#I haven’t drawn in so long I’m dying

[griffin-ktb]

So this was basically the plot of Trigun right—? 😳🤞💕

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Fourteen

“Steve,” Robin lets herself in the front door, “Steve!”

“Yeah, I’m through here,” Robin appears in the doorway just as Eddie blinks awake, “I’m sorry baby, we woke you up.”

Eddie looks a little bleary eyed, his usually deep chocolate brown eyes looking a little cloudy.

“Steve, what’s wrong, I was there when Keith answered the phone.”

“I’m fine Robs, it’s Eddie who’s a little under the weather,” and Steve couldn’t exactly explain to Keith that the fish-guy who’s living with Steve is coming down with something, so he had to put on his best flu ridden performance.

“Oh...is he okay? It’s not catching is it, like Upside Down rabies or something?” Steve sighs as Eddie shifts, making no effort to get up.

“Eddie does not have Upside Down rabies,” Steve can feel Robin eyeing them up, how snuggled they are on the couch under Eddie’s blanket. Steve watches as she takes in the movie on low, the only other light coming from the tree, the blinds half drawn, “come on baby,” and yeah, there goes Robins eyebrows, her mouth dropping open, “I’m going to go and make Robin a coffee,” Eddie clings tighter for a moment, but then allows Steve to slide out from under him, burrowing right into the corner of the couch the moment Steve’s gone.

“What’s up with him?” Robin asks, “is he okay?”

“He’s a little off his food,” Steve starts, fiddling with the coffee machine.

“And?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Steve...come on, no. You think I can’t tell when something's wrong? Tell me what’s up.”

Steve gives her her coffee, cradling one for himself as he leans on the kitchen counter. It’s getting dark outside already, the evenings coming in fast. Steve can just about see where the pool is covered over in the yard.

He can’t look at her as he speaks, he knows he’ll start to cry if he does.

“Eddie is...he’s like a tadpole. But the frog is a Demogorgon.”

“Holy shit!” Robin whisper hisses at him, “what are you going to do? Is it soon? Have you told anyone else? Steve, he could really hurt you, is it even safe for him to be here, you’re alone, if it just like, happens-”

“I haven’t told anyone else, and neither will you,” Steve glares at her, and Robin actually cowers a little.

“Steve...we really should tell someone else, Hopper might-”

“Hopper might shoot first and ask questions after. No.”

“But Steve-”

“Robs, stop, please. Please don’t do this, okay. Please.”

“But Steve-”

“I said no Robin. Eddie stays with me, that’s it. Whatever happens I’ll...deal with it.”

“Steve you...but you could get really hurt.”

I’m already really hurt, Steve doesn’t say. He just sips his coffee and breathes deep so he doesn’t loose it in front of Robin.

“Steve are you- you and Eddie I mean...I mean I know he’s your...friend and everything,” the careful way she says friend speaks fucking volumes, “and it’s upsetting but...you guys are pretty close? Already? You seemed real cosy when I walked in and you’re being pretty defensive over a creature from The Upside Down you’ve known for all of maybe three months is what I’m-”

“Robs.”

“Right, yeah but I mean...Steve, he’s a guy. And a fish. I mean…”

“I don’t think I’m going to spend any time worrying about either of those things Rob, considering he probably doesn’t have long.”

Eddies breathing is shallow, Steve’s sure it is. He’s certain Eddie is...fading, somehow. Steve only moves when he absolutely has to. He has gotten up to get a drink, but only because he felt a headache forming, and then to piss, but only out of desperation. Steve took one of these opportunities to check Eddie’s tail; the splits are longer, the tips starting to spread out into a loose star shape. And it’s dry, inflexible; like Eddie’s dying from the tip of his tail upwards.

Steve’s going to hold him through this, no matter what. The moment Steve slips back onto the couch, Eddie uses his last dregs of energy to, feebly, burrow into Steve.

He won’t eat; Steve’s tried everything, even offering a beer. Eddie refuses, but he can’t seem to let himself give up; he has to try, so frightened that Eddie might be in any kind of discomfort.

“Eddie, baby, will you have some food.”

Eddie sighs out a grumble, Steve lifting Eddie’s head carefully, trying to get Eddie to look at him; when Eddie does finally blink his eyes open, he’s sure they’re even less clear than before. They seem to be clouding over, turning milky.

“Food? Baby please, you haven’t eaten all day.”

Eddie sighs, voice dry and raspy, the first time Steve’s heard him speak for hours, “food bad.”

“Why, baby, why is food bad?” Eddie just shakes his head, trying to snuggle back against Steve’s chest. “Eddie, baby?” Steve’s voice breaks, but he tries not to cry, “baby, how long do you think?” Eddie looks at him, lifting his head slowly, “Eddie.” It hurts Steve on a visceral level, kills him inside to do it, but he brings his hands up to his face, pressing his palms to his cheeks and lacing his fingers over his face, he makes their sign for Demogorgon, “what time Demogorgon?”

“No, Eddidie no Demo-gor-gon,” he stumbles over the word.

“But you said you would change. Eddie grow into Demogorgon.”

Eddie shakes his head, “no food. No...Demo-gorgan. Dead later.”

“What? So if you don’t have food, you- Eddie. Eat food.” Sure, Eddie might turn into a Demogorgon, but there’s a chance he might retain some of himself, right? He might still be Eddie, and Steve is willing to take that chance.

“No. Demogorgon Eddidie food.”

“Yeah buddy, you said before, Demogorgon eat Eddie-”

Eddie sighs, clearly exhausted, but he leans over for his coloring book, just able to snag it off the coffee table; he turns to the purple dog. Steve doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before; it’s not just purple, it’s blue and black and all the colors of a Demodog. It’s fucking obvious actually, that that’s what it supposed to be.

“Eddidie eat Demo-gorgon. Eddidie Demogorgon. Eddidie eat,” and he points to the dog, “then Eddidie.”

“How, how though do you eat Demogorgon?”

“Safe dead later.”

Steve thinks, he’s heard Eddie say that before...the bee. Eddie said dead later when he knew the bee was sick, and, heartrendingly enough, he’s just said it about himself. Steve could be pulled under by the grief, he knows it, but he takes a breath and does his best to push it down. “You find one that’s going to die. It’s hurt or weak or...wait, so you need to eat some of the thing you’re going to turn into? Eddie eat this,” Steve points to the page, “then Eddie is this.”

Eddie nods.

“What if...what if you eat something else? What if...Eddie, how much of the Demogorgon do you need to eat? Many?”

Eddie shakes his head, makes their symbol for pea, finger and thumb, close together.

“Small, okay so what if...Steve Eddie food.”

“No. No Stee ow, no-” he protests weakly.

“Eddie,” Steve holds him, holds his face, “it’s only a small ow, please, please Eddie,” Steve starts to cry, he can’t help it. He cries as he begs, “please Eddie, I love you. Don’t go. Stay. Please, I love you. We have to try.”

“I love you too,” and Eddie’s crying. Steve’s never seen Eddie cry, his tears aren’t clear, they stain his cheeks a little, like weak coffee’s been spilled, the palest tear tracks on Eddie’s too white skin. Eddie’s tears smell like mown hay, like fresh cut grass. “Okay.”

“Okay, what else? Just food?”

Eddie shakes his head, pointing outside, “pool.”

That’s going to take hours to fill, most of the night, probably, “baby, would the tub be okay?”

“No. Pool.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve slips out from under Eddie, not bothering to waste time with a jacket, just shoves his bare feet into his sneakers and heads out, bracing for the cold.

It’s the middle of the night. Steve’s wrapped up now, but it’s still really cold. Hard drifts of still frozen snow rest up against the trees and pool furniture; gathered shiny white in all the nooks and crannies of the yard.

The sky is clear now, the stars defined and bright in that way they only ever are when it’s fucking freezing.

The pool is just over half full, but Eddie’s fading, and Steve won’t wait any more.

He carries Eddie out, draped in a blanket, “Eddie, this water’s going to be cold. Many many cold.”

“Cold good,” is all Eddie will say.

Steve’s terrified the water will freeze; that Eddie will get locked under the ice and drown. That this won’t work at all, that Eddie will turn into a monster that doesn’t recognize Steve- he tries desperately to push it all down. “Okay, now what?”

Steve’s standing right on the edge, Eddie suddenly struggles, and Steve, not expecting it, looses his grip on Eddie, and he’s slipping from the blanket and hitting the water with a loud splash. It’s so cold, just the sight of Eddie doing that makes Steve’s breath stutter in his chest in sympathy.

Eddie reappears quickly, and climbs back out half way, clinging to the pool steps as Steve takes his place sitting at the top of them, slipping off his sneaker, and then his sock.

“Small ow,” Eddie says, his voice quavering, he’s soaking wet, hair plastered down, skin shivering.

“Two,” Steve insists, “we need to make sure.”

By the time Eddie’s teeth pierce Steve’s flesh, he realizes he should have brought something to bite down on. It’s strange, he doesn’t feel it at first, not until after Eddie drops back into the water, immediately darting away to huddle at the deepest corner, furthest away.

It’s not until his blood drips into the water; swirling darkly in Eddie’s dissipating wake – that the pain really hits Steve. It’s the burning, stabbing kind. The energetic kind of pain that tells him there’s something really fucking wrong. Then he has to bite back a scream; it bubbles out as an anguished groan instead.

He regrets this instantly – not giving two of his toes to Eddie, not that, they have to try – but not being prepared. Steve is usually the one that plans, the one that thinks of things like this. Contingencies. He has nothing with him. He tries to staunch the bleeding with his sock, his fear for Eddie, temporarily at least, eclipsed with the blinding pain in his foot. Steve takes great shuddering breaths, the frigid air stinging his lungs, unable to control his breathing, and it suddenly occurs to him that this is going to need stitches.

Eddie didn’t fuck about; once he was in, he went all in, Steve’s two smallest toes on his left foot are gone right to the root.

Part Sixteen

[atlabeth]

leave the door open - anthony lockwood

summary: no matter what happens, there's always the light underneath the door. the sign that, when you're ready, he'll let you back in with open arms.

a/n: obviously inspired by leave the door open by silk sonic because i could (and have) listen to it on repeat for hours. this spiraled way out of control but im honestly really happy with it and i hope you all are too!

wc: 8.2k

warning(s): mild angst, arguing, hurt/comfort, mildly serious injury, short scene with a gun/gunshot wound, but the whole first half of the fic is fluff and it is all wrapped up w a fluffy ending

127.

128.

129.

13–

Your focus was broken as police sirens blared past your window, and you let out a long-lasting sigh. This was the fifth time your count had been interrupted, and you weren’t starting over again. 

Trying to sleep was a fruitless endeavor at this point, and that wasn’t going to change no matter how many notches in the wall you counted—you might as well accept it.

You’d never been much for sleeping through the night, but your new home boded worse for it all. A new room, a new house, a new city, a new agency. Being in the thick of it all after what felt like so long on your own was overwhelming, and it still felt like it could all fall apart. Being given the job all because you passed a few tests in the living room didn’t exactly feel like security. 

You sighed as you slipped on a sweatshirt and walked out of the attic— your room, at least for now— carefully moving down the steps in an effort to not make much noise. 

35 Portland Row was filled with warmth, that much was obvious from your short time here, but that warmth had not yet penetrated your skin. It was all too foreign. 

You meant to go to the kitchen and make a midnight cup of tea, but your eyes were drawn to a slightly open door, light spilling out in the cracks. The library, if you remembered correctly from Lockwood’s tour.

It must have been George. You didn’t know much about him, but the way Lockwood described him certainly made him seem like the type to be up pouring over books until the early hours of the morning.

It wouldn’t hurt to say hi. Let him know that they’d added another restless soul into their agency.

You pushed the door open a bit more, knocking on the wall as you leaned against the door frame, and your eyebrows rose slightly when the boy looked up. 

“Lockwood,” you said, tamping down on your surprise.

He said your name with a slight smile and a bow of his head. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You nodded. “Have you got room for one more?”

“Always,” he said with a gesture at the seat across from him. 

You closed the door behind you and took the offered chair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “What’s got you up?”

“Bills,” he said dryly. “The mortgage, the utilities, our certification, and now—” he looked at you— “another agent on the payroll.”

“I’ll be sure to try and bring in more than you spend on me,” you said, and he smiled as he set his pen down. 

“How thoughtful.” Lockwood laced his fingers together before he leveled his gaze fully at you. “And what’s got you up?”

“Just what I said,” you answered with a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t gotten used to this place yet.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t take too long, because you’re going to hit the ground running,” Lockwood said. “We’ve got a meeting tomorrow with a client, and if all goes well we’ll be having tea with a Visitor by noon.”

“Honestly, that would make me feel like I fit in more,” you said. “I’m much better with the ‘nearly dying’ part of this job than the settling in part.”

He cracked a small smile. “I’m hoping we’ll avoid that part, especially with your help.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You’ve got that much faith in me?”

“I assumed you knew the amount of faith I have in you when I hired you,” Lockwood joked. “Your Touch is just what we’ve been missing.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me,” you said. “There’s always uncertainty about freelance agents because we work on our own, but I promise I’ll try my best to merge back into a group.”

“Like I said,” Lockwood’s eyes twinkled, “I’ve got full faith in you.”

You chuckled and nodded, and you tapped the desk before you stood up. “I’ll leave you to your devices. Thank you for the talk, Lockwood.”

“Try and get some sleep,” Lockwood said. “After all, tomorrow is when you prove yourself.”

“Ah,” you said sagely. “Tomorrow will determine whether I have a job or I’m back on the streets.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he said, and he looked wholly genuine. “You’re part of Lockwood & Co now, and we take care of our own.”

You nodded, your lips quirking into a small smile. It had been a long time since someone had so clearly said to you that they would watch out for you— that they saw you as more than just your Touch. 

“Thank you,” you said softly. 

Lockwood nodded, his expression turning slightly wry. “Besides, the only real reason I think I’d fire you is if you got us all killed.”

“You can’t fire me if we’re all dead.”

“I suppose that means you’re thoroughly employed,” Lockwood said with a smile. 

You chuckled. “Good to know.”

“Truly, though, try and get some sleep.” He picked up his pen again, clicking it a few times. “We might be London’s smallest agency, but we take cases the likes of Fittes would handle.”

“As long as you try and get some too,” you said.

Lockwood smiled, but there was a notable absence of a promise. “Goodnight.”

“Are you always in the library?” you asked suddenly. “Because I— I find myself awake a lot at night. It would be nice to know when you’re open to chat and when you just want to be alone.” 

He nodded. “I’ll leave the door open for you. Just like tonight.” 

You stared at him for a moment more, taking in his slightly ruffled hair, his undone tie and rolled up sleeves. The dark circles under his eyes. 

“Perfect,” you responded softly. “Goodnight, Lockwood.”

"Goodnight," he repeated, that same small smile on his lips.

You closed the door behind you.

You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

-

It was another two weeks until your next sleepless night. 

Kept busy with countless cases, you were exhausted near every time you stumbled back through the doors of Portland Row. Part of it was from adjusting back into an agency after being on your own for so long, the other part was the seriously intense jobs that Lockwood kept taking. 

And you did adjust, that was true. 

You didn’t know if you and George were exactly friends, but he allowed you to help when he cleaned up in the kitchen, and you’d already spent a few afternoons in the archives together—today had been the best, him sharing all the material he found with you and willing to listen to your theories and look at your notes. He was warming up to you, at least. 

Lockwood was completely different. He exuded charm, all easy smiles and plying words meant to get someone’s guard down. It was how he operated, how he had to live—everyone underestimated him so he took it upon himself to prove everyone wrong. His name was on the door, after all, as he liked to remind you all. 

Maybe that was why he was always up, you thought, because as you slowly moved down the stairs, rubbing grogginess out of your eyes, you noticed that the light was on in the library again. Door slightly cracked open. 

You huffed a laugh before you knocked on the frame again, pushing it open to see Lockwood in almost the exact same position as last time. Instead of a variety of papers, though, he was hunched over a map. 

He said your name, a small smile already pulling at his lips. “So we meet again.” 

“We live in the same house,” you said wryly, “and we work together.” 

“All the more reason to be thankful that you put up with me past billing hours,” Lockwood said. You chuckled, and he gestured at the chair across from him. “Take a seat.” 

You did, and you tapped your fingers on the table before you took a look at the map. “What’s got you up so late?” 

“I’m scouting out a potential job,” he said. “A very old, very haunted mansion owned by a very rich family.” 

“I like the sound of that,” you mused. 

“So do I.” That spark was in his eye again, and you found yourself watching him as he talked. “The patriarch called me last night, and I met with him and his wife while you and George were at the archives today. He offered the job of clearing his ancestral home, and I told him I would get back to him after I consulted my colleagues.” 

“Colleagues,” you hummed. “I like the sound of that too.” 

Lockwood chuckled. “I thought after freelancing for so long you would be against working so closely with a team.” 

You shrugged. “I needed a change. You lot have been a pretty good one.” 

“It’s certainly an honor,” Lockwood said with mock austerity, and you rolled your eyes with a laugh. 

“Just get on with it, Lockwood.” 

He nodded, and he pushed the map over to you. “I was going to lay it all out for you two tomorrow morning, but since you’re here, I might as well get your opinion on it.” 

You took a moment to fully examine it. “Well, it’s certainly very big.” You glanced back up at Lockwood. “How much are they willing to pay?” 

He smiled. “Fifty thousand pounds.” 

Your eyes about burst out of your head, and you slid the map back over to him. “That’s all I need to hear. I’m in.” 

Lockwood laughed and he took it back from you. “You don’t even know anything else about it. You could be walking into a death trap.” 

“Every job I did on my own was a possible death trap, and none of them were for fifty thousand pounds,” you said. “I’m in—I don’t care if half of England is haunting that house.” 

His smile faded a bit, and he cleared his throat as he looked you in the eye. “You know, you haven't talked much about why you were a freelance agent. Even during the interview.”

Your brows furrowed at the sudden question and you shrugged. “I wanted to be.” 

“Everyone knows it’s a lot more dangerous than being in an agency,” Lockwood said. “Ghosts are hard enough to deal with in a group— going on your own is asking for trouble.” 

“Before I came in, it was just you and George,” you countered. “You’ve got no supervisors, just the two of you hoping for the best. I’d say that’s asking for trouble.” 

“You’re deflecting,” Lockwood said. 

You glanced away, finally letting out a sigh as you leaned back in your chair.

“You don’t have to—” 

“Because from the moment I discovered my Talent, I’ve heard horror stories from agencies. Entire teams going down on doomed missions, sole survivors left to live with the guilt for the rest of their lives. It happened to one of the teams in my agency, and I knew I wasn’t going to wait for it to happen to me.”

Lockwood’s eyes softened, and he stayed silent as you continued. 

“I have no team, I have no roommates—when I’m on my own, no one has to worry about me,” you said quietly. “If something goes wrong, and I die, that’s it. No guilt, no problems, no legal trouble. No mourners.”

Lockwood frowned. “That’s not a very good way to look at it.”

“Never said it was,” you said wryly. “It’s just the way I look at it.” 

“Your family would care.” 

You shook your head. “They wouldn’t.”

He was silent for a good moment, and then he reached over and took your hand. It was a shock at first, your eyes widening slightly as they darted up to meet his, but he was calm as ever. 

“You’ve got us now,” he said. “Lockwood & Co. Me and George. And we’d care very much if you were to die, so I’d appreciate it if you refrained from that.” 

That got a watery laugh out of you, and you felt the beginnings of tears behind your eyes for some reason. “I don’t think that was in my contract.” 

“It was in the fine print,” Lockwood assured. He looked so much younger when he smiled, like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.  

“That changes everything then.” Your voice was slightly stilted as you pulled away, and you turned slightly as you wiped at your eyes so he couldn’t see. If Lockwood noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured. “If George is on board, we’ve got a very long day tomorrow.” 

You nodded, clearing your throat as you stood up. “You too. Can’t go into battle without our fearless leader.” 

He chuckled and nodded, his eyes never leaving you as you walked to the door. You paused, setting your hand on the frame, and turned around. 

“Thank you, Lockwood,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I mean it.” 

He smiled, and you found yourself lost in it for a moment. He really was beautiful. “Any time.” 

-

And so your days continued on as a certified member of Lockwood & Co, becoming more integrated by the hour. 

It wasn’t much longer before George took to you, and when you found a break in a case that saved you hours of potential digging through the archives, your spot as ‘respected colleague and potential friend’ was cemented. 

Lockwood already knew more about you than most, putting him in the ‘weird friend, weird boss’ category. The man literally never slept, and all the information he knew about you was willingly given to him through late night vulnerability. You needed to start forcing yourself to stay in bed, if not solely to keep some secrets between you. 

But— yeah, he was nice. Easy to joke around with, easy to work with, easy on the eyes. You’d smiled and laughed more in a single month at Portland Row than you had in three years as a freelance agent. Far better than the lonely studio apartment you holed up in between cases. 

The warmth was beginning to penetrate your skin, you thought with a slight smile. 

“What in the world are you doing?”

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a voice. You looked up from the baking sheet to see Lockwood waiting in the doorway with a small smile.

“Stress baking,” you said with a slight chuckle as you continued scooping dough onto the tray.

“At two in the morning?”

You shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and extra research wasn’t doing me any good. I had to get the nerves out somehow, and unless I fancied a nice bout with a Visitor, I couldn’t exactly go for a run.”

“So you decided on cookies instead,” he said wryly. “You know, you really should try and get more sleep.”

“Says you.” You finished filling up the tray and you picked it up, glancing at Lockwood as you walked over to the oven. “Every night that I’m up, you’re up too. That’s got to be unhealthy.”

“I’m a busy man,” he responded. “I can’t have half of my employees running around sleep deprived.”

You chuckled. “Good to know you care.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Always.” 

“But you have to care about yourself, too.” You shut the oven and set a timer on your watch, then gestured at the counter where an already finished tray sat. “Try one.”

“Sugar so close to bed?” he joked.

“Oh, please,” you brushed your hand through the air, “we both know you’re not falling asleep any time soon.”

Lockwood cracked a smile as he walked over, picking up a cookie from the sheet. “Chocolate chip?”

“The best,” you confirmed.

He took a bite and he hummed as his eyebrows rose. “Surprisingly good,” he said after he swallowed.

“‘Surprisingly’?” you repeated. “Why can’t they just be normally good?”

“You may have noticed, but George is our resident chef.” Lockwood finished the rest of the cookie, much to your silent delight, and he went to the fridge. “I’m just surprised we’ve got two culinary experts on the team now.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’m not anywhere near an expert. I’m much better at baking than cooking, so George has that market cornered.”

Lockwood smiled, and he finished his cup of water. “He’ll be happy to know that. He’d probably love to share some of his recipes with you.”

“I’d love that more,” you said. “His halva the other day was incredible.”

“I’ll let him know. Of course,” his eyes twinkled, “he’d probably be more flattered if you told him yourself. If there’s one thing he’s prouder of than his work in the archives, it’s his work in the kitchen.” 

“I’ll be sure to,” you agreed. 

“Are you going to sleep anytime soon?” Lockwood asked as usual. 

As usual, you rolled your eyes, bit back your smile. “I’ve got two more trays worth of dough. I promise I’ll go after they’re done.” 

“Good,” he said with a nod. “Do you also promise to leave some for us?” 

You laughed. “Of course. I didn’t make them just for stress relief, you know.” 

“Good,” Lockwood repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. The later morning, rather.” 

“You get some sleep too,” you said, pointing your spatula at him, “or else all of these are going to George.” 

He placed his fist over his chest. “Cross my heart.” 

“Good. Now get out of here.” 

Lockwood chuckled as he walked out, spurring a smile of your own. You picked up a cookie and took a bite, humming in approval at the taste. 

“Normally good,” you murmured to yourself as you watched the oven. “Not surprisingly good.” 

-

(When Lockwood came down the next morning, there were two plates of cookies sitting on the counter. He moved to take one, but then he noticed the Post-its. 

One read GEORGE and one read LOCKWOOD, each in front of their own separate plates. There was another at the top—NO STEALING :) or I will never make cookies again 

He chuckled, his mind wandering to you as he finally took one—from his plate, of course—and bit into it. 

Normally good, he thought with a slight smile. 

A fine addition to the team indeed.)

-

You yawned as you walked down the hallway, rubbing at your groggy eyes. You couldn’t sleep, as was per usual when you were working on such a big case, but that didn’t mean you had to like it. 

Your mind ran a thousand kilometers a minute any time you even tried to close your eyes. Truly, you had no idea how George functioned with a brain like his. 

You were about to go into the kitchen to make yourself your usual midnight cup of tea, hoping it would work its usual magic, when you saw the door to the library cracked open. 

You couldn’t help but smile. He’d told you and George to go to bed early to make sure you were all ready for the job the next day, and here he was. Restless as ever and still a liar. 

You pushed the door the rest of the way open, blinking a bit at the lights as you leaned against the frame. “Up late again, Lockwood?” you asked, and he started when he turned to you and said your name. 

“You should be asleep,” he said.

“So should you.” 

“I’m looking over the floorplans one last time,” Lockwood said. “This place is huge, and I want to make sure I know every part of it.” 

“We’ve drilled the exits a thousand times,” you said. “We already know the mansion inside out—cramming at midnight isn’t going to help anyone. Actually being rested for once will.” 

Lockwood gave you a wry look. “Awfully strong words coming from you.” 

“I was going to the kitchen to make some tea,” you defended. “And then I was going to go right back to sleep.” 

He smiled as he looked at you, and then he nodded and stood up. “Alright. Come on.” 

You raised your eyebrows as Lockwood started walking, and then he took your hand and started pulling you along. 

“Oh my god,” you said with a laugh, “I can walk on my own.” 

All he said was, “I know,” in that annoyingly cocky tone of his, and you continued following him as you went up the stairs. When he pulled open the door of his room, you 

“Neither of us are very good at staying asleep,” Lockwood said wryly, “and I really don’t trust you to get enough in the face of tomorrow. So…” 

“You think sleeping in the same bed will help,” you surmised. 

He shrugged. “At the very least, I’ll be able to make sure you do fall asleep.” 

“Then the same goes for you.” 

“Obviously.” 

You stared at him for a moment. You didn’t exactly… know what to do. 

The words rushed out of his mouth. “Of course if you don’t want to—” 

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “No, it’s alright. I want to.” 

His lips quirked into a smile. “Alright.” 

You pulled back the covers, clearing your throat as you took your side and Lockwood took his after turning the lamp off. You didn’t know why this was so awkward, sharing a bed with the boy you’d worked with for the past few months, but it was. You’d faced down countless ghosts together, but this was apparently too much. 

“Your bed’s comfortable,” you said, desperate to break the silence. You stared at his wall, your back turned to him, Lockwood in the same position. 

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know how you’re ever not sleeping through the night with a mattress like this.” 

Lockwood chuckled. “Sight isn’t my only talent.” 

You smiled. “Very true.” 

“Why are you always up?” he asked. “I know my old bed isn’t the most comfortable, but it seems you’re always up.” 

“It seems you’re always up.” 

“Deflecting,” he said. Your mind flashed back to the first night in the library. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’ve always been a restless person, but being an agent has just… worsened it. I had a couple of bad months working on my own and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered.” 

“Ah.” You could feel his breathing in the slight shifts of the bed, and it was oddly comforting. “I hope that we haven’t made it worse.” 

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “If anything, you’ve made it better. Portland Row is the embodiment of warmth, and you two are fantastic.” 

“Well, we aren’t going anywhere,” Lockwood assured. “...I’m not going anywhere. So if you ever need anything, please tell us.”  

Your voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Thank you.” 

“Always.” 

-

Your sleepless nights varied in frequency as the months went on. 

Sometimes you were so exhausted when you staggered through the doors of Portland Row that you felt as if you could sleep the night away on the couch. Other times, despite being worked to the bone from a difficult job, you would find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your room, unable to get the visions from the day out of your head. 

That was the lovely thing about Touch. The way you saw it, you gave a small part of yourself over each time you used it, and once you got it back, the things you’d seen were embedded in it—in you. It was awfully difficult to separate yourself from your jobs when you threw yourself so fully into it, when you had no other choice but to do so. 

Lockwood and George had become accustomed to how deep you felt things. When you needed to be alone after a job, when you needed one of them to talk nonstop to keep you distracted, when you just needed to sit with them in silence and be assured that this too would pass, no matter how slow. That was the nicest thing about being part of the group—you didn’t have to lick your wounds on your own.  

When it got really bad—and sometimes it did—you and Lockwood would share his room. His presence was unparalleled in bringing you comfort, and whispered conversations in the dark made you feel some sort of way. He was practically your savior. 

When he wasn’t helping you through the night, more often than not, Lockwood would be up at the same hour as you. It was concerning, though you couldn’t say anything about it. He would just throw it back at you, claiming you should be asleep as well. At least George was exempt from the criticism. Bless him. 

He found you in a lot of positions. Sitting on the floor of the kitchen scrubbing furiously at the plasm stains on your boots. Sitting on the floor of their living room, one of their case files in your lap as you recounted a previous case. Sitting on the floor of the basement, measuring out salt for bombs and ensuring their flares were stocked. You liked sitting on the floor while you did things, apparently—Lockwood had figured that out after a few weeks of sleepless nights. It was strange. 

And of course, the occasional bout of stress baking, ranging from cookies to brownies to pastries and more. You once even baked an entire cake in the middle of the night out of pure anger, the result of a frustrating loss to a Fittes team. Not getting the case hurt a little bit less the next morning when you all had cake to dull the pain. 

You found him just as many times. Sometimes getting his own cups of tea in the kitchen, sometimes reading those gossip magazines he was fond of, sometimes doing his own restocks of your supplies. Usually, though, he was just sitting in the library stressed over one thing or another.

You noticed he always tried to hide it from you, covering it with his easy smiles and well-placed jokes. It couldn’t be easy to run an agency as a teenager, no matter how small—you wondered how many restless evenings you would have to share together for him to drop the mask. 

Eventually, though, it was decided that another agent was needed. Lockwood and his Sight, you and your Touch, George as an all-arounder—he was your only source for Listening, but it had never been his strong suit. After you nearly got ghost-touched because of that blatant lack of Listening, Lockwood put his foot down and put out an ad. 

Enter one Lucy Carlyle: excellent Listener, skilled in Touch, a myriad of opinions. You liked her the moment you met her, her image only sullied by her taking two biscuits. You could hardly blame her though, the way George pushed her. He loved to push. 

Due to a lack of rooms but an imminent need for Talent, it was decided that Lucy would room in the attic with you. You were able to get one of the spare beds all the way up to the attic between the four of you, and when you all promptly collapsed on the ground together, it was agreed upon that Lockwood & Company would stick to ghosts. Very good for team bonding, though. 

It took Lucy a bit to get used to you, especially in such close quarters, but soon enough you were joking around and talking like you’d known each other for years. You knew she was good, but witnessing her listening was awe-inspiring. You almost couldn’t believe you’d gotten her over Fittes or Atkinson and Armstrong, but you weren’t going to complain. You felt as if your motley crew could do anything. 

“I can’t believe he did this,” you seethed. 

Well, there were certain things your motley crew did not need to do. Especially your leader. 

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Lucy said. 

“I can’t believe he did this!” you repeated, louder and more annoyed as you threw yourself against the wall. “How stupid can one boy be?” 

“He was trying to save you, y’know,” Lucy said dryly. 

“I didn’t need to be saved,” you grumbled. “He did it because he’s reckless and stupid.” 

“...That’s fair,” Lucy said after a moment. “He is quite reckless.” 

“Don’t forget stupid.” 

Her lips twitched for a moment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t speak ill of the injured.” 

“That’s just the dead,” you muttered. “And we speak plenty of ill of them.” 

This was all because of a job that went wrong. And you were certain it wouldn’t have gone wrong if Lockwood could hold himself back for a moment. 

-

“Are you sure that’s him?” you murmured, disguising your words with your cup of sparkling cider. 

“Positive,” Lockwood confirmed. “Arthur Torres, one of Sunrise Corporation’s many useless executives.” 

“Lovely.” You finished your drink. “I distract and you steal, right?” 

“Actually,” Lockwood said, and you didn’t like that at all, “you steal, I distract.” 

Your brows furrowed. “That wasn’t the plan.” 

“I make the plans,” he said, “I can change them.” 

“Not when we spend hours going over them to ensure they’re flawless,” you said tartly. 

“Relax.” He smiled at you, and somehow it managed to carve through your irritation. He slipped the keycard out of his pocket and pressed it into your hand. “I’m very good at improvising.” 

“Lockw—” You didn’t have the chance to chastise him the way he deserved before he slipped off, a very convenient waiter filling the space he left before you could dart after him. You scoffed as you placed your empty glass on their tray, your eyes narrowed as you glared at Lockwood from beyond. 

He paid no attention to you, not until he made the signal. He ‘accidentally’ bumped into Mr. Torres, spilling his wine all over his jacket, and before the first apology could fall from his lips, you were gone. 

You muttered curses under your breath the entire way, slipping past guards and security the best you could on the way to the stairwell. You took them two at a time as you hurried to the fourth floor, and though you were completely out of breath by the time you made it, you were pleased that there were no guards. George said he would have the security cameras disabled before you got there, so you just had to trust in him. 

You continued to take in and let out deep breaths as you walked up to the door, and they turned into a sigh of relief when you scanned the keycard and it opened. You heard footsteps behind you and whirled around, your hand flying on instinct for the rapier that wasn’t there, and your eyes widened yet again when you saw it was Lockwood. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” you hissed. 

He held up his hands in defense, as he stopped jogging, and then he brushed out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “I came to help you.” 

“You’re meant to be distracting Mr. Torres,” you said incredulously. “Lockwood, do you even care for the sanctity of plans?” 

“I care about your safety,” he said, calm in the face of your anger. “That’s why I’m here.” 

“And where is he? Hopefully not in reach of his various guards that could ruin us and our careers at any second.” 

“I left him in the washroom,” Lockwood said. “How are you doing?” 

You set your jaw, and you sighed as you gestured with your head into the now-open office. “Let’s just find this source so we can get out of here.” 

Now came the not-so-legal part, that some may even call theft. Lockwood called it discreetly fixing mistakes, you called it your shoddy morals. Not that you were torn up about stealing from an executive businessman, you just didn’t particularly fancy losing your license over it. 

A rich family had hired Lockwood & Co to find and return a source that was important to their family, and of course it was housed by Mr. Torres of the Sunrise Corporation. You’d no idea what it was with wealthy people and their flaunting of sources, but you’d had enough of it. They paid handsomely for the risk though, hence your shoddy morals. 

This, honestly, was the easy part. You touched a few things, concentrated until your head hurt, and it led you right to it. Quite disappointing—you didn’t know why the Paladinos would keep a paperweight in the family, and more importantly how it came about to be a source, but that didn’t really matter. It sat on Torres’s desk, surrounded by Sunrise Corporation silver-glass, and just for extra measure Lockwood put it into a metal box of your own. You shoved it into your backpack, and the job was halfway done. 

The other half was getting out without being spotted. 

The two of you worked quickly to erase all traces of your being there, and soon enough you were hurrying through the halls together. 

“That was good work.” 

You ignored him. 

“The Paladinos’ money will do a lot of good for us.” 

You ignored him.

“Seriously. You work well on the fly.” 

“We shouldn’t have had to work on the fly,” you finally said bitterly. 

“Why are you so mad?” Lockwood asked with a slight laugh. God, his nerve. “It all worked out. We’ve got the source, we’ll get the payment, and we didn’t even have to deal with any Visitors. Torres is still clueless.” 

“That’s not the point, Lockwood,” you hissed. You forced your expression back into neutrality as you walked out of the stairwell and back into the midst of the party, and you and Lockwood moved at a normal pace. He offered occasional smiles and nods to people in the crowd, and you both nodded at the guards at the exit when you left. 

You couldn’t even relish in your victory, because once you’d gotten out of hearing distance, around the corner where no guards or partygoers could see or hear you, Lockwood stopped you. 

“What is the point then?” he asked. “If none of what I said is the point, then what is the point?” 

“The point is that you don’t trust me!” you exclaimed. 

He immediately frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“Why did you even follow me in the first place?” you asked. “It was your decision to switch it up at the last moment, and you couldn’t even follow through with that?” 

Lockwood didn’t say anything, and you shook your head. 

“You don’t trust me,” you repeated quietly. 

He said your name then, a slightly wild look in his eyes as he turned to you. “That’s not it.” 

“It is.” A muscle worked in your jaw. “Because if you thought I could do it, you would have let me do it instead of risking both of our lives. You wouldn’t have switched our roles in the first place.” 

“Torres was suspicious,” he insisted. “He— he was saying things, talking about how he had to make his guards check on his office. He’s a paranoid man, and you could have been in much more danger if I hadn’t abandoned him.” 

“That is bullshit!” you exclaimed. “God, it was your bloody idea in the first place! Is it suddenly not good enough? Am I not good enough?” 

“That is not what this is about,” Lockwood snapped. 

“Then what is it about?” you marveled. “Why did you switch roles in the first place? You’ve told me I could talk my way out of anything, but when the time comes, you shake things up for no reason. For no reason, Lockwood.” 

“People know my face better than they know yours,” Lockwood said. “Torres was more willing to talk with the head of a rising agency, you were able to slip around easier because of who you are.” 

“Why didn’t you think of that before we were in the thick of it all?” you asked incredulously, and you laughed. “I’ve saved your life multiple times, Lockwood, and you’ve done the same for me. You talk me up all the time to my face, saying I’m what this agency was missing, that I’m part of your family, that— that you’ll never let me go. But that’s all it is, isn’t it?” A shaky smile formed for just a moment before it broke. “Just talk.” 

Lockwood said your name desperately, but you shook your head. “No. Justify it however you want, but you nearly sabotaged the entire job just because you didn’t have enough faith in me. That’s it.”

“I’m telling you, that’s not it.” He let out a ragged sigh, running a distressed hand through his hair, when he suddenly froze. 

“Good evening, sir!” he called, confident as ever, like your argument hadn’t just happened. “We’re just—” 

His voice broke off mid sentence, and then he yelled your name. You whirled around.  

It was a guard, and he was armed. He must have spotted you when you were leaving the office, or maybe George had missed a camera and he’d seen your thievery—there were about a thousand things that could have gone wrong. For a split second, you stared down the barrel of the gun. Funny how you’d stared down what felt like hundreds of ghosts, and a bit of metal was what had you frozen. 

The guard pulled the trigger. 

Lockwood lunged. 

You screamed. 

-

“He’s lucky DEPRAC didn’t find the source in my bag,” you muttered. “They already interrogated me to hell and back while he was in the hospital. Luckily, it usually doesn’t look too good when an adult shoots a teenager and can hardly defend himself against it.” 

“The bloke deserved to be fired,” Lucy said. “A paperweight is certainly not worth shooting someone over.” 

“And it’s certainly not worth getting shot for,” you added. 

“It’s kind of funny,” Lucy said offhandedly. “He’s the one that got shot for you, and yet he’s apologizing to you.” 

“Because it’s his fault that he got us in that situation in the first place!” you exclaimed. You winced as your words sunk in, and you looked over at Lucy. “That was too harsh, wasn’t it?” 

“...A bit,” she admitted. 

You sighed dramatically and hit your head against the side of the wall. “I’m acting like a child.” 

“A bit.” 

“I just don’t know how he expects me to face him,” you said. “I’ve been working with him for the better part of a year, and somehow he still doesn’t trust me.” 

“I… don’t think that’s it,” Lucy said. 

“How could it not be it?” you said. “He wouldn’t have acted like he did if he trusted me.” 

She shrugged. “Have you thought that it’s because he cares about you?” 

“He cares about all of us, Luce.” 

“He cares about you more,” she said plainly. “In a different way.” 

Your head whipped towards her, and you stared at her for a good five seconds. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying.” 

“If you think I’m saying it, it’s for good reason,” she said. 

“We are colleagues,” you said slowly. “Nothing less, nothing more.” 

Lucy said your name with a slight laugh. “He took a bullet for you.” 

“He shuffled our assignments because he didn’t trust me,” you said. 

“He shuffled your assignments because he was worried about you,” she countered. “He didn’t want you with Torres because if you were found out, Lockwood didn’t want him to remember your face. And he abandoned his post because he was worried about you, that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be there to help.” 

You stared at her before you continued your pacing. “You’re insane. You’re kicked out of the agency.” 

“I’m right,” she said wryly. “And may I remind you again that he took a bloody bullet for you?” 

“I’ve already given him that,” you said. “I lost my damn mind when it happened—almost tore the guard apart with my bare hands. I freaked out the entire way to the hospital with him.” 

“And now you’re almost completely ignoring him,” Lucy said. “Face it: you like him. You just don’t want to admit it because it would mean having an actual conversation with him about it all rather than pacing a hole in the floor.” 

“You’re wrong.” You huffed and leaned back against the wall. “You’re wrong.” 

Lucy sighed and she offered a faint smile as she stood up. “You take some time to realize all this. I’m stealing George for an Arif’s run.” 

“Leaving us alone,” you said flatly, staring ahead as she walked out. “You’re not clever, Lucy Carlyle!”

“Thank you!” she called with a laugh, and you hit your head against the wall once more when she closed the door behind her. 

Sometimes you really hated your friends. 

-

It wasn’t like you were avoiding Lockwood. That would be cruel. 

Stupid as he was, he got shot, and he got shot for you. Avoiding him would be ridiculous. 

You were just… strategically not talking to him. 

And that was arguably worse, yes, letting him see you but not deigning to say a single thing to him that wasn’t business related. 

It was even worse than worse because you’d inadvertently proven Lucy right. If this were any normal annoyance between friends, like the squabbles you and George were prone to or the bouts that your boys got into over patience and its virtues, it wouldn’t be this strong. 

You’d held grudges against Lockwood before. When he forgot to soak your boots overnight so you had to go into an important job with plasm stains, when he ate the strawberry sprinkled donut just to spite you, when you and George were still in rocky territory and he made you marathon the archives with him for nine hours straight. 

All of those, annoying as they were, were forgiven rather quickly. And yes, maybe this grudge was especially strong because of the severity of his injury, but… 

You could admit it. Normal people didn’t hold grudges over their best friend throwing themselves in front of them to prevent them from getting shot. Normal people were thankful. Normal people could talk about their feelings when they realized it was the reason for their strife. 

You, apparently, were not normal. And neither was anyone in this bloody agency, because nobody deigned to make it any easier for you.

Perhaps it was a bit stupid on your part, but you walked down to the kitchen anyway. You needed some tea to clear your mind. Instead, you were met with a half-shirtless Lockwood. 

“Ah,” he said your name, looking up from his spot against the counter, “nice of you to finally grace me with your presence.” 

“What are you doing?” you asked. It was almost embarrassing—you were meant to be holding a grudge and ignoring your feelings, and instead you were staring at him like a girl in primary school. Remarkable how quickly you forgot your objectives. 

“The doctor said I had to redress my wound every day for the first week,” he said. “Lucy and George just went out, so I figured I would do it now.” 

Your brows furrowed. “How do you feel?” 

“Better now that you’re here,” he said. Lucy’s words pounded in your ears. “I don’t think you avoiding me is good for my health.” 

You bit your lip and remained silent. Rocky territory, this was. 

“It’s alright if you just want to stand there.” Lockwood grimaced a bit as he pressed the alcohol-soaked pad to his wound. “Moral support is very helpful.” 

Remarkable how quickly the dam broke. You sighed and closed the distance, holding out your hand when you stopped a few meters in front of him. “Give it to me.” 

Lockwood’s eyebrows rose. 

“Give it to me,” you repeated. “I’ve dealt with many of my own wounds over the years. It’ll be a lot faster if I do it for you.” 

His lips quirked into a slight smile as he handed the cloth over. “This is better than moral support.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile of your own as you started to dab at the surrounding blood on his chest, innately aware of your proximity but trying your best to ignore it. “This doesn’t look too bad, honestly.” 

“I was shot,” he said dryly. “I think I deserve a few style points for that.” 

“You’ve already earned them all, Lockwood.” 

“That makes sense.” You felt his eyes on you as you continued to work, pointedly ignoring his gaze. “You know, they didn’t take the bullet out. Said it would be worse to take it out, and it’s not causing any problems inside. So I’ve got a bullet in me now.” 

Your brows furrowed. “Interesting.” 

“Indeed. I’ll be going off in airports for the rest of my life.” 

Your fingers hovered over his chest for a moment, and you pulled away with a sigh. “I’m sorry.” 

It was his turn to frown. “What for?” 

“For—” you let out another sigh, rougher this time. “For this.” 

“It wasn’t your fault I got shot,” he said. “I quite clearly remember pushing you out of the way.” 

“I know,” you said. “I— I am quite sorry that you got shot, though.” 

“Obviously,” he said coyly, and you let out a breathy laugh. 

“I’m sorry for this grudge. It’s probably the stupidest out of all the ones I’ve held against you so far.” 

“George keeps a running list,” Lockwood said. “I’m sure we can figure that out.” 

“I’m serious.” Your hand lingered on Lockwood’s chest for a moment, his body warmth almost shocking, before you set the cloth down on the counter. You started to put a fresh bandage on, but you finally mustered the strength to look at him. “I was so upset at the thought that you didn’t trust me because your opinion means a lot to me, Lockwood. The way you think of me means a lot to me.” You cleared your throat, averting your eyes for a moment. “You mean a lot to me.” 

Lockwood gently tipped your chin back towards him, your eyes meeting his. He really was beautiful—eyes that were softer than ever, his tousled hair, the slope of his jaw. Slightly chapped lips, the bags under his eyes that seemed to be permanent, the weight of the world on his shoulders that seemed to diminish ever so slightly when you were around. 

Your Lockwood. 

“You mean a lot to me as well,” he said. “Why do you think I reassigned us last minute? Why do you think I took a bullet for you?” 

“Because you’re a reckless idiot?” 

“Because I panic around you,” he said, “in addition to being a reckless idiot. Whenever we’re on a job, half of my mind is focused on ghosts, and the other half is making sure nothing happens to you. You drive me the best kind of insane.” 

You couldn’t help but stare at him. You wanted to kiss him more than anything, to root your hands in that tousled hair and make it an even bigger mess. You wanted to make him realize he didn’t have to worry about you, because you weren’t going anywhere without him. 

The words stuck in your throat. You finished applying his bandage, and you took a step away.

“Thank you,” you said. 

He didn’t look angry or annoyed or irritated—he understood. He understood you. 

“Always.” 

And it was as simple as that. 

-

It wasn’t really a surprise you couldn’t sleep that night. You hadn’t exactly talked to Lockwood since your show of emotion in the kitchen, embarrassing as it was. You made Lucy check downstairs before you went down for supper, and that was just so you could make the quickest sandwich of your life and immediately hurry back upstairs. 

Pathetic, really. You mustered the strength to tell the boy you liked him, he returned it, you ran off and locked yourself in the attic. 

And it wasn’t because it was too much. You just… you didn’t know. You might’ve driven Lockwood insane, but he turned you into a complete idiot. It was ridiculous. And you were not ridiculous. 

So when night rolled around, when Lucy and George were sound asleep and the ghost lamps flickered on every three minutes and you had only the owls outside your window for company, you knew what you were going to do. 

You threw on your sweatshirt, carefully padded across the floor and out the door so as to not wake Lucy, and you went down the stairs. 

Surprisingly, you’d never felt calmer. 

The light was on in the library. The door was slightly pushed open, the nondescript act that had turned into a beacon for the two of you. 

You knocked on the wall before you pushed the door open some more, not waiting for an answer as you leaned against the doorframe. 

Lockwood sat in his armchair, a magazine half open but neglected on his lap. His eyes shined the moment you stepped inside. 

“Got room for one more?” you asked softly.

Lockwood’s shoulders relaxed, his throat bobbing for a moment before that damn smile pulled at his lips.

“Always.”

[catbread0]

Can you please do a Kon kusuriuri x immortal reader so the reader is immortal and no matter what she's dose she can't die and she promised to herself that she would never fall in love again that till she meet Kon kusuriuri and it's like love at first sight but when Kon kusuriuri confessed his feelings the reader reject it and she says she'll just out live him but then Kon kusuriuri say that he's a kitsuna which makes him immortal so the reader finally admit that she also love him and it's just a happy ending

Kon-kusuriuri x Immortal! Reader

I loved doing this request. I hope you enjoy it and it meets your expectations!Sorry for any mistakes!

(*^▽^)/♪♪♪

Words: 771

Angst, death, comfort, happy ending

Mononoke (2024) Masterlist

A Curse into a Blessing

Oh, where should you start? You don't even remember why you became an immortal.

You once had a lover in what you thought was your normal life. However, you realize they will only get older while you stay the same young adult. It was devastating to see your lover die slowly in front of you when you vowed to each other to grow old together.

You blamed yourself and the mornings that came that drew your lover further from you.

After their final breath was drawn, you vowed not to fall in love again. You couldn’t bear the thought of never being able to leave this ground and to only see your lover die slowly again. You didn't want to be broken over and over again.

Could you even say that? You were ‘blessed’ with never dying. But to you, it was a curse.

As centuries passed, you decided to walk around Japan. You were broken and broken every time you saw a lovely couple. 

Every step you take is a never-ending journey that leads you to nowhere but an abyss of darkness.

It was currently raining, and you were soaking wet. You saw an entrance and sought to get at least some shelter.

As you stepped into the entrance, you heard the sound of wooden sandals making their way to you. You looked and saw a samurai with a pink and green kamishimo approaching you. 

He yelled something to another 2 samurais, and he guided you to sit down on the edge of an engawa. The samurais came back with towels and gave them to you.

You thanked them for their gesture. As you were drying yourself, you saw another person.

You looked and made eye contact with the strange man. He had a strange kimono with different coloring and patterns, strange makeup on his face, and his hair was unnatural. You could go on but decide not to.

The strange man approached you as you dried yourself. You come to find out he's a medicine seller, but never revealed his name.

While you both talked, something in you felt strange. A feeling you haven’t felt in many years. A feeling you feared.

Love.

The day was darkening, and the medicine seller left. The kind pink and green samurai guided you to a small room that you could stay in. You were grateful that you could sleep with protection.

You lay in your futon, but you couldn’t fall asleep peacefully. The fear of love is the nightmare you are having even though you are not asleep. 

What if you had once again sleepless nights and hatred of the mornings because of your curse?

You wonder if this curse will give you back your once-precious memories again. One is when you promise and vow to your lover that you will find them in the next life. 

But now that promise is long gone, you will never be able to accomplish it, nor promise it again to anyone.

The next day arrived eventually, and the medicine seller was once again there.

One look into his eyes, and you can tell what that look is. You’ve seen it before. 

Love.

You knew it was for the best if you both went your separate paths. That's why when he confessed to you after a few days, you rejected him. 

“I’m cursed with immortality. I walk into an endless abyss of darkness. It would be selfish of me to drag you along. While I do feel the same connection, I do not wish to feel suffering again.”

A pair of rough hands take yours.

“I am a kitsune, I have felt what you suffered. The sleepless nights, hatred of the mornings, and the endless cycle of a never-ending life. You no longer need to fear love. If you ever feel anxious in the endless cycle, I shall be there and soothe you.”

You looked into his eyes again. There was love and truth, but something familiar was there as well. 

“I never wanted to leave you, I was blessed by Inari to be a kitsune under her. I spent the centuries since my death to find you again, wondering countless nights and days without you beside me.” 

That's why the feeling of familiarity was there. He was your lover who died in front of you. The one you vowed to.

You immediately hugged him and accepted his confession. 

The sleepless nights and hatred of mornings had finally vanished, replaced with a warm embrace and happiness. 

Every time you woke up in your shared futon, you two would make eye contact and smile at each other.

~Lilly's

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 17

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

Drew Tanaka's True Love Connections by @buoyantsaturn

Will smiled. "I have an appointment next door with the, uh… Matchmaker lady?” He winced at his own awkwardness, trying to bite back the embarrassment he felt. “Well, actually my friend set it up for me, but-- Sorry, do you know anything about her? The matchmaker lady, not my friend, I mean. I’m just not sure what to expect, you know? I’ve never, uh, done something like this before.” 

THIS WAS SO SICK I LOVED IT!!!!!! flowershop au with a twist oh yes ma’am. also im so pumped drew was in this every time i see her im like hello my love how are you

2. just desserts by @thegoldenappleofdiscord

It’s just a cupcake, Nico reminds himself. Surely that justifies breaking into the infirmary at the break of dawn. or: nico's love language is baking and will solace gets a lot of cake as a result.

end note hate me GIGGGGLIIING. also i am OBSESSED with this author but i haven’t read the solangelo book yet so i haven’t read a lot of her stuff and i’m DYING to. this was as sweet as nico's baking fr!! i'm writing less of a note on this fic (altho i love it) bc the WORDS i have to say about the next one,,,

3. caught in the river of tears that i cried by @thegoldenappleofdiscord*

In all honesty, it was really for the best that Will didn’t think about all the strange things that sometimes happened around him. After all, his mama had more than enough on her plate already. He was a good kid, and it was best everything stayed as it were. (Though admittedly, the flock of flesh-eating maniac pigeons, men with hooves, and the growing darkness in his veins might just make this a tiny bit more difficult than he anticipated) or: will can only push down a part of him for so long (will has plague powers, but he's known it from the very start.)

UPDATE WHEN UPDATE WHEN UPDATE WHEN REESE PLEASE 😭😭i am genuinely so obsessed with this fic and the WAY everything is woven together....like fear is a driving force!! you can feel it!! this is one of those starred fics fr bc it Changed the way i wrote and characterized will. he is fr a character who has been controlled by fear his Whole life actually. of the world and what it takes from him. of the Fates that do not care for your fragile love. of the things they are forced to do. of the precarity of life. and perhaps most intimately and ardently Himself, and the abilities he does not want to have, the life he does not want to live. the parts of himself that do not fit in the mold he has Built for himself and Forced himself into. and this fic shows that so so beautifully like this story is Woven.....i think about it literally all the time it's insane

4. a handful of almosts by @thegoldenappleofdiscord

He’d said it so easily: “Best friends don’t do that to each other, Will.” It had been a throwaway comment after Will decimated him in a card game, which was usually Nico’s forte. Following that had been a furious, “Besides, it’s war. Entirely luck-based. Winning this game doesn’t mean anything. Stop laughing – why the hell are you laughing?” He’d mostly been laughing because of Nico’s expression – eyebrows drawn tight, mouth twisted in an adorable scowl – but also because of the sudden elation pumped into him like helium. They were best friends – and maybe someone else would be hopeful for more, and maybe one day he'll pursue it (he did want it, had wanted it for a long time) but for now, he’s content where they are, sitting in Nico’s room and cursing at each other through a deck of cards. or: 5+1 of will solace being a pining loser

A HANDFUL OF ALMOSTS!!! WHAT!!! every once and a while u just hit a title that Hits u u know. like a handful of almosts. yeah. what a deeply poignant and tragic thing. how fitting for the pjoverse, a universe of people who are haunted by their almosts. god. and then to turn around and make this story FLUFFY?? MAKE IT THE CUTEST THING IN THE WORLD??? "will solace and his rose coloured glasses" REESE!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!

5. Damage Control by @nikkira

“I couldn’t save Lee. I couldn’t save Michael. I couldn’t save Silena.” “You saved Annabeth when she was stabbed, right? And Annabeth was kind of imperative to the whole saving the world effort. The people you save go on to do things and help people and save people. When you lose someone, you lose them. But when you save someone, you save a dozen more people.”

"i dream of the people i could not save. they're mad at me." oh i am UNWELL. ill i tell you. i read this line and had to sit down for a little while like actually. one thing about will solace is that he never stops punishing himself and no one got that like this fic nine years ago

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[hamsterclaw]

Replay

Taehyung's your roommate - you get along fine, you do your own thing and stay out of each others' way. Your relationship works perfectly the way it is, you don't want or need anything more out of it.

Pairing: Taehyung x F! reader, Yoongi x F! reader

Word count: 11k

Genre: College AU, smut

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Smut, swearing

You’re standing in a corner of the kitchen of the house party you’re at with your roommate Taehyung. 

You’re aware of the looks you’re attracting. Taehyung’s hot when he’s lounging around half-dressed in your living room, but fully dressed? When he’s made an effort? 

He’s devastating. 

Dark hair, dark brows often drawn together when he’s looking at someone, like they’re a puzzle he’s dying to work out, lips curled in a smirk. 

He dresses carefully, even for hastily thrown together house parties, but even the loosest of shirts don’t hide his broad shoulders, the lines of his torso tapering to hips that he knows how to move. 

Your roommate’s a sexy man. 

You’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself, especially today, when your hair’s doing what you want it to and your eyeliner’s sharp enough to cut glass. 

Together, you draw attention, and you’ve taken full advantage of it in the past. 

Your shared apartment with Taehyung has two bedrooms, set on opposite ends of a hallway with your living room in between, which is just as well. You’ve got no desire to hear your sexy roommate’s pillow talk, nor for him to hear you getting off with your man of choice. 

Taehyung sips his drink and tilts his head at you. 

‘I might go early,’ he tells you. ‘I haven’t even started Monday’s assignment.’ 

‘You’ve got the weekend,’ you say, easy. 

‘I don’t want to lose tomorrow too,’ he says, shrugging. ‘You don’t need me, anyway.’ 

You’re distracted by the arrival of the basketball team. ‘Hmm?’ 

Taehyung dips close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. You lean back, startled. You rarely touch each other, you know some friends do but you’re not a touchy person and you didn’t think Taehyung was either. 

‘Now that I have your attention,’ he says pointedly, rolling his eyes, ‘I’m gonna go. Say ‘hi’ to Yoongi for me. Don’t fuck in communal spaces.’ 

‘Stay for a bit,’ you plead, grabbing his shirt as he turns away. 

Taehyung looks down at your hand. ‘Pick up brunch for us tomorrow and I’ll wing you.’

‘Deal,’ you say. 

You both turn as you’re approached by Kim Namjoon, basketball captain and the most promiscuous man you know.

‘Hey,’ he says, leaning against the counter, dimpling at you. 

‘Hi Namjoon,’ you say. 

Taehyung raises a brow as Namjoon acts like he’s interested in your drink.

You’re about to offer Namjoon a sip when there’s a huff of breath, then a gravelly voice.

‘Y/N, Tae,’ Min Yoongi says, nodding to both of you in greeting.

‘Hi Yoongi,’ you say. You smile at him, and he gives you a long look that makes you feel flushed, warm.

Kim Namjoon captains the basketball team, but Yoongi’s the only person you ever watch on the rare occasion you find yourself at a game. 

He’s ethereal, with his beautiful skin and dark eyes, and his hands and forearms have featured in all your nastiest fantasies.

You have needs, and tonight, you want Yoongi to see to them.

Taehyung’s already hustling Namjoon away, throwing you a smirk over his shoulder as he leaves you with Yoongi.

Yoongi watches you take a sip of your drink.

‘Want some?’ you ask, tipping your plastic cup towards him.

Yoongi says, cool, so confident you can already feel yourself melting at his feet, ‘yeah.’

He downs what's in your cup and sets it down on the counter.

‘Let me get you a better drink,’ he says, hanging his head, looking up at you, lips curled in a smirk.

You wonder what his lips might feel like on you.

‘I have wine at mine,’ you say, bold.

He keeps looking at you, smile playing on his lips. 

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ you say.

Yoongi tilts his head. ‘Lead the way.’

***

Yoongi’s got your skirt hiked up, panties by your ankles, and his mouth on your cunt. 

He licks another stripe along your folds, slow, deliberate.

You reach up, grasp his forearm.

He snickers, following it up with another long slow lick.

‘You want my fingers?’ he asks. 

‘Yeah,’ you plead. ‘Want you.’

You’re arched back against your headboard, trying not to scream when there’s a knock at your door.

‘Hey,’ Taehyung calls through the door. ‘You ok?’

Yoongi looks up from where he’s poised over your cunt, sees your hands covering your own mouth.

‘We’re good, bro,’ he answers, sliding his fingers into you.

Your mouth opens to moan, and Yoongi’s other hand comes up to cover your mouth. 

Taehyung knocks again, more insistent this time.

‘I want to hear you, Y/N. Are you all right?’

Yoongi’s fingers start moving in and out of you as he shrugs and uncovers your mouth.

‘Yeah,’ you say, trying not to moan again. ‘I’m good, Tae, thanks for checking.’

Taehyung says, ‘Yeah. I’m in my room if you need anything.’

‘Damn,’ Yoongi murmurs as you hear Taehyung walking away. ‘You guys look out for each other like that a lot?’

You whimper as Yoongi shoves his jeans down, moves on top of you.

‘Can’t be too careful,’ you say, breathless.

Yoongi’s unrolling a condom on his pretty dick, nudging into you slowly.

He groans as he eases into you, letting out a breath when he’s all the way in.

You clench around him helplessly, the stretch of him’s so damn good you could come from this alone.

Yoongi rolls his hips, grinding, hitting you so deep you see stars behind your eyelids every time he thrusts.

‘You good?’ he asks. He’s genuinely waiting for an answer, and your heart flutters a little when you realise.

‘Yeah,’ you affirm, smiling up at him.

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, mutters something that sounds like ‘so fucking pretty’, that you would ask him to repeat if he wasn’t fucking you so well.

You cry his name as you come, tightening around his cock.

‘Good girl,’ praises Yoongi, the gravel in his voice somehow both sexy and soothing.

His thrusts slow, his rhythm changes, and he groans ‘baby, fuck, fuck!’ as he comes.

He pulls out, ties off the condom and tosses it with a careless flick into your bin.

‘All in the wrist,’ you comment. 

Yoongi, now flat on his back on your bed, arm over his face, chuckles. 

‘You’re an idiot.’

Then, he sits up, scanning your face like he’s worried he’s upset you.

‘I’m just teasing you,’ he tells you.

You’re already getting up to use the bathroom. 

‘I know, Yoongi,’ you reply. ‘Want some water?’

‘I should get going,’ he says.

You shrug. ‘You can stay if you want.’

‘I’ve got basketball in the morning,’ he replies.

‘Sure,’ you say.

You walk him out, bid him goodbye at the door.

There’s crockery rattling in the kitchen, Taehyung’s smoky tenor caressing the notes of a jazz classic.

You stop in the doorway to listen.

Taehyung’s got a stunning voice, the first time you came back early from classes and heard him, you’d thought it was a recording.

He turns his head, spots you, doesn’t miss a beat.

You pour yourself a glass of water and take a seat at the kitchen counter.

Without asking, Taehyung lays a bowl in front of you, chopsticks together angled at a skew. 

‘Thanks,’ you say, gratefully. 

You eat quietly as Taehyung sings. The song segues into another, words crooned low over the tinkling of an accompanying piano. 

He joins you at the counter eventually with his own bowl.

‘You good?’ he asks.

You have a sudden flashback to Yoongi buried inside you, asking the same.

You give Taehyung a half-smile.

‘Yeah good.’

‘How come Yoongi didn’t stay?’ Taehyung asks.

‘He said he had basketball in the morning,’ you reply. 

You don’t want it to sting but it does. 

Taehyung shrugs. ‘Maybe you’re just not that interesting out of bed,’ he says, deadpan.

‘Yeah,’ you agree, just as deadpan.

‘It’s probably more that he’s an idiot,’ Taehyung continues. 

You shrug. 

‘Wanna watch TV, Tae?’

‘Yeah. Go set it up and I’ll bring us ice cream.’

You’re curled up in your corner of the couch, blanket pulled over you, when Taehyung enters.

He hands you a tub and a spoon and settles in his corner. 

‘Are you really ok?’ he asks, not looking at you.

‘Yeah.’

You wait for him to say something else, but he just hums. 

Predictably, he’s asleep before the opening credits have even finished, but his presence is comforting all the same.

***

You’re at the diner with Taehyung the next morning when he says, ‘don’t look now, your fuckboi’s here with his teammates.’

You grimace. ‘Think they might not see us?’

Taehyung says, ‘he’s heading over here.’

You don’t have time to ask who before Min Yoongi’s standing by your booth.

‘Hey,’ he says, tilting his head at you.

You smile at him, grateful you’d at least taken the time to do your skincare this morning before coming out.

‘Hey Yoongi.’

‘Can I get your number?’ he asks.

You reel off your digits, voice steady even though your heart’s beating triple speed.

‘Ok,’ Yoongi says. The tip of his tongue pokes through his lips briefly, and your phone vibrates in your pocket.

‘Can I call you later?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Sure,’ you say, light, casual.

Yoongi nods at Taehyung, and then he’s off.

You pick up a forkful of pancakes to give your hands something to do.

‘Guess you’re not that uninteresting after all,’ Taehyung teases.

‘Yeah, and guess he’s not that much of an idiot,’ you agree.

Taehyung laughs. ‘At least now you can stop sulking.’

You’d deny you were ever sulking but Taehyung knows you too well.

***

It’s another Friday night, and you have a date with Yoongi. It’s only a movie, but he’s picking you up and you’re excited and there’s that.

You’re pouring yourself a glass of water in the kitchen when Taehyung walks in.

‘Wow,’ you say, impressed.

Your roommate’s sharply styled tonight, his hair away from his face, shirt falling perfectly against his lean frame. The chain around his neck glints in the light as he moves. He smells good, fresh.

‘Wow yourself,’ he replies. ‘Date with Yoongi?’

‘Going to the movies,’ you tell him. ‘You?’

‘I’ve got a dinner date,’ he says. ‘We’ll probably come back here after.’

‘I’ll be out late,’ you say. ‘No sex in communal spaces.’

Taehyung laughs at the mantra you’ve got into the habit of tossing at each other instead of a goodbye, and waves as he leaves.

When the doorbell rings you hurry to open it.

Yoongi’s standing in your doorway, all longish dark hair and silver earrings, smile crooked.

‘Hey pretty girl,’ he says, like he practised it, and butterflies flutter in your stomach anyway, because you’ve always been a sucker for a compliment from a gorgeous guy. 

‘Hey,’ you say. You grab your keys off the hall table and step out. He doesn’t move back like you expected him to, so you end up pressed against him as you shut the door behind you.

You look at him and raise an eyebrow.

He smirks at you. 

‘I’d like popcorn,’ you say.

Yoongi slips his arm around your shoulders. 

‘Yeah? I’ll get you some,’ he promises. 

You lean into his chest as you head for the lifts. 

‘I heard the movie’s scary,’ he says, as you get into the lift. ‘Are you gonna hold my hand?’

‘I like horror movies,’ you tell him.

‘But what about me? I might get scared,’ he says.

‘Don’t worry, I can hold your hand at the scary parts.’

Yoongi says, ‘yeah?’

‘Promise,’ you say. 

Yoongi grins at you. ‘We’d better practice holding hands now.’

You have to laugh at his expression. You push at his chest lightly, but when his hand comes up to grasp yours, you don’t pull away.

***

By the time you and Yoongi get back from the movie, the living room is dark but the kitchen light’s on.

‘Want a drink?’ you offer. ‘I have beer.’

You enter the kitchen and are confronted with your roommate’s bare chest, sweats slung low around his hips.

He mumbles a greeting, turns to grab a cup, revealing scratch marks all over his back.

‘Fuck, are you ok? Your back.’

Taehyung’s grin is boxy, wide, reminding you why he has the reputation he has around campus.

He passes you a couple beers, cracks one open for himself. 

‘Gigi’s still here,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Brunch?’

‘Brunch,’ you agree. 

He tilts his beer at you in a toast, and saunters out.

You can hear him greeting Yoongi as he heads back to his room.

Yoongi raises a brow at you. ‘Is he high?’

‘Possibly,’ you reply. ‘Are you still scared from the movie? Do I need to hold your hand again?’

Yoongi nods so seriously you’re almost fooled.

He takes your hand and tugs you into your room, onto your bed.

‘What should we do now?’ you ask, feigning innocence.

Yoongi laughs, tugs gently at the strap of your dress with his teeth. 

He pulls down, letting the strap fall off your shoulder, exposing the top of your left breast.

He brushes his lips over your rounded flesh, tongue flicking between to lick, and you shiver.

‘Cold?’ Yoongi asks, watching you intently as he blows over your exposed nipple.

You can’t stop the moan from spilling out as he flicks your nipple with his tongue.

Yoongi’s breath is warm on your skin, like his palm as he slides it over your bare thigh, under your skirt. 

The tips of his long fingers brush between your legs, and you let out an involuntary hum. 

‘Yeah, you’re cold,’ Yoongi says, confident, decisive. 

He leans over you, pushing you down on the bed under him. ‘Come on, I’ll warm you up.’ 

Fuck, he does. 

***

You and Taehyung are halfway through your breakfast plates at the diner before you even speak to each other. 

‘If this place ever closes we’ll be fucked,’ Taehyung says, mouth full. 

‘You’ll be fucking regardless,’ you say, unable to resist. ‘But yeah, we need this place to stay open.’ 

‘Why does fucking make me so hungry?’ wonders Taehyung. ‘I don’t feel this hungry after the gym.’ 

You snort. ‘When do you ever go to the gym?’

‘Jungkook’s been dragging me there.’ 

Taehyung flexes his arm. ‘See? This definition isn’t just my natural shape.’ 

You pretend to squint. ‘What? You mean being a noodle-armed weakling isn’t natural to you?’ 

Taehyung looks at you, mouth in a straight line. ‘You mean being a short ass isn’t natural to you?’

‘Ha ha ha ha,’ you scowl. 

‘Gigi says she likes your style,’ Taehyung says, shoving another forkful of sausage into his mouth, chewing open-mouthed. 

‘Yeah? I like hers too, apart from her taste in fuckbuddies,’ you retort. 

‘She says you have a great ass.’ 

‘Oh my god, can you shut up and let me eat in peace,’ you grumble. 

‘Does Yoongi say anything about me?’ Taehyung asks. 

‘Yeah, he’s always asking if you’re high.’

Taehyung snorts. ‘Rich coming from a scrappy athlete with a bad reputation.’ 

‘He doesn’t have a bad reputation.’ 

‘Please. If he wasn’t the biggest fuckboy around you wouldn’t even be interested.’ 

‘What? I don’t just date fuckboys,’ you protest, weakly, trying to remember the last boy you actually dated. 

‘You live with me,’ Taehyung reminds you, rolling his eyes. 

‘You don’t have a bad reputa –’ 

You cut yourself off midsentence. ‘Yeah ok. And?’ 

‘And nothing. I like living with you. You’re easy.’ 

Your eyebrows lift and you toss a napkin at him. 

‘Easy to live with,’ Taehyung amends. 

He laughs. ‘Can you get the waitress’ attention, we’re gonna need more potato waffles.’

‘Get her yourself,’ you say. 

‘Don’t be mad,’ Taehyung coaxes. ‘I’m easy too.’ 

You look at the way he’s sitting, leaning back, legs spread wide in his grey sweats, the neck of his t-shirt so wide you can see all of his collarbones, and your fit of pique fades. 

‘I like living with you too,’ you say. 

You tip your juice towards him, and he brings his own drink forward to toast. 

‘To cheap breakfasts,’ he says. 

‘And easy lays,’ you reply. 

Taehyung’s grin flashes at you, the wide boxy grin he reserves for when he’s genuinely amused, and you can’t help but smile back. 

***

The thud that comes from the living room is muffled, like whoever made it is trying to be quiet. 

You’re only half awake, and falling back asleep again when you hear another sound, the thump of a knee against the edge of the sofa. 

You pick up your phone, squinting at the time. 

3am. 

You sit up. 

‘What are you doing, Tae?’ you mutter to yourself, getting up. 

You stumble to the living room, eyes trying to adjust to the dark. 

You can see him standing in the middle of the living room, and have a sense of unreality when you can hear a key in the front door. 

Realisation pierces through you, and you turn back to the intruder in your living room. 

Your mouth opens, and the intruder flees, heading straight for your balcony doors, which you’ve just noticed, are ajar. 

Taehyung walks in, startled to see you. 

‘Tae! There’s a man in our apartment!’ you blurt out. 

Taehyung and you rush for the balcony but by the time you get there there’s no trace of the man. 

‘Shit, the lock’s broken,’ Taehyung says. 

‘I’m gonna call the police,’ you tell him. 

‘Are you ok? What happened?’

Taehyung takes your arm.

‘Shit Tae, you smell like —’

Taehyung grimaces. ‘Yeah, sorry. The guys were going hard tonight.’

By the time you’ve made your report, Taehyung’s showered and made you both tea. 

‘I don’t think anything’s missing, all our stuff’s still here,’ you say. 

‘Yeah,’ Taehyung agrees. He shivers. ‘Sorry I wasn’t here.’

‘Fuck, that was scary,’ you say. Now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, you’re starting to feel sleepy. 

You glance at the balcony door. ‘What are we going to do about that?’ 

‘We should set a trap,’ Taehyung says, authoritatively. 

You glare at him. ‘Are you still high?’ 

‘Shit, not when you look at me like that,’ Taehyung replies. 

You sigh. ‘Go to bed, Tae.’ 

‘No, I can fix it,’ Taehyung insists. He goes to his room, and is gone for so long you’re about to go and check on him when he returns. 

‘What the fuck, Tae?’ 

Taehyung just raises an eyebrow at you. 

He walks over to the balcony doors, snaps them closed, and ties the handles together with the red silk ties he came out with, deftly. 

He tests the knots with an expertise you’re almost afraid to ask how he acquired. 

You find yourself smiling, reluctantly, for the first time since you woke up. 

‘Fucking hell, Kim Taehyung.’ 

Taehyung turns to you, completely straight-faced, apart from a tell-tale quiver of his lips. 

‘I have some left over,’ he tells you, feigning innocence. 

‘Fucking hell, Kim Taehyung.’ 

‘If you’re not feeling safe, I can sleep in your room with you, for tonight,’ he offers. 

‘Get the fuck out, Tae.’ 

‘I don’t have to bring my ropes.’ 

‘Shibari.’ 

‘Actually, it’s Kinbaku.’ 

Taehyung drops the ties on the couch and walks carefully around it. 

He puts a hand on your back. ‘Come on. I’ll walk you to your room, ok?’ 

Against your better judgement, you let him lead you to your bedroom. 

Taehyung pulls the covers back, helps you get settled in and rearranges them over you. 

Fully dressed, he lies on top of the covers next to you. 

‘Go to sleep,’ he says, rolling on his back, closing his eyes. 

His quiet, easy breathing fills the silence, and before you know it, you’re asleep. 

***

The sun’s setting, so you go out on your balcony to watch. It’s chilly still but more spring than winter.

Your heels rattle against the grate as you make your way to one of the garden chairs you and Tae picked up at the flea market when you first moved in together.

Yoongi’s coming to pick you up in a half hour, a proper date you think, you’re going to pick up food together before a house party.

The front door to the apartment opens, you can hear Taehyung humming to himself.

A moment later he’s peering out the balcony doors at you.

‘You look nice,’ he tells you.

You’re surprised by his compliment. ‘Thanks Tae Tae.’

‘Hot date with a fuckboy?’ Taehyung asks. He takes the seat across the balcony from you, long legs stretching out in between. He tilts his face up to the setting sun, and for a moment you admire the beauty of his profile, cast in rosy golds and brilliant orange.

Your roommate is genuinely one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever met.

You realise he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for you to say something. 

‘Sorry,’ you say, smiling. ‘I got distracted by how pretty you look.’

Taehyung snorts. ‘You look pretty too. Your legs look as long as mine in those heels.’

You scoff. ‘Yeah, I’m as tall as you.’

You stand, and Taehyung stands too. 

For a moment you look up at his face.

Your hand reaches up to touch his shoulder but you veer off at the last minute.

You never touch him, really, but for some reason you want to, now.

Taehyung’s standing with his hands behind his back, face tilted down to yours.

His voice, when he says your name, is that low baritone you hear rumbling though the walls sometimes when he has someone in the bedroom with him.

More vibration than words.

Taehyung’s gaze is intent on you. 

The doorbell buzzes, and you step back, spell broken.

‘It’s probably Yoongi. Have a good night, Tae Tae.’

He’s already turning away.

***

Your friend Dahyun nudges you at the house party you ended up at. 

‘How are things with Yoongi?’

You shrug. ‘We’re still seeing each other. We just went to dinner before this.’

‘He took you to dinner? Good Christ, you’re practically married,’ Dahyun teases.

‘Got me dessert and everything,’ you deadpan.

She laughs. 

‘How’s Hobi?’ you ask.

‘He’s good,’ Dahyun replies. 

Dahyun’s been dating Hoseok on and off since first year. Personally, you’ve always liked him, he’s always treated her well and he’s always seemed kind hearted to you.

Speak of the devil.

Hoseok walks up to Dahyun and slides his arm around her waist with a possessiveness that makes you feel a pang of envy.

You can’t imagine Yoongi ever doing that to you.

It’s not that you don’t think he’d be proud to be seen with you, but he’s just not the kind of guy who’d want people to know his business.

You sip your drink as Hobi and Dahyun excuse themselves, probably to go make out in a dark corner.

It’s only when you get to the last mouthful that you realise how strong your drink is.

Shit. Why did you decide to wear these heels?

You teeter your way to the kitchen and nearly trip on a step.

There’s a warm hand on your arm, steadying you, Yoongi’s voice in your ear.

‘You ok?’

‘Yeah,’ you reply. 

‘I’m gonna go grab some food with Jimin and Namjoon, Jimin’s going through some shit.’

It takes you a moment to understand. 

‘Oh, ok. Sure.’

‘Can you get back home ok?’

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Sure.’

Yoongi looks at you a moment longer. 

‘I saw Taehyung here earlier, want me to see if I can find him for you?’

You straighten up. ‘Nah, I’m fine.’

Yoongi’s still got his eyes on your face. You’re glad it’s dark enough to hide how warm your face is.

You wave a hand, careless. ‘Don’t baby me, Yoongi.’

Yoongi snorts, but he leaves, casting a final glance at you before he exits with Jimin.

You wait a beat, then decide to look around for your friends.

You wander through the living room, spotting Hoseok and Dahyun cuddled up on one of the couches.

Near the stairs you spot Taehyung, leaning against the wall with a very tall girl with gorgeous hair draped over him.

He sees you, tilts his chin, his dark brows in a straight line, his expression unreadable.

You’re heading over to him when the girl undrapes herself and slinks towards the bathroom.

You stumble a little, and Taehyung reaches out to steady you.

‘Tipsy?’ he teases.

‘A bit,’ you confess. You slump against the wall next to him, trying to ignore the way the room’s spinning lazily.

‘I’m going home,’ you tell Taehyung.

‘Sure. Who’s taking you?’ Taehyung asks.

‘Taxi,’ you reply, waving your phone.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. ‘You can barely stand. Here, wait a bit, Tina and I will go with you.’

He pushes off the wall. ‘Stay here.’

‘Nah, I’m ok,’ you reply.

Taehyung just gives you a look.

‘I’m getting Tina, wait here.’

As soon as he disappears you look down at your phone. The screen’s all blurry. You swipe at it and give up, deciding it’s not your fault the screen’s wavy and swirly.

Shit.

You press back against the wall as some tall guy walks past. 

You vaguely recognise him as one of Yoongi’s teammates. Wonho? 

He stops next to you.

‘Hey, you’re Y/N, right?’ 

His voice is deep, not as deep as Yoongi’s or even Taehyung’s, but it’s got a pleasing mellow tone to it you like.

‘Yep,’ you say. You wish you could see his face better, but your eyes don’t seem to be working that well right now.

‘I like your dress,’ he says.

‘I don’t think it comes in your size,’ you tell him.

He laughs. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Nah, I’m good,’ you say. 

‘Want to sit with me for a bit?’ he asks, leaning so close you can smell his shampoo. He smells good, but you think you’ve had enough.

Time to go home. 

‘I can’t sit in this dress,’ you inform him. ‘It’s too short.’

‘Shit, come and sit with me, I won’t look.’

He sounds like he’s flirting but you’re not really interested right now.

‘My roommate’s here. I need to find him,’ you say, apologetic.

You push off the wall and go off to search for Taehyung.

You just catch sight of him being dragged upstairs.

Damn.

Sighing, you try and pull out your phone, only to not be able to find it.

Double damn.

You find yourself at the door of the house, and decide there’s nothing for it. 

You’re going to have to walk home.

***

It’s still dark by the time you trudge the last few blocks home. 

You’ve sobered up some from walking around in the early morning chill, at least the pavement isn’t wavy anymore.

You pull your key out of your bag with cold hands,  and are trying to get your fingers to work enough to unlock the door, when it opens on its own.

‘What the fuck!’ Taehyung says. He grabs your arm and drags you inside.

You stare at him, uncomprehending. 

‘Where the fuck were you?’ Taehyung asks.

You realise he’s angry.

‘Uh?’ you mumble unintelligently.

You lean down to undo your heels and nearly tip over.

Taehyung catches you, helps you straighten up. 

‘You walked home like this? Are you stupid?’

You’re hurt at his tone.

‘What do you want, Tae?’ you ask tiredly.

You sit on the floor and start unbuckling your heels.

God, you’re sure they weren’t this difficult to get on. 

Taehyung makes an impatient sound and pushes your hands away.

You sit as he undoes your heels and pulls them off.

‘I told you to wait for me,’ he scolds. 

You glare at him, hoping the feeling returns to your feet soon so you can get up.

‘It’s dangerous to walk alone —- wait! Where the fuck are you going?’

You turn your head to look at him as you crawl away. 

‘Stop scolding me, my head hurts,’ you complain.

Taehyung sighs. 

Then he holds out a hand. ‘Come on, I’ll help you into bed.’

You give him your hand and nearly fall onto your face again.

Taehyung swears, then pulls you up. 

He’s stronger than he looks. Maybe he wasn’t lying about going to the gym with JK.

You mull this over as he helps you to your bedroom.

Taehyung deposits you on the bed. ‘Stay here.’

‘Ugh, get out,’ you complain as he heads for your dresser.

Taehyung rummages through your top drawer and turns to you, holding out a soft tee.

As he walks towards you there’s a soft thud on the carpet. 

You give him your best innocent look as your purple bullet vibrator rolls on the floor towards you, stopping at the foot of your bed.

Taehyung ignores it and hands you the tee. ‘Can you get changed on your own?’

You shrug. 

He rolls his eyes. ‘Get changed. I’m gonna bring you some water.’

You decide it’s not worth the energy arguing with him.

By the time Taehyung comes back with a glass of water, you’re in bed.

He sits on the covers next to you and hands you your phone.

‘Where did you get this?’ you ask.

‘Some dude, Wonho had it,’ Taehyung says. He runs a hand over his face. ‘Fuck! I nearly got into a fight with him, I thought he’d done something to you.’

This is news to you. 

You frown at Taehyung. ‘I saw you going upstairs with Tina.’ 

‘Fuck that, you’re drunk as fuck, you should have waited for me,’ Taehyung scolds. ‘I was only a few minutes.’

‘Two minute man?’ you ask. For some reason this strikes you as hilarious.

‘Obviously,’ Taehyung says, like he’s reaching the end of his patience, ‘Tina and I didn’t fuck because I l knew you were waiting for me.’

You’re still giggling. 

Taehyung stares at you, then he scoffs. ‘Are you hungry? I can fix us ramdon.’

You fall asleep considering his offer.

***

You’re looking up train times when there’s a knock on your door.

Taehyung pokes his head in. 

‘Going somewhere?’ he asks, raising a brow at your overnight bag.

‘It’s my dad,’ you tell him. ‘My mom called, he’s in the hospital.’

‘Shit,’ Taehyung says. ‘Is he ok?’

Concern’s written all over his face as he steps further into your room.

‘He’s had a heart attack,’ you say. 

You’re trying to stay calm but it’s hard, your nerves have been shot since your mom called.

‘Can you drive me to the train station?’ you ask.

‘Yeah, sure,’ Taehyung says instantly. ‘Give me five and I’ll take you.’

Taehyung loads your bag into the trunk along with his and gets into the car. 

‘What’s the hospital address?’ he asks.

You stare at him blankly. ‘Tae, it’s hours away.’

‘So I’ll drive you, you shouldn’t be alone,’ Taehyung tells you. He looks oddly serious. 

‘Thanks,’ you say finally.

Taehyung just nods. ‘Get your belt on.’

You lean back in your chair as he pulls out of the space. 

Outside, a light rain starts to fall.

***

It’s still raining when you get back home after seeing your dad at the hospital.

Your mom fusses over you and Taehyung, probably because of how incredibly kind he’d been at the hospital.

Your roommate’s showing a side to him you’ve never seen before.

You’ve seen glimpses of him being nice, of course, in the months you’ve been living with him, but you’ve never thought about him as anything more than a casual friend. 

And here he is being so supportive you could cry. 

Your mum’s gone up to her room when he catches you looking at him over your food.

He raises an eyebrow at you but doesn’t stop eating.

‘Thanks,’ you say, feeling like you need to say something. ‘Thanks for driving me here, and being so nice.’ 

Your throat closes on the last word, and you take a sip of water, trying to hide the prickle of tears behind your eyelids. 

‘You’re my friend, I’m just doing the same as you’ve done for me,’ Taehyung says. 

His voice is so warm, quiet, that it’s getting harder to hold the tears back. 

‘Yeah?’ you ask, voice trembling as you try valiantly to pull humour in. ‘I don’t even have a car, and you don’t fit on the back of my bike.’ 

You cast a glance at him, but he’s not looking at you either. 

‘You made me soup when I was unwell earlier in the year. You always cook extra for me.’ 

Taehyung’s big hand reaches out, plays with his glass. ‘You don’t mind washing some of my clothes when they accidentally get in your wash.’ 

You snort. ‘I knew it wasn’t an accident.’ 

‘They’re always so much softer when you wash them,’ Taehyung says, on a pout. 

Your eyes meet.

‘It goes both ways,’ Taehyung says. 

‘Like your dick?’ 

‘Shut up, your mom’s upstairs,’ Taehyung retorts. 

‘She knows about the birds and the bees,’ you say. 

You both laugh, and for the first time since you found out about your dad, the tightness in your chest eases a little. 

The tears that threatened to fall are long gone, which is just as well. 

You feel like you’re on the edge of a precipice, like you’re barely a step from big feelings about Taehyung that you don’t have the headspace to unpack right now. 

You glance at Taehyung, and realise he’s looking back at you. 

‘It’s a lot,’ you say. 

‘Yeah. We’re tired.’ 

He seems to understand. 

***

When you wake, Taehyung’s buried under the covers, the second duvet you’d grabbed from the linen closet wrapped snuggly around him. 

You’d known he was a blanket hog. You’d called it. 

You don’t have an excuse for the way you’re looking at him right now whilst he’s asleep, and you know you should stop. 

But his face, like this, is so beautiful it makes your heart flutter. His eyelashes are so long you wonder why you never noticed them before. 

He stirs, and you avert your gaze as he opens his eyes. 

He’s the first to speak. 

‘I like –’ 

You wonder how he’s going to finish his sentence. 

He clears his throat. 

‘I like your bed.’ 

‘Yeah?’ you ask. ‘You hog all the blankets.’ 

Taehyung turns over, onto his back, so he’s no longer facing you. 

‘I’m not wearing a shirt,’ he announces. 

You stare at the ceiling whilst you process this. 

‘I’ve seen you shirtless before,’ you point out. 

‘I’m not —’ 

He stops. 

‘Christ, Taehyung, you’re not naked under there are you?’ 

Taehyung starts humming as he uncovers himself, and it takes you a moment to realise he’s parodying a striptease. 

You burst out laughing. 

‘Stop, stop. I’m not drunk enough for this.’ 

Taehyung stops with his hand over the sheet covering his waist and waggles his eyebrows at you. 

You roll your eyes. ‘What do you want for breakfast? We’ll go and pick up something for my mom.’ 

You end up at the bakery near your house.

The woman behind the counter, Mrs Jeong, is a friend of your parents’. She presses a box of fresh pastries on you, waving you off when you offer to pay. 

‘I put extra in there for your man,’ Mrs Jeong says, nodding to Taehyung. 

‘He’s not my man,’ you reply, automatically. 

‘Thank you, auntie,’ Taehyung says, beaming as he takes the box. 

‘You’re such a slut for a bun,’ you complain, as soon as you’re out of the shop. 

Taehyung shrugs as he sips his coffee. ‘I drove you here, I’m looking after you and your mom. I’m your man.’ 

You sip your own coffee and adjust your sunglasses on your face. ‘Ugh. Come on, we should pick up some fruit too.’ 

By the time you get home, your mother’s up and preparing breakfast. 

It’s weird seeing your roommate like this, fully dressed and sitting up straight on a Saturday morning instead of shovelling pancakes into his mouth, slumped and hungover. 

You wonder if it’s weird for Taehyung to see you like this too. 

After breakfast, your mother heads to the hospital whilst you see Taehyung off. 

You pack him some pastries for the drive back and watch as he loads his overnight bag into the car. 

‘Hey, drive safe, ok?’ you say. 

He snorts. ‘I’ll definitely be safe, unlike you stumbling home drunk the other day.’ 

‘I didn’t want to cockblock you,’ you say, shrugging. 

Taehyung opens his car door, turns to face you. 

‘I can get laid anytime. It’s not everyday I find a roommate who has the same taste in food and shit TV as me.’ 

You furrow your brow. ‘You’d better wait until I get back to watch the next episode.’ 

Taehyung pretends to consider it. ‘Yeah we’ll see.’ 

He smiles at you. ‘Are you gonna be ok?’ 

‘Yeah,’ you promise. You almost feel like hugging him, but you never touch. 

It would be weird, right?

Taehyung’s turning back to his car, anyway. He gets in, rolls down the window. 

‘See you in a couple weeks?’ 

‘Yeah. Don’t fuck in —’ 

‘Communal spaces,’ he finishes. He laughs softly, and then he’s rolling up the window. 

You watch him drive down your road, until he turns the corner and you can’t see him anymore. 

***

You nudge the front door of your apartment open with your foot. Your mother had insisted on packing food for you and Taehyung when you left the house. You’d had to convince her you couldn’t possibly carry any more on the train with you. 

Your father’s back home and on the mend. 

You’ve got finals coming up soon, and although you’ve been keeping up to date with assignments whilst you’ve been at home, it’s good to be back. 

The apartment’s dark, you’re not sure if Taehyung’s home. 

You put your food down in the kitchen and head to your room. 

It’s exactly the way you left it.

You pull off your coat and head to the bathroom to take a shower. 

You’re back in the kitchen, heating up food, when you hear a key in the door. 

You step out to greet Taehyung, and realise he’s not alone. 

A pretty brunette in a green dress is standing next to him in your entryway, holding on to his arm as she slips her shoes off. 

‘Hey,’ Taehyung says, warmth in his voice. 

You smile, not sure why your heart feels like it’s in your mouth. 

‘Hey.’ 

You share your smile with the girl, and Taehyung says, belatedly, ‘This is Kira.’ 

‘Hey, nice to meet you,’ Kira says. She grins at you, and dimples pop in her cheeks. 

Damn, she’s cute. 

‘My mom made food for us. You guys should help yourselves,’ you say. 

You head back to the kitchen. 

Taehyung wanders in behind you with Kira. 

‘You want to eat something, babe?’ he asks, and there’s a pang in your chest at the endearment, a feeling you can’t name. 

You need to change the subject. 

‘You kept the place clean whilst I was away, I’m impressed,’ you say lightly. 

Taehyung looks pleased. ‘I’m glad you noticed. I even did some of your laundry.’ 

You feign shock. 

Kira giggles. 

Taehyung hands you a plate, and you sit to eat. 

‘How’s your mom and dad?’ he asks, quietly. 

‘They’re good. My dad’s back home. My mom’s feeling better about it all,’ you tell him. 

‘What happened?’ Kira asks. 

You explain as Taehyung heats up food for him and Kira. 

Your phone lights up on the kitchen counter. 

Taehyung glances at it. 

‘Yoongi was asking after you,’ he says, ‘last weekend. I told him about your dad.’ 

‘Yeah. He texted me a couple times.’ 

‘You gonna meet up with him?’ Taehyung asks. He’s looking at you now, an unreadable expression on his face. 

You shrug. ‘Maybe?’ 

Taehyung changes the subject. 

‘I was thinking we should have a party here next month,’ he says, sitting down opposite you at the kitchen table, next to Kira. 

‘Yeah. Right after finals?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Sounds great, Tae.’ 

Your phone lights up again. Taehyung raises an eyebrow at it. 

‘Looks like Wonho’s really trying to get in touch with you.’ 

You roll your eyes. ‘I don’t even know how he got my number, honestly.’ 

‘Probably from that time he found your phone at that party,’ Taehyung says. 

‘He’s cute,’ Kira says. 

‘I don’t like guys with muscles,’ you say, dismissive. 

You flick your eyes at Taehyung. ‘Just noodle arms.’ 

Taehyung laughs so hard he snorts broth through his nose. 

‘I’ve missed you,’ he says. 

‘I’ve missed you too, Tae.’ 

It’s the truest thing you’ve said today. 

There’s a fizz of something in the air between you as you lock eyes with Taehyung.

Kira’s looking at you and Taehyung thoughtfully. 

You get up. ‘I’m gonna go to bed. Nice to meet you, Kira.’ 

***

You’ve been busy the last few weeks, with finals and year end assignments. 

Taehyung and you have organised a schedule between you, there’s always food and you know when each other’s exams are so you can make sure you wake up on time. 

You haven’t seen Yoongi since you got back, which is just as well.

Once the semester ends you’re moving to another city, joining a publishing firm. 

It’s the end of an era.

Honestly, you’re more than a little apprehensive about moving out of your place with Taehyung, moving on with your life, but it’s starting to feel like it’s the right time.

If you never go to another club night in some dive with sticky floors, you think you can live with that.

You’re sitting in someone’s backyard at some house party, ass on the grass, with Taehyung sprawled out next to you.

Taehyung reaches out, flicks your bare thigh.

You ‘ouch’ exaggeratedly, move your leg away.

‘What are we gonna do when we’re not doing this every Friday?’ Taehyung asks.

You sip your drink, look up at the stars. 

You realise he’s waiting for an answer.

‘Not sure, Tae. We can do this on Friday nights if you want.’

‘Yeah I’ll come to your new place and we can drink together.’

He pokes your leg again, and you nudge his hand with your thigh.

You glance over and catch him looking at the hem of your short skirt.

‘You horny, Tae Tae?’

You expect him to make a joke of it, but he asks, voice low, ‘have you ever wondered what it might be like if we slept together?’

Your eyes meet, and he still seems completely sober.

‘I know you have fantasies about me,’ you say carefully, giving him another chance to make a joke of it, to stop before he crosses that invisible line between you that you both have always toed. 

Your roommate traces his finger along the line of your thigh, and your cunt tightens.

You let out a breath.

‘I do think about you,’ he says. He turns on his side on the grass, facing you, turned away from everyone else. 

His finger strokes another line down your thigh, then travels up, over the front of your thigh, stopping at the hem of your skirt.

You look straight at him as you let your thighs fall apart slightly.

Taehyung moves his hand, off the taut hem of your skirt. He bites his lip, and then reaches under, sliding between your legs with a confidence that makes your cunt tighten again.

The tips of his long fingers brush the fabric of your panties.

‘Are these those pretty purple panties?’ he asks.

‘You like those?’ you ask. 

He moves a little closer, pulls your thigh closer to him to make room for his hand.

It’s dark in this backyard, you doubt anyone can see anything.

As long as you can keep quiet.

Taehyung dips his head, brushing his lips against your bare thigh. You have the barest instant of warning, a flash of teeth, before he nips at your flesh.

‘Fuck, Tae,’ you breathe.

His hand between your legs has moved up so that his thumb can slide along your slit, his fingers braced on your upper thigh.

His face is so close to your cunt you can feel his breath on your thigh.

‘Not here,’ you say, grabbing his arm.

Fuck are you really doing this?

With Taehyung?

Taehyung gets up, adjusts himself and takes your hand.

When he looks at you, his eyes are dark with intent.

Unlike you, he seems pretty sure he wants this.

When your roommate commits to anything, he goes all in.

You guess you’re in too.

You follow Taehyung around the side of the house. 

He stops by the wall, backs up against it, pulls you to him.

‘Should I kiss you?’ he asks.

It’s enough to snap you out of the lust and booze fuelled haze you’re in.

The words come out before you can stop them.

‘Don’t you want to, Tae?’

Even you can hear the hurt in your voice.

It’s wrong, it’s too much.

Sadly, it’s not nearly enough.

Taehyung holds out his hand, says your name, but you’re too drunk and too raw to even look at him.

You stumble away, and Taehyung doesn’t go after you.

***

You wake in stages. 

Blink. 

There’s bright sun shining through the crack in the curtains, so it’s daytime.

Blink.

There’s the silky dress you wore last night draped over the chair, your tiny underthings laid carefully across it, so you got undressed yourself.

Blink.

Your head is full, your mouth dry, your stomach already growling its discontent, so you’re hungover.

You groan and sit up.

Blink.

Taehyung and the events of last night come back to you.

You nearly fucked your roommate, would have fucked him, if he hadn’t made it so obvious that you were just another body to him.

The only girl on campus he hasn’t fucked. 

Blink.

Wincing, you swing your legs onto the floor and get up.

Your head throbs. 

You pick up the glass of water by your bed and down it.

By the time you’ve showered and done your skincare, your stomach is making it impossible to concentrate on anything.

You step out your room and are startled by Taehyung standing just outside your door.

‘Shit,’ you say.

Taehyung says, ‘let’s go to brunch.’

***

It’s weird, to think that this is one of the last times you and Taehyung will do this.

You use your hunger as an excuse to avoid talking, and Taehyung doesn’t seem like he’s in a rush to say anything either.

‘It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you,’ he says, muffled over a mouthful of pancakes.

You grimace and spear a bite of sausage.

‘It’s fine, Tae, I was drunk and emotional.’

‘Don’t hide behind it, you weren’t that drunk.’

His voice rings out, clear as a bell. 

You look at each other. There’s frustration in his face, in the way his brows are drawn together, in the way his lips are in a straight line.

‘What are you saying, Tae?’

Your voice is soft, a vulnerability in it that you tend not to show.

You think Taehyung notices, because when he speaks again, his voice is soft too.

He sounds like when he speaks to you sometimes, when you wake up in the middle of the night still on the couch, the TV still on and he tells you to go to bed.

He sounds like when you’re out on the balcony some evenings after a tough day when only nicotine and talking shit will ease the tightness in your chest.

You’re so fucking fond of Taehyung, you realise now. 

He lives his own life, separate to you, but he’s always been there when you’ve needed him.

You don’t spend that much time talking, but you know him intimately all the same. 

You know he likes when you look after him a little, putting out food for him.

You know he hates leaving washing up for the next day and that he’s got a secret love for sports films and anything where the underdog triumphs.

You know that although you never see him go to the gym, he loves a team game. 

You know he plays jazz when he’s sad and that his eyes look like wet velvet when he cries.

Taehyung’s opening his mouth to speak, but he stops when you get up and slide into the booth beside him.

You have no words left, so you kiss him instead.

It’s chaste, the way your lips touch, but then his arm slides around you and he tilts his head, and a thin line of heat unfurls inside you. 

You never touch, and now he’s lighting little fires under your skin wherever he touches you.

Taehyung says your name on a breath, like smoke.

When you finally pull away, he dips his head, steals another kiss, before he’ll let you go.

‘I’ve been thinking about this for a while,’ he says, face still inches from yours.

‘Me too,’ you admit.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Fuck, I’m embarassingly hard,’ he tells you, shifting his hips.

‘Let’s go do something about it,’ you say.

***

When you and Taehyung reach your apartment, there’s half a basketball team waiting outside.

Yoongi steps forward. ‘We thought you might need a hand carrying things for the party later.’

You’re surprised, but you rally quickly. 

‘Yeah, we need muscles,’ you say, glancing at Taehyung, wondering if he’s organised this.

Taehyung looks as surprised as you do. ‘Yeah ok, let’s go pick some stuff up.’

He adjusts himself again, and for a moment the outline of his erection in his sweats is so clear you have the sudden strong urge to drop to your knees and worship his cock.

Yoongi’s got his head tilted, he’s looking at you, and you wonder how much of your filthy imaginings show on your face.

Then he gives you a half smile. 

‘Y/N, you can ride with me.’

***

You end up alone in the car with Yoongi.

You watch idly as he drives, forearms flexing, big hands hooked over the wheel.

‘You look good, Yoongi,’ you say.

He casts a glance at you. ‘Yeah, you too, pretty girl.’

He raises an eyebrow at you. ‘So you and Taehyung?’

‘Would’ve fucked if you hadn’t turned up today,’ you confess.

Yoongi looks amused. ‘Shit, yeah?’

‘I don’t know how I feel about it,’ you tell him, looking out the window at the buildings flashing past.

Yoongi shrugs. ‘You’re hot, he’s hot, you’re moving out soon. Sometimes sex is just sex.’

‘Like us?’

Yoongi says, teasing, ‘when did you get so needy? You barely even say hello when I see you these days.’

He signals, turns into the store car park. ‘Anyway, you know that’s not true, I take you out all the time.’

You climb out the car, wait for him to walk to the store together. 

‘Wanna hold hands?’ you ask.

Yoongi laughs. ‘I want to turn around and take you back to bed right now.’

You lean into his side. ‘Might take you up on that.’

‘Yeah,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘Wear those silk panties for me tonight.’

‘And Tae?’

Yoongi looks down at you, that familiar smirk on his face. ‘He can join in if he wants.’

You consider this.

‘Shit, you dirty girl,’ Yoongi says, but he doesn’t sound mad about it.

He squeezes you into his side as you walk into the store.

***

You catch Taehyung in the living room before the party.

He looks stunning tonight, his hair styled, his skin glowing.

His beautiful face is as perfect as it ever was.

‘Like my shirt?’ he asks.

He stops in front of you, closer than he usually stands.

You wonder how many other norms are going out the window tonight.

You’re wearing the silk panties Yoongi requested, a silky dress that barely covers you.

‘Like my dress?’ you ask.

‘You’re perfect,’ Taehyung tells you. He smiles at you affectionately.

You say, ‘wait, I have something for you.’

You go to your room, pull out the record you picked out for him. 

It’s a jazz piano piece that had played a lot in the coffee shop you spent a lot of time in when you were back home for your dad.

It’s sad, the notes drawn out and stark. It’d reminded you of the many nights you’d spent, on your balcony with Taehyung.

Taehyung puts the record on.

He doesn’t ask you to dance, not verbally anyway, but he holds out his arms and you step into them and he holds you close as he sways.

You lean your head against his chest, and his breathing stays slow, even.

He feels warm, and safe.

He feels an awful lot like someone you’re meant to be with.

You wonder why it’s taken you the whole year to realise. 

Next week, you’re moving to another city. 

It’s too late for regrets now.

Taehyung’s body moves with yours. He presses his cheek to your head.

The notes surround you, plaintive and wistful.

You wish there was more to say.

Taehyung holds you until the record plays out. 

***

Your and Taehyung’s party is teeming with people, half of whom you don't even know.

Jimin and Jungkook have done something to your sound system, the music’s playing loud enough to raise complaints from half the city.

You don’t give a fuck, not today, when the bass fills the void of longing inside you.

Yoongi’s leaning against the railing of your balcony, facing out.

You’re facing the opposite direction, pressed close to his side.

Taehyung’s against the wall across your living room, looking straight at you as Yoongi drapes an arm around you and pulls you between him and the railing.

He kisses you. He tastes sweet, you wonder what he’s been drinking.

He murmurs, close to your ear. ‘Did you get dressed for me, pretty girl?’

‘Yeah,’ you tell him. ‘You gonna undress me?’

‘I’ll undress you,’ Yoongi promises. There’s a glint of something in his eyes. ‘Is your roommate going to watch?’

You say, ‘ask him yourself, he’s coming over here.’

Taehyung approaches you and Yoongi. He takes his time, a deliberate languidness to his movements that reminds you of a panther stalking its prey.

Yoongi doesn’t move as Taehyung slots himself in next to you.

‘Hyung,’ Taehyung says. ‘Can you give me and Y/N a minute.’

Yoongi eyes him. ‘Don’t 'hyung' me now. You can say what you need to say with me here.’

‘Come with me,’ Taehyung says to you. ‘If this is the last chance we have then I want to take it.’

Both men look at you. 

Your heart’s beating, fit to burst, in your chest.

You take both men by the arm and lead them to your room.

***

The lights are low, the thumping bass vibrating through the wall.

In contrast to the rest of the apartment, your room is cool, the hallway leading to it long enough to put distance between you three and the crowd in your living room.

Yoongi, with the easy confidence of a man who knows exactly how this goes, takes your mouth. His kisses are designed to tease both you and the man watching, open-mouthed, tongue openly licking into your mouth.

‘Want to watch how I please her?’ Yoongi asks, directed at Taehyung. He slides his hands over your bare back. 

‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’

Yoongi’s speaking to Taehyung, but he’s looking at you.

He turns you so your back is to Taehyung, who’s sitting in your chair. 

He lifts the hem of your slip dress, the silken fabric rustling against the silk of your panties.

He cups your ass as he kisses you, long fingers tracing the cleft of your ass.

He’s lifting your dress higher and higher.

‘Arms up,’ he tells you, and you comply.

Yoongi tosses your dress onto the floor. 

He admires your bare tits with a flattering intensity.

He wraps an arm around you, cupping your breast as he turns you around to face Taehyung.

You cast a glance at Taehyung, and you’re transfixed.

His eyes travel from Yoongi’s arm across your chest to your face.

He says, quietly and with feeling, ‘you’re so fucking pretty.’

His voice is hushed, reverent. 

Yoongi’s thumb flicks over your nipple, and Taehyung bites his lip as Yoongi lets go of your breast to cup the other.

His other hand kneads your ass until you’ve moving your hips against him.

You’re wet, and as Yoongi slides his hand between your legs to cup you, he grunts his approval.

‘You like that, pretty girl? You like how we’re both so hard for you? My dick hurts, and I’m sure Taehyung’s does too. Look at how he’s touching himself.’

Your gaze flies to Taehyung. He’s stroking over the clear outline of his erection, grinding against his own palm as he watches Yoongi touching you.

Yoongi hooks his fingers into your panties. 

‘Wore these for me, didn’t you?’ 

He tugs them down, and you step out of them. 

‘Go give them to Taehyung, baby.’

You turn your head to look back at Yoongi.

He’s looking back at you, cool, expressionless. 

‘I’ll give these to Tae, then can I come back and suck your dick?’

Yoongi grins at you. ‘All yours, baby.’

You walk over to Taehyung, his eyes following your every move.

He takes your panties, then asks, ‘can you kiss me?’

Your thoughts flash back to when he asked if he should kiss you. 

Taehyung doesn’t wait for a response this time.

He tugs your face down to his, and he kisses you, warm and sweet.

It’s the first time you’ve kissed, and as first times go, it’s perfect.

Taehyung’s lips mould to yours like he was made to fit against you.

You forget that you’re completely nude, that Yoongi’s watching, and you kiss him back.

You drown in him.

By the time you pull away, you’re both breathless.

‘Why did we wait so long?’ he murmurs, face pressed to yours still.

‘You’re an idiot,’ you say, but you feel so much affection for him you’re giddy with it. ‘I’m an idiot.’

Taehyung tweaks your breast, and you cover yourself with a squeal.

He sneaks a hand around your hip to pinch your ass. 

‘Show me how you suck dick,’ he says. ‘I’ve been fantasizing about it.’

You can’t stop your smile as you turn back to Yoongi.

Yoongi gives you a cocky half-smile. ‘Come get comfortable, baby.’

He’s manspreading on your bed, hand curled around himself. He strokes his cock as you position yourself, even though he already looks plenty hard.

He pats your hip. ‘Ass up, let’s give Taehyung a show.’

You kiss the head of his cock and take him in. He grunts his approval as you suckle him. He’s thick, hard like velvet over stone, and as he glides into your throat he moans.

You tug at his balls, and his hips move. 

‘Fuck, you’re good at this,’ he groans, voice a rasp, muscles in his thighs taut under your hands.

You press your tongue firmly to the underside of him, and Yoongi groans again. 

‘Come ride me,’ he says. 

He curls his hands around your hips, helping you balance on top of him.

You slide his cock along your cunt. You’re so slick with arousal now the slide is easy. 

Yoongi says, ‘want to give us a hand?’

Taehyung climbs onto the bed behind you. He must have taken his clothes off along the way, because all you can feel is his bare chest pressed against your back as he curls an arm under your breasts, his bare cock nudging the curve of your ass.

Yoongi’s flat on his back but somehow he still has complete control.

‘You’re a dirty girl aren’t you? So greedy.’

He grunts as you grind against him. ‘Go on, pretty girl, put it on me.’

You unroll a condom onto his length and line him up.

Taehyung’s nibbling along your shoulder, touching your breasts as Yoongi’s cock fills you.

You moan when he’s in all the way.

‘Fuck, you feel so fucking good,’ Yoongi tells you. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow now as he helps you grind on him.

His cock’s angled so beautifully you gasp with each thrust of his hips.

Taehyung’s stroking his thumbs over your nipples, moaning as he rocks his cock against your ass.

You don’t realise you have your eyes closed until Yoongi says, voice strained, ‘open your eyes, baby, look how well you take me.’

You’re panting now, every movement sending waves of pleasure through your core. 

‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck,’ Yoongi chants.

He bucks his pelvis under you, squeezing your hips hard as he comes.

His deep groan pulls you over the edge with him.

You’re coming, fuck, and it’s so good you’re blinded. 

Behind you, Taehyung’s moaning, grinding into your ass. 

Someone says your name, but you have no idea who.

***

Yoongi’s murmuring your name into your ear. 

The lights in your room are low now, the music fading out. 

You don’t know how much time’s passed since you fell asleep between Yoongi and Taehyung.

Yoongi says, ‘I gotta go, baby. Taehyung’s getting people to leave.’

You try to sit up, but he stops you. ‘Just rest a bit. Everything’s handled.’

He passes you a glass of water.

‘Heard you were moving out next week,’ he says, watching you drink.

‘Yeah,’ you say.

There’s a sort of wistfulness in his tone. ‘I guess I’ll text you if I’m ever in your area.’

You put your hand over his. ‘You know how to get hold of me,’ you remind him.

His half-smile makes your heart burn bright in your chest.

‘Answer your phone,’ he says.

‘You answer yours,’ you retort.

You both laugh. He pulls you into a half hug, and too soon, he’s pulling away. 

‘See you around, pretty girl.’

He gives you one last smile, then he’s leaving your room, closing the door quietly behind him.

You lie back down, but the urge to speak to Taehyung’s too strong.

You don’t want to wait.

You slip on clothes and step through your now empty apartment. 

Taehyung’s standing on the balcony, looking out.

‘Hey,’ you say.

His smile is brilliant, beautiful, perfect.

He’s everything you want, and you’re sad it’s taken you this long to realise.

‘Hey,’ Taehyung says. 

He reaches for you, and you slide into his arms, like a key sliding into a lock.

It feels right.

Taehyung buries his face in your hair.

‘Feels like a lot,’ he says.

‘Too fucking much,’ you agree instantly.

He’s looking at you so intently you feel shy.

‘Let’s not talk about it,’ you say, tipping your face to his, putting your finger across his lips like you’re shushing him even though he hasn’t said anything.

Taehyung dips his head to kiss you. It’s even better than the first time.

***

This time, Taehyung and you take your time.

You’re in his bed, lying on your back, giggling as he blows raspberries on your belly.

He hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties, tugs playfully. 

‘I once used these to jerk off,’ he informs you.

You stare at him incredulously. ‘These? They’re not even a sexy pair.’

‘It was when you wore these with those low waisted jeans,’ he reminds you. ‘I spent the whole day staring at them.’

You put your hand on his cheek, rubbing against the stubble on his jaw. 

‘You didn’t,’ you whisper.

Taehyung nudges closer, lips against yours.

‘Did. Came so hard thinking about you wearing these with my cum in them,’ he tells you. His voice is so low it makes you shiver.

He’s kissing down your neck now, making small rumbling noises as you press yourself to him. You can’t get close enough, his skin’s so warm.

He pushes closer, hand under your thigh, making you open up for him so he can fit in between.

His cock, deliciously hard, nudges between your legs.

‘Take these off?’ you ask, and he nods.

You slip your panties down past the curve of your ass, but when you try to move your leg off his hip, his grip tightens.

‘Stay,’ he says. 

He nudges forward, and the head of his cock pushes into you.

He feels so good you’re biting your lip, trying to move, to take more of him in.

He clutches your thigh, tight, and you both stop as your panties rip at the seam.

‘Shit, Tae,’ you gasp, giggling. 

He’s already pushing into you, stretching you on his cock. 

‘Ah, fuck,’ he groan, voice thick, slurred with want.

He grasps your hip, and pulls you under him. Sinks in all the way.

He fits between your thighs so beautifully you’re halfway to coming even before he starts rocking into you.

‘Taehyung,’ you gasp. 

He’s still holding your hip, holding you down so he can slide his cock into you. 

He’s so hard and heavy you’re lost, opening yourself up to him.

There’s nothing but the sounds of your breathing, jagged and irregular, the slap of skin against skin, the weight of him on you, the smell of his shampoo.

His hair’s so soft, why have you never touched it before? 

Taehyung’s dragging his mouth over your skin, holding you tight, and he groans, deep in his chest, as you come. 

He circles his hips, grinding against you, grunting.

He says your name, a shout, and then he’s pulling you closer, arms around you, face in your neck.

It’s a while before either of you can let go.

***

When you stir, wriggle a bit, Taehyung’s big hand tightens on your ass.

‘I’m kind of hungry,’ you confess.

‘What time is it?’

You roll over, grab your phone and tell him.

‘The diner’s probably open, we can get breakfast,’ Taehyung suggests.

You look at each other.

‘For old times sake,’ he continues.

You’re distracted by the flex of his arm as he puts it behind his head, props himself up.

You think you have enough memories of you and Taehyung getting hungover brunch in the diner on your road.

You think it’s time to make some new ones.

‘Or we could just fuck instead.’

Taehyung laughs, slaps your hip.

‘Come ride me then.’

You don’t make him ask twice.

***

Your things are packed up, every physical trace of you removed from this apartment that you’ve shared with Taehyung for the last year.

Taehyung’s loaded the last of his things into his car, and in an hour your parents will be here to help you move too.

You’re on the balcony, watching Taehyung as he shuts the trunk, locks his car. He looks up at you, then he disappears into your building.

Then he’s back in the apartment, standing in the doorway, head tilted as he looks at you and the empty space between.

You’ve said a lot of things to each other in the last week, and now all that’s left is an odd kind of longing for what might have been.

You don’t want to romanticise it just because it’s ending, but fuck, you’re going to miss him.

Taehyung’s holding you now, you have no idea when he closed the gap between you.

There’s sadness in his eyes, but a smile on his lips and it’s enough for you.

‘Don’t fuck,’ he says.

‘In communal spaces,’ you finish.

Neither of you laugh, but you can feel his lips curving against yours.

It’s still the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had.

***

A year later

You’re frowning at an email you’ve just received when your colleague stops by your desk.

You look up.

Jihyo says, ‘these are the new members of the design team who have just been hired.’

You smile automatically as you greet the three people standing in front of your desk.

You make eye contact with each person in turn, and when your gaze falls on the last person, a fluttery heat starts in the middle of your chest.

Dark brows drawn together like he’s trying to work you out, a husky low voice that you know as well as your own.

Kim Taehyung steps forward, hand out.

‘I’m Kim Taehyung,’ he says.

Your smile is brilliant, a match for his.

‘Y/N L/N,’ you reply, clasping his hand.

‘Are you free for dinner tonight?’ he asks. ‘I’ve just moved to this city and would love for someone to show me around.’

‘I think I can help you with that,’ you reply. 

He still hasn’t let go of your hand.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ you say.

You’re aware the others are staring, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Taehyung smiles at you, lazy, devastating. Perfect.

‘Ok,’ he says. ‘Let’s try this again.’

©hamsterclaw 2023

[rowenaswifee]

ㅤ sam winchester ☆ witch!user ，✿

little witch

pairing : Sam Winchester x witch!reader - fluff, angst(?)

A/N : HIII I haven’t written a fic in so long (dying) I thought of this while looking for s.w. x witch!reader and then I found none.. so I have to write my own!!

warnings : language, and that’s it since it’s just fluff idk bro

summary : You, Sam and Dean were on a hunt in Arizona. You were hunting a demon. Sam and Dean didn’t know you were a witch, let alone Rowena’s daughter. But when you were hunting said demon, they revealed that you were a witch, and (obviously) Crowey’s daughter. You killed the demon, and when you got back to the motel, Dean went to a bar, which led you and Sam to have an argument.

Sam and Dean had came up to you earlier today, saying that they had found a hunt in Arizona. Sam spoke up first, beating Dean to it.

“Hey, we found a hunt in Arizona. Seems to be a demon, apparently, it’s causing trouble around the city. But that’s not it. According to the history of the town where the demon is cooped up in, it says that in the early 2000’s there was a bunch of demons, trying to overtake the town. We’re not sure, but me and Dean think that this demon might be trying to repeat that.” He said, sounding like a talking Wikipedia — but then again, this is Sam. He took a breath, looking at your serious expression, liking the fact you got drawn in just by him saying that.

Sam did have feelings for you, he just wouldn’t say it, given to the fact that literally everyone who he loved and dated, either dies or manipulates him in some sort of way, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to hold you, kiss you and cuddle you, but he knew he was a walking curse when it came to having girlfriends.

“So? You in?” Dean asked, hating the way that Sam was making this way longer than it needed to be.

You nodded, always ready for a hunt. You tucked a part of your ginger locks behind your ear, always having it like that whenever you were trying to stay concentrated, and how much Sam loved your ginger locks, it made him melt.

You, Dean and Sam went to the garage, to get into the Impala, but when you and Sam both reached for the passenger seat, you bumped into each other.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to, you can have the seat. I don’t mind sitting in the back.” “Oh, sorry, Sam. You can sit in the passenger seat, I’m used to the backseat by now, anyway.” You both started talking, your Scottish accent blended nicely with his American accent. When you both realised you were talking at the same time, you just walked to the back seat door of the Impala, wanting to avoid any more awkwardness.

You, Sam and Dean were trying to lure the demon into a trap that was set up by you three earlier. You were fighting the demon, using your knife and hands, as to not to make the guys suspicious about your witchy abilities they didn’t know about.. yet.

You managed to trap the demon into the demon trap, finally getting time to breathe as Sam and Dean still hid in the corner.

“You little witch! Why aren’t you using your little magic shit to kill me, hm? Too scared it will fail? Coward witch.” The demon said, and all of you, besides the demon, froze. Sam and Dean froze because they didn’t know you were a witch, and you froze because you knew Sam and Dean would interrogate you when you got back to the motel. But Sam was the one who froze the most. He had caught feelings for you.. for a witch. He hadn’t realised the similarities between you and Rowena, but now it all clicked. Fuck, he knew he shouldn’t have gotten caught between his feelings.

“What’s wrong, little witch, huh? Scared your friends will finally find out you’re Rowena MacLeod’s daughter, hm? Oh no.. I just told them. Too bad, little witch, I guess you—“ before the demon could finish, you stabbed it with an angel blade, not wanting Sam and Dean to hear more of what the demon had to say.

“Fuck..” you muttered out, your Scottish accent only confirming Sam’s suspicion about you being Rowena’s daughter.

Sam and Dean stepped out of the shadows, hurt and confusion on their faces as they stared at you.

You were in for a big talk when you got back to the motel room.

The ride back home was quiet. As in, no music, no talking, just the three of you sitting in silence. Dean was probably furious, Sam was most definitely hurt, betrayed, and.. confused. And you? Oh, you were guilty. And when I say guilty.. I mean guilty.

When you got back to the motel, Dean had spoken for the first time in the past.. 2 hours or so. “I’m going to a bar.” And with that, he left. He needed something to make him forget what he heard from the demon.

As Dean slammed the door to the motel room, you and Sam were left alone. You immediately turned to Sam, wanting to explain yourself, but he just held his hand up, not wanting to hear it.

“Look, I know what you’re going to say.. that you meant to tell us, or that whatever the demon said isn’t true.. but I know that’s just a ton of bullshit. It’s very obvious you’re Rowena’s daughter, with the accent.. and the hair. If you’re going to explain yourself, tell me why you never told me the truth. I understand Dean, he would kill you within a blink of an eye, but why not me?” He said, his voice not even angry, just firm and.. broken, almost like he was giving up.

“Okay, Sam. You want the truth? Fine. You’ll get it. I didn’t tell you not Dean about me because come on! You both would kill me in an instant if I ever told you. I know you may I’m evil because of who my mother is, but come on, I’m still me! Still the same old me you met those years ago. I wasn’t acting when I was around you! That was me. Everyone assumes I’m evil, just like Rowena is. But I’m not. Sam, come on. You of all people should know that.” You say, your Scottish accent going soft near the end, not wanting to lose Sam, especially since you had found your feelings for him.

“Yeah? And how do I know that?! How do I know that you haven’t been acting this whole time? And that your mom didn’t send you just because she needed us dead, hm? Care to explain that?!” He blew up, having enough of this bullshit. He wanted to trust you, he really did, but it was so hard trying to accomplish that when he knew you were lying to his face.

“Because I like you, Sam! I wouldn’t ever ever in my years of knowing you and Dean lie to you! I know you don’t fucking trust me, and I understand you want me gone, but before you judge, remember who was the one who was willing to sell their soul for you.” You said, your Scottish accent hardening because you too, have had enough of this.

[evilwriter37]

What made you ship Viggo and Hiccup? I'm curious

Well, it started with the term of endearment “my dear Hiccup” and kind of spiraled from there.

Plus it just became so much more genuine from Viggo’s perspective to me in seasons 5 and 6. He doesn’t correct Krogan when he pretty much points out his admiration/possible affection for Hiccup. He just tells him it’s fine as long as it doesn’t cloud his judgment.

His death scene in Triple Cross is 100% what sealed it for me. I’d been shipping them for years at this point, but Viggo dying for Hiccup, giving his life for him, really made it canon in my eyes.

Also, I just, will never forget how tenderly he says “Hiccup” in one of his last lines about how he’ll defeat Krogan and Johann. While taking his hand. Oh gods. Oh no. Here come the tears.

Anyway, yeah, Viggo’s attraction/respect/eventual love for Hiccup is pretty much canon to me. I have to make interesting scenarios and AUs for those feelings to be returned by Hiccup, because, as much as I write Hiccup being queer, I think he’s the token straight friend. Plus I’m a multishipper. I like Hiccstrid, Dagcup, Hicclegs… you name it. I can spin scenarios to make Vigcup sweet, sexy, romantic, or just downright horrible, twisted, and depraved. It all depends on what mood I’m in. (All this to say that I think canon Vigcup is one-sided.)

So, uh, yeah, there it is. Pretty simply reasoning. I think it became one of my favorite ships because of how compelling and intriguing both these characters are to me. Viggo is up there as one of the best villains to grace animation. It’s a shame lots of people haven’t seen the shows and haven’t experienced him. I was drawn in with his opening monologue.

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ part 12

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: death of loved one, misogyny, violence. we're getting into it now my dudes, beware! chapter map

-You did not expect your father’s death to affect you so brutally, and without Paul at your side you are not sure how you would have gotten through the week that followed his passing. The funeral mass and the burial went by as a blur, and it feels like he carried you through it all. He lets you cry on his chest, and holds you through your lengthy silences.

It takes a long time for you to realize that the thing you might mourn most, are the parts of your father you were never allowed to know. The free way he spoke with you in his last days, reminiscing about your mother when he was young–it all suggested a very different man who you would have liked to have the acquaintance of. That the loss of his love destroyed him so completely scares you, true, but also…you pity him in a way you’d never thought possible. 

You wonder if maybe you are more like him than you want to admit, and you rise from the ashes determined not to be such a coward with Paul. 

You never did finish that sentence for him, but you will. When the time is right, and you are not a tearful mess clinging to him like a limpet. You tell yourself that he deserves better than that. 

-”Is it really that much better than this out there?” asks your sister Anjélica. It is a fine sunny day, a breeze cutting through the mountains. You are sitting beneath the shelter of a massive oak, watching the children of Las Nubes play with Paul. She is one year older than you, and already has two, with one on the way. 

“It’s just different,” you say diplomatically. “You’re welcome to come visit me anytime you want a change of scenery.” 

She laughs goodnaturedly at the thought, rubbing her rounded belly. “I’m afraid if I left my children and husband would starve and go feral,” she admits. You know it’s more than that, though. Her husband would never let her go to the city, just for a fun little break. There’s always too much work to be done. Good women are martyrs who do not shirk their responsibilities, no matter their own needs. 

“Heaven forbid Julio be bothered to cook something for himself and his own children,” you say with an eye roll. 

Knowing you all too well, Anjélica just smiles. She is, perhaps, the most forgiving of you and your strange ideas. “I know you think I’m trapped by marriage and children and housework…”

You make a grumbling sound in your throat, picking at a knot on the top of the wooden table. 

“But have you ever considered that I do it…because I love them?”

You blink at that, not proud of how this perspective does kind of blindside you. She chuckles at your owlish look. You think you’re so goddamn smart, and she always does this to you. 

“I know you’re still just settling in with Paul. But you’ll understand what I mean soon.”

You burn to tell her the truth–but you can’t. The ruse must go on. 

Worse yet…you’re afraid she could be right, if you and Paul do make a life together after this. You haven’t really decided what you’re going to do…but the thought of being apart from him hurts.

Your attention is drawn back to the children as a joyful yell echoes across the field. Paul has the littlest one on his shoulders, and they are running–though not too fast, from some imaginary entity. Little Lucia’s peals of laughter are, in fact, the sweetest sound on earth.

“He’s good with the children…”

You make a warning grumble to this, only winning yourself more laughter. 

You love your nieces and nephews, but you truly have no interest in making children of your own. Is something broken in you? 

Anjélica just giggles at you, a wicked glint in her eye. “Look at that man God has given you! Are you telling me you are not making love to him every chance you get?”

Your mouth twists into a reluctant smile at that. “Maybe. But you know they make these marvelous things called…” You lower your voice to a dramatic whisper. “Condoms.” If you could just fucking get your hands on some… And, diaphragms too, of which a woman was not allowed access to without the permission of her husband. Unmarried women…were just screwed, literally and figuratively. The disconnect between reality and morality in medicine was vast, and you hoped someday things would be better for women. 

Anjélica waves you off with an eye roll. “See how long he wants to wear one of those things. You’ll get tired of it too. It does not feel right, for something to be between you and your mate. You’re going to be ripe with a baby by next year. Just you wait.” 

The thought makes your skin clammy somehow despite the warm summer day. Your sister, who knows your every tell, reaches across the table to you. “I’m not trying to scare you, muñequita. It’s just…life. What happened to Mama…that’s not what it’s always like.”

Maybe it isn’t…until the one time it is, and that’s all it takes to break everything. 

-You and Paul decide that you will accompany the crew of Las Nubes to the fiesta of the harvest, partake in the festivities, and from there you will return to the world on the other side of the rabbit hole. A part of you will miss the slower pace of life in the countryside. But a part of you is eager to get back to the excitement of the bustle of the city, back behind your desk in San Francisco, and back behind your typewriter in your little rented room. 

You are still not sure yet, where Paul is going to fit into all this. 

He isn’t either, and you can tell that he is maybe experiencing an opposite reaction to the thought of returning to life outside. It’s been like living in a fairytale, carrying on like husband and wife here. Las Nubes has been home for several months, and you understand how it grows on you. 

If don Juan was not master there…maybe things could have been different.   

-After your period of mourning, you are looking forward to the bright spot of the fiesta on the horizon. Everyone dresses in their best. You don a ruffled dress you have not worn for years, and silver filigree earrings that belonged to your mother. 

Paul looks so handsome in his uniform, and you watch him dress for what you realize is the last time, in this room that has been your sanctuary.

All packed and ready to go, the two of you look around the space in each other’s arms one last time. Such grand things happened in this tiny room–with any luck, it’s just the beginning for the two of you. You smooth your hand down his tie, straightening his medals that don’t really need it. This man is so humble, but the story of his bravery is written in shining metal upon his chest.

“Ready?”

He pays you a sad smile, and you understand his reluctance to leave the bubble the two of you have made here. He has carried you these past dark days, and you decide that now you will do the same for him. 

“Today will be fun,” you try to assure him, holding his cheek. 

He leans into your touch, but you see the question in his eyes. And the day after? 

You don't have an answer to that, so you kiss him sweetly, and lead him outside.

-You try not to admire don Juan out the corner of your eye, in his short embroidered charro jacket and a silver belt cinching his slender waist. But the moment you fully look his way he makes a sweeping bow with his sombrero.

He’s been on his best behavior since your father died, but you can’t help but feel like he has something up his sleeve, especially now that you’re leaving.

Juan and his entourage will ride to town, and the rest of you will follow in the farm truck. 

-You mill around the fair with your arm linked with Paul’s, your head on his shoulder as you look at the displays and crafts and food and farm animals. Napa county has become such a melting pot. There is music, and later there will be dancing. You introduce Paul to churros and hot chocolate, and you can’t help but laugh at the way his eyes light up after that first bite. You can’t stop yourself from kissing him, your lips sweetened with cinnamon sugar. 

His mood has lifted a little, though you still sense the weight of melancholy upon him. You think to yourself that maybe today will be the day you tell him how much he means to you. Not to cheer him up–but because it’s the truth, and you’ve known it for a while now. He should too.

“Paul…”

He turns to you with hope in those soulful dark eyes, after hearing that certain note in your voice. He knows you so well. Almost like…you were made for him too.

“I–”

Of course, Juan and his entourage choose that very moment to enter the fair, greeted with shouts of, “It’s the Aragóns!” as they ride under the stone arch. You have to admit that they do cut a dashing picture, dressed to the nines upon their fine horses. You feel a reluctant kindling of pride in your heart. Juan winks at you as he trots by, but you give him nothing, except for resting your chin on Paul’s shoulder. 

You all watch as the Padre invokes the blessing of the wine–a thing you’re sure he's happy to do, as he is a notorious lush. 

After watching some of the horse show, you sit down to eat with Josefa, Anjélica, and their husbands. The levity of the fiesta has been good for all of you, after losing Papa. In the distance, you see Juan with his head bent, speaking to a severe looking anglo man in a dark suit. Juan is nodding to whatever the man is telling him, a terrible smile curling his lips. Dread settles like a stone in your gut, all your joy siphoned away in a matter of a second. You just know something bad is going to happen.

The bus to the train station in the next town has already gone. But before you can suggest to Paul that the two of you go back to your hotel to hide, don Juan swaggers up to your table, his two worst henchmen and the man in the suit in tow. 

His eyes are all for you.

“My dear, sweet, y/n. What a naughty girl you’ve been.”

You frown up him. “¿Perdón?” 

“Oh, don’t play the innocent now.” 

Where this man gets his nerve, you’ll never know, but you begin to have an inkling of what he’s about.  

“Don’t speak to me as though you’re my father,” you hiss, standing. “Come on, Paul.” Suddenly you know that the two of you need to get somewhere that don Juan does not feel as though he owns. You fear you won’t reach it until you get all the way back to San Francisco. 

“I may not be your father…but I will be your guardian, now that he’s gone. This man is not your legal husband.”

You shake your head, even as your heart falls to your feet. More Old World nonsense. Yet it matters here…because he says so. That is the true measure of power. 

“Of course he is.” 

“Oh no. I’ve had it looked into. May I introduce Mr. Smith of the highly reliable Pinkerton Detective Agency. He has found zero record of your legal union anywhere in California.” You shift your glare to the man in the suit. 

“Good for him.” 

“Prove us wrong? Where’s your certificate?” 

“I don’t have it with me.” 

Because it doesn’t exist…

 Juan smirks, that low-banked fire in his eyes you remember all too well from when he knew he was winning an argument. That familiar rage fills you, that this man thinks he has any right to tell you anything, just because he is Man. 

“This is ridiculous. We’re going.” You take Paul’s arm to lead him away, but more of Juan’s men block your exit. Eyes wide with panic, you look to your sisters. Anjélica is shocked, and Josefa’s jaw is set with disapproval. By the steely expressions on their husband’s faces, you know they are Juan’s men, no matter how much they came to like Paul. In the conservative, patriarchal world of Las Nubes, you have committed a terrible sin. Perhaps even an unforgivable one. 

Juan’s smirk only widens, and he holds his hand out to you. “Be a good girl for once and come quietly, y/n. We’re going home.”

This is when Paul steps in front of you. “She’s not going anywhere with you.” 

“Stay out of it, gringo. You have no standing here, and none of this concerns you.” 

“I’m not letting you take her.” 

Don Juan makes a sound through his teeth like the hissing of a snake. “You don’t have a choice, cabrón.”

That is when all Hell breaks loose. 

You don’t really see who throws the first punch, but suddenly the two men are on each other like mad dogs in a furious exchange of blows. When Juan’s lackeys try to go to his aid you are quick to pick up the heavy ceramic water pitcher on the table, breaking it over one of their heads. A strong arm grabs you around your waist, trying to drag you off. You flail and screech and scratch and bite, until whoever has you drops you with a string of curses.

You see that Paul is straddling Juan on the ground, delivering punch after punch. 

That is when the Sheriff himself arrives, flanked by two deputies. They drag Paul off of Juan, the latter of whom is laughing with blood in his teeth. 

You realize he must have arranged all this ahead of time, paying off anyone he needed to, to be sure his will was done.  

“Lock this madman up!” declares don Juan, spitting out blood. “He attacked me with no provocation! These soldiers are like wild animals, thinking they may do as they please!” 

In the end it takes four men to subdue Paul, who fights like a trapped bear to get free, shaking off one of the deputies as he tries to put the soldier in handcuffs. “Y/n! Get off me! Don’t let him take her! Y/n!”

You try to go to him, but Juan’s biggest minion has you in his grasp again, your arms twisted behind your back. 

“Señor!” you beg the sheriff, even as you know it’s futile. “He has done nothing wrong! Please don’t hurt him!” The moment you say it one of the deputies hits Paul hard in the temple, and you see him slump in their grasp. “No!” You are crying, angry, ugly tears streaming down your face. “No, this isn’t right!” 

Smirking like the devil, Juan gets to his feet, making a show of brushing himself off before fixing his attention on you. He steps in close, speaking just for your ears. “Behave yourself, and he’ll just sit in a cell for a few days to cool off. Make trouble…and I’ll make certain they hurt him.” 

You slump in Borrachio’s iron grasp, your knees going out from under you. 

You look to your family, who have watched this exchange wide-eyed, but made no move to help you. You understand. Their homes, their whole lives, take place on don Juan’s land. He is their master. You are just inconvenient–and you always have been. 

“Please don’t hurt him.” You sound as defeated as you feel, and Juan clicks his tongue, chucking you under the chin. 

“Pobrecita. That’s up to you, now.” He wipes a bit of blood from his split lip, then turns to his minions. “Put her in the truck,” he instructs Borrachio. “I’ll be there shortly.” You behave yourself, until Borrachio gives you an opportunity while he is opening the truck with one hand. You nearly twist away, fighting again like a hellcat. Losing patience with you, the big man cuffs you across the face, hard. It knocks the lights out of you, and when you come to again you are trussed in the back with your hands tied and a gag in your mouth.

________

*muñequita - little doll **¿Perdón? - pardon? *** pobrecita - poor little girl

[star-dot-net]

i haven’t actually seen the episode in full yet but uh. something i’ve observed I suppose?

Izzy Hands. He dies yes? Yes. It makes sense narratively. I can understand being upset, but I’m telling you!! Izzy was the last attachment Ed had to being Blackbeard; the last reminder that he was this bloodthirsty pirate, the last reminder that he was unhappy. Izzy Hands was never a character for the sake of a character; he was written as a plot device, and will continue to be one if we get a season 3, I’m sure.

Just because you love him doesn’t mean him dying is illogical. It makes sense. It is Blackbeard finally being dead. It is Edward Teach finally being free. Izzy was queer, Izzy was depressed, Izzy was tortured. We saw this coming. Some people are saying “We thought DJenks would be better than this!!” but this is storytelling. Thinking about Izzy as a plot device rather than a separate character shows a lot more— he is used as a direct analogy. He represents Blackbeard. The death of Blackbeard was long time coming. Blackbeard wanted to die; Ed wanted to live. Izzy singing and becoming comfortable as himself is literally an analogy for Ed becoming comfortable as Ed.

That out of the way, here’s my thoughts about the seagull on Izzy’s grave.

One idea is that the seagull is Buttons. He is a symbol of magic this season, obviously. So, in theory, because magic is real, we could be getting Izzy back via Buttons magic.

My other theory is that Buttons being on Izzy’s grave is a reference to “to love […] requires change”

In order to love Stede the way Stede needs to be loved, Ed needed to change; Blackbeard needed to die. If this is the case, then Izzy was the remaining part holding Ed back from changing.

Anyways sorry about this but it’s so frustrating having people complaining about this. Being upset is fine, but the show writing itself is absolutely magnificent. Bury your gays does not apply to this situation because these are the “bury your gays” definitions:

Gay Guy Dies First: When the often only queer character dies early on, before straight characters.

Gayngst-Induced Suicide: When an LGBT+ character commits or attempts to commit suicide because of reasons connected to or caused by being LGBT.

Homophobic Hate Crime: When a character is attacked and often murdered by homophobic characters.

Out of the Closet, Into the Fire: After a character comes out they are quickly killed, harmed, or cosmically punished.

Tragic AIDS Story: The story involves the miseries of HIV/AIDS, often starring gay men, sometimes treated like a punishment for homosexuality.

Vasquez Always Dies: The most lesbian-coded character, or the closest thing the work has to a butch character, always seems to get killed off, or has the most violent and drawn-out death.

The closest possible one, if this were bury your gays, would be “Out of the Closet, Into the Fire”. HOWEVER!!!!!! Izzy is not killed because he’s queer. He’s not killed “after he comes out”. Plus, literally every main character in the show is queer. Every single one. I do not believe this is a bury your gays. I believe this is a purposefully heartbreaking kill; you’re SUPPOSED to like Izzy by now! Because Ed likes Ed now. He’s accepted himself. That’s what Izzy was for; showcasing Ed’s internal journey.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

I love your TMA swap AU so much and love seeing posts about it

do you like, have any more info on it you haven’t shared yet?!? you don’t have to share if you want to, it just kinda consumed my mind 👉👈

CRASHING IN AT LIGHTNING SPEEDS

I absolutely have info and I love talking about it — It’s consumed my mind as well!

I realise I haven’t really talked about one of the key aspects of the AU which is Elias and his slow descent into becoming a vessel for Jonah Magnus, albeit with a twist.

I’m always particularly fond of Swap AUs that really play around with the idea of characters in different roles, and for Elias, that meant he couldn’t simply be the Archivist. While Jon’s story revolves around humanity, Elias’ story in this AU is more an exploration of identity and how the lines blur.

I had to play around a bit with canon, give reason as to why Jonah hasn’t just taken Elias as his vessel yet or taken someone else, and is having to retreat to his old body, using the last few years it has left in it. The idea I settled on was that his vessels need to be specific, preferably someone already touched by the Eye, and a body who he Knows can withstand the shift. These potential vessels aren’t as common but he knows one will been drawn to the Institute eventually.

The problem with Elias Bouchard, is that he still has people left who would notice the change, people he’s close to - Sasha, Tim, Gwendolyn, etc. I have mentioned before that this is why he was made Head Archivist. The Archive is the most dangerous place to work and the easiest place to set Elias on the course of becoming an Avatar himself, making him even more suitable, and isolating him, whether it be through his friends dying, or him isolating himself due to the stress and/or paranoia. Anything like that really.

And, while he isn’t the Archivist, he does develop his own set of abilities, more centred on Watching, similar to Jonah. In late s2 for example, his eyes have started to adjust to Seeing, and he becomes distinctly aware of Not-Sasha, hence his attempt at attacking her with a metal pipe.

He doesn’t view these abilities as negatively as you’d think really, namely because they give him a sense of purpose, a feeling of importance and power which he has longed for his whole life. He often believes he deserved better than what he has, deserves to be respected, stemming from his relationship with his father. He only realises a little too late that what’s happening to him isn’t a good thing, and that he’s losing the people he cares most about.

It’s during his coma in s4 that the identity aspect truly comes into play.

Jonah decides this is the perfect chance to take Elias’ body, and Martin is left with the task, mainly due to Jon being in jail and Martin’s ability to go unnoticed. This is one of the things Martin would really rather avoid doing but Jon asked, and so he obliges.

It doesn’t… work out though. He’s only able to replace one eye — very clumsily at that — before someone walks in, and while they don’t see Martin, they do see the mess he’s left behind.

Elias unfortunately wakes up not long after, and Jonah decides to put the other eye on hold for a short while. He’s… curious, really. He wants to Know what will happen, what this will feel like for the both of them.

S4 is probably my favourite era of the AU solely for the exploration of Elias and Jonah and how the other characters interact with that. They don’t know what’s happened to Elias, a man who had looked an absolute mess for months, suddenly looking pristine, with his hair cut short — he’s always hated short hair — and an eye that definitely isn’t his own. I should add, before now, he’s never gone by Elias. He never liked it, mainly due to the disappointed or angry tones it was often said in by family. He insisted on being called Eli, but, in s4, suddenly he’s rather insistent on going by Elias.

It’s disturbing, to say the least, and the thing is, he’s aware something is wrong, aware he’s acting differently, that his dominant hand has changed from right to left, that his wants and beliefs are being clouded by something else, but he doesn’t know what’s happening anymore, and he doesn’t know how to convey his own distress. He’s acting in ways he otherwise wouldn’t, and it just comes naturally to him. Anytime he even considers breaking down, begging someone to hear him, to recognise he’s just as scared as they are, he’s struck with the thought he doesn’t want to do that.

Everyone tells him he’s changed, and he knows, and he can’t do anything about it.

I’ve wrote a lot already so I’ll probably go more in depth on that another time, but for now, I did actually start writing a Transcript Style thing for an interaction with Gwen, who’s convinced her brother has been replaced entirely, so I’ll share a snippet of that!

I am so very normal about the Swap!Siblings <- lying so badly

[musicloverxoxo7]

Professor Kim’s Teaching assistant

Professor!Namjoon   x   fem!reader

Summary: You feel drawn to the new professor like to nobody else. Does he reciprocate that feeling? How far will you take it?

Themes/warnings: smut with a bit of plot at the beginning, age difference (reader is Master student, so ca 5 years), hand job, oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, y/n has mild dom tendencies, tied up hands, nipple play

Wordcount: ca. 3300 words

Disclaimer: 18+, DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18

I do not own BTS. They merely inspire me. None of this is related to their persons in real life.

“I want to use the last 5 minutes to discuss the topic that will occupy next lesson. Greek mythology in Harry Potter.”

When this new course opened the previous semester, you’d been dying to get a space. Which you finally did the second time around. But now that you’re sitting in Professor Kim’s course, you are bored. Either you know too much about literature or your minds are too alike. You already know almost all the stuff he talks about, while everyone else is in awe at his creative angles.

You raise your hand. Professor Kim looks around. Since none of the other 15 students want to say anything, he gets back to you with a sigh.

“Go ahead, Ms y/l/n.”

It’s almost always a conversation between just the two of you. It has been like that the entire semester.

“For one, there are all the beasts and magical creatures that J.K. Rowling involved in her magical universe. Things like the chimera, centaurs, Cerberus. Aside from that we also have characters in the book named after actual mythological beings, not just Greek, but also Roman.”

“That is correct. Could you give an example? Greek or Roman.”

“Take Remus Lupin for example. Roman legends say that Romulus and Remus were twins that were tasked with building a city. The short version is that Romulus got to build it and named it after himself, of course. Mythology says that they were raised by a she-wolf. I consider this fact of importance, since Remus Lupin is a werewolf.”

“Accurate. Everyone, until next week, if you haven’t done so yet, please read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s stone. Ms y/l/n, my office, please.”

You file out of the classroom with the other students and head to Professor Kim’s office. You have no idea why he’d want to talk to you. He’s never asked you to his office before.

Professor Kim appears a minute after you, his glasses askew and his hair a slight mess. Same as usual.

You smile just a tiny bit. You’d definitely straighten out those glasses. But you’d definitely leave the messy hair be.

“Please, Ms y/l/n, come in. Would you like something to drink? I have tea, coffee or water.”

You sit down at the corner of his desk as he makes himself a cup of coffee.

“I’m good, thank you. Why am I here?”

He waits until the coffee machine is done, then leans against the cupboard on which it stands. His pecks are on display like that, and you give yourself a second to admire them.

“I want to discuss your future. You are exceptional in the field I teach.”

“I just like reading a lot and finding out what could have been behind it.”

You shrug your shoulders.

“Have you considered doing a PhD and becoming a professor?”

“Maybe.”  

“You don’t have to share with me, y/n, if you don’t want to. I merely wanted to offer you my assistance, in case you’d like it.”

Maybe it is because he’s trying so hard. Maybe because this is the first time he has called you by your first name.

“I did consider it for a while. But I had a professor last semester who said they’d do whatever it takes so I don’t get in anywhere as a PhD student.”

“What?”

Professor Kim moves so abruptly that he spills coffee all over his chest. Thanks to your long talk it’s only warm anymore, but he still curses. He puts the cup aside. It gives you a full frontal of his chest, including dark nipples that strain against the fabric.

You jump into action helping him clean up, because otherwise you might do something stupid. Something stupid like burying your face in his chest.

“Take it off.”

“It’s beyond saving. I never get coffee out.”

“Take it off. I’ll do it.”

He doesn’t even turn away to unbutton the shirt. When he tugs the rest of the shirt out of his pants to get the last 2 buttons, you have to cling to your composure very tightly. He hands you the shirt and you put it in the tiny sink in his office.

With the cold water and the immediacy of your reaction, the stain is out in next to no time.

“Et voila.”

You hold up the dripping shirt. No stain left on the light blue fabric. Your smile wavers when you see that Professor Kim is still standing there shirtless. His caramel skin looks like it is supposed to be savored slowly and explored extensively.

“Was it Lim?”

“Huh?”

“Did Professor Lim tell you those terrible things?”

“Oh, well…”

“Y/n!”

“Okay, yes, he did.”

Professor Kim sighs deeply. He straightens out his glasses and walks over to his desk.

“He hates women that are smarter than him. Especially if they are also beautiful. He’s an insecure pig. Time for some measures.”

“What? No!”

You are at the desk with 2 quick steps, your hand on Professor Kim’s upper arm. He looks up slowly from what he was writing, his eyes not focused on your hand but on your eyes.

“Y/n, if you want to go to university for a PhD, I will help you.”

“Okay, then help me. But please, let’s try to keep Professor Lim out of this for as long as possible. He won’t be able to do anything if he finds out last minute.”

Professor Kim straightens up and you finally let go of his arm. You’re a little sad, because it felt very nice. Strong and warm.

“How about you become my TA in the meantime, for your last semester here? That way we would have a valid excuse for spending some time together. Time we will mostly spend on prepping you for that PhD and the application process.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Professor Kim looks at his shirt in your arm and then his naked torso.

“I forgot I wasn’t wearing a shirt. Sorry about that.”

He grabs a jacket from a stand in the corner and buttons it up. This way, he is mostly covered up again. What a shame. You’d grown used to seeing him shirtless by now.

“And one more thing, y/n.”

“What?”

“Please call me Namjoon. Teaching assistants and their professors are almost always on first name terms.”

You hand him back the moist shirt.

“Got it. The shirt should be fine now. But please give it a wash in the washing machine as well.”

“Thank you for your help. I’ll remember that for next time.”

--------

As it turns out, Professor Kim – no, Namjoon – spills something quite regularly. No matter how elegant he looks, he can be quite clumsy. The following week you end up washing coke out of his shirt. The week after hot cocoa. You end up almost getting too comfortable with seeing him shirtless.

Being a TA is turning out to be quite fun and not all that much work, since Namjoon does not hold that many courses this semester.

The day comes when you get accepted into 3 different PhD programs at very prestigious universities. They are out of Professor Lim’s league, so he doesn’t dare mess with you. And finally, your graduation day arrives.

After a beautiful graduation ceremony, you have dinner with your mom and granny. Granny urges you to get married and mom wants you to finally start working full-time. They both talk way too much about your brother and sister and their little families.

Afterwards, you are in dire need of a drink. You end up in a poorly lit bar two houses down from the restaurant. Surprisingly, it smells like peppermint and lime in there. You sit down at the bar and order your favorite drink.

“Long day?”

Namjoon turns to you. You sat down on his right side without even noticing him there. You notice that the top 3 buttons of his shirt are open, and the sleeves pushed upwards. Your mind wants to go in some dirty directions, but you don’t let it.

Thankfully, the bartender puts down the drink in front of you right that moment.

“Kind of. Beautiful, but also laden. Like a landmine.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Sounds like family.”

Namjoon snorts into his drink.

“No matter how much I love my family, I understand what you mean. What did they say to you getting into the 3 best universities in the country?”

“Haven’t told them. They’d be livid that I haven’t gotten married or taken a full time, highly paid positions somewhere yet.”

“You’ll probably have to tell them sometime.”

“Yeah, sometime. I only see them once or twice a year and that’s soon enough for me.”

You let out a long, heavy sigh.

“You want to sit down in an alcove?”

“Sure.”

You move to an empty one with your drinks. The lighting is different here. Warmer, sexier. Namjoon’s dimples look like they want to pull you closer to him. You have a hard time resisting.

“Now that I’m no longer your professor, I’d still like to at least stay friends with you.”

“Of course. It’s thanks to you that I got to this point.”

“Not really. I only guided you a little. But thanks to you I now know how to clean almost all stains out of my shirts.”

You smile. That is true.

“I didn’t mind.”

You don’t because you find his clumsiness endearing. And also, because you got to see him shirtless on a weekly basis. Which was worth the effort.

Namjoon smiles. And something in that smile tells you that he knows.

You fidget a little. Since the nook is small and the bench short, your arm touches his in the process. You withdraw your arm and sit still again.

“I will miss having you around nearly every day. Of course, you were a great help, but mostly your presence is very stimulating to my mind.”

“Well, you wanted to be friends, so we will still get to see each other.”

“Of course. But that won’t be the same, will it?”

“I suppose not.”

Namjoon takes another sip of beer. When he leans back again, his cheeks are a faint strawberry color. You keep your eyes on him. He doesn’t look at you, though, but far into the distance.

“I am a very clumsy person. Which you know.”

“Yes.”

“I do spill drinks on myself quite regularly.”

“I know.”

“But maybe not quite so often. More like once or twice a month.”

“What are you saying?”

You’re still looking at him and he finally meets your eyes.

“I wanted to be close to you. The way you looked at my chest whenever I took of my shirt... I hoped you’d make a move on me someday.”

“Wait what?”

“Ridiculous, I know. You have marvelous self-restraint. And perhaps you only enjoy pecks in general, not specifically me as a person.”

His eyes are honest, with a hint of vulnerability. You hold his gaze for a few moments, then your eyes move down to his pecks. His shirt today is just the right amount of tight. But the fabric is midnight blue, so you cannot see through it.

You bite your bottom lip. You do like Namjoon as a person.

“I do like pecks. But yours are particularly… delectable.”

You slowly look up at him again. His dimples are showing. You move your hand up and gently poke one of his dimples with your finger. When you withdraw your hand again, Namjoon catches it and blows a kiss on your fingertip.

Butterflies flutter through your stomach. You move a little closer and put your hand on his thigh. He does not object. When you stroke up and down his thigh, his breathing becomes a little labored.

Encouraged by your bold movements, Namjoon leans forward and touches his lips to yours. You deepen the kiss. He tastes like peppermint and beer.

You break apart after what could have been seconds or hours.

“Would you like to disappear from here? My apartment is just down the road. If you aren’t ready, though, we can postpone that.”

You take him by the hand and pull him out of the alcove. Thank goodness the drinks are already paid for.

The warm summer air outside caresses your legs and arms. Namjoon takes your hand and guides you to his place. On the way you talk about books, as usual.

Only once the door to his apartment closes behind him do things change again. You’ve barely taken off your shoes when Namjoon grabs your waist and pulls you against him. This kiss is much less restrained and civil than the one in the bar.

You melt into him, your hands on his firm pecks. You run your hands over them, making sure to also caress his nipples gently. Every time you give them a twist, his breath catches. Finally, you can’t take it anymore and unbutton his shirt. He does not stop you.

Once you have peeled the shirt off him, you let your hands roam over his entire upper body. He gives you time to explore while keeping his hands at your waist.

When you break apart for a breather, Namjoon smiles.

“This kind of curiosity will bring you far anywhere, y/n.”

You giggle. Even in a situation like this, he can’t help but think of work and books.

“I hope it can also bring me as far as your bedroom.”

“If that is where you want to be, definitely.”

He walks to the bedroom door and pushes it open. You walk inside past him and turn on the light. There are beautiful paintings on the wall. The bed isn’t made, but overall, the room is very clean and organized.

You turn back to Namjoon.

“I love the interior design. I want a painting tour later on.”

“Whatever you wish, y/n.”

You put your hands on his belt buckle and open it.

“IF there is anything you don’t like, tell me to stop. Ditto for if it’s too much.”

“Who is the teacher here?”

You smirk up at him.

“Tonight, I think it’s me. But I’m always willing to switch roles.”

You pull the belt out of his pants.

“Lie down.”

He does.

“Put up your hands.”

He follows your instructions again. You tie his hands to the head of the bed with his belt.

“I’ll untie you whenever you want. Just say the word.”

“Got it. But I’m feeling pretty comfortable right now.”

You unzip your dress and drop it on the floor before crawling on the bed. Namjoon lies stretched out, the muscles in his arms and torso prominent. You sit down on his lower belly and give him a kiss.

“This could take a while.”

And it does. You start with feathery kisses on his dimples and then move down his neck. You are very tempted to leave marks there, but that wouldn’t be good for a professor who has to teach his students tomorrow.

So instead, you suck a mark into his bulging upper arm. You gently scratch your teeth over the inside of his forearm. That has goosebumps running over his arms. You bite down on the inside of his palm.

By then you’ve teased enough and move down to his chest. His gorgeous chest. Finally, you get to touch and savor. You place sloppy kisses all over his pecks. Namjoon watches you with hooded eyes. When you run your lips over his nipples, his eyes cross. You do it again and add a little tongue. He huffs out a breath.

You keep up the ministrations for another minute or two until you move down his stomach. You leave tiny bites there, which has his stomach muscles contracting like crazy.

You unzip his slacks.

“Hips up.”

He does and you pull the slacks and underwear down. As you already felt earlier, he is fully erected. You run your hand up the shaft and pay special attention to the frenulum. Namjoon takes a shuddering breath. Your thumb draws a circle around his slit.

“Baby, stop torturing me.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Namjoon sighs.

“Goodness, no.”

“Then stop complaining or I’ll gag you next.”

You smile up at him.

Then you lower your head and repeat the circular motion around his slit with your tongue. His moan is a true turn on. You ditch your panties, slip your hand between your legs and start playing with your clit, while you keep working him with your tongue and mouth.

It doesn’t take long until you have him at the brink of desperation. And ecstasy.

You raise your head and let go of him. His eyes linger on your other hand, which is between your legs.

“May I do that too, tonight?”

“Definitely. But later.”

You crawl back up to the headboard and untie him. He lowers his arms and presses you against his body. The close body contact feels heavenly.

Namjoon undoes your bra. You sit up and throw it aside. Then you lay down on him again, rubbing your nipples against his chest. It feels like heaven. Until you’re so sensitive you have to stop.

You kiss the tip of his nose.

“Your turn now, professor. I want to feel you in me.”

He rolls you around until you are lying on your back and he is hovering over you. With one hand he grabs your hands and pins them against the pillows above you. You find that very, very hot.

You arch your body towards him.

“Please.”

“How could I say no to that.”

You feel his tip push against your entrance. It’s a nice stretch once he finally pushes into you, slowly, so you can adjust. Except that you are so turned on that you don’t really need time to adjust.

Namjoon is breathing heavily by the time he bottoms out.

“Give me just a second like this, okay? I don’t want to cum right away.”

He smiles down at you and the dimples appear in all their glory. You pucker your lips. He gets the message and leans down for a kiss. A very deep, slightly messy kiss.

Once you break apart and he finally starts moving, your eyes meet. His are dark, almost black, with lust.

His moves are slow and steady at first. He lets go of one of your hands, so you can play with your nipple. It doesn’t take long until his moves become sloppier, harsher. With a few more twists or your nipple your high burns its way through you.

Namjoon’s breathing gets shallower while you moan into his ear. He lets go of your other hand and you sling both around his torso.

“I can’t… much longer…”

“It’s okay. We have all night for more.”

A few more sloppy thrusts, then Namjoon cums. He buries his face in your shoulder, and you hold him once his body ceases to move.

It takes a bit for both your breathing to normalize and for heartbeats to slow down again. Until that happens, you stroke Namjoon’s hair.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, but you enjoy it.

Eventually, Namjoon raises his head and looks down at you. His eyes have cleared up to their normal dark brown. You see something in them that looks surprisingly like love. You’re even more surprised that you don’t mind that at all. Maybe it is time to trust another person and give them your love.

“Would you like to go and take a hot shower with me, y/n.”

“Gladly.”

He pulls out of you and helps you up.

“About that paintings tour of your apartment?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s postpone that until tomorrow. I think we’re busy for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon guides you into the bathroom, where he turns on the shower. There is easily enough space for two people in there.

“As you prefer, honey.”

When you look at him his eyes are crinkled in a smile.

© musicloverxoxo7, 2023

Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work (reblogging is fine though). Doing so will make you legally liable for stealing intellectual property.

[avocadosharks]

a snippet of my new noco fic voicemails to a ghost inspired by @eavee-ry 's au :)

read on ao3 here

____________________

It’s been months since the door at the end of the hall was last opened. 

There was a small table blocking the entrance. It didn’t hold much- only a singular photo sealed in a teal frame with dying flower petals circling the faded wood around it. There was a flickering tea light illuminating the haunted door behind it in a golden hue, creating ghostly shadows around the doorknob as the wax slowly withered away. Small tokens were scattered around the four corners of the table in the hope that one day, their owner would return to collect what was his.

On the other side of the door, though, sat a cold and vacant bedroom with crisp sheets pulled tightly around the corners of the made bed. The blankets were so smooth and his indent in the mattress began to fluff back up in his absence. Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked quietly. His desk was neat and organized. His books were still lined up by color on his shelf, yet, a thin layer of dust began to dull them. The curtains were drawn and the shades had long been tugged down. Everything was exactly how he left it- an artifact frozen in time.

But occasionally, life would be breathed back into it. A phone that would forever be plugged in would light up and bring the only light the place had left to see, casting a bright blue beam onto the blackened, dead shadows on the walls. It would buzz and buzz until the screen went dark, letting the shadows take over again. 

“You’ve reached Noah, leave a message…or don’t, I don’t care.” 

Cody sighs. “He-hey man, um, I’m just getting ready to go on a drive and I figured that…I could use the company, but…” He shrugs on a raincoat over his hoodie, his words fading quickly and he clears his throat.

He steps out into the early morning and his ragged breathing comes out in whisps as he fishes for his keys deep in his pocket, sandwiching his phone between his cheek and shoulder. “You know, I, uh, never really got my brake lights fixed, so I’m hoping I don’t get pulled over or something because that would really, really suck…I didn’t even know that not having functioning brake lights was a ticketable offense until you told me.” Cody slides into the driver’s seat and pauses for a moment, staring back into the glassy, exhausted eyes looking at him. 

“I’m sorry to call you so late, Noah. You really hated how I used to toss and turn all night at-” His voice catches, “-at camp and, uh, for a second I…I was sleeping. But, I haven’t been able to for a while now and I just really needed to do something, so here I am. Driving.” 

He pauses again, swallowing against his clamped throat as he jams his key into the ignition. The car engine shudders beneath him and the dull glow of the headlights offers some visibility as he twists around, pulling out of his driveway. 

“Do you remember that first day at the camp? When everyone got off the boat and we were meeting each other?” Cody starts. 

The lake water was the bluest Cody had ever seen it. It was the beginning of summer and he could practically smell the money through the stench of the dusty cabins and pine trees. He was young and dumb and excited, gripping the railing of the speedboat to lean forward over the water with a grin so wide, he could see it in the reflection as they sped to the island. 

There were already people on the dock and the first person he noticed was that black-haired girl. She had deep teal lips and porcelain skin with eyes that seemed to cut into him as he hopped off the boat. He noted how she seemed to watch him as he greeted Chris. He knew that his chest seemed to pound as he approached the girls, knowing to flash an easy smile, but making sure to eye only her as he did. 

She was pretty. Not intimidatingly gorgeous like the girl in the red tube top or hot like the blonde-haired girl. She was shy and pretty and had a raspy voice that made his spine shudder, but that’s exactly what Cody liked. 

Then, as he walked over to the boys, he saw Noah. And Noah was beautiful. 

[jjunbug]

kipo <33 ml, I would love book reccs from you (I don't have a pref, I've just been trying to read more) 👀

BOY HAVE YOU COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE!!! okay i mainly ready fantasy books so that’s what majority of my recs are gonna be but i’ll try to add some other genres in here too hehe ＼(≧▽≦)／ putting it all under the cut since i feel like this is gonna be kinda long

i cannot put out a book recs post without recommending my literal all time favorite books ever. like if you read any book from this post then it HAS to be one of these!!

the starless sea by erin morgenstern (with this book, you have to go in reading it completely blind!! it will give you the best experience hehe)

the last tale of the flower bride by roshani chokshi (a gothic-infused story about a marriage that is unraveled by dark secrets, a friendship cured to end in tragedy, and the danger of believing in fairytales)

the six deaths of the saint by alix e. harrow (the saint of war spares the life of a servant girl so she can fulfill her destiny as the kingdom’s greatest warrior, but the war never ends and the cost keeps rising—how many times will she repeat her own story? this is only like 30 pages long but it is SO fucking good omg!!!!)

now for my favorite series hehe!! again, mostly some type of fantasy/magical realism or dystopia… >_<

the hunger games series by suzanne collins (honestly if you haven’t read this book series yet—especially after how good the movies are and keep being—then you MISSED OUT and it’s your chance now to change that!! i feel like i don’t even need to tell you what this is about…)

orange by ichigo takano — a manga series (a plea from the future of the day naho begins 11th grade, she receives a letter from herself ten years in the future. the letter begs her to watch over the transfer student and save him from a terrible future. REAL ones know that february 14th was partially based off of this hehe ^^)

percy jackson and the olympians by rick riordan (again?? do i really have to say anything about this series? you were either a harry potter kid or a percy jackson kid, and iiiiii was a percy jackson kid)

now here are some favorites of mine, but they aren’t all time all time favorites like the ones above!!

a dowry of blood by s.t. gibson (saved from the brink of death by a mysterious stranger, constanta is transformed from a medieval peasant into a bride fit for an undying king. a lyrical and dreamy reimagining of dracula’s brides. one of the best vampire books i’ve read EVER. and it’s not even close)

the invisible life of addie larue by v.e. schwab (“the only way addie knows how to keep going is to keep going forward. they are orpheus, she is eurydice, and every time they turn back, she is ruined.” IF THE QUOTE ALONE DOESNT MAKE YOU WANNA READ THIS IDK WHAT WILL. like hello??? i fucking love this book, this one is honestly teetering on all time favorites)

this is how you lose the time war by amal el-mohtar (among the ashes of a dying world, an agent of the commandant finds a letter. it reads: burn before reading. this begins an unlikely correspondence between two rival agents hellbent on securing the best possible future for their warring factions. sobbed. cried. immediate 10 stars.)

house of hunger by alexis henderson (WANTED - bloodmaid of exceptional taste. must have a keen proclivity for life’s finer pleasures. girls of weak will need not apply. — a young woman is drawn into the upper echelons of a society where blood is power. you don’t know how bad i’ve been dying to write a fic inspired by this book)

i’m so sorry this took me forever to get to lmao i’ve been so busy with babysitting and my family and then writing and everything… >_< i hope this gets you to read more and you got some books that interest you!! hehe i’d love to know what you think of them if you do read them!! ♡♡

[vampstel]

Oh also, here’s some concept art for a new character I haven’t talked about yet. His name’s Aster and he’s one of Lawrence’s adopted kids :]

You’ll notice I have lil notes scattered about his design. Poppy’s his older twin sister (and yes, I stole her directly from RH. I wasn’t joking when I said on Twitter that I’d yoink her long ago 😭) and I’m currently starting her concept art as well. Unfortunately, I only have her hair drawn and nothing else 💀

Btw, I’m really hoping my sicknesses finally go away so I can record videos… Been dying to record for weeks now but no amount of cough syrup is helping me. Shit’s rough but at least I’m doing a lot of other stuff to make up for it.

[redlighttokyo]

Cherry Cola

There were three things you were most certain about. First, you were unquestionably in love with Billy Loomis. Second, Billy and Stu Macher were the Woodsborro murderers. And finally, you were willing to keep it a secret.

Chapter 1: Carefully Selected

Woodsboro – a quiet little town in Northern California. Nothing happens here. That’s why your mom picked this place. It’s safe.

It’s boring, nothing exciting has happened in the four days you’ve been here. There was no traffic or sirens blaring constantly, or even the sound of colourful people out in the street. This made you a little upset with your mom – you didn’t want to move but you were seventeen so you had to go with her otherwise the law would be on your tails. You missed Calabasas but your mom kept chanting that this was a good fresh start.

“This’ll be good for you. A fresh start away from all that noise back in L.A,” your mom reiterated for the millionth time. The golden morning sun hung low in the sky, melting the coolness on the grass. The aroma of freshly cut grass filled the chilled but warming air. You had your window rolled down, the breeze flowing through your hair.

“I liked it better in L.A,” you pouted.

“What was better in L.A? Hmm?” Your mom snapped finally.

“My dad,” you replied bitterly.

“If your dad wanted to be apart of your life then he’d be here, not with his new family,” she snarled at you coldly. You were too stunned to speak. It doesn’t matter how many times your mom throws that in your face it still renders you speechless. She knew your dad was a tender spot for you. You haven’t seen him since the summer but you haven’t talked to him in a few weeks. Not since….

You mentally shook your head to rid yourself of the thoughts of what happened a few weeks ago. You didn’t even look at your mom – you merely sank lower in the font seat with your arms tied over your small chest. This was your form of mild rebellion, that and your newest taste for fashion. Today you sported a black mini pencil skirt with black tights on underneath and a baggy, black, bleach stained tee shirt under a black hoodie you’d sewn red horns onto the hood.

“Couldn’t you have worn something a little more appropriate?” Your mom questioned with disgust in her voice. “–I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be wearing such a revealing outfit,” she added her opinion.

“What’s wrong with my clothes? I’m literally covered from head to toe,” you defended, looking out the window. Your brows had drawn together. You were curious as to what she can find to dislike about you today. Because this is an every day kind of thing. Your mom has a problem with every move you make. You can never win so you say fuck it and deal.

“The skirt, it’s too short. You’re seventeen, you don’t need to be wearing things like that,” she claimed.

“It’s not even that short, mom. It only looks it because I’m sitting.” You rolled your eyes as you looked over at her with disapproving written all over your face Your mom stole a few quick glances between keeping an eye on the road. She frowned and let out a sigh.

“Also with the makeup, Riley?” she complained. You glowered at her, narrowing your icy blue eyes. A twinge of rage knotted in your lower abdomen. You wanted so badly to go off on her – seventeen years of rage just building and building inside you.

“What’s wrong with my makeup?” You growled, turning your attention to out the windshield.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s too dark. You’re a pretty girl, Riley. Maybe ask some girls at this new school for some tips on how to look lively and youthful. Y’know, like you used to.” We’re your mom’s criticisms about your appearance. She had every right to be shocked because in the matter of a day you went from a preppy schoolgirl cheerleader with beautiful long blonde hair to choppy shoulder length dyed hair, nose piercing, new dark academia/grunge aesthetic wardrobe and new taste in music in a day. Of course this was the day you rebelled against society and mainly your mom. And no, it wasn’t because a boy broke up with you and you had a “mental breakdown”. No, it was far worse.

You frowned, sitting up. You grabbed your bag, opening the car door and climbing out as quickly as possible. You heard your mom trying to make the situation better but was cut off when you closed the car door. You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked the last block to the school. Bitterness puckered at your lips – you wanted so badly to rip into her the same way she rips into you all the time. Your mom has always been extremely critical of you, the same way she was with your dad. The only difference is, you’re stuck with your mom meanwhile your dad pays child support and gets unsupervised visits with you once in a while. You doubted that’d happen now; your dad was still in Los Angeles while you were here in this butt-fuck-nowhere town in Northern California mid first semester. Your mom couldn’t have moved you guys to a city? In cities being the new kid isn’t that big of a deal. But in small towns new kids aren’t really a thing. And these kids, your peers, they’ve grown up together. No amount of time or quality of relationships will ever top that kind of bond.

You didn’t mean to but you glanced over your shoulder to see your mom and gone. You were stopped dead in your tracks. Your heart broke a bit inside your chest. You didn’t think she’d just leave you like that without trying to get you back into the car, or making sure you got to school alright.

You exhaled heavily, turning on your heel and heading back towards the school. You wished you brought your Walkman so you could listen to music but alas, you were left with your thoughts. You were left with the knowing that everything changed so fast. Two weeks ago you were planning a sleepover with your friends in a school you’d been attending since ninth grade with people you’ve known the majority of your life and now you were the new kid in town with no friends, no family and no reputation you’ve worked so hard to create.

Students were gathered in groups outside the school – you felt eyes on you the moment you started walking up the path to the front doors. Anxiety filled your stomach as you wandered through the crowd. You preyed they didn’t know anything about you or what happened at your last school.

You went directly to the office once you were inside.

“Hello dear,” the administrator greeted. You sauntered to the desk, adjusting your bag on you shoulder.

“Hi, um, my name is Riley Devins. I’m the new girl. I’m supposed to come to the office to get my time table,” you explained honestly. The admin, a woman in her mid to late forties with snowy white hair and coke bottle glasses, hummed in response before turning her attention to the stack of files on the desk to her right.

“Oh here it is!” She cheered happily, turning back towards you with a friendly smile. “–Here’s your time table and a map of the school just in case you get lost. As well as your locker number and combination, and other info you may need,” she listed, handing you the small stack of papers that were neatly held together with a paper clip. You took the papers from her with a mental sigh. You knew you were going to be the new student soon, when you go off to college but you never thought you’d be the new student mid first semester.

You went to turn around when your body collided with what felt like a brick wall, but really it was just another student. You dropped the papers and your bag slipped off your shoulder; everything went tumbling to the ground.

“Hey watch it!” You cried in defence. You looked up at the person who bumped into you. It was a guy – he was average height with boy band hair and sparkling brown eyes. He had dropped his bag as well.

“My apologies your Highness,” he responded. Your blood boiled at the pet name he gave you. You disliked it when people would call you princess, or anything like that. It made you feel guilty. You were spoiled by both your parents growing up – it was their way of making up for divorcing shortly after you were born. If you wanted to learn ballet then your parents would make it happen. If you wanted the newest electronic your parents would buy you two, one from each of them. You were very blessed growing up and you hated to admit it but you used your parents’ guilt to your advantage. That’s why you felt so guilty. Then everything was ruined a few weeks ago.

“Asshole,” you sneered under your breath. You went to bend down to pick up your belongings when you felt something hard strike your temple causing you to jump upright in surprise. The guy was rubbing a spot on his forehead as he looked you up and down.

You did the same, noting he was wearing a blue checkered button up with blue jeans that were baggy on his muscular but slender frame. His dirty blond hair was parted down the middle – making the way his hair sat look a bit like devil horns. He had obvious California sun kissed skin. This made his endless brown eyes seem deeper and darker. You swore you were drowning in them.

“Mr. Loomis, is there a reason you’re in the office?” The admin asked from behind you. The guy, Mr. Loomis, didn’t break away his eyes – he had you in his sights and you felt so small under his stare. But also something else; it was a familiar feeling but you couldn’t quite place it.

“No,” he uttered, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Finally, his stare broke when he left the office. Leaving you completely stunned and confused. All this happened in the space of perhaps two minutes.

You frowned disapprovingly before kneeling down to pick up your papers and bag. The bell rang to bring the students in for home room. You took a deep breath, leaving the office and going to your locker to drop off your bag and grab the supplies you’d need for the morning.