#-or soothing them through naturally gross human experiences and things. Like holding their hair out their face-

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

(I put my whole thingy in the tags and I don’t entirely know what to tag it with so I just want to put it here a warning for people with emetophobia or people that are easily upset by that area of sickness, I don't go into detail but have mentioning of like the topic of throw up or food poisoning stuff).

Pick an F/O!

[wincore]

hiii moonnn !! for the kiss prompt , may I request johnny pls 🥺 place: under the stars & love as the reason ! tysm this is an honour bc u’re one of my fave nct writers 😙💖

thank u darling for enjoying my writing!!

theme: boyfriend!au, demigod!au (greek mythology)

“So…are you gonna tell me why you brought me up here or…?”

“Do I need a reason?” Johnny grins at you, chin resting on his forearms atop the roof of his car.

“I can’t help but think you’re up to something,“ you state, narrowing your eyes at him from the other side. 

Johnny lets out a short chuckle before closing the door of the car and motioning for you to follow. When your boyfriend said he’s taking you on an adventure, you quite literally had no clue what to expect. Everything’s an adventure to the man—even if it’s just going out at 3 a.m. to get hot ramen from the convenience store right beside your apartment. You didn’t think it’d be an hour drive, dozing off on Johnny’s shoulder by the time you reached.

You take two steps after him before you gasp.

“Don’t tell me we’re meeting your dad!” 

The blood drains from your face at the idea. A God among Gods—you wish that were an understatement—is unlikely to meet mere human beings on a whim, lesser beings as one of the other demigod children had labeled bitterly. He’s a God, feared and admired since times of war and prayers. So what gives you, a mortal, enough confidence to face someone as divine, as powerful? It makes you uneasy.

You shake out of your trance to find Johnny laughing, doubled over.

“We’re not really meeting him but- you’re that scared of my dad?” he says, calming down from his fit. “Even I’m not that terrified of him, babe.”

“Shut up,” you say, cheeks coloring. “It’s not exactly everyday I meet someone who can smite me out of existence.”

“Relax! He’s pretty easy-going,” your boyfriend reassures you, taking hold of your hand. “Besides, he likes hanging out at the beach. And he’s got, like, a bajillion other kids to worry about.”

You rub your thumb over his knuckles, a sigh leaving your lips.

“He can’t be that bad,” you mumble, feeling somewhat sorry.

“Oh,” Johnny says with a dismissive tone, “Pretty sure he’s won worst dad of the year several times, actually. Only beaten by Zeus himself.”

You want to laugh but you stiffen. 

“Are you allowed to say his name like that?!” You lower your voice, eyes shifting around nervously.

“If Zeus could hear everyone saying his name, he’d be, uh, hearing some delicate words pretty often.” Johnny shrugs. “And then we’d have more thunderstorms.“ 

You laugh, easing, Johnny’s eyes lighting up at the sound. They always make you feel warm in the chest, with how pretty those almond eyes are. He tugs at your hand, and you follow him up a beaten road before diverging into a less visible track.

It’s a long walk uphill, however, and Johnny has it easy when his legs are so fucking long. The wind gets chilly and you cling onto Johnny’s hand for a little piece of warmth. A break would be nice. You stop halfway through, swearing at your boyfriend for choosing such a godforsaken place but continue nonetheless when he frowns, a look in his eyes you don’t want to upset. 

Johnny doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time. He’s been this way since you started dating, perhaps even before—a little protective with the need to feel your touch at all times. It’s understandable and you found it endearing despite how often he refuses to let go. (And his strength and stature make it next to impossible to break free.)

It wasn’t hard to tell there was something off about your boyfriend; maybe not the first or second time you met him, but eventually, it was clear. You met in university after all, and it’s not the full uni experience unless all your secrets are laid bare by the end of first year. 

Johnny was a natural people person, everyone drawn to him like he was made of honey, of things so sweet. But there was something about him, oh it nagged you day and night, a silvery whisper. The way he spoke, the way he smiled—there was a quiet difference you just couldn’t put your finger on. He’s aced every athletics club entrance test for fun, a little awkward at reading his text material and always hanging around the swimming pool for too long—gosh, were the number of people ogling him extraordinarily high then. There were so many hints and you’d missed all of them. 

You’ve met demigods before, just not one like this. Johnny was almost unworldly were it not for his habit of making everyone feel at ease. It took you a while to figure out.

Son of Poseidon, gentle eyes and sun-crinkles—how could you miss it? The way he smells of golden amber and sea musk, calloused hands and deep eyes, just all of him, really. It was hard to not find him attractive. But it was harder to answer if that was all. 

The place gets closer—you know because you can see a soft smile forming on Johnny’s face. You quicken your pace to match his footsteps, curiosity peaking as you notice your boyfriend get giddier.

The water glows a gentle blue, in contrast with the darker shade of its surroundings. They reflect the stars, their shine not dulled through the distance and a certain twinkling you haven’t seen in them in quite a while. Water lilies bloom bright, small frogs jumping in and out of the water. There might be some fish too but they’re elusive, invisible if you try too hard to spot them. 

It’s a clear sky tonight. You sigh at the warmth, quite possibly a result of the habitation around here but you’re glad it soothes the cool air. (”You like this kind of thing, don’t you?” “Hm, yeah.”)

“You will not believe how I had to impress the Naiads to find this place,“ Johnny tells you, walking closer to the spring to stand beside you.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, the implication of his words not quite what you expected. “Impress, huh?”

“No- babe, that’s not- I mean, of course not,“ Johnny looks at you with mock hurt.

“Naiads do love a son of Poseidon,“ you mumble, turning away to face the waters. 

Johnny wraps his arms around you, resting his chin atop your head. “Oh, but this son of Poseidon only loves you.”

“Johnny, that’s cheesy,” you say looking down, the heat quite rushed to your cheeks. You want to call him an idiot but the word falls short.

“But you’re enjoying it,” he hums.

“I enjoy everything about you.”

You feel Johnny shake with soft laughter, swaying gently at his own pace. You don’t know when you started to see Johnny in most everything—in the new dog cafes, in midnight city rains, in children playing volleyball. Call it love, call it more.

You turn around. “I—”

Johnny presses his mouth against yours in a kiss that makes you melt and you clutch the fabric of his hoodie for support. His arms wind around your waist, secure as always and he hums when you push against him. 

“Baby’s getting bolder, hm?” he murmurs between kisses with a laugh. You respond with a weak sound.

You remember the first time you kissed him, not quite sober and he had pushed you away only to spend the night with you. The whiskey still burns on your tongue sometimes. 

You don’t need to see fireworks when you kiss, just taste the late night coffee and a bit of Johnny. 

A son of a God and his lips, tongue, fingers, love—the texts and scribes were nothing close to describing it perfectly. You forget the words you meant to tell him.

But you don’t have to say ‘I love you’; it’s there in your mouth and he can taste it.

//

“No, I don’t wanna listen to the minotaur story again!” Johnny shakes you by the shoulders. “It’s literally the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“But why? I think it’s funny—”

“Yeah, Dad’s very creative but…gross.”

You laugh at his disgust, nose wrinkled and a mild shaking of his head. 

“Tell me another story,” he says, leaning in, “Something more…romantic.”

You breathe out quickly at the sudden proximity, heart in your throat. His smile grows and you resist the urge to huff at him. He’s unbearable when he knows he’s under your skin. Gods, it was harder to admit you fell in love with him than it was to find out his heritage.

You reach out and move the hair out of his face, marveling at how he manages to keep it soft when he used to be a sweaty college student pretty often. Memories are funny in a way, they keep you so closely tied. There’s an embarrassing amount of pictures of him on your phone, the ones he sent from the dorms, from his new job, sometimes family photos during holidays. It gets busy a lot, but sometimes, just sometimes, it’s like this. 

You wonder if Gods get to have happy endings. You wonder if there’s more to the constellations they made.

“Hello?” Johnny pretends to knock on your forehead.

“Something more romantic, hm? Okay,” you say and he goes back to laying his head on your lap, twirling the water in wisps around his fingers to spell random words. You bend to press a kiss to his forehead, a surprised smile wavering onto his face as the water splashes beside you.

“Baby, you might want to have aimed lower.” Johnny winks at you.

“You’re so annoying. I’m in love with you.”

[meat-husband]

Michael Myers - Alphabet Ask Meme

I’m hoping to start doing requests on this blog, so I thought I would start up with the alphabet ask memes as a sort of intro! I figure all the letters get asked eventually, so I’m just doing all of them in one go. There will be one of these posted for each character I’m writing.

I have a page with what and who I write for here.

Both the NSFW and fluff alphabet asks are under the cut!

NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

If you're lucky, he'll fall asleep and allow you to stay next to him. In this case, you can get away with pressing into his side or hugging his arm, but don't expect the cuddles to be returned. Otherwise, he's probably halfway out the door and planning his next murder before you know what's happened.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

There’s nothing in particular that stands out about himself in his opinion. But if he had to pick something, his hands are probably the most useful - people aren’t going to stab themselves, you know.

Michael likes your eyes, so easy to see your fear and panic and lust. He’s always liked being able to read someone so easily when they can’t do the same to him.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He likes leaving you messy. He’ll dig his fingers into you afterwards and smear his cum into your skin, then have you lick his fingers clean.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There’s a lot you don’t know about him. Not even because he doesn’t want you to or hides it, but simply because he either won’t or can’t communicate it. He doesn’t much care if you happen to see him do something, you knowing doesn’t matter. The only secrets he has are the ones you haven’t stumbled across yet.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s peeked through enough windows to get the gist of it, but it’s not too much help during the real thing. Mostly he’ll rely on instinct and what he’s seen others do, but he’ll sometimes listen when you try and show him.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He prefers to have you trapped against something, limiting your movement without binding you. It keeps you controlled with less effort and unable to get away from him, not that you could anyways.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He’s not completely blank faced under the mask, but you aren’t likely to see it. Even then he’s still very much on the ‘serious’ side of things. He doesn’t care if you’re amused or laughing or feeling soft, but it’s not something he would show if he did feel it it doesn’t count if he smiles cause you can’t see it.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He’ll sometimes shower when he comes around and if you’re lucky it’ll be before any sexytimes. He’s not usually filthy, but human blood is sort of gross no matter the amount. You’re still trying to convince him to let you wash his clothes but so far it’s a losing battle.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

There’s zero romance in this man, probably in the negative actually. You’re not gonna get any secret signs of affection or special gifts. The fact that he doesn’t murder you is about as intimate as he gets, and even then it’s a slippery slope.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

It’s pretty rare for Michael to take care of himself, he has enough patience to wait out anything, even himself. If you don’t come to him first, then he’ll get around to tracking you down eventually.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He’s up for almost anything, probably has the least hard no’s out of everyone. He doesn’t keep a favorite for long, there’s so much to try and he’s got to make up for all that time being locked up.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

It’s honestly wherever he happens to be when the mood strikes, or really wherever you happen to be. Inside, outside, public or not isn’t going to stop or inconvenience him. If you don’t want the whole town finding out you’re banging the boogeyman then it’s on you to keep quiet and not draw attention.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You’re not really sure yourself. It’s hard to imagine what he’s thinking most of the time and so you can’t say what it is that sets him off when he does approach you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Absolutely would not agree to being bound in a way he couldn’t escape from. If you wanna tie him up that’s fine, he’ll just snap the bindings when he feels like it, but anything he can’t get out of when he wants isn’t going to happen.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Not a big fan of giving. He will, but only when the mood strikes him and that’s not terribly often. Maybe it’s just his preference or maybe he doesn’t like removing the mask for it, but no amount of begging will change his mind.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends if he’s trying to annoy you or not. His preference is always rough, usually fast, but if that’s what you’re craving he’ll slow it down just to get you frustrated. If he’s not doing something to pester you then he’s not having a good time.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies work better with his routine, which for a guy that has no job other than murder is pretty booked apparently, but you’ll need the breaks between full blown sessions anyways.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

You’re gonna lose track of how many times you’ve been suddenly pulled into the bushes or someone’s backyard. It doesn’t matter who’s around to hear either - he’s always quiet, if you can’t shut up then that’s your fault.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He’s pretty average, maybe 2 rounds in a row. But he’s the undisputed king of edging, so that one round is going to last half the day.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

I think he would definitely use things if you offered them, but do you really want to give him that kind of power? Introducing him to new things is dangerous on its own, let alone things that may or may not go inside you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can drag shit out for daaayys. All he’s gotta do is let you get yourself worked up, sit passively until you’re shaking in his lap, contributing nothing more than light touches - then just get up and leave. When he does come back, you’re impatient and needy and stupid enough to get back into his lap and let the whole thing happen again, until he’s decided the game is over.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Quiet enough to unsettle you, make you wonder if he’s even feeling anything. Heavy breathing is about all you’ll get, but it makes you wonder if he would be any more expressive without the mask (he’s barely holding in those moans under there but you don’t know that).

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

The mask is actually super uncomfortable and hot and humid but goddammit he’s got a reputation to uphold.  

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It’s hard to say. Most of the time, you will have to be the one to start something, and he tends to go along with it. If Michael is the one taking action, it’s going to seem sudden and out of nowhere from your perspective - meanwhile he’s spent two days hiding around corners, watching you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not very easily, or often. It’s practically unheard of for Michael to fall asleep without a few hours of tossing and turning. Being put to sleep for 20 some years via tranquilizer has sorta fucked up his body’s ability to do that naturally. There’s not much to do for it other than wait it out - you might be inclined to try soothing him to sleep, but that’s just gonna piss him off and make him leave to wander around the house, or the streets. Best course of action is to pass out yourself, and there’s a 50/50 chance he may have done the same by the time you wake up.

Fluff Alphabet

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

You’re interesting, for the moment. He’s missed out on a lot of experiences in his life and you being the one to introduce him to all these new things keeps you interesting. Your affection for him is something strange to him and he enjoys testing its boundaries.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

There are many reasons this is not a good idea. Even if we’re not including the brother/sister dynamic from the sequels, he still has a history of killing family. If you happen to get pregnant accidentally, it’s 50/50 if he’d let either of you live, and at best he’s just gonna disappear.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Cuddling is a single player game with him. He might tolerate you climbing all over him but he’s not going to reciprocate. You carefully ignore those rare mornings when he’s managed to fall asleep next to you and you wake up with him snoring into your hair, legs tangled with yours.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Sometimes he will sit next to you while you watch a movie. Better chances the bloodier the movie is. If you’re really, really lucky, he’ll eat in the same room with you.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…)

You are his. He might not be around all the time, but this is still an ‘ownership’ before it’s a ‘relationship’. There aren’t many rules to it, he’s content to let you do what you want for the most part, but he’s ruthless about enforcing the few he does have. 

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Love might be too strong a word. He likes you enough to not want to kill you, however that happened. He also doesn’t want anyone else to harm you, so he likes you enough to protect you as well. He certainly doesn’t want anyone else touching you. He knew all of this pretty quickly, otherwise you’d have ended up dead once you attracted his attention.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Sometimes he’s not rough, but that’s not the same as gentle. He’s not used to casual touch so he’s a little more uncertain about movements that aren’t made with the intent to kill. He is overly cautious rather than gentle, unsure about how it’s supposed to feel.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Michael will let you hold his and depending on what you’re doing (talking, watching tv, reading) he may tighten his grip in response but he’s not holding your hand. That’s totally not what's happening here.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

There was an unlocked door and Michael was interested, that’s what always draws him towards a person or place. He liked the fight you put up, the fear and panic, but really it was more his amusement that saved you - you’re the clumsiest person he’s ever chased. 

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

You’ve found some of your favorite books shredded on the floor and have a sneaking suspicion he may resent the time you spent pouring over that new release. Besides the obvious knife holes, he’s careful to leave the remains scattered all over where you can’t miss them.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You’ll be smooching the mask for a long time before you get the real thing. It’s not as terrible as you thought, but he makes no effort to return the kiss from under the mask. Real kisses are few and far between, and handed out only when he feels like it. Even when he gets comfortable enough to not wear it to bed, the face is still off limits.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

You’ve tried to get it out of him, but so far nothing has worked (“If you love me don’t say anything.” “...” “Got you!”). He’ll huff when you say it, so you’re always sure to lay it on real thick and sappy, just to get on his nerves.

M = Memory (What’s their favorite memory together?)

When Michael has a favorite memory he likes to relive them. Unfortunately for you, he’s rather fond of your first meeting with him and it had been a frantic jumble, running through your house while a manic with a knife followed. You know what he’s up to when he comes towards you with a determined step and a raised knife, but it’s still terrifying (and that’s why he likes it tbh).

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

He brings things home, but not ever anything useful. Usually it’s sharp objects, you’ve got quite the collection of random knives now. He does at least leave them in the sink, so you wake up early to remove old blood and scrub your kitchen down before breakfast. He doesn’t reuse them either, so you either keep a handful of incriminating murder weapons or try to discreetly dispose of incriminating murder weapons.

O = Orange (What color reminds them of their other half?)

Blacks and blues and yellows, the colors of new and old bruises he’s left to mark you. It’s not just because he enjoys seeing his handprints burned into you (but that too), but reminders that he’s coming back and you’ve got promises to keep.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

He really, really hates them. It’s an easy way to get under his skin if he’s getting a little too smug about something. He’ll tolerate being called Mikey, but anything else is only going to make him grumpy. Generic ones like honey and sweetheart are bad, but if you rhyme his name to make one he will straight up leave.

Q = Quaint (What is their favorite non-modern thing?)

Well, I guess knives aren’t exactly modern and they’re probably what he’s best known for. He’s interested in new things, but doesn’t keep that interest once he’s had a look, so there isn’t much that he keeps around.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

If he’s got someone he wants to kill, then rain isn't stopping him. Most likely he’s simply peeking in windows though, with everyone inside it’s easier to find an occupied house and less likely that someone will notice him.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

You can never tell when he’s upset until he snaps. It will usually happen when you’re gone and you’ll come home to a wrecked house, broken furniture and torn clothes, ominous red stains in the bathroom. He’ll stay away for days, sometimes longer, and there’s no way of telling what set him off.

Michael’s not great at comforting others, that should be pretty obvious. He’ll avoid you until the crying or moping is over but if it’s something he can’t get around all he can really do is be nearby. Having a breakdown while a serial killer looms in the corner of your bathroom is odd enough to shake you out of it actually, so it’s helpful in a weird way.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

He’ll listen to you and you can usually tell by his body language what he thinks of something, but it’s really a guessing game. You’re never sure if you’re right and sometimes you must read him wrong, but it’s never frustrating unless he’s trying to be.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Sleep is the best way to put him in a good mood, but unfortunately it doesn’t happen very easily for him. If you’re asleep next to him he may happen to scoot closer and throw an arm over you, but that doesn’t count as snuggling because he doesn’t snuggle, you know. It’s second best to actually being asleep himself.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Michael can be so quiet that you’ve gone days without realizing he’s in the house with you. Sneaking up on you is a common occurrence and it’s always when you’re holding something breakable. He doesn’t jump out at you, but turning around to find him 2 feet away is a little concerning when you’re not expecting it. Sometimes you’ll be trying to sleep and only know he’s there when you hear someone else breathing.

W = Wedding (When, how?)

He’ll take jokes about it just fine, but bringing it up in a serious way would just push him away. You’re not going to get any sort of acknowledgement of affection out of him, let alone a big party dedicated to it.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

You haven’t noticed that he seems to prefer anything in particular, but it’s safe to say that a wide variety of spooky Halloween songs have made it into all of your playlists. You can’t tell, but you really hope it annoys him.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

He doesn’t think of it at all. He’s living in your house and not killing you, that’s as committed as he gets. Not to say he doesn’t consider this a serious relationship in his own way, cause there’s not many ways out of it that end well for you.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Please don’t.

[pinche-vida]

Stars in Your Eyes, Death at your Throat [part 5]

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The world is as disorienting as it has been the last few dozen times he has come to when Lance wakes up in a cold sweat. His muscles tense against the-

Sheets?

He moves the sheets that are comfortably draped over with his (free!) arm and recognizes that for the first time since this hellish turn of events, he's laying down in something reminiscent of a bed instead of strapped to a cold examiner's table.

Something (someone?) tuts and kneels beside his bed to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Lance opens his eyes and his vision is swimming. He forces it to focus on the person next to him.

Blurry blue lines fall into focus.

It's the general that attacked him.

There’s so much anger, so much fear coursing through his veins, Lance can’t tell if his blood is boiling or freezing. This monster attacked him in his sleep, kidnapped him, took him away from his family. They're the reason why he's been tortured for God knows how long.

The general rolls her eyes and grumbles “This is such glorp, why did I get stuck kit watching.” She tries not to complain out loud too much. Lotor had trusted her to keep an eye on his Altean prisoner - why Lotor had said it had to be done in one of his guest quarters was beyond her, but if he instructed her to do something, it had to have been for a good reason. She glances at Lance who's seething and she can see the bloodlust in his eyes. Unimpressed, she lightly press his shoulders to the bed. “Calm your little heart, Altean. You're safe.” She leaned back in her chair before adding, “for now, anyway.”

Lance's anger is far from gone, but the way she said that so factually is… confusing to say the least. “What are you talking about? I'm not Altean, I'm human!”

“Right," she mocks with a slow nod, "and my mother was a Balmeran.” She rolls her eyes, reaches blindly backwards, and grabs a hand mirror from a dresser behind her. She hands it to Lance who warily takes it to looks at his reflection.

He gasps. His fingers shake their way to his cheekbones, both marked with a swooping teal scale. They inch to his ears, now elongated and pointed, then to his hair (while still flawless) is completely silver. He finds himself staring into his eyes, which are still his beautiful ocean blue, but now have a lavender diamond shaped outline around his pupil.

He looks like Allura.

He looks Altean.

Even the most plausible reasoning he can think of leaves him sick to his stomach. Lance feels like his heart is beating so fast, it's going to shatter through his chest. He throws the mirror across the room as if it burned his hand and it bounces to the floor with a resounding crack.

The general uncrosses her legs and raises an eyebrow.  Whatever reaction she had expected, this clearly was not it. “H-hey,” she half-heartedly reaches out to him.

Lance pays no mind to her actions. Instead, he curls in on himself. He grabs fists full of his hair and tugs on it. “What- What did you do to me?” He repeats it, over and over again, “What did you do to me!” He screams. He tries to pull on his hair and his ears. He scratches at the marks on his cheekbones, hoping, praying it'll come off as a sick joke. It does nothing but send sharp, shooting pain across his face, but maybe he's not trying hard enough. Maybe if he sucks up the pain, he can scratch it off and look human again. Be Human again.

“What are you- are you crazy?!” The general leaps across his bed and grabs his wrists. Lance screeches for her to get off and feels terror creeping in his bones. He thinks of his mama y papa. His hermanitos, all waiting for him to come back safe and sound. He always knew how to explain a scar or even a missing limb, it's war, that's what happens in war. But this? He's not human anymore, he doesn't belong anymore. To the one place he's called home, to his family, to Voltron, to anywhere.

The tall pink general appears from the upper corner of the wall and rushes to crawl down next to him. “I got the straps Axca! It's okay little guy, it's gonna be alright!” She tries to soothe him as she restrains him, which Lance thinks would be hilarious if they hadn't just taken everything away from him.

Lance feels his wrists locks down to both sides of the bed, but still tries in vain to wrestle out of them. A few more attempts and he's reduced to erratic panting.

Axca sits back down in her seat to the right of Lance, where as the pink general has pulled up a seat to the left of him. “You could have come in a bit sooner, Ezor.”

The pink general, Ezor, sheepishly smiles, “Sorry! I thought you had it under control.”

His body is heavy with weariness and denial. Lance takes this moment to try to calm his breath and look around. While the two generals are watching him closely, he sees that the room he's in is more of a bedroom then a surgeon’s room or an interrogation area. It's painted and furnished with dark red and brown accents. Colors he frankly wasn't aware the Galra were knew existed outside of bodily fluids. The bed he's in is comfortable, plush, even. The bedroom is a decent size, it would be easy to fit in 7, maybe 8 people.

Axca clears her throat. He glares at her and see how uncomfortable she is, her eyes darting around the room. “For what it's worth, I… I’m sorry for attacking you as you slept. Prince Lotor wouldn't have sanctioned such a dishonorable or reckless abduction, but the mission came from above him.” If she thinks he’s acknowledging her half-ass apology, she was sorely mistaken. He didn't know what she expected from him; A smile? A 'no probs, I hated being human anyway, this is so much better’?

Ezor puts a hand on his bed and pats it softly, causing him to direct his attention her way. “Don't worry, buddy. If anyone can figure out what's going on, it's Prince Lotor!”

Axca hissed Ezor’s name out and gave her a pointed look.

The doors swish open and bring both generals to their feet.

Prince Lotor enters with his hand neatly tucked behind his back and stopping at the foot of Lance's bed.

“Hello Paladin, how are you feeling?”

Lance stares at the Galran Prince. “Are you serious?" He scoffs. "You kidnap me, torture me, shove your fucking hand in my gut, turn me into an Altean, and you ask me how I'm feeling? Go quiznak yourself!”

Axca visibly bristles and seethes out “How dare you speak t-”. Lotor places a disarming hand on her shoulder.

“Now, now, Axca.” He shakes his head as if teaching her how to care for a child, “Almost everything he said is true, he has a right to be upset.” Lotor turns back to Lance, “But I did not 'turn’ you into anything. You were and have always been an Altean. Judging by your hair and eyes, I would say probably more than that.”

“Bullshit,” Lance spits out, “Altean’s haven't existed in 10,000 years.”

Lotor leans his head to the side, contemplating his words. “Not… quite. While Altea was certainly destroyed approximately 10,000 deca-phebes ago, not all Altean's were lost. There were Altean's living outside of Altea, there were Altean's in orbit around the Galaxy. Our Druids are almost exclusively Altean. I, myself, am half Altean. Even your dear Princess managed to live.” Lotor sits at the base of Lance's bed, slowly removing the straps his generals fastened. “Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury to piece together how you came to be where you spent most of your time or how you didn't age. We cannot keep you here for long. In healing and studying your body, your human camouflage fell, revealing your Altean nature. Once the Druids saw you, they refused to touch you any further. Word of this inevitably reached the Witch and when she saw you with her own eyes she ran to inform my father. Unsurprisingly, she left his chamber's shortly after, arriving with the decree for your execution.”

Lance felt his heart skip a beat. “Whu… what? Execution? You just said that Alteans are still around! Why does that mean I get executed?”

“It’s to be expected.” Lotor simply states. “The Galra empire still harbor animosity to the Altean's Kingdom for ordering the destruction of Daibazaal. If we had Princess Allura in our possession, the order would be the same.”

After all the pain and suffering he’s felt over since being taken, Lance is ashamed to feel tears prick the corners of his eyes, “But I'm not Princess Allura!”

Sentry drones enter the room and Lance sees all three half-Galrans tense up.

“The High Priestess demands the prisoner is brought to his holding cell.” One of the drones vocalizes.

The sentries approach his bed and Lotor stands up. “No,” he concedes, “but you are Royalty.” They make their way to the door and leave with a final message. “Believe it or not, My father and I have different ideas, I'll do what I can for you. From one prince to another.” He pauses, at the door’s threshold. “I would not be surprised if your team is able to access our communication channel for the event - you may wish to use that time to make your peace.”

The sentries roughly grab Lance out of the bed and drag him to the hall in the opposite direction of the Prince.

They throw him into a small cell in what must be their holding cells and slam the door behind him. The floor is cold and damp, but Lance can’t bring himself to stand or even sit. So many thoughts were bombarding his mind, that it all just felt like a storm was pushing and pulling him in every direction.

Lance has always prided himself in having good judge of character and being able to read people - it’s what allowed him to be as social as he was.

And as much as he wanted to deny it, or chalk it up to some crazy Galra experiment, he could tell Lotor wasn’t lying.

Altean and a Prince.

Even he can put two and two together.

If he wasn’t about to die, he’d be more than a little grossed out with how much he hit on his (older? younger?) sister, but that’s probably the wrong thing to focus on right now.

There’s also no real point to wonder why the same guy that spent the last whatever pheobs torturing him would even bother being so nice to him all of a sudden, even though it’s clear what his brief appear meant. Lotor didn’t specify when the execution was, but if he went so far out of his way to get Lance that comfy room, it must be right around the corner. Lance crawls to the bench/bed of the left side of the room and uses it to pull himself up.

He sighs.

His hope has just about depleted, but there’s no time to resign to it. If they’re going to make a show of his death, he need to prepare himself.

The bench is bumpy, hard and unforgiving, and exactly what he needs to focus. Lance thinks back to when Allura shapeshifted to look like a Galra. He doubts he could get that good in such a short amount of time, but at the very least…

He grabs a lock of silver hair dangling over the end of his brow. He focuses (on what, he’s not exactly sure), until there is the tiniest sensation tugging up his spine to the base of his neck. Pushing, harder to channel that feeling, he smiles - a genuine smile, when he sees the bit of hair wash over in the comforting brown hue he’s used to seeing.

It wasn’t a lot, but in time like these, any victory is a good victory.

Lance sighs, and nods to himself.

They can kill him all they’d like, he’s going to make sure he can’t die.

(That's a good line, he's definitely going to use that.)

[sehunpeachy]

cardiac arrest (m) | pt. 2

gif by @chimchams

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 (coming soon)

⇒pairing: taehyung x reader (ft. hoseok)

⇒genre: doctor! au | angst, fluff, descriptive smut

⇒length: 9k

⇒summary: you’ve always thought the only thing you’ve ever wanted was to become a doctor, but then you meet him.

a/n: yeesh this took a while, but the second chapter is finally out! i’ll most likely start a new project before i start the final chapter, so pls look forward to both! also, a forcep is one of those grabby thingys, in case you didn’t know ;)

“How’s the patient doing?”

“Breathing,” you respond, not looking up as the nurse closed the doors behind her. Your eyes scanned the array of instruments on the tray and you pick up the second smallest forcep.

“Something more, doctor?” The nurse asks, giving you a side eye.

“Alive,” you snap, walking up to to the patient, forcep in hand.

“Doctor,” the nurse mutters, following you. “Don’t get nervous now.”

“The damaged valve was removed,” you respond, sighing in the process. “Sorry,” and you mean it.

She gives you a reassuring smile before pulling up her mask and readjusting the patient’s head on the rest. “Let’s do this.”

You nod, pulling at your gloves as a nervous habit. The patient’s sternum is exposed already, heart momentarily ceasing to beat in the hollow space of the body and skin held apart with metal contraptions.

None of it grossed you out, you already have two decades of experience with blood and gore and guts up close. What scared you was the God complex that was thrust upon you every time you were in front of these bright lights and in this uniform. No amount of dissected frogs and years of university can ever fully prepare you for that.

You fidget with your mask before approaching the patient. Their face was covered before you walked in, just as you always request of your nurses. The less of a human connection, the better.

You lean in, nudging the hole in the heart with your gloved finger.

“Everything good?” The nurse asks opposite you. She had been with you long enough to know you had the habit of probing body parts, but not long enough to stop being freaked out by it.

“Perfect,” you say, maybe more to yourself than her. “Valve.”

You hold your hand out, feeling the small and circular piece of metal make contact with your rubber gloves, the cool surface of the material spreading throughout your palm.

You grip the valve with the instrument a little too tightly. “What’s the pressure?”

“Regular,” she answers, her glance catching the machine still plugged into the patient.

You don’t say anything, almost like your breath hitches, as you slowly lower the valve down.

The doors behind you open and only her head snaps towards the direction of sound. You watch her shoulders relax with familiarity out of the corner of your eye because only he could walk into the middle of an life-threatening operation and not get told off.

“Dr. Kim,” she acknowledges, almost a little too giddy for your liking.

“How’s the operation going?” Taehyung asks, his voice and footsteps nearing you. You swallow nervously, momentarily placing your hands away from the body to turn your head to him.

“Almost done,” the nurse answers, but Taehyung’s looking at you.

His head is cocked to the side, allowing his light hair to effortlessly sweep to the side, hands in pocket and shoulders hunched up. He slips on a pair of gloves, sending you a small smile to relax you and you hope he notices you return it through your mask.

His mere presence creates the burn of your cheeks and the fluttering inside your stomach, sparking something within you.

You turn back to the body, placing the mechanical valve into the heart with the ease that could have only been dug up with Taehyung in the room.

“Nicely done, Dr. Y/N,” Taehyung says, his voice sending timid shivers up your spine.

“Thank you, Dr. Kim,” you reply with a light tone, hooking your mask down to reveal your beam directed only towards him.

You’re both gazing at each other before the clearing of a throat brings you back.

“We’re not quite done just yet,” the nurse comments, eyes switching between you and Taehyung erratically.

“Right,” you agree. Taehyung brings you a sense of comfort, but it also takes you away from reality, making the situation so much less serious than it always has been to you, and you’re still not sure if that’s better or worse for your patient. “Stapler?”

“Here,” Taehyung says, arm outstretched with the stapler in hand before the nurse could move.

You realise he had grabbed it before you had even requested it, and you take it from him with a sheepish smile. His fingers brush against yours, just like they always do, making you bounce around to shake the butterflies blooming in your chest because nothing changed with him. He’s still the same boy you fell for five years ago.

Your focus shifts back to the patient, reaching over so you can staple the heart back together. This part’s always easy. No risk.

“Look at those staples,” Taehyung mumbles under his breath and hunching over behind you to look at the patient, making you let out a few muffled giggles. “They’re so perfectly aligned.”

“I’ve actually spent most of my life stapling,” you reply and he lets out a low chuckle.

“You must be an expert then,” he says, close enough to feel his breath hit your neck.

“I even won a contest back in my hometown when I was eight,” you continue with the gag, making him laugh softly.

“A prestigious competition.”

“Of course,” you say as you finish the last staple. The nurse clears her throat again, and you suddenly remember she had been in the room.

“Dr. Kim, can you step out for a moment?” The nurse commands rather than asks. You both turn to look at her dumbfounded. Taehyung hesitates, taking one last look at you before turning his heel away past the doors and out back into the corridors.

You pretend it’s no big deal as you’re back to the operation, preparing to close up the patient’s chest.

“You know, Y/N,” she begins to say, adjusting the machine to loosen its grip on the sliced open skin, “I don’t think having him in here during operations is a good idea.”

Your eyes flick to hers for a second and she’s staring at you, like she’s trying to decipher a riddle written on your face. “What makes you say that?” You ask for after a while, your hands busy and eyes down.

“You two flirt too much,” she simply says and your breath halts for a moment. “But at least he makes you less nervous. Or more, I’m not sure.”

She continues watching you as you work in silence and show no signs of a reaction.

“You’re lucky,” she continues, “he’s a cute one.”

Your eyebrow crooks, still not looking at her. “You interested?”

“After seeing that,” she responds and you already feel a smile creeping, “I’ll leave that department to you.”

You chuckle lowly. Your department. A sense of pride begins to glow in your chest, spreading the warmth throughout your body.

The conversation ends there, letting you finish the successful surgery without any more distractions of cute boys and honey oozing love seeping from your chest.

“Good job today, Y/N,” the nurse says, slipping off her gloves and throwing them into the bin.

“You too,” you huff, hooking your mask down and reaching for a cup of water nearby.

“I’ll take my break now,” she tells you, giving one last wave of her hand before she’s pushing through the doors and back out into the hallways.

You swallow the water down, clearing your throat and soothing it in the process, letting the ambient noise that enters the room from the open doors to sink in.

Suddenly, the doors being opened again, just as they were about to slide shut again. Droplets run down your chin as you pull the cup away from your mouth.

Taehyung walks in and you spring awake, placing the cup down. His hands naturally reach out for your waist as he closes in on you. There’s nobody else in the room now, allowing you to relish in his lips properly.

He pulls away from the kiss to breathe. “We got told off today.”

You giggle. “You were being a distraction.”

“More like you let me be one,” he says, pecking your lips again. Then he’s pulling away until he’s an arm length away, ignoring your pout at the lack of contact. “I have somebody you should meet.”

You immediately furrow your eyebrows, not liking the way his eyes gleam with mischief, harboring a surprise. “Taehyung…” you begin and he chuckles.

“One sec,” he says, holding up a finger and jogging back outside. He returns a few moments later, followed by a woman. “This is Dr. Y/N,” he says to her, gesturing to your still figure.

The woman begins to run to you, her black bob swaying behind her, letting a few strays get caught in her lips. She must be in her early thirties, a young yet matured aura, but her face was lit up like a child and maybe even a bit pink from crying. She wraps her arms around your neck, catching you off guard and making a noise of surprise leave your mouth.

“Thank you!” She squeals into your shoulder and you still don’t know how to react, your hands stationary in the air.

A sinking feeling settles in your insides when you realise what Taehyung had done, catching his eyes from across the room. He stands, arms crossed and a proud grin across his face, not faltering when your stare hardens.

The woman pulls away, gripping your shoulders in her antsy fingers and it forces you to look at her again. “Thank you,” she repeats, now a bit more calmly. You search her face, unable to say anything. “Can I see him?” She asks, turning away from you and to the patient at the bed.

Your answer gets caught in your suddenly dried up throat, still staring at the woman in bewilderment instead of thinking up a response.

“Of course,” Taehyung takes over, walking closer. The woman’s eyes flick to his, and then back to the patient. “He’s still not conscious, yet. But he’s alright.”

Taehyung steps up to the bed, uncovering the piece of fabric over the patient’s face. Your heart jolts as you see the man, around the same age as the woman, dark brown hair pushed back by a large forehead. You never look at the patients for operations unless you absolutely have to.

The woman melts in her place, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair and rest against on his scalp. From your angle, you can see tears roll down her cheeks when she blinks, carrying down black droplets from her smudged mascara with it.

You walk closer to her, offering her a piece of tissue that you gripped a little too tightly. She takes it, muttering a soft ‘thank you’, dabbing it against her face and along her waterline. Watching the scene made your stomach stir uncomfortably and your palms to clamp up.

You weren’t used to this. To narratives. To faces. To families and loved ones. All the patients were to you were systems of pumping veins underneath canvases of skin, a job to complete and then leave when it was all over. Once your mask and gloves were off, the association was done.

But now you were watching this woman, tenderly caressing this man’s face and holding her tears hostage with a tissue, softly weeping as she looked at something she thought for certain she would lose. 

Who was this woman to him? A wife? A girlfriend? A sister? How did she find him? Was she with him when he collapsed, or did somebody else bring him?

You weren’t supposed to think about this. You weren’t supposed to get attached.

You catch Taehyung’s stare, his smile growing twice the size as you did so.

“When will he be awake?” The woman creeks, her voice barely audible.

“By tomorrow,” Taehyung talks for you again, and you’re grateful because you don’t think you can. “Let’s get you back out.”

She nods at his words, leaning down to give a light peck on the man’s forehead and smoothing over his hair again, before pulling the fabric over his face again.

She walks gingerly, clutching onto the tissue and the fabric of her dress close to her. Taehyung crosses to help her, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back and leading her out. He gives you one last smile, one that said he was proud of you, before disappearing out.

You let out an exhale you hadn’t known you’ve been holding, relaxing your hunched up shoulders. You turn back to look at the patient, but it makes your heart sting so you snap away.

Taehyung peeks through the doors, motioning for you to come out, and you do so gladly, unable to stay in the same room anymore.

You’re greeted with the white lights and green undertone of a hospital, your ears finally exposed to some noise. Taehyung wraps his fingers around your wrist, wheeling you in, but not too close in the public eye.

“You did good,” he says, letting go of your wrist before anybody could take notice.

“I didn’t ask for that,” you mutter, crossing your arms in front of your chest and huffing.

Taehyung laughs, reaching out to uncross them and placing his hands over your shoulders. “Didn’t that feel good?”

“No,” you mumble through the grit of your teeth. “That was really weird.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, twirling a piece of astray hair by your eyes with his finger. Your stomach feels light at the action before you stop him.

“Let’s get out of here,” you say, turning the direction to your office, “the next nurse on duty might find us.”

“And tell us off again?” Taehyung asks, crooking an eyebrow and chuckling. A smile creeps onto your face as he follows behind you, jogging to catch up to your pace. “Did she say anything after I left? The nurse, I mean.”

“She said you were cute,” you answer, watching his face morph into a mix of embarrassment and pride.

There’s a pause. “I don’t mean to make you jealous,” he begins and you roll your eyes, “but she did always give me these—looks—when I worked with her.”

“Looks?” You ask, turning the corner.

“Looks,” Taehyung confirms, nodding and biting his bottom lip.

You smile. “She also said you were off the market.”

“She could tell?”

“Apparently so,” you say as you continue to navigate through the nonsensical corridors.

“That’s good,” he says, slinging his arm around you, “I don’t want anybody to give me ‘looks’ anyways. Besides you, of course.”

It becomes difficult to die down the beam growing on your face, your chest glowing with happiness. Happiness you haven’t felt for a long time, and a happiness you’ve only found again when he entered your life once more. 

You’re aware that even in an empty corridor, there’s a possibility people could catch you, but you let his arm hang on you, holding onto his wrist and leaning down a little to give his hand a quick peck.

You turn another corner, the door to your office now within your sights. You feel Taehyung lean down to whisper into your ear.

“You looked so hot when you were operating,” he hushes, his breath tickling your skin and making you squirm. “Something about this uniform, or maybe it’s just you.”

“You get turned on at the sight of open heart surgeries?” You tease, only because it’s fun to tease him.

“If you’re doing it, then yes,” he responds, leaning even closer. “You get what I’m thinking?”

Your cheeks burn in a sudden pool of excitement, tearing your gaze away from his looming one. “I—”

“Y/N?”

Hoseok’s voice makes your limbs numb and your throat dry. You feel Taehyung’s arm drop as you spin around behind you. The simple echo of your name that reverberated between the hallways was followed by an almost deafening ring to pound in your ears.

He was standing at the end, all the way in the back, holding two cups of coffee like always. Despite the distance, you can see his gentle fingers tighten their grip.

Taehyung makes the first move.

“Oh, what's up man,” he says as he begins to make his way closer. It was so Taehyung of him to brush it off and turn the situation casual.

Hoseok’s eyes finally leave you to meet his, his hanging lips forming a smile. “Hi Taehyung,” he responds with an attempt of warmth but it came out more dry than intended.

You swallow saliva down your throat before you speak. “Hey Hoseok,” you say, approaching him with caution. Taehyung placed a friendly hand on his shoulder and Hoseok acknowledged it hesitantly.

When Hoseok looks back at you, he misses your eyes, instead focusing on your cheeks and then the top of your head, but never your eyes. Nevertheless, he greets you with a smile, and it makes everything you do against him hurt so much more.

“Well, I better get going,” Taehyung says before you or Hoseok can say anything further, “my shift just started.” He leaves, going back down the way to the operation room and not allowing either of you react.

There’s a silence that falls over you and Hoseok as you stand in front of him alone.

A silence that has always otherwise been occupied with flirty conversation and exchanged laughter, and it feels completely and utterly foreign.

“Oh,” he suddenly says, making you look up at him rather than fixing your gaze on his shoes, “I brought you coffee.”

You heart kicks. “Thanks.” You take your cup from his hands, missing the contact of his fingers.

“Did I—interrupt—anything?” Hoseok slowly says, and you hate how he always thinks his existence is a burden to you.

“Not at all,” you lie, “we were just getting back from an operation.”

“You work in the same ward?”

Your limbs rigidify as the words you let slip out of your lips catch up to you. You’re very sure this newfound fact about Taehyung will do nothing to improve Hoseok’s already worn down self esteem, and your heart takes a beating for it.

You nod, brushing off his words to tell him Taehyung working side by side with meant nothing. “Wanna come into my office?”

“Y/N,” he speaks, making you stand still in place.

There’s a long pause.

It’s so long and excruciating, like when a song ends and you’re suddenly thrown into the absence of noise, anticipating something to happen but you never know when it will.

“I need to talk to you.”

“...What’s wrong?”

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Another pause.

“I don't see you during lunch, we don’t have our coffee meetings anymore.”

Another pause and you can’t do anything but just stare back.

“Is it because of—”

“Hoseok,” you interrupt, feeling your fingers numb around the coffee cup, now lukewarm. “Let’s go to my office—”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Y/N,” he’s telling you so softly but it’s so forced all at once.

God.

You just want him to do something, like yell or say how much he hates you so all of this could be easy. But not Hoseok. The sweet caring Hoseok that was too head over heals in love with you for his own damn good. He could never yell, never say he hates you, never show you anything deeper than this outer shell of him.

“Really, you don’t,” he’s still saying, and smiling now.

You don’t say anything; you think it's to choose and form your words carefully, but really it’s because you don’t want this conversation to happen.

“We’re dating,” you surge. The air becomes so thick and stuffy, so palpable, it becomes hard to breathe.

“...I see.”

Your knees feel like they’re shaking uncontrollably. The way Hoseok leaves your gaze and falls onto the floor in front of you makes your stomach twist until it hurts. “I didn’t mean to ignore you—”

“It’s fine!” Hoseok says, his face lifting up to your level again when he had thought you felt bad. “I did the same thing back in highschool when I first got a girlfriend. I forgot my friends had existed.” He lets out a chuckle at the nostalgia but you don’t follow. “Happens to everyone.”

He was lying. For your benefit. As always.

“Let’s go have coffee then,” you say, switching the coffee cup to your other hand nervously.

“You sure he wouldn’t mind?” He lets out another laugh, the question meaning to be lighthearted.

Your face falls. “You’re important to me, Hoseok.” You say it as a fact when such a certainty becomes forgotten to both of you.

Your response shocks him, but he’s good at pretending. “I know, Y/N. It’s just—you don’t have to pity me.”

“What?”

“You can be with him, if that’s what you want,” Hoseok says, placing a hand in the pocket of his coat. “We don’t have to have these pity coffee meetings.”

The grip around the cup loosens at his words, almost dropping it to the floor. Pity? Was that what he thought your relationship with him was built on?

“Hos—”

“Just promise me we can finally make those weekend plans,” he interrupts before you could protest.

You realise two things then. You realise that’s all he wanted from you. Not your apology or your excuses. Just your company.

And you realize how much you love him.

Not the same way you love Taehyung. Not in the romantic sense, but nonetheless it’s such a deep attachment that it resides somewhere deep in the pits of your insides, far below the surface of the skin.

Yet if you love him, why do you hurt him so much?

“Of course,” you reply without hesitation. “Anything.”

Hoseok’s face lights up, washing away all the gloom he thought you couldn’t see.

The familiar sight of his grin and the bunch up of his cheeks against his golden complexion made you relax the parts of your body you had unknowingly tensed up. You wished he could be happy like this all the time, but as long as he cared for you, that couldn’t happen.

“Really? How about this weekend?” He asked, bouncing on his toes a bit.

“Anything,” you repeat, reaching a hand out to place on his forearm. He takes it as an initiative to hug you, wrapping his arms around your figure. You indulge in his warmth and the comfort of his touch, but he holds onto you longer than you thought he would.

“Cool! I’ll text you the details,” Hoseok says after he de-attaches himself from you a little too frantically.

“Alright,” you’re saying, watching as he begins to make his way out of the corridor. “Hoseok…”

He turns around, his eyes wide.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

You watched as the edges of Hoseok’s lips gradually tilted up to a smile. “Just promise me you can make it this weekend.”

Your eyebrows furrow but you nod feverently. “Promise.”

You’re presented with the warm sight of his dimples that only form when he’s smiling wide enough. You owe him so much more smiles like that. He walks away, waving with his free hand and holding his coffee cup with the other.

You remember your own cup and you’re suddenly aware how much warmth it lost over time. You begin walking to your office, bringing the cup to your mouth. The bitter taste infiltrates your mouth and your face morphs into one of disgust, but you end up finishing the whole cup that afternoon.

Taehyung had first come to your place a few days ago, and the environment of your home remained unfamiliar boundaries for him. You told him, ‘mi casa, su casa’ and he laughed in your face but allowed himself to kick his shoes off and plop down onto your sofa like it really was his own casa.

Thursday was an off day for both of you, and you naturally wanted to spend the entirety of it with him. He arrived at your house at three in the afternoon, dressed in a simple white tee and boxy sweatpants that lost the shape of his thin waist and thick thighs.

“Love this fancy attire,” you say, stepping back to allow him through the entrance.

“Why do I have to dress up if all I’ll I’m gonna do is take it off?” He asks, walking in and gingerly sliding his slippers off.

You scoff. “You sound so sure.”

Taehyung turns back, shutting the door for you with one arm and gripping your waist with the other. “Part of my charm,” he mumbles before kissing you languidly. “Your friend kind of cock-blocked me last time.”

You pull back, pushing his chest away with your palms and Taehyung immediately recognizes the tone change, staring down at you with round eyes.

“Don’t say things like that,” you mutter, slipping past him and falling back onto your couch.

He continues standing there for a while before he follows. You bounce in your seat when he lands next to you, resisting a reaction when you feel him loop an arm over your shoulders and nestle his face into your neck.

“Sorry,” he mumbles after a while. “Crossed a line, didn’t I?”

You don’t have to answer, instead choosing to relax in his touch as a response.

“Can we actually—talk about him for a second?” Taehyung leans back and grips your shoulder, eyeing you curiously.

You turn to face him, biting your lip. “What about him?”

“It’s just—” He stops when he feels you tense your upper body, “—he’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

You swallow, breaking the eye contact. “I wouldn’t say love—”

“He is,” Taehyung confirms.

“...I suppose,” you say, feeling your heart flutter at the subject matter. You’ve never talked about this with anybody before, and the sheer idea makes you nervous.

“Does he know you know?”

“I’m not sure,” you reply honestly.

“Has he done anything about it?”

“Taehyung,” you interrupt, shooting up to release yourself from his contact. “Can you stop this—jealousy game—that you’re playing?”

He sits up too, placing his palms down by his thighs. “I’m not jealous—”

“Then why is this important? If I’m with you and not him?”

“It’s not that, baby.” He stops to reach over to your face and smooth out the frown formed on your face, immediately relaxing you. The action urges you to smile but you hold back. “It’s just...we both know this could become a problem.”

“You’re act like he’s some disease—”

“I’m not!” He exclaims. “I just want to be with you without feeling like our relationship is hurting somebody else. I don’t like being ‘the other man’, you know?” He pauses. “I can see how he looks at you. It’s how I look at you.”

You close your mouth, gazing into empty space as his words run through your head. “You’re not ‘the other man’,” you finally speak, “but neither is Hoseok. Whatever he may feel, it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Taehyung lets a sigh escape his lips.

“He’s still my friend, and you’re still my boyfriend. I promise nothing will change that.”

He looks up at you through hooded eyes, a smile slowly rising as his fingers tickle the side of your thigh. “You know I’m not concerned about that.”

You chuckle a little. “I know.” A pause. “He’ll be okay. I hope so anyways.”

“Does he mean a lot to you?”

“...Yes,” you answer truthfully, taking a pause to weigh in the heaviness of your answer.

Another pause. “You look good with him,” Taehyung says all too quietly, pulling his hands away from you. Something unsettling rests on his tongue and the same feeling begins to churn in your stomach.

“I feel better with you,” you respond, staring right into his worn down eyes, as if to tell him to take you seriously. When he looks up at you, there’s hesitation in his gaze, instead taking what you say in grains of salt.

“You think so?” Taehyung asks timidly, a grin splitting across his face.

“I love you, stupid” you tell him, leaning into him as if to prove your words. His lips merge with yours so fluently. You love him so much, wanting nothing but to just be with him, away from everything and anything that wasn’t you and him.

You climb onto his lap and he digs his nails into your waist to keep you stationary, running the pad of his fingers against your hipbone. You sigh into the kiss and he begins to dust light pecks along your neck.

Your hands rub his shoulders, massaging and indenting themselves into his skin through the chafing fabric of his shirt. The kisses he places over you are chaste at first, slowly building to reveal the vicious desire in the pits of his stomach, leaning down to bite your collarbones in a juxtaposition of pain and pleasure.

Your grip on his shoulders tighten, bunching the material up that creates delicious friction against his skin, the tell tale signs of his groan at his actions letting you know just how he was feeling.

“I love you,” Taehyung hushes against the landscape of your chest, gnawing at your bones, “so much.”

You keen into his touch, hands reaching down to pluck and fidget with the string of his sweatpants. He responds by letting out staggering whines before hooking his fingers around the waistband and sliding them down. You lift your hips up to create space and Taehyung pulls you back down impatiently.

You giggle into his neck before it’s drained from your lips as he lifts your shirt up above your head and throws it to the side. His hands explore the newly exposed surface, pressing his palms into your breasts and tenderly rubbing your sides.

Your lips find purchase in the shell of his ear, whispering how much you love him and rubbing your centre against the firm outline underneath his underwear, parting your lower lips around him.

“Y/N,” he growls, encouraging you to roll your hips faster and urgently. His hands make their way towards your shorts, pulling them down and hooking his fingers over the band of your pants, quickly making acquaintances with your bare skin. You continue the onslaught of your hips against his and he pinches your ass in response.

Making you yelp in his grasp did little to ease his arousal, causing you to instead bounce against the constrictions of him. “Taehyungie,” you mumble against his ear.

“Taehyungie?” He repeats, pulling back to properly look at you. “You only called me that when you were drunk.”

“And horny,” you say, eliciting another moan from him as you roll again as if to remind him of the close contact between you two and the task ahead.

“Fair enough,” he says, forcing a grin to erupt on your features. He taps at your waist and you know what he means, standing up to slip out of your underwear and let them pool at your feet.

You were now stark naked in front of him, his stern gaze making butterflies bloom at your stomach. You were still all too new to this, and it just hit you you were about to do this again.

“Come here,” Taehyung beckons, eager to get you back onto his lap. “Don’t worry.”

His words amplify your arousal, the act going far beyond than just having sex, but making love.

You oblige, falling onto him and delving into his lips again. He runs his hands up your back, fingering the indents of your spine before reaching your hair and nestling a fist in it to bring your mouths closer.

The fingers that rested against his neck slowly lead down his chest, over his stomach, until it meets his waistband again. You break the kiss, as if to ask permission, and he returns it with a chuckle.

“You don’t even need to ask, sweetheart.”

His lips are saliva slick when he speaks, the enticing appearance teasing you until you go to kiss him again. Your hand slips underneath, grabbing him and exposing him to the cold air of your apartment. He moans and you catch the vibrations, letting it slip down your throat.

“Please sit on me,” he whispers. The crudeness of his words makes you lethargic before even beginning. You don’t hesitate to indulge in his wishes, easing yourself slowly down until you’re flush against him.

You’re already on the cusp, clenching down firmly and rolling your eyes back.

“Oh god,” he grumbles and you agree. He’s so warm and thick, kissing all the right spots against your walls. He’s perfect.

“Tae,” you’re saying during the outpour of sensations as you begin to ride him, slowly rolling your hips. His hands find comfort in the curve of your hip, forcing you to move faster and reach deeper, letting out a wanton moan from you.

“You’re so good,” Taehyung says with coarse, creating a path of pecks from your cheekbones down to your neck. His encouragements make you weaker, until your thighs are trembling against his.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Your words no longer register to you, you let them fall from the petal of your lips nonsensically as the thought of him inside you overtakes your mind. A hand leaves your waist and runs down until it meets your ass cheek, giving it a harsh slap. You suck in cold air through your teeth, momentarily stopping your actions to saturate yourself in the feeling.

His palm lifts your ass up, only to bring it back down. The cascade of pleasure runs through your bloodstream, rendering you immobile. He repeats the action, over and over, until you can’t take it anymore.

He’s capturing the insistent moans you release with his lips, not letting you pull away even as you come. Your legs liquify and your face is rigid, before you relax against his shoulder, kissing the exposed skin tenderly. He follows you shortly after, cradling your body close to his.

“I love you,” he repeats to ingrain into your head and you can’t help but melt.

You feel so much for him but you can’t articulate any of into comprehensible words and sentences. He was all you had ever wanted, and now he really was yours.

“Okay, I’ma need you to get off of me now before I get hard again,” he says, looking down at where your bodies connect. You laugh, lifting yourself off his lap and letting him slide out of you.

“We really didn’t need to do this on my sofa,” you say, standing up and inspecting the material for any stains by his thighs. “I have a perfectly fine bed.”

Taehyung chuckles, rubbing your waist again. “It’s hotter this way.”

“It won’t be hot when I have to rub my cushions down,” you continue, bending down to pick up your abandoned garments. You catch him eyeing your naked figure as you slide your underwear back on, causing you crook your eyebrow up in amusement.

“Yes it will,” he says, bracing for your touch with his hands out, inviting you to reside on his lap yet again. He kisses you, only breaking it to help you slide your shirt back on. “Keep the shorts off.”

You scoff before falling onto the seat next to him, resting your outstretched legs over his thighs.

“So,” you begin and it catches his attention, “you’ll be okay with me hanging out with Hoseok tomorrow?”

His face pauses before letting himself smile. “Of course,” he says. “Just...don’t stop loving him because of me. It would break me.”

You feel your chest warm at his words, reaching your hand out to slot your fingers through his. “You’re sweet.”

“I know,” he jokes and you throw your head back when you laugh.

You’re about to call Hoseok for the third time in a row when you spot his figure jogging towards your direction, hair bouncing and an apologetic expression daunting his features. You push yourself off the brick wall, slipping your phone into the pocket of your jeans and huffing a sigh of relief after fifteen solitary minutes of waiting.

“I’m so sorry,” he says once he’s in earshot of you, holding his arms out for a quick hug. You return it, not demanding or requiring an explanation but he gives it to you nonetheless. “There was an accident on the highway and it just slowed everything down.”

“It’s fine,” you say with a smile, pulling away and patting the small of his back. Frankly, nothing Hoseok could do would annoy you, especially when it’s not his fault. “Let’s go inside.”

“Finally,” he agrees, holding onto your elbow and leading you towards the entrance to the restaurant. “I’m starving.”

You could tell this restaurant was high class; clean-cut-white arched windows and a deep ruby burlap decorating the entrance. It was a particular lifestyle you did not indulge in, and it clearly showed in your outfit choice for the night.

“I wish you told me I needed to dress up a bit,” you say, taking a glance over your jean and tee combination.

“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I, for one, think you look great.” You reply with a grin, but his words boils over in your head and you’re wondering if it overstepped any boundaries. “You ever been to this place?”

“I’ve never even been to this side of town,” you answer, eliciting a chuckle from him as the both of you pass by the considerably impressive line of people who had been there far longer than either of you.

“Reservation for Jung Hoseok,” he leans over to the receptionist. Her mascara adorned eyelashes cover her gaze as she searches for the name, nodding once when she finds it and another time when she looks up.

“Table for two?”

“Yes,” he answers, placing a hand over your shoulder. She notices you standing there, most likely looking out of place next to Hoseok’s tight fitted dress pants and white sleeved shirt clad body.

“Right away,” she tells the two of you with a big PR smile and gesturing towards the interior of the restaurant before leading you through its doors.

You both follow swiftly, allowing you to admire the gold embroidery of its curtains and marble surface of its surfaces on your way. You seat yourself at a table by the wall, secluded away from the other bustling guests but greeted with a more than impressive view out into the lavish street outside.

“This place is so fancy,” you comment, adjusting your seat to scoot in further.

“Do you like it?” Hoseok asks, looking up earnestly with lidded eyes. “It was a risky choice…” He trails off, leaving your gaze.

“It’s great,” you answer just as the waiter comes, presenting you your menus. Hoseok thanks him, flashing him a teethy grin.

“What am I craving?” Hoseok asks himself, eyes scanning the items with careful eyes. You’re watching him, the edge of your mouth tugged upwards. His fingers tap the back of the menu erratically.

“Hoseok,” you surprise him, as evident in his wide eyes, “everything on here is really expensive. I only brought enough to afford an appetizer—”

“Don’t worry about the price, Y/N,” he says, grinning again. “I’ll pay for the order. It’s on the house.”

You frown. “But it’s so expensive. I don’t want you to waste your money on me.”

Your attire and the amount cash on you told enough about the level of details Hoseok had disclosed about the night, and you had honestly expected something so much more simple and familiar, like a round of beer and greasy burgers.

“It’s my treat,” Hoseok responds. “You can pay me back later.”

You let out a hearty laugh, making him smile behind his menu. It got you to close the conversation, but you still didn’t feel at ease. Not only was it expensive, but paying for you only seemed appropriate in the occasion of a date, and not a get-together with a friend.

You order the cheapest items, a glass of water and a greek salad, just to spare Hoseok’s wallet.

“Can I ask a question?” Hoseok gulps, placing his glass of wine back down onto the table cloth.

“Shoot,” you say, leaning forward and crooking an eyebrow.

“Tell me why you wanted to become a doctor.”

“Did I never tell you?” You frown, picking up a bit of your salad onto your fork.

“Nope,” he replies, taking one more sip of the wine before turning back to his salmon entrée.

“Well,” you drag out the word and Hoseok chuckles. “I always liked blood and gore.”

“You’re joking,” he says, smiling wide.

“I also liked science, especially biology,” you continue, “because—”

“Blood and gore,” he finishes for you. “Got it.” You laugh.

“That combo led me down this career path. I actually wanted to be a vet at first, just cause I liked pets, but then again, every kid wants to be a vet before they realise cutting into their furry friends was on the resumé.”

Hoseok piles a piece of fish onto his fork, plopping it into his mouth and chewing quickly to speak again. “But why a heart doctor specifically?”

You take sip of your water before answering. You honestly didn’t know. Was it because of the money? Maybe. The thrill of saving patients on the cusp of death? Definitely not.

“I have no idea,” you say, at a loss of thought. “I just kinda—chose it.”

“Did you and Taehyung choose together?”

The sound of his name from his mouth made the density in the air grow thick. But you brush it off. You have to, if you ever wanted things to be normal.

“No,” you say, looking down at your plate, “he moved to another city before then.”

You don’t know why, but the subject makes knots thread themselves in your stomach and pull at your insides. It shouldn’t. It was all behind you, and you got much more than just reconciliation. You got Taehyung.

“Moved?” Hoseok edges on, suddenly invested into the story for all the wrong reasons. “Where? Why?”

“Hoseok,” you interrupt, no longer liking where this conversation was going. “It’s—it doesn’t matter.”

“Why did you never tell me about him?” He continues nonetheless. You see his grip around the empty glass, like it would shatter if he held it any tighter. “Did he hurt you that bad?”

Your face flares up. “He’s not like that.”

“Of course he hurt you.”

You’re about to continue, but you close your gaping mouth, instead occupying it with a sip of cold water. You didn’t like this side of Hoseok, which was ridiculous because you had been certain you liked everything about him.

“Hoseok, please can we drop this—”

“Just be honest with me Y/N,” he talks a little louder and you can feel people’s gazes fall onto your table. “Why would you be with a guy like him?”

Suddenly, a red cloud of rage eclipses your reasoning and you find nothing wrong with yelling. “This isn’t your place to talk about him like that!”

It seems like all the wine Hoseok had consumed did the same to him as his words did to you, and it makes you wonder if that’s the reason he always drank coffee and not alcohol. “All you ever do is defend him, but he does nothing for you. He’s just dead weight, isn’t he?”

That had been the final straw for you, and you were grabbing the cloth resting on your lap with clenched fists and throwing it onto the table. You felt everybody’s attention as you’re leaving the restaurant, now perfectly content with Hoseok paying for everything.

“Uh, ma’am,” the receptionist when as you push past the doors with haste, “is there a prob—”

“I’m so sorry,” you stop her, “where is the nearest phone booth? My phone is low on battery.”

“Uh,” she repeats, “it’s just past that building, on the right.”

“Thank you.” You follow her directions, ignoring the curious gazes cast upon you and  walking briskly so if Hoseok were to come out, he couldn’t catch up.

You were absolutely fuming, livid even. The fact that Taehyung had encouraged you—no, he wanted you to go—despite Hoseok’s feelings for you, and for him to talk about him like he was dirt, it all just made your head spin and your pulse to grow frantic.

You turned the corner, looking behind you to see if Hoseok was following you. You don’t see him, and you’re not sure whether that makes you happy or not. You climb into the empty phone booth, dialing Taehyung’s number and listening to its rings.

“Hey baby.” His voice makes you breathe a sigh of relief, letting all the anger accumulated to wash over you. “How’s everything? Where’s your phone?”

“Can you pick me up, please?” You plead, letting your body to lean against the booth and clutching the phone with antsy hands.

“Did something happen?” You can hear the concern raised in his voice, like his eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is shut tight in a straight line.

“No, nothing happened,” you say because you are certain whatever he’s thinking is much worse than reality, “I just need to be home.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says, not pushing anything further, “I’ll be there, same place I dropped you off.”

“I love you,” you say into the phone, fluttering your eyes close at the comfort he brings.

“Love you,” he repeats, “five minutes tops, I promise.”

“Okay,” you almost whisper before hanging up. It takes a while for you to move, numb as you process everything that had just happened.

What was Hoseok to you now?

Had your entire friendship crashed in the period of two minutes?

When you step out of the phone booth, Hoseok waits for you. You miss his eyes.

“Y/N.” You look up. The streetlight casted a yellow upon his sunken face.

God, how did it get to this. How could you hate Hoseok? The Hoseok that gave you half his lunch, bought you coffee every other day, spent every free shift at work by your side. Your Hoseok.

“I’m sorry.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen as the words leave your mouth. “You don’t have to apologize.”

You walk past him, slumping against the wall of a building until you’re sat on the pavement. He follows your lead, back scraping against the rough bricking.

You stare into space for a while, frowning. How could it get to this?

“I’m an idiot,” Hoseok speaks. Your eyebrow crooks. “I should have just taken you to the bar or some burger place nearby.”

You suppress a smile. “Why didn’t you?” You roll your head over to his side, eyeing him curiously.

“I wanted to impress you,” he says, placing his hands on his knees and picking at his fingernails.

You sigh in response, saying nothing.

“Booked a reservation for the most expensive restaurant I could find, bought and ironed a dress shirt and pair of pants,” he continues.

You’re suddenly acute of the chafing of your denim jeans and fit of your tee around your waist. It was obvious Hoseok had put in all the thought into tonight, and you did not.

“I was so nervous I hid in some corner store right before we met up. I couldn’t even pick up your calls.”

You reach over, placing your hand over his. He flinches, only a little.

“Can I confess something now?” You say and his eyes flick to yours.

“Go on.”

“I don’t like coffee.”

“Already knew that.”

“What?”

Hoseok chuckles. “I mean, I’ve never even seen you take a sip. It took a week for me to realise.”

“A week?”

“A week,” he repeats, smiling down into his lap. “Plus, you have a considerably impressive pile of untouched coffee cups in your garbage bin. 1 + 1 does equal 2.”

You giggle. “Drinking the actual coffee was the least important thing in our meetings.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a huff of a laugh.

Then there was a comfortable silence over the passing cars and flicker of streetlights above.

“Listen, Y/N,” he begins to say and you already know what he’s going to say. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay if you did, Hoseok,” you say, cutting right through his sugar coated lie.

“I mean, I don’t hate Taehyung himself. I’m sure he’s a great guy—”

“He is,” you intrude.

“Which makes sense, that’s why you like him.” He pauses. “It’s just—the idea of him—is what upsets me.”

You knew exactly what he meant. You closed your eyes, inhaling and exhaling the cool breeze slowly, bracing yourself for what was going to happen right now.

“I never got it,” he starts to say and you squeeze his hand a little tighter, “but now I do. If he—if—I mean,” he sighs to recollect his thought, “Would you have fallen for me?”

There it was.

Your eyes flutter shut, painfully tight, releasing your grip on his hand.

Had it been your choice—had you had gotten over Taehyung—you would have fallen for Hoseok right when you met him. What was there not to fall for? You two would have been the “it-couple” of your hospital. The resident love birds. The heart doctor and the dermatologist.

The thought brings a smile to your face—but then again, what would have conspired the impending day Taehyung would have started working? Finally seeing you through a sheer coincidence, or more of a miracle, but with another man. And if Taehyung had been telling the truth that one night up on the rooftop, which you knew he did, that meant he would have still been in love with you.

It would have completely broken him, the final tip to the crumbling of his very being, and that idea pains you more than anything else has the power to. More than love triangles and old friends with harbored feelings.

“Yes,” you answer after a while. From the corner of your eye, you see Hoseok’s chest rise and fall, and you hear his glistening lips part open. “I would have.”

You turn to him, acute to the close proximity of your faces, and before you could even comprehend what was happening, he was kissing you.

His hands go to dust light strokes underneath your jaw, lips massaging themselves against yours and his breath mixing in with yours.

You pull back with a gasp, putting your hand up to deliver a harsh, cold, red slap against his cheek.

Your whole body is on fire. Your cheeks are rubescent, your throat is hot and closed up, your stomach feels like its inside out, and the palm of your hand was absolutely burning.

“Y/N.”

It’s not Hoseok’s voice that cuts into the air. You look up, eyesight almost blinded by his white car lights, but you could still make out his face in the driver's seat.

You swiftly stand up on your two shaky feet, staggering towards him with hesitance.

“Tae—”

“Get in,” Taehyung interrupts. You couldn’t tell his tone, but you were certain he had seen enough.

You stand up straight, your lips parting and letting the cool air hit the sides of your mouth. You turn back to look behind you.

Hoseok was still, staring down into the pavement at his feet, clutching his cheek—“Y/N, get in,” in his hand.

“He’s drunk—”

“Not my problem—”

“It’s my problem—”

“You did enough tonight.”

You feel your heart fall from your perched ribcage down into your stomach at his words. “Tae,” you say, feeling as though you were close to collapsing so you grip onto the car window for support, “I didn’t—”

“Get in Y/N,” Taehyung repeats again. “Last time.”

“Tae,” you plead, your tone giving your desperation away, unable to bear the thought of driving away and leaving Hoseok drunk and alone in cold, empty street, “please.”

He doesn’t reply, his stare digging painfully deep into your eyes. “Fine.”

You take in another sigh, opening the door open. Nobody exchanged any words, and nobody had to. Hoseok followed into the backseat, quietly mumbling his address, and that was it.

You didn’t even allow yourself to admire the night sky passing over you, instead finding refuge in your lap and your hands. The tension was tightly wound between your lungs. You don’t move, you barely breathe.

Taehyung stops in front of Hoseok’s apartment, blankly staring out ahead and waiting. Hoseok doesn’t say anything as he climbs out, and he certainly doesn’t dare look at you. Then, Taehyung is speeding away, just like that.

The air hasn’t seem to have gotten lighter with Hoseok’s absence, but in fact, so much heavier. You could see Taehyung’s knuckles turn white around the clutch of the steering wheel and the pace of his chest rising and falling quicken.

The engine is turned off at the front of your building, telling you immediately that he was going to talk. You fidget with the hem of your shirt, staring down at your feet instead of him.

“I don’t want you to be around him anymore,” he says. You could tell he was mustering his voice to sound stern and sure, but you know that he was hurting, probably more than you were.

“Tae,” you mumble.

“How...how could...” he can’t continue, the grip on the steering wheel still rigid.

“It was all him.” you whisper. Your eyelids fall heavy, your brain racking for any kind of solution for all of this. But life wasn’t that easy. It never was, and it never will be. “I—I would never—”

“If I ever see him in proximity of you, I will knock the living hell—”

“Stop it!” You urge, shaking now. Taehyung rakes over your frantic appearance, his round delicate eyes now wide in anger and pain.

“Don’t tell me what to stop,” Taehyung solidifies his voice, leaning in closer to you. “You weren’t the one to see the love of your—fucking—life kissing somebody else!”

“That was nothing. It didn’t mean anything—”

“You always say that,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing and his cheeks red, “but it fucking does mean something. How can I trust you?”

You feel your heart jolt in your chest. “Taehyung, it wasn’t me—”

“You let it happen.” You hear his teeth grit against itself in his mouth.

“I was too shocked—”

“Shocked?” He yelled in outrage. “Shocked about what? What did you expect from him? A pathetic, self loathing—”

“Taehyung, stop!” You beg again. You can’t stop the tears now. It seemed like your entire world was crashing right in front of you; you ruined your closest friendship, and now you were ruining it with Taehyung. Again. “Please stop.”

“I should have never let you go out with him,” he says, now staring in front of him again. “It was stupid of me to think he had the fucking capacity to control himself and not touch you with his filthy hands—”

“Tae,” you plead. He doesn’t react, he doesn’t even flinch. You’re not sure what you’re pleading for. For him to forgive you? To forgive Hoseok? To stop talking and let everything cool down for tomorrow morning?

A long silence. So long you could hear a high pitched ringing fill the space of the car.

“I’m serious Y/N. Don’t ever go near him again.”

You sit up. “I can���t.”

He breaks his gaze to turn to you. “What?”

“He’s still my best friend—”

“He kissed you—”

“He was drunk!”

“I don’t care! He would have done it sober too—”

“No he wouldn’t have!” You wipe the tears from your face hastily, your skin chafing against itself.

“Don’t go near him—”

“You can’t boss me around like this!” You shout. Your face feels like it’s on fire, and so does your throat and chest. “We’ve only been dating for a week—”

“I’ve been in love with you for five years!” Taehyung yells back, lurching forward. It scares you and you flinch. He immediately sees the reaction, leaning back and pausing. “Y/N, do you even care about anything?”

Your eyes narrow. “What kind of question is that?”

“Do you care about me? About us?”

“Stop saying—”

“Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it.” He puts a hand back on the steering wheel, as if he was ready to leave. “It’s like you get a kick out of ruining all your relationships.”

You open the car door, slamming it shut behind you with all your strength. You don’t look back once, even as you hear his engine rev up and drive away. You barely get to the entrance to your building before you feel your knees give into the floor. You hold onto the wall for support, but it didn’t matter. You were a mess.

The sobs that left your shaky lips were muffled by your even shakier hands. You stand up straight, wiping your tears quickly and taking a few deep breaths.

The elevator ride up to your apartment was somber, and the only thing you were grateful for at this moment was it was empty.

You couldn’t sleep.

You hated not being able to sleep.

You hated being weak, and you hated Taehyung and you probably hated Hoseok too. Most of all, you hated yourself, but one way or another, everything was your fault.

[fanficsandfluff]

Fantastic Beasts: A World So New and Bright

This was originally a drabble prompt requested by @the-word-weaver-of-the-faeries and it got too long to be a drabble anymore. So here’s a full length fic. 

As I was writing this, it turned out to be less of one coherent narrative and more three drabbles I combined into one. So there’s no main plot lol you can tell when the fics change. 

Also, weirdly enough, I started to ship Newt and Credence the longer I wrote this, but in case that was weird and gross, I didn’t do it???? just very friendly and cute platonic domestic Newt and Credence presented here lol Hope you enjoy!

Words: 2,276

Credence was never one to interact with others, growing up with an abusive parent like his mother. He’d keep to himself, head down, never acknowledging anything. But he did hold a certain affinity for cats. There were strays all over the dreary neighborhood where he lived. And he’d long to take them in for his own. Living with an abundance of cats was better than living with his mother, in his mind. Better than living with any other humans, in fact. They were all out to hurt him. But not cats. 

The young wizard would go outside and put out bowls of food and water for the alley cats, hanging around outdoors long enough sometimes to get to pet them. 

And Credence hadn’t thought of cats since living with Newt, being more distracted by wild monsters and other such magical creatures. It wasn’t until he’d taken a stroll through the neighborhood and in a park on a bright sunny day was his reminded. He was passing by a turned over trash can and a small mew reached his ears. He paused and tried to take a look around the area of the trash can as to what made that noise.

A grey furry cat peeked its head out from inside the can, a lone noodle from someone’s thrown out food looping around its ear. Credence’s heart melted instantly. He knelt down, not wanting the cat to be afraid of him. He started to mutter and made hand gestures at the cat, holding his hand out. Eventually, the small mass made its way out. It was a little larger than the size of a kitten, so it was obviously still young. Poor thing. Credence let it lick his hand before he was allowed to pet it. And the cat purred, nuzzling into Credence. Oh boy. He’d have to make a decision sooner or later… 

Credence arrived back at Newt’s place twenty minutes after, and the sun had just started to set. Newt was busy cooking dinner for the two of them and he stepped out to greet Credence. 

“How was your walk?” Newt inquired, not seeing at first but he noted a peculiar bulge in Credence’s coat. And in the next second, a cat’s head poked out from the coat and looked around at its surroundings. Credence blushed and he set the cat on the ground, looking at Newt but not saying anything. 

Newt sighed but he smiled, “Well…. what’s one more creature around here, hm?”   

Credence smiled wide. He cared for Newt so much. The man was so nice to him, pleased with anything he’d do. It was a welcome experience after the life he’d led. The Magizoologist knelt down and tittered, the cat walking towards him after some hesitation. The cat warmed up to Newt unsurprisingly fast.   

“She’s a beautiful cat,” Newt pointed out, looking up at Credence through locks of his light brown hair.   

Credence nodded and asked, “How did you know she’s a girl?” 

Newt smiled and stood up, “I’m not an animal expert for nothing. Now come, supper’s almost ready.”   

Credence watched the grey cat carefully, making sure she was adjusting to her new environment. Newt put out a dish full of water for the cat and set it on the floor next to the table. She quickly trotted over and lapped it up.   

“Have you got a name for her?” Newt asked once he sat down and began to eat.   

Credence, chewing, nodded, “I was thinking Molly.” 

Newt smiled approvingly, “Molly it is.” For Newt, this was such a nice experience. Credence found something he clearly liked and brought it home. It was refreshing to have Credence pleased with animals for once instead of hiding his fears of the ones Newt worked with constantly. 

And so Molly became a part of their small family. Well, not so small if you counted all of Newt’s creatures. Credence would go to sleep cuddled up with her frequently. Newt would bring some other creatures of his to interact with Molly, making a note of who she clicked with and who she disliked. 

A rainy day seemed less frequent nowadays than in the past, but they did occur. And today was one of those days. Credence stood by the window and watched the rain pour from the sky. He looked down when he felt something furry nuzzling and swiping against his ankle. The wizard smiled softly and he sat down on the sofa, picking up Molly when she followed him. He settled her into his lap and stroked her like she loved.   

Newt emerged from his suitcase after feeding all the creatures, looking dirty and worn as always. But still immensely happy. Nothing could bring down his spirit, even the tiring job of having so many magical creatures to take care of. Pickett had stowed away in his vest pocket, and Newt didn’t mind.   

He plopped down into a lone plush chair and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He looked out the window and hummed, “Looks like a day for staying in.” 

Credence nodded. He looked at Newt and asked him, “Would you like to read?”  

Newt knew what Credence meant and he smiled, “Yes, I believe they don’t need caring for for a bit. What would you like to hear today, Credence?” 

“Your choice. I usually prefer the ones you pick over mine.” 

Newt smiled and he went to his vast shelf of books, thumbing through the spines until he lifted one from its spot. Credence scooted over on the couch so Newt could sit beside him and Molly.   

“It’s the one we started a few weeks ago. I figured we’d pick up on it now.” 

“The one with the traveling banker?” Credence asked, tilting his head. Newt nodded in response and opened it up. 

“Chapter 6: A Game of Chess…”   

Credence sat back in the couch. He loved when Newt would read to him. It was one of his favorite things. And now Newt’s soothing voice mixed with the pleasant purrs from Molly as he pet her put Credence into a state of absolute bliss. Everything was calming. Even the patters of rain against the roof and windows was welcome. 

The peaceful state was only broken when Newt cut off one of the words he was reading and replaced it with a yelp and a brief giggle.   

Credence looked up, confused as to what had happened. 

Newt squirmed slightly, pressing his palm to different parts of his chest and abdomen, “P-Pihickett, come out of thehehere.” 

Credence now understood and he smiled softly.   

Newt giggled and he gasped, hunching over only slightly when Pickett reached his lower belly, “N-Nohohoho… Pihickett!”   

The small bowtruckle was heard emitting a mischievous little giggle as he crawled across Newt’s belly. It always worked out well for him since he knew Newt couldn’t move much because he feared hurting the small twig creature. But Pickett did soon exit through Newt’s sleeve, forcing another string of giggles out of his mouth. Newt held Pickett in the palm of his hand and he chortled, shaking his head. He couldn’t stay mad at the adorable little bowtruckle.   

Unfortunately, Molly had caught sight of the intriguing small creature. So she hopped off Credence’s lap with a meow and lunged for the bowtruckle. Pickett, sensing the danger, gasped and jumped off Newt’s hand.   

“No!” both Newt and Credence chorused, one trying to catch the bowtruckle and the other trying to catch the cat. They ended up crashing into one another, Newt on top of Credence.   

“M-Mahaybe this wasn’t such a grand idea,” Newt smiled and blushed, quickly standing up and running where Molly had gone, “Pickett, come out,” he picked up the cat as she was scratching at a small crack in the wall, “She won’t hurt you.”   

Credence stood up, “I’m sorry, this was my fault. I should’ve contained her.” 

“Not to worry, Credence,” Newt reassured, handing over the cat. He crawled close to the hole and spoke into it, trying to convince the frightened bowtruckle that it was safe. Once Pickett walked out, Newt picked him up, “Alright, back in the case you go. I know, I know, I’m sorry.”   

Credence felt bad now as he watched Newt retreat into his suitcase to put Pickett back home. He sighed and sat down again with Molly.   

When Newt returned, he looked bashful and relieved at the same time, “I didn’t think about the two being together, Credence, I apologize.” 

Credence shook his head, “Don’t. It was no one’s fault, really. Cats will chase things resembling mice, I suppose. It’s in their nature.” 

Newt nodded and he brushed his hands off, “I’m going to wash up for the night.” 

Credence didn’t object, and he heard Newt’s footsteps ascending the stairs. Oh no, what if he was mad with him? He hated whenever he felt tension within the household. He tended to create imaginary tension with his paranoia most of the time, which Newt had to help him work through.   

Turns out, they were both fine. Credence went to speak with Newt after the Magizoologist showered and cleaned up. There was no bad blood between them, and Newt even offered to finish the chapter in the book before they both went to bed.   

A few days later, Newt was having a particularly fun time with his creatures. He’d give many of them time playing with him. And he even managed to calm his Erumpent enough to let them roll around and start a chase. Newt was perhaps so livened with all the fun, it oozed out into the real world when he encountered Credence.   

He saw Credence laying on the couch, a book in hand as he read with a somber face. Molly was laying on her bed on the floor near the desk. Newt walked up to Credence and sat by the young wizard’s feet.   

Credence looked up from his book and grinned slightly at seeing Newt covered in dust and dirt.   

“Are you absolutely sure you wouldn’t care to assist me with them today? They’re all in delightfully playful moods.”   

Credence shook his head, “No thank you.” 

“Then perhaps I should describe to you all the fun we’re having down there,” Newt stood up and he began his depictions.

“The Occamy was teaching her children how to fly for the first time, and she was using me as targets for them,” Newt reenacted him having to run around and jump into the air to dodge and attempt to “fly” with the babies.   

Credence couldn’t believe the spectacle he was watching. Sure, Newt could be energetic and excited about his creatures. But he was never this eccentric. It brought a smile to the Occulus’s face as he took in what was before him. 

“And the Erumpent would charge at me like this,” he bent forward and pretended his head was the Erumpent’s giant horn as he nuzzled close to Credence. The wizard let out a giggle.   

“The Fwoopers were having a grand old time making me spin around until I fell down from dizziness. They’re quite fast flyers, you know,” and Newt plopped onto the floor after spinning around. His giddiness was only heightened by the amount of enjoyment Credence was getting out of this display.   

“Oh, and how could I forget the bowtruckles?” he hopped up and jumped up onto Credence’s waist, looking down at him.   

Credence looked back up at his friend, seeing the freckled and dirt-smudged red cheeks looking back down at him. It made him smile even wider. But he squeaked and started to giggle when Newt spidered his fingers all across his belly. 

“They all ganged up on me like this. So it felt like a dozen spiders running across my skin. It was so ticklish, I couldn’t believe it,” Newt smiled and he fluttered his fingers up to Credence’s neck. The young wizard snorted and he ducked his head. 

“N-Nehewt! Hehehe…” 

Newt slipped his hands under Credence’s sweater and he skittered his fingers all around the quivering tummy, “Doesn’t this all sound like fun, Credence?” 

Credence laughed harder and he shook his head, “Ihihihit’s ahaHA toohoohoo muhuch! Hahahahaha!”   

Newt hummed and he giggled, swirling a finger around Credence’s belly button, “Once you have a bowtruckle tickle you here,” he scritched one finger inside Credence’s navel, “You’ll realize you’ve never laughed harder in your life.” 

And Credence shrieked and dissolved into deeper laughs, being more high-pitched. Newt pulled his fingers back to give Credence a break. But he wiggled them above Credence’s face to taunt him.   

Credence squeaked and shut his eyes, “Noho more!”   

Newt let out a soft laugh and he lowered his hands, resting them at Credence’s waist, “No more,” he repeated. 

Credence opened up his eyes again and he smiled at Newt. The hands at his waist were still making him wary, but he let it be. Just the two smiling, panting faces were enough in that small moment. Now that the laughter had calmed down, the two could hear Molly meowing from the foot of the couch. She’d wandered over, seemingly wanting to get in on the fun, too.   

Newt receded off Credence and he sat with his knees under him on the couch. He picked up Molly and held her in the air, letting her lick at his face. He scrunched his nose and giggled softly before handing her to Credence.   

“Beautiful,” was the thing Newt decided to say at that moment. He reclined where he sat and shut his eyes, obviously tired from all the fun he’d had. Credence huffed a small laugh, having to agree with him. Things were beautiful.