be okay.”

“I know. You’re right.” You sit back against your seat and stare blankly out the foggy windshield. “I haven’t answered Jennie all day. She’s asking and I… I don’t want to answer.”

His heart sinks. It sounds like you want to keep things a secret, even though he knows you’re a terrible liar. No wonder you’re so nervous. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but if you asked he would attempt to cover for the both of you. He sincerely hopes you don’t ask.

“It’s just… I don’t want it to be a text. I mean, do we go in holding hands?” you ask, instantly allaying his fears. “Do we just announce it?”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Geeksquad, come on. Pretend like nothing’s changed. Things are basically the same right?”

You nod, but your expression casts uncertainty over the action. “Right, right. We can just say it like that, right? I mean, we still work at the same place. We still like to hang out together. Watch movies,It’s just a little more… intimate. You know, the kind of time you spend with someone that you care about and like… make out and have bomb sex and—”

“I’ll tell them we’re together,” he interrupts. “You’re my girlfriend. You signed the love contract.”

“Okay but you’re not going to tell them about the contract right?”

“Mmm. Maybe. Didn’t see anything about it in the terms and conditions.” He laughs.

“Uh, the fine print says you’re sworn to secrecy of its existence. You know, like fight club.”

“Must have missed that. Didn’t have my glasses on, you know?”

“Oh, here.” The lightbulb in your head flickers on. You rummage through the compartment beneath the armrest, presenting Namjoon with the glasses you’d been meaning to return for some time now. “Maybe these will help. You left them at my place.”

“Shit. I thought I lost those.” He sighs, taking them from you. “Wish I hadn’t ordered another pair.”

“Sorry, I kept forgetting to give them to you,” you admit.

He smiles. “Did you forget, or were you pining over me? Be real with me, Geeksquad.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay. I’m gonna start driving before I push you out of this car.”

“Sniffing them because they remind you of me?” he teases.

“Yeah. They smell like avocados.” You laugh as you turn your attention to the road. “You’re lucky hipster glasses are in.”

“Alright, baby.”

He hums in amusement, sparing a glance out the window beside him. It seems like the barrage of rainy days may be coming to an end soon. At least he hopes so. There’s not much he wouldn’t give to take you to his favorite hiking spots, have a picnic with you under clear blue skies, or lay on a sandy beach with you by his side.

“You keep calling me baby,” you point out quietly, pulling him from his reverie.

“Wha— I’m sorry. It was heat of the moment and it felt really natural when we were fucking you know? But if it’s weird now, I-I can stop. I’ll stick with tried and true Geeksquad.” He stumbles through his embarrassment in true Namjoon fashion.

“No, I like it. I just wanted to tell you it... makes me feel good. Way better than Geeksquad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You smirk and reach for his hand and he gives you a tight squeeze, driving the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Holding his hand is enough to keep you distracted from all the noise in your head.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Knock-knockknock—-knock-knock.

The answer to your knock is the resounding pound of Hobi’s fist through the barrier of the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

The door swings open and Hoseok’s smiling face greets you. Namjoon’s hand falls from around your shoulder on instinct. Although Hoseok’s eyes briefly drop to Namjoon’s twitching fingers he draws no further attention to the reaction, stepping aside and gesturing for the pair of you to enter. Seokjin’s incoherent shouting carries from the other room, nearly drowning out your greetings.

“It’s about time.” Hoseok tips a bottle to his lips and the majority of the liquid sloshes back down as he makes a face and runs to shove it against Yoongi’s shoulder. “Yuck.”

Yoongi takes a hearty swig without so much as a glance away from the kitchen. The unmistakable bounce of a ping pong ball springs from the unseen room and you lean back to attempt to see around the blockade Yoongi and Hoseok’s bodies have created between you and whatever is happening in there.

“They started playing while we were waiting for you. Should be done soon,” Hobi says, walking back towards you. “Jimin and Tae put up a good fight but Jungkookie is too good.”

“You didn’t have to wait. We could have met you there,” Namjoon says, rubbing the back of his neck and stealing a sideways glance at you.

Hoseok raises an eyebrow and smirks, his eyes following Namjoon’s to you. His bony finger pokes your spine and you instantly tense and straighten your posture.

“I think we all wanted to wait.”

He knows. Even as you spin towards him you feel it. Despite the words left unspoken, somehow he already knows.

Yup. It’s time. Just get it over with. Easier thought than done.

“Why?” you blurt.

“Well...” Hoseok begins, ghosting his fingers over your shoulder as he walks towards the couch to put his shoes on. “We wanted to see you guys. Had a feeling we might not see too much of you as the night goes on. Figured you might want some,” he pauses to finish knotting his shoelace, grinning at you as he stands, “hmm, alone time?”

“I— Pssfht. What?” The unexpected shrillness of your voice cuts through the space between you. You clear your throat and do your best to dampen your anxiety. “I mean, like, why would we—? We’re—We, uh, whew… Is it hot in here?”

Words are no good right now. Anything else you say will just be another unnecessary embarrassment to endure. Your heartbeat resides in your ears as your flight response kicks in. Namjoon must hear it too because drapes his arm around your shoulder and pulls you towards the comforting mass of his chest.

Your fingers fidget with your keys even though you know you won’t need them tonight. You consider tossing them in the bowl Tae keeps on the counter, but that would require walking past the rest of your friends and abandoning Namjoon. You agreed you would face them together.

Namjoon smiles softly and gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’re good, man.”

“Are you?” The look on Hoseok’s face tells you he’s hoping you’ll expand on Namjoon’s short answer. “How are you doing, Y/N? Has that douche tried to contact you?”

You almost forgot about Jihoon. It seems like such a distant memory now. The sting of his words echo in the darkest corner of your mind, but not for long. A smile forces those thoughts to scatter as you look to Namjoon for support. You take a breath and exhale a relieved sigh.

“Nope. He’s gone for good, I think.” You reach for Namjoon’s hand, using the courage his touch instills to fuel your confession. “If he comes back around I’m sure my boyfriend will try to kick his ass.”

“Wait. It’s finally happening?” Hoseok’s eyes go wide and he springs from the couch in an instant to poke his fingers against your sides. He didn’t expect to be totally correct in his assumptions, but he hoped for it. “For really real?”

You said it first. Out loud. Namjoon’s stomach churns in excitement as he looks at you. You’re grinning like a dork and nodding even though he knows you’re embarrassed as hell. Yeah. He’s pretty sure he’s never been more in love with your goofy ass smile. Hoseok covers your entwined fingers with both of his hands and practically drags you both towards the kitchen.

“Guys, guys! It’s official!”

The ball leaves Jungkook’s fingertips, launches across the table and circles the rim of the final cup as his opponents turn away. The room goes quiet, save for the airy spin of the ball slowly decelerating into the contents of the cup. Namjoon adjusts his glasses and you swallow hard under the burning spotlight of your friends’ eyes.

“Drumroll, please!” Hoseok demands with a smile, rolling his tongue to begin the buildup. “Bdrdrdrrdrdrdrdrdrdrdrdrdr--”

Yoongi presses his lips together to hold back a smile and begins drumming his fingers on the wall beside him. Not willing to be outdone, Seokjin and Jungkook join in, pounding their fists on the table, followed by the light tap of Jimin’s hands against his thighs, and the smack of Taehyung’s palms against his face.

“I present to you the moment we’ve all been waiting for…” Hoseok ducks behind the pair of you and lifts your arms like you’ve just tied for victory in a boxing match. “Joonsquad!”

The inflection at the end of his tone makes you cringe almost as hard as the nickname.

“Nope. No. We’re not calling it that.”

“Joonsquad? Really?”

The combined cheers from your friends drown out your objections.

Jimin’s arms are the first to wrap you both into a tight bear hug. “I’m so happy for you both.”

The statement seems genuine, but you’re flooded with the embarrassing memory of drunkenly slobbering over his face. Namjoon had always reminded you that Jimin was used to keeping things casual but still you find yourself ashamed for going there. Harmless flirting and games of chicken ruled your friendship with Jimin for so long. You used to fantasize about his lips exploring your body, but it seems so preposterous now. You’re not sure when it happened, but things changed.

Despite your mind’s acknowledgement of his beauty there is no worry accompanying it, no butterflies wreaking havoc on your senses. Your simple crush has faded into surface appreciation. It seems easy to recognize that now that you’ve stopped trying to push down the feelings you have for your best friend. Any lingering affections you bear resemble nothing more than a strengthened friendship, much like the one you’ve shared with Jennie for years.

Even with all the back slaps and fistbumps, Namjoon’s eyes are trained on you in a smitten stupor. Embarrassment does nothing to steal the light in your eyes or the joy in your laugh. All of the congratulations in the world can’t reach his ears when you’re looking at him like that.

“I knew it!” Jennie comes running from around the corner, pushing past all the men in her path to throw her arms around you. “No wonder you’ve been dodging my texts. I wanna know everything.” She attempts a whisper, but softness doesn’t translate through the liquor already clouding her voice. “In detail.”

Namjoon clears his throat loudly to combat the redness spreading along his ears. “Where are we headed? Seesaw?”

Everyone looks at one another like they hadn’t really thought about it.

“Sure. Your first drink is on me.” Yoongi throws an arm around Namjoon.

Hoseok weaves his arm beneath Yoongi’s from Namjoon’s other side, beginning to walk them towards the door. “It’s a dancing night, don’t you think?”

“How about we hit up the strip club after?” Jungkook suggests, already tugging his sneakers on and stumbling towards the door.

Seokjin rolls his eyes and claps a hand around the youngest’s neck. “Do you really want to break up a couple so soon?”

“What? They can look together, right? Wings doesn’t discriminate. It’s like a bonding thing. You don’t mind, do you, Y/N?”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’re not going there.” Seokjin turns back to Jungkook to whisper, “Not every celebration needs to be at a strip club.”

“I’ll remember that on your birthday,” Jungkook mutters, already on his way out the door.

The others begin to follow suit but before you can get too far, Taehyung latches onto your elbow. “Keys.”

“Right.” You produce a tangled mess of keychains and keys. Namjoon hangs back to wait with you, leaning against the doorframe as Tae disappears.

“You’re always welcome to stay here,” Tae offers as your keys clang against the others in the bowl.

Namjoon chews on his lip and looks to you. As long as you’ll lay next to him he doesn’t care where he sleeps tonight.

“Depends how drunk we get,” you reply with a smile, lacing your fingers with Namjoon’s to lead him out of the apartment. “Thanks, Tae.”

He grins and pats Namjoon’s shoulder after locking the door. “Don’t worry, Jungkook washed all the sheets yesterday.”

You flip up the hood of your sweater and tighten the strings to cover your face. You’re definitely not coming back here tonight.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

You’ve done your best to balance your attention between your friends throughout the night, sharing food, drinking and laughing together. But as the night continues you feel your energy draining with each attempt to remain social and engaged in conversation. You’re grateful when Namjoon steers the conversation away from you, leading most of the table towards the bar to collect more drinks for everyone. Only Hoseok and Yoongi are left to hold down the table with you. You’re pretty sure Namjoon is counting on the majority of the group getting distracted and splitting off. At least you’re hoping that’s what he’s playing at because you’d really like to get away from all the questions and stories.

When you yawn Yoongi nudges your elbow out from under you, forcing you to catch yourself before your chin slams against the table.

“Tired?” he asks with a smirk, eyes focused elsewhere.

“Mmm,” you agree with a nod. “I guess I should get up before they come back or I’ll be stuck here forever, huh?”

“You know, you’re not being rude if you want to head out. You don’t have to stay and prove anything. We’ve all been rooting for you to get together. If you wanna slip away for some privacy, you should.”

It’s funny how well your friends know you. You can’t even remember what life was like before they came along.

“A break from questions would be nice,” you admit with a stretch of your arms.

Hoseok, who’s been nursing the same drink all night, brings the glass to his lips and gulps down a rather large sip and scrunches his features together. “Blegh. Ooooor you can come dance with me.” He wiggles his eyebrows for good measure.

You stare him down, tonguing the straw to your tequila sunrise and trying to steal the last sip of the drink from the ice that remains in your glass. Is he trying to fuck with you?

“Don’t worry, I’ll be good.” He laughs, offering you his hand. “Namjoonie’s not much of a dancer, but I think he’d be willing to learn from you more than me. Think I can teach you something to show him before he gets back?”

“Hobi, I know how to dance,” you say with a laugh, although you’re already taking his hand.

“Mmm, do you though?” Hoseok flitters his free hand back and forth. “Ehhhh.”

With a roll of your eyes, you spare Yoongi a glance. “You coming?”

Yoongi leans back in his seat with a shake of his head. He casually pops a fry into his mouth.“Go on. I’ll send Namjoon your way so Hobi will keep his hands above your waist.”

“That’s just rude,” Hoseok scoffs, pulling you towards the dance floor.

He’s true to his word, dancing as respectably as someone with hips like Hoseok can. He guides your hips with his hands as he sways behind you.

“You’re perfect for him,” he says.

“What?” Your rhythm falters and you lose your sense of balance, stepping on his foot as you try to keep yourself from falling. “Sorry.”

He laughs, tickling your sides. “See? That’s what I mean. Took you dummies long enough to realize it.”

“It’s my fault. I was too scared and stupid to see what was right in front of me this entire time.” You sigh and lean back, surprised to find his chest a decent distance away. “I still think he’s too good for me.”

“Oh, pffft. Stop it,” Hoseok chides in your ear.

“I hope— Ugh, nevermind.”

“What?”

A small chuckle escapes with a held breath. “It’s dumb.”

“So?”

“I just— I hope my love is good enough for him.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

His hands hug around your stomach and push you closer to him, but the way they subtly tremble as they descend to rest on your hips feels different. When Hoseok steps around and hands still clasp you from behind, your heart soars. If not for the familiarity of the stiff chest at your back and the loving embrace enveloping your form, you might be nervous.

Namjoon’s lips caress your ear as he whispers, “You know it is.”

Even your best attempt to hide your embarrassed smile would fail, so it’s a good thing you’re not even trying. Hoseok wears a satisfied grin as he watches you turn towards Namjoon for a shy kiss. He thinks about leaving you with dancing advice, but instead he decides to slink away wordlessly. There isn’t anything he could say right now that the two of you would hear, not when you’re in a world of your own like this.

It’s easy to lose track of time as you grind against him, teasing him with every swaying motion of your hips. Every sigh against your ear spurs you on to press him further. Even with all the layers between you, the hard length grinding against your ass is ever-present and obvious enough to make you want to bend over so he can take you right here.

Instead you dance and feel his body move against yours until exhaustion starts to set in. Tae and Jennie are already waiting for a ride by the time you step outside. Your cheeks ache from smiling so much and every muscle in your face is too tired to speak. She looks just as tired as you but she gives you a small greeting.

It’s funny how you don’t find anything odd about the way she leans into Tae as they sit near one another, or the way Tae is absentmindedly stroking her hair. You feel like it should be odd, but the world is so far away that you can’t hold the details in your brain long enough to make a connection. Between the haze of alcohol and sleep, you’re too far gone to think too much about it.

Namjoon keeps his arm around you as he talks to Tae, but you don’t catch much of their conversation. Sleep threatens to take you where you stand. You count yourself lucky that Namjoon cares for you so well. You close your eyes to rest for a moment, but when you open them again he’s unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you out of the lyft. You shuffle past the threshold of Tae’s home.

Namjoon leads you down the hall to the guest room and pulls on the dangling chain on the lamp near the bed. A soft yellow glow fills the room as you start to sleepily yank the clothing from your body. Namjoon quickly goes for the open door, but Tae is already in the doorway averting his gaze with one hand and holding a small quilt in the other.

“Thanks. She, uh, gets really cold,” Namjoon says, blocking your body with his frame as you bend at the waist to untie the shoes you now realize are blocking your pants from sliding over your feet.

“Sorry. Let me know if you need anything else,” Tae mumbles, clearly embarrassed. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Namjoon murmurs back, clutching the quilt as he softly closes the door and turns to you. “Baby.”

“Hmm.”

Your foot is stuck in your shoe but you can’t get your foot out because your shoe is stuck in your jeans. This is a conundrum.

“Baby, you’re gonna fall. Sit down. I’ll help you.”

“I can do it,” you mumble, plopping down on the edge of the bed.

“I know,” he says, already on his knees before you.

He frees your legs and gives you a kiss as he helps you wiggle below the bedspread, setting the quilt on top of your side.

“It’s hot,” you mumble.

“I know.”

“Too hot for blankets.”

“I know. How about the sheet?” he asks, rolling everything back except for the topsheet. He knows you. You’ll want them again soon enough.

“Mm. Come here.” You reach your grabby hands out for him as he flicks the light off.

“I’m coming.” He laughs and slides beside you. “So needy.”

Although you know he can’t see you pout, he pulls you toward his chest anyway and it turns into a smirk against his warm skin.

“It’s ‘cause I needy--you” you slur with a giggle, planting your lips against his chest in a drawn out kiss.

“You’re a hot mess and I love you,” he says, shaking his head.

“Love you, too.”

It’s clear you’re already falling asleep but he gently strokes your arm until the world around you begins to cool and fall away. When you roll away with a shiver, he carefully secures your body in a cocoon of blankets and drapes his arm and leg over you. Not even overheating could keep him from your touch. A wave of calm overtakes him.

This time he knows: this is love.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Months into your relationship,you’ve have prepared for the end of the semester by planning a little vacation for just the two of you. Namjoon struggles to get through his last day of work, daydreaming about staying at Tae’s summer home and laying on the beach with you. His favorite hiking spot isn’t too far from there and he’s been dying to take you and show you the clearing of wildflowers he loves so much. Hopefully they’ve bloomed beautifully.

He yawns and stretches out, flipping the binder on his desk. It’s been a long day, commemorating the end of a long week. He’s exhausted, but he’s graded every last paper and is in good shape to submit final scores by the deadline. His phone buzzes against the dark wood in the only spot bereft of errant papers. He flips the screen around, finally allowing himself to check the time and give in to distractions.

You: Still working bae

He smiles, thumb gliding over the screen effortlessly while attempting to organize the mess on his desk.

Namjoon: Just finishing up. You: 😏 You: can I You: come before you finish You: it’s only fair

He halts his efforts to stare at his phone.

Namjoon: … You: yes?? Namjoon: 🤦‍♂️ You: what? I’m serious You: 😈😈😈 Namjoon: You on campus? You: I mean... You: who else is gonna be your ride 😘

He shakes his head, smile growing wider as he glances up at the monitor before him. He definitely doesn’t miss running to catch the last bus on late nights. He’s nearly done logging final comments. He’ll be done sooner than you can get here, but this might be as good a time as any to make the reveal.

Namjoon hits the icon to call you, swooning at the familiar image of you stealing his drink. He straightens his glasses and types away at the keyboard while trapping the phone between his ear and shoulder. It doesn’t ring for very long.

“Joonie?”

“Hey, I gotta upload these grades but I’m having trouble.”

You sigh. The last thing you want to do tonight is work, especially not with what you had planned. “What kind of trouble?”

Even as he types away on the keyboard, his mind searches for a term, some kind of red alert to get you off the phone and into his office so he can tell you in person.

“Uh… blue screen.”

“Blue screen of death?” You rub your temple. “What does it say?”

“Uh,” he swallows, pausing to proofread the comment along with the grade he’s about to submit. “It just restarted.”

“On its own?”

Submit.

“Yeah.”

“Is this the first time it’s doing this?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, see if it starts up okay. We can always come back before we go on vacation.”

“Baby, I really want to get these done tonight. I was so close to being done so we can start tonight.”

You sigh heavily and check your makeup in the rearview mirror. “Is it starting up?”

“No, it’s beeping.”

Even straining your ears doesn’t help you pick up on the sound. “Are you sure?”

“Can you come here? Please?”

Your heart melts. “I’ll be right there.”

You turn the car off and grab one of Namjoon’s oversized hoodies from the backseat. You slip it over your skimpy outfit and carefully make your way to the library, tugging on the hem like it will somehow magically cover all the exposed flesh down to your knees. No such luck. Regardless of how many times you’ve practiced wearing these awful heels, it’s not like you expected to be walking up several flights of stairs in them.

There’s no security guard at the station across the quad. You don’t know if you should feel as happy as you do about that. Despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to get in your car and demand an escort to his office, embarrassment outweighs any fear for safety and you push on. Only a familiar yellow cardigan draped over a chair greets you at the receptionist’s desk, its occupant long gone for the night.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you climb the stairs, passing stack after stack of dimly lit bookshelves until you’re standing outside of the only office still illuminated. Thankfully the door is propped open and you power walk as fast as you can towards it. The faster you can fix it, the faster you can head home and celebrate the end of the semester the way you originally planned.

He nearly tips the chair as he stands. It hits the back wall of his office with a graceless bang. “Y/N? Are those heels? Did you drive here in those?”

It’s difficult to keep your lips as they are when he adorns that expression, features battling between where they might settle: aroused or awestruck. You’d rather not screw up the perfect lipstick application you worked so hard to achieve— not yet at least. The plan is to be on your knees when that happens.

“You look—” he pauses as his traveling eyes try to glean any information they can. His voice lowers to a whisper and he quickly attempts to sate his curiosity with a wandering hand up your thigh. “Are-Are you not wearing anything under there?”

Before you can answer his fingers find the pleated fabric hidden beneath the hoodie and a new, eager question fumbles from his lips. “What are... you wearing?”

As much as you’d like for him to keep exploring, you muster enough willpower to smack his hands away. It’s only fair that he has to wait while you work.

“Computer first. You said it was beeping. Did it ever start back up?”

He swallows hard as you round the desk and start troubleshooting. It’s hard to think when all the blood in his brain is quickly evacuating in favor of inhabiting a far less intelligent location. He’s supposed to say something. He knows that much. But you look so beautiful he forgets how to say it. Your brows furrow in frustration and you sigh his name.

You’ve done your makeup, your hair is down for the first time in a long time, and you even put on a cute outfit as far as he can gather. But here you are in his hoodie, donning a pair of blue-light blocking glasses, rolling up the baggy sleeves, and tying your hair into a tight ponytail as you start to go into full on geeksquad mode. Even with your hunched shoulders and irritated tongue clicking, you’re trying to help him, still beautiful in the way he loves.

Underneath all that skin-deep beauty that fades with time, within the wrinkles that have already begun to crease the edges of your eyes and the corners of your mouth, you shine. You shine brighter than any star he’s ever seen. Months of reflecting your light haven’t been enough to show you the true glow of your soul, but he’s confident that one day you’ll see it.

He’s pulled back to reality as your scowl settles on him. Repeatedly pressing the power button with your finger won’t change the fact that he’s purposefully unplugged it, a fact it seems you’ve come to realize when you reach for the VGA cable and there’s nothing there.

A charming, dimpled smile graces his features and he picks up the monitor with ease. “I, uh, think maybe something fell off before you got here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your computer, is there?” You lean back in the chair and sigh as he stands there like a fool on the opposite side of the desk, cradling his LCD screen like a bouquet.

“No,” he says sheepishly. He gently lowers the monitor to the floor and sighs. “I planned on presenting this better, but you distracted me. There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about for a while now.”

Your stomach is spinning and you take in a deep breath. Oh fuck. Is he really going to break up with you? No, he can’t be. He wouldn’t be smiling about that. Would he?

“Nothing bad,” he quickly adds, circling behind the desk and your chair in one large stride. His thumbs dive into the fabric of your hoodie to rub circles into your shoulders. “At least I don’t think you’ll think it’s bad…” Terror strikes at his belly and he adds, “Unless you do...”

“Joon. Please. You’re stressing me out. Whatever it is, just tell me.”

He spins the chair around and squats down onto one knee. He straightens his tie and reaches for your hand, sending your stomach on another rollercoaster ride, only this one is running in the complete opposite direction and you’re equally as unprepared. You’re not really a marriage kind of person. Well, maybe you are, but you’re not sure. It’s too soon to know! You’re more of a limbless amoeba at this point, stuffed into heels and floating with the other protozoa in the petri dish of the universe, unthinking, just existing.

The world stops as he reaches into his coat pocket and you find yourself too petrified to speak. You close your eyes and slump into the chair like you’ve become a being comprised solely of pudding. Your skirt rides up as you sink and your panties shrink into the world’s thinnest thong. Have you ever held a breath for this long? Maybe you’ll melt through the mesh seat and evaporate into the cheap carpet below. It takes him too long to realize his latest mistake.

It was probably the pudding hand that tipped him off.

“Oh. Shit. Okay. No, look at me. I’m not—” He laughs and sets something in your palm, closing your fingers around it and holding them there. “Look.”

You finally settle on the floor before him and squeeze the item in your palm. It feels unremarkable, like a basic wire or plastic cap. The most remarkable part about it is that it is definitely not a ring.

Relief washes over you with the breath you exhale. “Joon. You’re killing me. Please.”

“Here’s the thing.”

He releases your hand so you can look at this unremarkable thing that has caused you so much panic. It’s the plastic head of a CAT5 plug, pins and all. You tilt your head to one side and inspect it with childlike curiosity and bewilderment.

“I’m not that bad with computers. I mean, I’m not like you-level, but I’m not as bad as you think.”

Things begin to click into place. This isn’t just any ethernet plug. It’s the first one, the one you couldn’t fathom disappearing like it did, leaving a mess of wires in its wake. Namjoon just seemed so clueless that you naturally blamed drunken students vandalizing campus property for shits and giggles. It never crossed your mind that the sweet, quiet professor could have staged the whole thing.

“Before I knew you, I wanted to know you. But I felt like I needed an excuse to talk to you so I…” He reaches into his pocket and adds various bits of broken plastic and screws to your cupped hand. “...did this.”

You blink stupidly at the pile in your palm, watching busted pieces of plastic slide off the side of the tiny heap of junk and fall onto the floor beside your knees. “Oh my god. You…?”

“Breaking things seemed like the easiest way to spend time with you,” he admits. “At least at first. I started doing less destructive things after a while. Deleting empty documents. Unplugging my keyboard. Turning off bluetooth. Moving my email shortcuts. I mean, damn. I thought you caught me more than once. I kept waiting for you to call me out. I dreaded it. I hoped for it.”

A cackle bubbles in the back of your throat but you suppress it with a snort. “So you held onto these? This whole time?”

“I didn’t know if I should like, recycle them or not and it’s not like I could ask you. And I mean googling that just seems suspicious. I’m not about to land myself on a watch list or something. But like, for real, you should definitely tell me if I can recycle them though because I have more and I would really like to clean out my drawer.”

Laughter breaches your lips in full force. “You faked being bad at stuff this whole time? Joonie, are you serious? I can’t believe I fell for the way — the way you type!” You cough and wheeze, trying to catch your breath between laughs. “With two fingers! I should have known. Only dads type like that. Oh my god. “

He offers a sheepish smile. “Actually, I really type like that. Something about the keys.”

“Oh.” Your laughter dies. “Sorry. I mean that like… mmm. You know what, I meant what I said. Kinda crazy, considering you text faster than me.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Okay. Texting is different.”

You cross your arms, burying the broken pieces in your clenched fist. “Have you ever needed my help? Should even come running anymore?”

“Hey, sometimes I really do. I’m still clumsy. Plus, it’s out there now. I have no reason to waste your time... unless you want me to. I won’t stop you from climbing under my desk in those hot pants you wear with all the little pockets.”

You furrow your brows and scoff, an incredulous grin spreading across your face. “My cargo pants? Those pockets are huge.”

“Not compared to your ass.” He shakes his head with a smile, holds up his hands like he’s cupping your ass and pretends to squeeze it a couple times.

“Why are you like this?” You laugh with a roll of your eyes.

“Excuse me, who’s the one getting so drunk she’s going on thinking it’s hot to talk about making guacamole with my avocado dick?”

“Vaguely remember that. Smeared it all over me though, didn’t you?” You grin and wiggle your eyebrows.

He purses his lips and takes a breath. “If you mean watched you drink too fast on an empty stomach while we waited for takeout, sat with you while you dry-heaved for 20 minutes untiI I carried you to the couch and held your hand till you drank enough water to fall asleep, then yeah. Smeared it good.”

“And that’s why… I love you.”

You lean in and stop short of his lips, sitting back enough to narrow your eyes at him.

”Wait a minute. Projector.”

If you’ve been living on a ramen and cereal diet for two years because of a man’s inability to properly express romantic interest, you’re going to be pissed, regardless of how much you love said man now.

“Oh, hey, no. Hold up. The projector was a real accident. I cried,” he reminds you. “I will proclaim you as my goddess and savior for all time on that one.”

“Goddess, huh?” you smirk and close your fist around the busted pieces, leaning in for a kiss. “You gonna call me that instead now? I think I like that better than Geeksquad.”

He hums disagreement against your lips, “Mmm-mmm.”

You rest your forehead against his. “Promise me you won’t purposefully break anything else going forward.”

“I promise. That includes your heart,” he whispers, cupping your chin and pressing his lips against your cheek.

“You are so corny.” You pull at his tie, grinning as you lure him to your lips again. “And I’m so here for it. Now are you gonna help me up so we can start our vacation? Or are you gonna sit there with a hard dick and pretend like you still have work to do?”

He clicks his tongue and rises to his feet to extend a hand to you. As you attempt to pull yourself up, he reaches for your sides and lifts you with ease until you’re perched on the edge of his desk. He didn’t ask you to part your legs yet they spread for him anyway, wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

“Are you gonna make me guess what all this is about?” he asks, tilting his head to the side and giving your crude ponytail a soft tug.

You smirk, staring at the red streaks of your lipstick circling his mouth while you try to ignore the heat between your legs that begs you to take him right here. You’ve imagined fucking on this desk thousands of times, but at least you still have enough sense to realize the risk in playing out that fantasy. He’s got a perfectly good desk at his place anyway.

“Take me home and maybe you’ll get to find out,” you say, pulling your keys from the hoodie pocket and letting them hang from your finger.

He groans as he takes them from you. “You know I can’t do highways.”

“Backroads are fine.”

“It’s gonna take forever,” he complains, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“It’s a good time to practice. Come on.” You pat his back a couple times and hop down from the desk, making sure to grind yourself against his erection. “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

As soon as you’re in his apartment, you remove the hoodie to reveal your very crude surprise: a slutty schoolgirl costume. Eyes wide and jaw slack, he stops loosening his tie to imitate a lifeless statue of a drooling neanderthal.

“Y/N, what is… Why?”

“Because,” you begin in a low, sultry tone as you drag your fingers over the soft silk still in his hand. “I want you to teach me a lesson.”

His soft exhale fills the space between you and he stumbles to form a response. He laughs nervously, unable to compose himself. “What?”

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling stupidly uncertain. “You… watch this porn all the time, don’t you? At least I thought you did. Oh. Oh god. This is stupid. Sorry.”

He grips your shoulders to keep you from running towards the bedroom. His eyelids flutter for a

second as he struggles to compose his thoughts. “No. It’s fine. I’m all for roleplay. I’m just... I’m not into the teacher-student trope.”

You frown and reach into the hard-drive files of your brain for any porn you’ve seen on his computer. He’s lying and he knows you know it. He wilts under your puzzled gaze.

“I’m not that into it. Like a lot. I’ve seen some, but only when the story is there.”

“Oh, the story?” You hold back a giggle.

Is he really trying to tell you he’s watching porn for the plot to cover for some terrible porno choices? He should know by now that you don’t care about that. You’ve watched more than your fair share of terrible videos just to get off and immediately hated yourself after. It shouldn’t come as a surprise considering he pretended to be a total idiot with technology for years to cover up his feelings.

“What? I’m serious. I think it’s great when the woman is the teacher and the guy is her equal, you know? She definitely makes as much as he does, if not more because she does it in tight clothes because of the dress code, you know? And he comes in one day after hours and is like how does all this work, anyway? And she starts explaining but you know a button snaps and there’s tension. Baby, you know I’m a feminist. I would never—”

“Joonie. I’m not judging you. I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t into it myself. I thought it might be fun. And I mean… I really wanted an excuse to have you bend me over your desk, but if you’re not interested I can just—” As soon as you start to work at the buttons of your blouse, he reaches out to stop you.

“We can try it,” he says, bashfully taking a step back and tapping his fingertips against yours. “I’d like to, if you’re down.”

You see an opportunity to break the tension and put him at ease, donning your best valley-girl accent. “Oh em gee, Professor Kim! You are, like, my favorite teacher. Is there some way I can get some extra credit? Puhleeeaase.”

“Nope, none of that,” he says with a laugh, twining his fingers with yours. “As a rule you cannot use that voice.”

“Fair enough.” You lead him towards the desk and gesture to the chair nearby. “How about I’m the teacher since you like that plot point so much?”

He chews his lip to hold back a toothy grin and watches with eager eyes as you bend at the waist to inspect the desk before him, giving a clear view of your ass and panties as your skirt rises. You relocate anything valuable to the nearby bookshelf and work on gathering the papers strewn about the surface.

“Sorry just let me gather up all my extra paychecks,” you mumble.

Once the desk is clear you perch yourself on its edge. Namjoon is already holding out a hair tie and a pair of glasses.

“You forgot these at the staff meeting.”

You roll your eyes and grin, working your hair into a messy bun and resting the glasses atop your head. “Thank you, Professor Kim.”

“Professor Kim is my father. Call me Namjoon.”

You purse your lips and try your best not to laugh, uncrossing and recrossing your legs purposefully. “I suppose you can call me Y/N, then.”

He makes no attempt to hide his lurid gaze, but his eyes travel to your face and he smiles. “Can I call you beautiful, instead?”

“Very smooth, Joonie,” you chuckle, breaking character for a moment.

“Joonie. Hmm. I like the way that sounds in your mouth.”

“I think there’s something else you’d like in my mouth. Maybe you’d like to put it in?”

Namjoon straightens in his seat as you approach, chest heaving in anticipation as he spreads his legs further so you might slot yourself between them. He dips his tongue into your mouth and you work his belt off, slowly sinking to your knees as you try to will yourself to break away from his kiss. He’s eager to unzip his pants and free his cock for you. It stands at attention, eagerly awaiting your touch.

Your breath warms the tip as you skim your lips across him, teasing him just enough to have him twitching, aching to thrust into that pretty mouth. He bites his lip as he looks down at you and inhales sharply through his nose the moment you grip his shaft. The moan that follows is like music to your ears and you grant him the flat of your tongue to reward such a sound.

He combs his fingers through his hair and clutches your shoulder as you take him into your mouth. The dark swollen head of his shaft is thick enough to make your jaw ache, but the sound of him cursing and losing all sense of coherence makes it worth it. As he sinks further into your mouth, he tilts his head back and squeezes his eyes shut in ecstasy.

You take him as deep as you can, allowing your spit to coat his cock. He likes it when it’s sloppy, when you’re drooling over yourself while he fills your mouth and you’re more than happy to oblige. Your eyes water as he flirts with the back of your throat with a soft, shallow thrust. When you choke his head snaps up to focus on you but you wave his concerned look away and grip his shaft tightly.

A thin string of precum and spit still connects your mouth to him as you lean back for just a second to compose yourself.

“Hope you don’t have any other meetings planned.”

“Why’s that?” His palm gently cups the back of your head, waiting for the moment you’re ready to take him again.

“I’m gonna make a mess of you.”

“Good.”

You meet his eyes and gather as much spit in your mouth as you can, allowing it to dribble down his cock before pumping your fist over him. He doesn’t have time to guide your head back down because you’re already on him again, working him over with your hand any place the warmth of your mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out an expletive and buries a hand in your hair, taking in the sight of your perfect mouth offering the bliss he craves. “You take me so well.”

You bob on his cock until he snakes his fingers down to undo the first button of your blouse, granting him access to a sliver of cleavage. He’s eager to see more of you, to feel more of you. Even after months of being with you, it doesn’t take much to tip him over the edge. He won’t last much longer if you keep going, but he’ll be damned if he blows his load in your mouth before even getting an opportunity to touch you.

“I wanna feel you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to coax you away from his cock and back to his lips.

The moment you press your lips against his he reaches for your waist to help you stand. He’s about to follow suit when you surprise him, straddling his lap and grasping at his tie to pull him towards your chest. His cock throbs as it grinds against the slick barrier of your soaked panties, begging for entrance as he buries his face in the splendor of your cleavage. A roll of your hips tempts him to push your panties aside and plunge into you like this. His fingers work as quickly as they can to pop open a few more buttons before slipping down to grip the meat of your ass.

“Fuck me,” you plead, grinding yourself down.

His arms tense and before you can entice him further he stands with a grunt, hoisting you onto the desk. You barely have time to react as he yanks your panties down and plunges a finger into your dripping cunt. Planting an arm behind you and keeping the other clasped around the back of his neck, you weakly attempt to keep yourself somewhat upright.

“How about you make a mess for me instead,” he whispers, leaving your cunt in favor of rubbing quick circles against your clit. “And then I’ll fill you up. Walk you out of here past everyone so they can see my cum dripping from your thighs. Everyone will know what a filthy slut you are for me, won’t they, beautiful?”

The way your muscles tense up nearly gives you a cramp. You bite your lip and nod with a pathetic fucked out grin as he fucks his fingers into your cunt, continuing to rub against your clit. Your elbow wobbles and you frantically grasp at his shirt instead, balling the material into your fist, desperate to undo the buttons but too close to nirvana to remember how to perform such a simple task. Your legs shake against the surface of the desk, and while the steady rhythm of his finger against your clit is heavenly, you’re ready to cry when his fingers leave your hole empty and aching to be filled.

“Joon, please.”

As soon as the desperate plea leaves your mouth, the tip of his cock teases your entrance, providing small, shallow thrusts that send you soaring past the threshold of your release. He can’t help but smile against your kiss as you drag his bottom lip through your teeth and melt into his form. Your walls spasm wildly around him and he gradually lets the pressure off your clit, instead increasing the pace and depth of his thrusts. He fucks you through the shockwaves of pleasure that follow your orgasm, stilling only when your eyelids stop fluttering and you’re able to meet his gaze with a fatigued satisfaction.

“Why’d you stop?” you wonder, lazily opening the buttons on his shirt. Pert brown nipples poke out from beneath the soft fabric, with the silky tie still swaying between them.

He watches you with a smile for a moment before pursuing the last few buttons of your blouse. Quickly working it off your shoulders, you give him the opportunity to reach for the clasp of your bra. It doesn’t take long for him to sweep you into a deep kiss, entranced by the way your skin feels against him while he’s still buried inside of you.

“Bend over this desk for me, baby. Show me that sexy ass.”

You whimper at the loss of his cock but do as he asks, knowing you’ll soon be full again. He lifts your skirt, takes both cheeks in his hands and squeezes before giving one side a slap. The moan that escapes you is embarrassing and it spurs him to repeat the action.

“Fuck,” he whispers, finally allowing his cock to press against cunt once more. “So fucking wet.”

Your own juices coat the expanse of your thighs, slowly trailing down them. Without warning he slams into you hard and fast. Wet slapping sounds fill the room as he holds your hips, driving them back to meet his thrusts.

“So fucking tight.”

You grip the opposing edge of the desk and moan. “You’re so deep, baby.”

“Fuck...” The word is exhaled through a shaky breath.

“So deep you could read me poetry,” you whisper, unable to stop the joke even though you know he’s on the cusp of cumming.

He huffs out a strained puff of air as he tries his hardest not to laugh. He gives in to the laughter after you begin to giggle. Unable to save himself, he leans into the joke that threatens to ruin his orgasm. “You’re my person. You’re my desire. You’re my pride...”

His thrusts are sloppy, his legs tense. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s not mad. It must be your own grin that is contagious because he’s smiling even though he’s shaking his head at you.

“You’re my love. One and only love,” you recite for him, reaching back for his hand and pushing your hips back into him with force.

His grip on your hip tightens and he squeezes your hand. He slams into you a final time with a moan, ensuring he’s as deep as he can be before filling you with his seed. The pleasure amplifies every time you try to wiggle back for some sort of movement and he moves his hand to your ass, digging his fingernails in like it will keep him grounded. He leans over your form, kissing any bit of skin on your back his lips can reach.

Regardless of the sensitivity he keeps himself buried in you, hoping by some miracle he’ll stay hard enough to fuck you a second time. He can’t tell what’s his mess and what’s yours anymore as it drips down his balls to his thighs. As he finally slips out, you turn to face him with a sweet smile on your lips.

Your fingers glide through his hair and trail down to cradle his cheek. “I love you.”

Namjoon leans into your touch, pressing his lips to the inside of your palm. “I love you too.”

Maybe it’s the endorphins, but he can’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable and happy with another person, someone he can be so unapologetically himself with. He’s completely certain that he’s bound to you by fate. The love you share is destiny, a gift from the universe he never intends to take for granted.

No matter what the future holds, he knows he wants you by his side through it all: his one and only love.

#moonchildnetwork #smutcentralnet #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #bts fic #bts smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts x reader

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