#SPEAKING OF WHICH. MY ALSO SIGNED POSTER IS FINALLY GETTING A FRAME TOO!!!! A MONTH AND A HALF AFTER THE CONCERT BUT ITS OKAY🎉🎉🎉

[acaesic]

i gave my mom 20$ as compensation

this is fucked up. they want me to die

[raibebe]

Soft core

Genre: Fluff(?) Words: 11,4 k holy shit this is insane Prompt: Jaehyun in his vampire bdsm outfit he wore in the Punch era but make it sfw Warnings: mentions of blood, brief mentions of member x member relationships, brief descriptions of a panic attack

A/N: This was written for Aimee who loves Jaehyun with her whole heart, happy birthday Aimee 💖 I hope you had an amazing day and like this little something. I know you deactivated but I already started writing this a month ago and I’ll post it anyways in the hope you’ll see this someday and a couple of others will enjoy this as well. I have mixed and matched their outfits and tattoos from both the concept photos and the live stages. Also I’m sorry Johnny, but you fit the role of the shameless flirt so well… Bonus points for anyone who spots all cameos. Special thanks to @burtonized​ who made me keep going with this and listened to all my complaints.

To say you were nervous before starting your first shift at your new job in a reasonably shady bar not too far from your apartment was an understatement. You seriously questioned your own sanity and why you had even applied for the job when you had seen the offer on the beat up wooden entrance door next to an old motorcycle license plate and a bright green neon sign that illuminated the word ‘open’ a couple of days ago. The blue haired man behind the bar had given you a questioning look after you had entered the bar because you couldn’t have looked any more out of place with your soft sweater between the old wooden interior and the leather the barman and a handful of customers were wearing. It had cost all of your courage and a reminder that you needed to find a job for the weekends to walk up to the bar to ask the barman about the job offer. He had asked you a couple of questions like whether you had already waited tables before, which you had (at a place that was lit far better than this one but how different would it be?). The man who had introduced himself as Kun and honestly seemed like a big softie on the inside despite his serious look (it had to be the intense eyebrows) had agreed to hire you on the spot because he had the offer up for a while and no one had come in to ask about it and he couldn’t keep bullying his apparently very chaotic roommates to keep covering the shifts on the busy weekends anymore.

That’s how you found yourself here, a couple of days later on a Friday night, staring at the wooden door yet again (now missing the job offer and not yet illuminated by the neon sign).You took a deep breath and pushed through the door of the bar, this time not looking as out of place as you had before, wearing black skinny jeans and a simple grey v-neck. Kun looked up from where he was wiping down the counter, shooting you a smile. Today he had styled his hair up, exposing his forehead and was wearing a black button up shirt with a bunch of white details that was missing quiet some buttons at the top. “You actually came,” he grinned, “You can put your jacket and bag into the back room.” He pointed to a door with the label ‘staff only’. “We’re opening in half an hour. I’ll introduce you to the others once they decide to arrive.” Nodding you rushed to put your stuff away. You were pleasantly surprised by how clean it was in the back. The beat up interior from the main room was nowhere to be found. So it really didn’t seem too bad if it was only shabby for aesthetic purposes.

After taking a couple of more deep breaths in front of the mirror in the staff room, you felt as prepared as you would ever be and emerged back into the main room of the bar. Next to Kun behind the counter was now another man, clad in the tightest pair of leather pants you had ever seen and a loose, see through black blouse, his long blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, showing off a variety of piercings in his ears that were reflecting the low light of the neon signs. When both men noticed you, the blonde flashed you a bright smile and quickly wiped his fingers on the towel he had used to dry some glasses and held it out for you to shake. “Hi, I’m Ten. Kun told me he had finally found someone willing to help us out on the weekends but he missed to tell me how cute you are. Don’t worry the customers are all nice and if anyone gives you any problems, weird stares or makes inappropriate comments, just tell me immediately and I’ll throw them out,” he introduced himself. You couldn’t help but giggle a bit at the image of this petite man throwing drunken men twice his size out of the bar. “Thank you,” you answered before introducing yourself as well. “Would you please wipe down the tables in the back?” Kun asked, handing you a cloth, “The other waiter should be here any minute, so he can walk you through the process.” “You’re all males working here?” You asked shyly while starting to wipe the tall round tables closest to the bar. “Honey, there’s not many woman brave enough to even set a foot in here even though about eighty percent of our regulars and hundred percent of our staff are big softies hiding behind leather jackets and tattoos,” Ten chirped, disappearing beneath the counter to check the tubes of the beer taps.

Speaking of the other staff, as if on queue the door slammed open to reveal a ridiculously tall man with the biggest brown eyes you had ever seen, his platinum hair swept back from his forehead,  a huge grin plastered on his face. “Yooo, the poster with the job offer is gone, did you finally find someone?” The man all but shouted, excitedly bouncing up and down on his way to the bar, shucking off his leather jacket and carelessly throwing it on one of the bar stools to reveal toned arms and a strong chest straining his short sleeved black shirt. “Xuxi, indoor voice please,” Kun groaned, massaging his temples. “Oh sorry,” the other man - Xuxi - answered, flashing Kun big puppy eyes. “We did find someone, please don’t scare her off,” Ten answered Xuxi’s initial question, emerging back from under the counter, smashing the door shut, which caused Kun to groan again. “That thing has a handle for a reason,” he sighed. “It keeps opening itself back up otherwise,” the smaller man shrugged, leaning against the now spotless counter, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Wait, her?” Xuxi asked, eyes wide in either excitement or amazement, “As in she? A girl?” “Yes, hello,” you quietly introduced yourself, stepping out from the corner where you had been cleaning the tabletops.

“Wow, you’re so pretty,” Xuxi said instead of a proper introduction when you walked over to where the three men were standing. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, tinting them a rosy color. Sighing, Kun took the dirty cloth from you and rinsed it in the sink. “This is Xuxi, the other waiter for tonight. As you might have noticed he doesn’t have much of a filter, but i swear he is harmless.” “Just call me Lucas at work, it’s easier,” the man in question grinned, not even bothering to correct Kun and extended a hand for you to shake (needless to say because he was unnecessary tall, his huge hand could almost cover your whole fist). “I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he beamed and even though he had just called you cute, he was definitely the cutest person currently in this room. “Thank you,” you murmured, a smile spreading on your lips because Xuxi’s grin was really infectious and you felt your anxiety disappearing.

In the remaining time before the bar would officially open, Xuxi taught you everything you needed to know. From their system and how you’d take the orders and which tables you would serve to special drinks that weren’t on the menu and what to do if any customers would give you trouble. “There’s probably not much to do for the first two hours or so”, Xuxi concluded, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair, making his muscles dance beneath his shirt, “Like that you can get used to it before it gets packed. Fridays are always busy and there’s a bunch of different people coming. Did any regulars call in before?” He asked the last question to the general direction of the bar. Flipping through a book next to the cash register, Ten nodded. “127 are coming in, they got that big table in the back but other than that, no one called.” “What’s 127?” You asked curiously because that was one of the tables you were supposed to serve. “They’re a group of guys our age, but I’m not really sure what exactly they are to be honest,” Xuxi laughed while fixing the belt that held his wallet before handing you your own one. “I think they are bikers,” Ten supplied, turning around to reorganizing the bottles behind the bar for the third time tonight, “At least some of them have bikes and they sure look the part. Have you seen Johnny’s new tattoo the other week, Xuxi? That must have hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I saw the post with his chestpiece on his Instagram. That man is ripped.” “Well, you’re one to talk,” you murmured under your breath, organizing the contents of the belt to your liking. Laughing out loud, Ten slapped Kun on the chest. “We need to keep her, I like her,” he giggled and Kun just shot you a slightly pained smile, rubbing where Ten’s hand had come down. “Oh come on, old man. I didn’t even hit that hard.” “Stop calling me old, I am literally just two months older than you,” Kun groaned, softly shaking a grinning Ten. Unbothered by the bickering of the two barmen, Xuxi called over from the door: “I’ll switch on the sign!”

Your anxiety came back at full force when the bar started to fill up one hour after it opened. Resisting the urge to hide behind the bar, you approached yet another group of shady looking men to take their orders. Like the other people you had served before, they gave you a weird look while looking up and down your frame once before asking if you were new here. You just nodded and smiled politely while writing down their orders before walking back to the bar where you took out one of the trays and put the note with the order on top so Ten or Kun could put the according drinks on top. “Here, have a little drink, the night is just beginning,” Ten grinned and pushed a glass into your hands before completing the order while somehow also dancing fluently to the music that was playing through the speakers now. You eyed the drink suspiciously, the deep orange color throwing you off a bit. “It’s not spiked, no need to worry,” Xuxi told you, suddenly appearing next to you, placing his own tray with empty glasses onto the counter, winking teasingly before grabbing a colorful bottle to pour a bunch of shots, so Ten and Kun could focus on the other, more complicated drinks on the orders. You drowned the sickly sweet drink quickly and put the glass next to the ones that needed to be rinsed. You mouthed Ten a ‘thank you’ when you picked up your order and he blew you an exaggerated kiss, making you giggle and feel a little more at ease. It was like he had known you were being nervous again.

After checking in with your other tables and earning a big tip from some truckers that actually had been really nice, you made your way back to the bar to help Kun with rinsing the glasses that had been piling up. “You remember those regulars that were coming in tonight?” the blue haired barman suddenly asked, “That’s them.” He nodded towards the door where a group of men were coming in. For a moment, your breath got caught in your throat because Ten hadn’t been wrong earlier when he said that those 127 guys looked like bikers. Honestly anyone of them could have been a model for the leather clothes they were wearing while standing in front of a Harley Davidson or thrashing something with a baseball bat. (Also was one of them wearing a metal harness beneath his leather vest?) “They’re all nice people, no need to worry,” Kun calmed you down, shooting you a reassuring smile before taking the beer glass from your hands that you had started to grip so hard, your knuckles were turning white. “How many are they?” You asked him curiously while eyeing the group as they made their way over to their designated table, greeting other regulars as well as Lucas (one of them was apparently just as incapable of having an indoor voice as him when he loudly yelled ‘Lucas’ before hugging the taller male tightly).

“Yooo, Johnny’s chestpiece looks even more sick in real life,” Lucas said with wide eyes when he came back to the bar. “Also he gave me 20 dollar so I would ask Haechan and Mark if they were even legal when they would order something alcoholic,” he grinned, “I’ll share if you do it.” “How am I supposed to know who to ask?” You asked because even though you were shy, 20 dollars were 20 dollars. “That’s the spirit,” Lucas grinned and threw an arm around your shoulders to turn you in the direction of the table where the men had sat down, not even trying to be subtle about it. “You see the one with the purple hair sitting next to the tall one with half his chest exposed? The purple haired one is Haechan and the tall one is Johnny. Mark is the one on the stool to the left, just ask Haechan for his age first, Mark will be the one to laugh the loudest,” he quickly explained. “You know them quite well,” you said, trying to fight the heat spreading across your cheeks because it didn’t happen any day that you were in such a close proximity to a handsome man like Lucas. “I went to school with Mark,” he shrugged, letting you go when Kun yelled that his order was ready.

Before walking up to their table you took another deep breath to calm your furiously beating heart, repeating in your head how no one had been mean to you yet and that all your coworkers kept on telling you how nice they were supposed to be. “Hi everyone,” you greeted them when you arrived at the table, “Have you already decided what you want to order?” Seeing the chaos that the group was already in, half of them probably didn’t even notice that you had arrived at the table. “Guys!” The pink haired man wearing the harness type thing scolded the others that were bickering in the back of the little booth on the couch. “I’m sorry, they usually behave better,” he smiled and his big eyes combined with his pink hair made him look like he came straight out of an animation. “I’m Taeyong by the way,” the pink haired man supplied, flashing you a genuine smile, “You’re new here, right? I haven’t seen you around before.” “Today is my first day,” you nodded, cheeks heating up��under the gaze of the handsome man, nervously playing with your little notepad. “Let’s order, guys!” Taeyong said, the others slowly turning their attention towards you. How all of them were this handsome was beyond your imagination. Shyly you introduced yourself as their waiter for the night for the second time and asked for their orders. One after the other they either ordered plain beer or some really extraordinary cocktails that you had never heard of before. When the purple haired boy, Haechan, ordered his cocktail, you took a deep breath before putting on your best poker face. “Could I see your ID to check your age first?”

As soon as the words had left your lips, the whole table fell dead silent and the boy’s mouth dropped open in surprise. But before you could lose your courage to mutter an apology, the boy that had greeted Lucas loudly before, burst out in laughter, that the others minus Haechan quickly joined and even you couldn’t hold back the grin that spread over your face. “Now that I think about it, could I see yours as well?” You followed up and asked the dark haired boy with the infectious laugh, whose eyes immediately turned into saucers, his mouth wide open while the others couldn’t hold their laughs anymore, the purple haired boy joining in now. “I’m sorry,” you giggled, turning to the last man to order when they all had calmed down, using the napkins on the table to exaggeratedly wipe their tears. “What can I get you?” When the man with the dark hair that was elegantly swept back from his face turned towards you, you could swear that time stilled for a moment. His dark eyes that were accentuated with a bit of eyeshadow fixed yours and you were captivated, unable to look away. When your eyes dipped lower for a second you could see the black ink of a tattoo on the pale skin of his neck. He seemed familiar but you couldn’t quite tell why. Maybe you had seen him around on campus. But even then you should have been able to tell because that tattoo really wasn’t subtle at all. Briefly you were wondering if he could ever work a normal job with something like that. “I think I’ll just start with a beer as well,” he spoke softly, his voice a deep rumble, tearing you from your thoughts. After you had definitely stared at him for way too long than it would have been acceptable, you tore your gaze away from him, quickly scribbling down his order as well, repeating what you had written down for the others to confirm.

“Great, then I’ll be back in a bit with your drinks,” you smiled, after one of them had insisted that they should get a round of shots as well. “Can’t wait,” the tall one with the eagle tattoo on his chest said with a smirk on his lips, adding a cheesy wink that made you way more flustered than you would have liked. You quickly turned to hide your heated face, speed walking back over to the bar to put their order down. “Did you do it?” Lucas eagerly asked, bouncing up and down in excitement where he was helping to dry some glasses behind the counter. “Where’s my money?” You grinned, holding out your palm towards him. “Waaa, you really did it,” he grinned while bouncing up and down excitedly and you could barely hold in the urge to coo at him. He really did resemble an oversized puppy. You barely knew him for more than a couple of hours but he already had wiggled his way into your heart.

“Lucas, you didn’t tell us such a pretty girl would be serving us tonight,” a smooth male voice suddenly interrupted. When you turned around, the tall man from the 127 gang (Were they a gang? Did they do illegal stuff?) came walking up to the counter, leaning against the polished wood. “She’s new here, I didn’t know either,” Lucas pouted, already grabbing two shot glasses to put up on the bar top, putting the third one back down when you shook your head. You weren’t going to drink on your first day of work even though it seemed to be normal when you watched Lucas fill up the two glasses with a shady looking liquid from an unlabeled bottle he had grabbed from below the counter. Clinking their glasses together both men drowned their shots and while the tall biker didn’t even flinch, Lucas broke out into a whole body shiver, squeezing his eyes shut. “This stuff is really fucking disgusting,” he grimaced before refilling one of the shot glasses again, shoving it in front of the other man again, “I don’t know how Ten manages to make these concoctions.” Grinning, the man in question suddenly appeared and snatched the shot glass from below the other‘s fingers, drowning it himself. The blonde only grimaced a little. “I gotta say, I’ve made better stuff but also definitely worse. Lucas, we need a new keg of beer, can you please get one from the back, you’re so much stronger than I am,” Ten pouted, batting his lashes at Lucas and rubbing one of his hands over the other’s muscled arms. “Be nice to her,” Lucas told the man with the big tattoo on his chest and quickly disappeared to the back.

“I’m Johnny by the way,” he introduced himself, running a hand through his dark red hair. “So you’re the one who asked Lucas to embarrass your friends,” you remembered, your eyes getting caught on the intricate feathers of the eagle that spread its wings over Johnny’s broad chest. He smirked when your eyes came back up to meet his. “That would be me. You like the tattoo?” “It looks nice,” you mumbled, embarrassed at being caught staring, “It’s not something you see every day.” “I have some other ones that are pretty interesting as well,” he winked. “Su-Sure,” you stuttered, feeling your face heat up for what must have been the millionth time this night. “You’re cute,” Johnny laughed, the sound bright and inviting, his eyes turning into little crescents. “What did you come over for? Did I miss something on the order?” You tried to move the conversation in a direction you were a little (a lot) more comfortable with. “I just thought I could put my muscles to use and help you carry our drinks, we ordered quite a lot. Also I still owe you money for pulling that prank on Mark and Haechan. Even though their faces were priceless.” “How old are they anyways?” You asked him because you didn’t actually ended up looking at their IDs and Haechan especially did seem quite young. Digging out his worn out wallet, Johnny fished out a twenty dollar bill and teasingly held it up between two fingers. “They’re both of age, don’t worry, they just have baby faces.”

Snatching the bill from his hands, you quickly stuffed it in your pocket. “Thank you,” you grinned, relieved that it really had just been a prank between friends. “How old are you then?” You heard yourself asking after you had glanced at the tray that Ten had been filling up, but a couple of glasses were still missing. The weird cocktails seemed to take quite some time to make (Why there was celery swimming in what looked like tomato juice was a mystery to you). “Let’s pretend I’m in my early twenties,” Johnny grinned, his long fingers playing with the cherries that were stuck to the rim of one of the cocktail glasses. “Pretend?” You were confused. He couldn’t be much older than you were. “It’s improper for old men like me to flirt with such pretty young girls after all,” he winked and stuck out his tongue. “You… You can’t be much older than me though,” you argued, trying to fight your shyness back down. But your furiously beating heart was betraying you. Luckily he couldn’t notice that from his place where he was still leaning against the counter, the long line of his body perfectly shown off; his legs seemed almost endlessly long in the heavy leather pants. Chuckling, he raked his eyes across your body in a similar way you must have seconds ago but you felt like you were burning up wherever he was looking. Within the blink of an eye he was in your personal space, crowding you against the bar. “I’m 25,” he breathed, “How long do you have to work today, honey?”

Before you could even think of an answer, Johnny was shoved backwards by another man dressed completely in black. You recognized him as one of the men from Johnny’s gang, the one with the neck tattoo that had seemed weirdly familiar to you. “Leave her alone, Johnny,” he drawled, his voice barely more than a growl, “There’s someone waiting for you outside.” After a moment of heavy eye contact between the two males, Johnny scoffed and threw you another smile. “See you later, darling,” he chirped before turning towards the exit. “I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable, he doesn’t know when to stop sometimes,” the handsome man spoke, his voice still deep but way less threatening. “It’s… It’s fine you wouldn’t have needed to step in like that,” you reassured him, “But thank you.” “Yeah, I don’t know, something just didn’t sit right with me when he crowded you like that. Especially when you’re new to this type of environment, it’s pretty different from your usual job.” “My usual job?” You asked, clearly confused, “Do we know each other?” “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you had recognized me,” the man’s eyes widened in surprise and he averted his gaze as if he was embarrassed. “I’m Jaehyun. You know, the dude who keeps killing his plants.” Now it was your turn to be surprised. “No way. You look so different.” “It’s the clothes, right?” Jaehyun was rubbing the intricate lines of ink on his neck, looking up from between his dark lashes, smiling shyly and now that his dimples were almost showing, you did finally recognize him.

He was somewhat of a regular customer at the flower shop you worked in during the week to help out the old lady who owned the shop, always coming in to buy new plants when he had managed to kill yet another one. Now in the heavy leather jacket with more buckles and straps than you could count, he looked so different than when he came to the shop, his dark hair fluffy so his bangs almost covered his eyes and wearing soft sweaters and jeans. You also somehow had never noticed the big tattoo that stretched around his neck.

You could remember the first time he came into the shop very vividly. It was just after your break that you had spent lazing around in the backyard of the shop in front of the little greenhouse, letting the sun shine onto your face, just basking in the moment for a bit, letting all your worries about money or upcoming exams melt away. The job at the little flower job didn’t pay very well because people these days bought less and less flowers and the old lady couldn’t afford to pay more but you couldn’t just leave her alone in the shop. You really enjoyed her presence and learning about the language of flowers and how to bind pretty bouquets. When the distant chirping of the old cuckoo clock in the shop announced the end of your break, you got up from your place and put your apron back on, so you wouldn’t accidentally dirty your clothes. You came back into the shop just in time to see the big load of new plants that was being delivered. Two boys were unloading a colorful truck while continuously bickering in what seemed to be Chinese about where to put the plants in the shop and on the sidewalk outside so people could still walk past. “Urgh, this sucks why did we let us get talked into helping out?” The one with green hair sighed after they had put the last plant down, handing the old lady the papers she had to sign that the shipment had arrived at her place. She chuckled while handing the papers back. “I’ve made some iced tea, have a little break, boys,” she smiled her kind, wrinkled smile at them, taking them to the little kitchen area in the back to pour each one of them a glass even though the smaller of them had declined her offer at least ten times while his green haired friend gladly took her invitation.

Smiling you reassured the old lady that you would rearrange the flowers and plants so you could fit them all into the shop and the small greenhouse in the back. Maybe her grandson would come in later to help you move the heavier plants. He always came to the shop to laze around without having his parents scold him and his grandmother could never say no to his charming smile that made any girl his age swoon. He had recently dyed his hair a soft pinkish shade and had been hanging around the shop a lot more because his parents weren’t quite fond of his style choices. You gently stroked the leaves of the little pink rose bushes (that had kind of reminded you of the boy in the first place) that seemed rather thirsty to you, making a mental note to water them lots after you had arranged them.

While rearranging the cut roses so you could fit the new bushes in between them, the little bell on the door rang, announcing the arrival of a customer. “I’ll be right over,” you said, detangling yourself from the bush you had tried to fit in the display window. “No need to hurry,” the customer answered with a deep voice. It wasn’t often that men visited your store. And most times they just wanted a quick, expensive looking bouquet to either impress a girl or to apologize to their wife. Putting on your best customer friendly smile, you walked over to where the man was eyeing some cherry tree bonsais, his broad back turned towards you. “How can I help you?” When the man turned around, he immediately politely smiled at you, making your heart beat pick up just a little. He was definitely attractive, you couldn’t deny that. His dark hair was unstyled and hung into his eyes a bit, covering his strong eyebrows that every girl would be envious over. He seemed young, about your age. The pale blue hoodie and the fluffy hair made him seem very soft and gentle despite his strong jawline and prominent cheekbones. “Well I’ve moved into a new space and it looks a little empty, so I thought some plants might be the way to fix that,” he explained, fiddling with the hem of his slightly oversized hoodie. “That’s a great idea,” you beamed, trying to seem reassuring since he seemed rather nervous, “Do you have anything special in mind?” “No, I really don’t but those roses you just put in the display window look very pretty, it’s what made me come in,” he said, motioning to where you had been fighting with the roses earlier. “Roses need a lot of attention though,” you warned him, walking over to where you had tucked the little bushes into a corner. “I have a lot of time and like a good challenge,” he answered, a grin tugging at his lips, a set of dimples just barely showing, “You’re bleeding by the way.” He added, gently touching your hand. Startled, you jerked away, heat licking at your cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized, “But you should bandage that or it might get infected if something gets into the wound.” “Don’t worry, it’s not even that deep,” you concluded after examining the small cut on the back of your hand where you had lost the battle with one of the thorns. You quickly shot the man another smile that you hoped was reassuring.

“So do any of those roses look good to you?” “The pale orange ones look nice.” You couldn’t hold back a small giggle. “What’s so funny?” He asked, his beautiful brows drawn together in confusion. “The color is called peach,” you still giggled, grabbing the pot to show him the petals in the sunlight. “Well it is orange though,” he shrugged. “Men and colors,” you sighed dramatically but couldn’t help the smile spreading on your lips, “You like them and want to try caring for them?” “Yeah, let’s try it. Anything I should look out for?” While walking up to the cash register and ringing him up, you briefly explained how to take care of the roses the best.

“I hope they brighten up your room a bit,” you smiled when he had paid. “The visit sure brightened up my day,” he replied smiling widely, the set of cute dimples reappearing on his cheeks. Before you could overcome your sudden shyness to reply anything, he had already wished you a good day and disappeared from the shop.  

After his visit, the man had crept back into your mind a couple of times. Every time you watered the little twin of the rose bush he had bought, it somehow reminded you of his sweet dimpled smile and his deep, soothing voice. You always scolded yourself when you noticed how you were spacing out, in fact watering the floor instead of the little rose bushes how you were supposed to. (You had been made fun of by a certain pink haired boy one too many times lately.) Your boss had just smiled knowingly and pressed a little bouquet with beautiful yellow Chrysanthemums in the middle, when you had closed up the shop, making your face heat up and furiously deny everything. But like always, the old lady knew you probably better than you knew yourself.

The second time the handsome stranger had visited the shop, he had been wearing a white turtle neck and a simple denim jacket, his hair pushed back with a dark blue hat. “Hello again,” he greeted you, gently smiling when he walked up to the counter where you were currently binding a bouquet with a couple of big purple hyacinths, “I’ll have a little look around. No need to hurry that.” Even though you tried to concentrate on arranging the flowers in the bouquet and picking smaller flowers that would look good with the big center piece, you kept glancing over to the man who was sniffing different flowers, quietly sneezing when he inhaled too deeply.

“Those are really pretty,” he said after he had not so subtly watched you work for a while from his place between the brightly colored geraniums while walking up to the counter. “The man who commissioned them paid a lot of money for them to look pretty,” you smiled, gently tucking smaller white flowers all around the big purple ones in the middle. “Does it mean anything? I’ve never seen this kind of flower,” he asked, seeming genuinely interested. “You’re interested in the language of flowers?” You asked, securely tying the bouquet together, placing them in a vase for the time being. “What languages would flowers speak?” The man asked, sounding genuinely confused. For a moment you could just stare at him, his dark brown eyes widened and his mouth slightly ajar, before you burst out in a fit of giggles. “Hey! What’s so funny?” He asked, trying to sound offended but he couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his lips. “They don’t speak any language, silly. The different types of flowers mean different things. I don’t know all of it but the owner of the shop has been teaching me some of it,” you explained to him. “Ooh, that makes a lot more sense,” he nodded, “What do those mean then?” “They’re hyacinths. The man told me he needed to apologize to his girlfriend. The purple ones stand for sorrow. I doubt she will notice though.” “Probably not,” he chuckled. “What did the rose mean I bought last time? The peach one?” “I’m not quite sure, I’ll ask my boss when she’s back. What brings you back here?” “Well,” he scratched the back of his head and averted his eyes, “I need a new plant, the rose was  kind of a lot more work than I thought it was.”

“Oh no.” You felt genuinely sad. You kind of had expected it not to go well but this was honestly a lot faster than you could have imagined. “I should have listened to you when you told me that they were a lot, I’m sorry,” he apologized, “But I really want to try to keep a plant alive. She looked really good for the time she was alive.” “She?” “Well I gave her a name.” You giggled again. “That’s really cute.” “Not as cute as you though.” It was suddenly so silent in the shop, the only noise the soft buzzing sound coming from the air-conditioning. You stared into the man’s eyes, expecting a his face to heat up in a similar fashion yours was, to see a blush creep up his face or his ears, but his face stayed perfectly pale, not a single blotch of color visible. But he had to be embarrassed as well if the way he was chewing on his lips was any sign. “I’m sorry, that just slipped,” he mumbled. “I… Shouldn’t you at least tell me your name before you start complimenting me like that?” You stuttered when you found your voice again. “Jaehyun,” he supplied, still awkwardly shuffling around, “It’s Jaehyun.” “Alright Jaehyun, let’s find you a new plant that’s not as easy to kill.

From that day onward Jaehyun came to the shop somewhat regularly, either announcing the death of yet another plant or telling you how they were on the brink of death and he didn’t know how it happened or what to do to save them. You were really close to either tell him to stick to bouquets or cacti but when you were being honest, you enjoyed his little visits. He’d stay longer and longer every time, telling you little stories about how he suspected that his roommates were secretly killing all the plants. In turn you told him about your boring life between your classes and your job. And sometimes you even taught him about the language of flowers while he was watching you put together a bouquet for yet another desperate boyfriend.

One visit in particular had stuck with you for some reason. Your whole day had just been bad: One of your professors had caught you slacking off in class and called you out in front of everyone, then at lunch a guy had run into you, making you drop half your food on the floor and then it had started to rain on your way to work. And if that wasn’t enough, the old lady hadn’t been feeling well because of the sudden change in weather and you had sent her off into her apartment that was above the shop, so she could rest. So now you were just alone in the shop, watching the people outside hurry past the shop with their umbrellas. When it was raining even less people were coming into the shop because you couldn’t put any plants outside that often lured people in. Sighing, you continued with the inventory that you had started out of boredom. Of course you also hadn’t brought any useful books, so you could have studied a little.

You must have been deep in thought, moping about how much this day sucked, that you didn’t hear the little bell on the door ringing. So when someone touched your arm to get your attention, you of course were startled and let out a small scream before you lost your balance on the stepladder that you had used to count the spare pots on a higher shelf. And if that wasn’t enough, you also pushed one of said pots down as well. But before you could even brace yourself for the fall, a strong arm had wrapped around you, saving you from crashing down onto the floor and possibly cracking your head open. When you opened your eyes, that you had screwed shut, you saw straight into Jaehyun’s deep brown eyes that were full of concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he spoke softly and you could feel how his voice rumbled in his chest from how close he was holding you to his body. “It’s alright, it’s my fault anyways. I wasn’t paying attention,” you sighed, slowly realizing in what kind of situation you and Jaehyun were in right now. His face was so close to yours that you could almost count every single one of his long, dark eyelashes. You could even see the faintest little blush spreading over his cheeks and your own face immediately felt hot as well.

Jaehyun just smiled and released you from his grip, gently setting the pot he somehow had managed to catch with his other hand back onto the shelf. He really must have incredible reflexes and obviously the most charming smile you had ever seen. “Don’t blame yourself, you don’t look too good today,” he spoke softly. “Wow thanks,” you sarcastically said, sighing theatrically while running your hands through your hair in an attempt to smooth it out, but probably messing it up further than it already was. “Hard day?” You snorted. Hard was an understatement. It sucked. But a little voice in the back of your head whispered that now that Jaehyun had come to visit you in the shop, it would get better. “You look like you could use a hug,” he smiled and opened his arms invitingly.

Before you could even think twice about it, you wound your arms around his middle and squeezed him tightly, burying your face in the soft fabric of his cardigan that he wore over one of his many turtlenecks. Chuckling, he grabbed the fabric and stretched it around you, so you were basically wrapped up in it against his chest, before wrapping you up in his strong arms. You were drowning in his by now familiar scent and the way his chest steadily rose and fell with his breath made all stress from your body slowly dissolve. “If you keep holding me like this I will cry,” you mumbled, trying to untangle yourself from him. “I don’t mind, you know? Sometimes you just have to cry to let all the stress out,” he assured you, rubbing soothing circles on your back. ��Don’t say that, I will ugly cry in your shirt,” you hiccupped, “I barely know you.” “Oh I think you know me a lot better than a lot of people,” he smiled, “It’s an old shirt anyways.” “Liar, I’ve never seen you wear this before.” “You’re keeping track?” He chuckled. “That’s not what I meant by that,” you mumbled, feeling shy suddenly because how could you not keep track when he just effortlessly looked infuriatingly good every time he walked into the shop.

“You feeling better now?” Jaehyun gently asked after you two had fallen silent, just basking in each other’s presence. He gently tilted your head back from where you had buried it in his neck, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah,” you breathed, captivated by him. You had never noticed the tiny mole he had on one of his cheeks but you found it really endearing.   “Good,” he smiled, “I brought you coffee from the shop next door.” He motioned to the two cups he had placed on the counter next to the cash register. “You have a heart of gold Jaehyun,” you confessed, a smile slowly spreading on your lips and your heartbeat picking up. You kept the thought that he probably would also make the perfect boyfriend, to yourself. Not that it would matter, you were sure he didn’t see you like that. He just played it off, laughing awkwardly like he always did when he was embarrassed. (Coming to think of it, you really seemed to know him better than you had initially thought.) “Let’s drink it before it gets cold and you can tell me more about your day,” he offered and slowly loosened his arms around you. “Can you tell me about yours instead?” You asked with a small voice. “I’d rather forget all of this stupid day before you walked in here.” “Of course, darling,” he breathed. Your heart skipped a beat before doubling its pace when the pet name rolled of his tongue just like that. Maybe there was just the slightest little chance, he might consider you more than just the friend that worked in the flower shop that he had to visit to get advice on how to not kill his plants. Smiling you loosened your grip on him as well and you two sat down on the counter, dangling your legs and sipping the slightly cold coffee while you listened to Jaehyun ramble about the mess that were his flatmates. Until this day you hadn’t figured out how many people he actually lived with but you couldn’t help but smile at the little stories he told you. And even when he stopped talking, you just enjoyed the silence while watching the people outside. And maybe it was just your imagination but the umbrellas outside seemed just a little brighter with your head resting on Jaehyun’s broad shoulder.

“I’ve never noticed your whole tattoo thing that’s going on,” you said, motioning around your own neck when you came back from your fond memories of Jaehyun. “Yeah, I try to not let it show as much usually,” he replied, almost nervously playing with the collar of his leather jacket.   “Did it hurt a lot when you got it?” “Yeah, the skin is kind of tender around your neck,” he answered, his gaze not meeting your eyes but fixating a point right behind you. “You get that question a lot don’t you?” you gently asked, fingers itching to reach out to touch him. “Yeah, it’s all people talk about when they see it,” he shrugged, “I’m used to it by now.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized. “It’s fine,” Jaehyun reassured you, gently grazing his fingers over your exposed forearm, making goose bumps break out over your skin. “Yes, it did hurt. No I don’t regret it. Yes I probably can’t work a normal job if I’m not wearing a turtleneck. No, I didn’t get it in prison. It was done in a perfectly sanitary tattoo shop by a professional artist. No, I’m not a criminal”, he quickly addressed every typical question he apparently got about the tattoo in a single breath, a smile spreading on his lips, making his dimples appear and your heart beat faster.

“Glad to know I haven’t been talking to a criminal over the past few weeks even though you did kill an unholy amount of plants,” you giggled, checking again if the order was ready only to find Ten engrossed in a conversation with a group of young men that were sitting at the bar, his work forgotten. “Well I guess I am guilty of that,” Jaehyun pouted and it was weirdly endearing seeing him act playful like that with his dark and intimidating clothing. “So you’re not a criminal but a biker?” “Is that what you think our group is?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “That’s what everyone told me at least. And you do look the part.” “A couple of us do have bikes, but I don’t think that justifies the title. We’re just a,” he bit his tongue for a bit, “We’re just friends. Friends who like to dress in a lot of leather and black clothing.”

It seemed to be a somewhat touchy subject so you decided to not push any further. “You don’t need to explain it to me,” you smiled reassuringly, quickly squeezing his cold hand. “Jaehyun, stop flirting with my best waitress,” Kun teased, adding the little shot glasses to the second tray that completed the order. “I wasn’t flirting, I-“ but Jaehyun didn’t complete his apology when Kun shot him a knowing look and your face heated up on his behalf because Jaehyun didn’t blush like ever. “Stop making excuses and help her carry all this back to the table,” the barman grinned, returning to his work by pulling Ten back by the hairs on his neck from where he was still talking to the handsome customers sitting at the bar. “I would appreciate some help, that’s what Johnny came over for as well,” you tried to push past the awkwardness. “Like hell he was,” Jaehyun grumbled, grabbing the one of the trays maybe a tad too forceful than he needed to, the drinks almost spilling over. “Don’t be angry with him, he was being nice,” you consoled him, gently petting his leather clad arm (wasn’t he warm in that thick jacket?). “I saw just how nice he was being,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders, “He’s such a goddamn flirt.” “Nothing happened Jaehyun,” you tried one last time, looking into his dark eyes, getting lost in the seemingly bottomless obsidian.

Only the thud of the heavy entrance door made you snap out of it and you quickly turned to grab the second tray. You hadn’t even noticed how you had gravitated towards Jaehyun, it was like his eyes had hypnotized you. “Need another pair of helping hands?” A familiar voice asked and Johnny strode over towards you two again, now with an energetic bounce in his step, his red lips curved into a smile. “We’ve got it,” Jaehyun answered, scrunching his nose as if he had smelled something bad before taking a deep breath. “Don’t wait too long, Jaehyun,” the taller said, his tone suddenly stern and his brows furrowed. “I can handle it, Johnny,” Jaehyun gritted out, shoving past the taller man to make his way over to the table where their friends were still waiting for their drinks. Sighing, you followed him back to the table. It was weird how different he was behaving with his friends around. You had never expected to meet him in any place outside of your job at the flower shop and much less in a place like this. The soft man who liked to wear denim jackets seemed to be buried beneath the heavy leather jacket.

“Here’s your drinks,” you smiled when you put the tray down to distribute the drinks. “You’re not drinking with us?” A blonde man with a scratch in his eyebrow asked when everyone had picked up their shot glasses. “It’s my first day, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you politely declined his offer. “I’m sure Ten and Kun won’t mind,” he grinned, lifting up his own glass to hand it over to you. “She said no, didn’t you hear, Yuta?” Jaehyun growled and shot his friend a dark look. Unfazed by his behavior, the blonde - Yuta - shrugged his shoulders before drowning his shot himself, not grimacing in the slightest even though the liquid had a questionable amount of alcohol in it, judging by the numbers that had been printed on the label. “But I’m sure we can treat you to something else,” he spoke, before shifting in his seat so his poorly buttoned sleeveless shirt fell open even further, revealing smooth skin that stretched over lean muscles and a promise of something metal hidden beneath. “I-“, you stuttered. What were you supposed to reply to something like that? “You’re shameless,” one of his dark haired friends chuckled, a silver chain glistening in the light when he shook his head. “It’s called confidence,” Yuta defeated himself. “Still shameless,” another one agreed, a grin on his face. “He hasn’t had a good lay in a while, don’t mind him,” Taeyong cut in, shooting you a reassuring smile. “Certainly not because I didn’t had any offers, I’m just picky,” Yuta tried to defend himself, looking scandalized. You just giggled when the other’s started picking on him. You noticed that Jaehyun didn’t join in but his posture was more relaxed than it had been before. You really wanted to thank him for defending your choice to not drink but now didn’t seem appropriate. Silently you collected the now empty shot glasses and picked the trays back up. “I’ll be back to check in with you later then,” you smiled before walking back to the counter after checking in with a couple of other tables.

The rest of the night went down in a blur safe for the one occasion where the slender Ten indeed threw out one of the customers that couldn’t hold his liquor anymore and had fallen when he had tried to walk over to the bar to order more because Lucas had already refused to bring him any more drinks. The times when you had checked in on the 127 table, Yuta had still flirted with you only to be either shot down by Jaehyun or Taeyong. You had also noticed that over the course of the night one or two of them would always leave the bar for a couple of minutes before coming back inside with a new energy and a faint blush on their cheeks. You didn’t know what they did out there but you really hoped they didn’t do drugs or anything like that. They didn’t seem as intoxicated as the other customers no matter how much they ordered. If anything Mark was getting giggly after he had come back inside but that was pretty much everything. They all must have incredible tolerance for alcohol.

When the night died down and more and more customers were leaving, Kun waved you over to tell you that you had been a great help and he would be more than happy to see you again tomorrow for your next shift. You had beamed at him and promised to do your best. “I’m sure you will. Thank you for today, I think Lucas and I can handle the remaining customers,” he told you. “What’s with Ten?” You asked. You hadn’t seen him in a while. Kun just sighed and motioned to the 127 table where Ten comfortably sat on Johnny’s lap, the taller carding through the blonde’s hair that he had freed from the little ponytail. “Are they a thing?” You were confused. Johnny hadn’t been subtle about his flirting earlier. “No one really knows,” Kun groaned, suddenly seeming very irritated, “It’s been happening more lately but last week he went home with Taeyong as far as I remember.” “Oh…” “Don’t think about it too much. I want to say that he knows what he’s doing but that would mean that he’s actually using his brain.” Somehow you thought that he sounded sad. “Just tell Ten that you like him, Kun,” Lucas groaned, running a hand through his by now messy platinum hair. “I don’t like him,” the elder gritted out, violently cleaning glasses and slamming them onto a rack to dry. “Sure and I’ve never thought about making out with any of your roommates,” Lucas teased him. “You have what?” “Never mind I said that,” Lucas mumbled, his ears turning red, before he made a beeline to one of his tables.

You chuckled quietly. “I think he’s fond of you as well,” you softly spoke after Kun had thrown another longing look at Ten who was busy admiring the eagle tattoo on Johnny’s chest. “You don’t need to console me, but I appreciate it,” he smiled but it didn’t quiet reach his eyes, “I came to accept him how he is.” “You should at least try to shoot you shout though, don’t you think?” You tried again, stepping closer to the barman to help him clean the last glasses. He sighed deeply. “I’ve known Ten for too long now, I know he won’t suddenly become monogamous just because I tell him that I might not dislike him as much as I sometimes say.” “You can never know for sure, people do crazy stuff because of love,” a deep voice joined the conversation and Jaehyun sat down on the barstool in front of Kun and you, throwing you a quick smile. “He’s right,” you smiled, briefly squeezing Kun’s hand. “If I say that I’ll think about it, will you leave it alone for now?” You eagerly nodded, looking up at Jaehyun to see if he was doing the same. Instead a smirk played on his lips. “If you give me my drinks for free, I’ll even tell Johnny to not take Ten home tonight,” he grinned, holding up his card between two fingers. “You’re paying for everyone?” Kun just gritted out, snatching the card from the other’s fingers. Jaehyun’s grin widened before he nodded. “Isn’t that going to be a lot of money?” You asked worriedly. You had never asked but assumed Jaehyun must be a student like you, so paying the whole bill for nine men (well eight if Kun was giving Jaehyun his own drinks for free) was a lot. “I lost at rock paper scissors,” he shrugged, “Are you done with your shift?”

“She is,” Kun cut in, smacking the credit card back onto the bartop, “Tell Johnny to send him home, I’m not feeding his cats again because they’re screaming for food.” “Sure. That’s the only reason,” Jaehyun joked, pocketing his card with a grin. Kun didn’t answer, instead leaving you two alone to wipe some empty tables. “Are you going home alone?” “It’s not far from here,” you reassured the dark haired man. “I’ll walk you. You shouldn’t go alone this late.” “Only if it’s not a bother for you…” “Keeping you safe is never a bother for me,” he smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and you barely suppressed a shiver from how cold his hands were against your heated face. “I’ll tell the other’s not to wait for me and will wait outside for you,” he softly spoke before turning to walk out the door where his friends apparently had already left.

You quickly gathered your things and sorted out your tips from the rest of the money, putting everything back into the place that Lucas had shown you before disappearing into the staff room to stuff the money into your designated tip jar, so Lucas and you could share your tips with Ten and Kun. While you were quickly trying to fix your hair in the small mirror a very grumpy looking Ten joined you, groaning loudly. You had to suppress your smile. Jaehyun really had convinced Johnny to not take Ten home. “Men are trash, honey,” the blonde suddenly spoke, “Don’t fall for any of them.” “Did you get dumped?” You tried to act like you didn’t exactly knew what must have happened. “Can’t get dumped if you aren’t dating,” Ten chirped, smoothing out a wrinkle in his silky blouse, “But something similar.” “I’m sorry.” “No need to be darling, I’ll just annoy Kun a little more, maybe he’ll actually pop a vein these days,” he giggled mischievously. “Be nice to him, he seems like an actual sweetheart,” you said while slipping on your jacket and picking up your bag. “He is, darling. But where’s the fun in that?” Ten held the door open for you and followed you back to the main room. “Be safe on your way home.” “Jaehyun is waiting outside for me,” you admitted, suddenly feeling shy under Ten’s intense gaze. “So that’s why Johnny wouldn’t take me with him,” he grinned. “No, no that’s not it. He just offered to walk me home,” you stuttered to explain yourself. It wasn’t like what Ten thought it was, right? Oh god. Not that Jaehyun was expecting anything now. He just had asked to walk you home though. Was it a code word for something you didn’t know? “I’m sure he only has the most noble motives,” the barkeeper snickered, “Go, don’t let prince charming wait for too long.” With that he waved you off, walking over to where Kun was wiping a table to drape his body over the other’s back, probably complaining about being dumped. But Kun didn’t seem to mind a whole lot, judging by the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips.

After you had barely escaped Xuxi’s suffocating goodbye hug, you stepped outside into the cold night, taking a deep breath. It was quiet for a Friday night but that might have just been the time. Worried you looked around when you couldn’t see Jaehyun’s broad figure anywhere. Did he ditch you? That didn’t seem like him. Curious you looked into the little ally beside the bar where the dumpsters were. At first you couldn’t make out anything in the dark but when your eyes had adjusted, you could make out a figure, no two, in the dark. One of them was wearing a familiar leather jacket with way too many buckles and straps to be convenient. The man was clinging to the second, unmoving figure and the whole scene made Goosebumps break out all over your body.

“J-Jaehyun?” you stuttered, your bag falling from your shoulder, landing on the concrete with a soft thud. As if he was electrocuted, the man with the dark clothes shoved the limp body he was holding onto just a second ago away from him, but no sound left the other man’s lips, nor did his facial expression change in any way. “I can explain this,” Jaehyun said, his lips a deep red and smeared with what seemed to be blood and eyes wide, tinted a bright crimson. You felt a shiver run down your spine, the scream that had been stuck in your throat threatening to spill now. But before it could rip free, a palm was pressed over your lips and your body collided with Jaehyun’s solid frame. “Please don’t scream,” he whispered in your ear which made all the hairs on your neck stand up. What was happening? Why was there blood on Jaehyun? Has his eyes changed color? How did he get across to you within the blink of an eye? What was with the other person? In a panic, your eyes scanned the alleyway and another muffled scream ripped from your throat when you saw that the man was still unmoving even though he was bleeding from a wound in his neck. “Please,” Jaehyun begged, his voice sounding strained, “Let me explain this, don’t hate me.” Being pressed so close to him, you couldn’t help but notice that his chest wasn’t moving in the slightest like it should if he was breathing. What was happening? Panic began to rise inside you and you felt like you were suffocating, your lungs not getting enough oxygen with Jaehyun’s palm pressed over your mouth. Panicking, you grabbed his wrist and let your nails dig into his skin, but the skin didn’t break. Desperate, you tried to get more air into your lungs, meeting his eyes in a silent plea. “Please don’t scream,” Jaehyun repeated firmly before he slowly freed your mouth, but kept holding you close.

You heaved a couple of heavy breaths, feeling the panic slowly disappear but your heart kept beating furiously, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you dizzy. “Let me take care of this and I’ll explain everything, I promise,” Jaehyun spoke once your breathing had somewhat evened out. “I’ll release you now, don’t run away.” Your voice was still lost somewhere, so you just nodded. After confirming with a nod himself, he slowly uncurled from you and walked over to the other man who was still in a daze, staring straight ahead. “You will walk home now and not remember anything that happened from the moment you saw me approach you,” Jaehyun spoke to him, looking into his eyes intensely and if your own eyes weren’t playing a trick on you, Jaehyun’s eyes had turned a bright crimson color. He leaned into the other man again where his neck was still bleeding and when the man turned to leave and walk away, the area was clean. Instead Jaehyun’s lips were smeared with blood that he quickly wiped into his shirt. “What the fuck, Jaehyun?” You whispered, your voice sounding raw as if you hadn’t spoken in hours.

“I can explain this,” he repeated again, turning his palms towards you in surrender when he walked back over. “How can you explain this? You- That- That man was straight up hypnotized and behaved like an actual puppet. And that blood. This is crazy. I’m dreaming. That’s it right? Or someone must have slipped me something in the bar and I’m tripping right now. Because this looks an awful lot like you just sucked that guy’s blood like you’re a vampire and that’s crazy. Vampires aren’t real. And I’ve seen you walk around in the middle of the day. But then again, your hands are always cold and I couldn’t even scratch you with my nails and you have mad reflexes,” you started to spiral, the words just falling from your lips. “Hey, take a breath. A deep breath, here,” Jaehyun softly spoke, gently taking your hands and pressing the palms on his chest, taking a deep breath himself.   Even though you tried to breathe with him to calm down, you couldn’t help but notice that his fingers weren’t as cold as they had been before and that you couldn’t feel his heartbeat despite the fact that your palm was sitting right over his heart, just separated by his thin black shirt from the skin. “You… You don’t have a heartbeat,” you whispered, your eyes searching his that were a perfectly normal deep brown shade now while you pressed your palms down on his chest harder. “I don’t,” he spoke carefully, scanning your features for any changes, “I haven’t had one for a while.” “You aren’t breathing right now.” “I don’t need to. I keep forgetting.” “You… You’re forgetting to breathe?” “I usually do when I’m around humans but sometimes I forget.” “You say that as if you’re not…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, it was too absurd. “As if I’m not human myself? I’m not. Not anymore.” “Then what are you?” “You’ve said it before, I’m a vampire,” he confessed.

“A vampire…” You repeated dumbfounded. It made sense, everything was adding up but this couldn’t be the explanation. Vampires were just made up. “And the others are too, they’re my coven. That’s why I didn’t want Johnny to talk to you.” “Would he have..?” Your eyes widened and one of your hands flew to your neck, covering where your pulse was fluttering beneath the skin. “I’m not going to hurt you, I could never,” Jaehyun whispered when he saw the fear in your eyes, gently cupping your face as if to prove his point. “I like you way too much to hurt you. And I won’t let anyone of the others even lay a finger on you.” Your eyes immediately flew to his lips that were still stained red when he leaned in even closer so you would be able to feel his breath mingling with yours if he was breathing. “I really want to kiss you right now, is that stupid?” The vampire whispered. “Don’t hurt me,” you whispered back, letting your eyes fall shut. “I could never,” he breathed before brushing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss that send sparks through your whole body. When Jaehyun felt you relax against him, your fingers uncurling from his shirt, he kissed you again, firmer this time, wrapping his arms tight around you as if he was afraid that you would disappear.

When you felt your head start to get light, you gently tapped his strong chest and he immediately retreated, looking at you with a worried expression. “One of us still needs to breathe,” you giggled breathless. “I’m sorry,” he smiled, carding his fingers through your hair, just watching you breathe for a moment, losing himself in your eyes.

“I have another secret to tell you,” Jaehyun broke the silence, his dimpled smile lighting up his face. “I don’t think you can shock me anymore,” you smiled back. “I didn’t actually kill any of the plants I bought. I just needed to have a reason to keep seeing you. Our house looks like a jungle.” You couldn’t stop giggling, leaning into his (not moving) chest that rumbled with his low chuckle. “You’re cute,” you smiled, snaking your arms around his waist below his jacket, somehow not even missing the warmth that bodies usually gave off. “Shut up,” he chuckled, wrapping you up in a tight hug. “You want to know something else?” You whispered into his chest after a while. The vampire just hummed, gently swaying you. “I looked up what the rose meant that you bought when you first came into the shop… You wanna know what it stands for?” Jaehyun hummed again. “It stands for immortality.” This time it was Jaehyun who was laughing, holding your body tighter to steady himself.

[jonahlovescoffee]

Hi! I hope you are well : ) So, I was trying to think of an idea and then I saw the title on your blog - loving can hurt sometimes- and that kind of gave me an idea...Maybe one of the wdw boys is in a relationship with the reader, y/n, and they hit a rough patch and things are kind of hanging on a thread. Neither of them know whether it's going to work out. Hope this inspires you! I'll send some more if I can think of something.

Grey | J.M.

a/n: @randomlimelightxxx thanks so much for sending in an ask <33333 and I’m sorry for replying to it this late :( i love love love your idea!!! but i hope u don’t mind if i make it a little sadder (◐‿◑) whoops. 

(ps: this turned out worse than i hoped but i do hope you like it)

summary: a happy ending isn’t always guaranteed, even when you love someone with every fibre of your being, because life isn’t a fairytale.

warnings: angst

word count: 2517

“i can’t believe i let you go.”

Jonah doesn’t know for sure how long he has been staring at the framed photograph that has been hanging on the living room wall for as long as he can remember. It was taken during one of the few 4th of July celebrations that you both had celebrated together. In the picture, your smile was brighter than ever, even brighter than the fireworks that were bursting through the dark night behind you, fiery blooms amongst the stars. He had an arm around your shoulders, his green orbs looking at you lovingly as you took the selfie.

Both of you seemed so happy back then—something you both hadn’t felt in a long time, even before your dramatic fallout. You were going strong, weren’t you? Both of you used to be the poster children of the perfect couple — you had each other backs and lifted each other up when the going got tough, which led you to believe that nothing could ever come between the two of you.

But life did. When his career started to blow up, your relationship with him did too.

Every time he closes his eyes; the vivid memory of the horrible night months ago starts to play before him like a movie.

#

“Jonah Marais Roth Frantzich, have you been drinking again?” You tore your eyes away from the TV and directed it towards him instead when you heard the sound of the door opening then closing, followed by the rattling of keys as he threw it into the small box beside the door. The stench of alcohol filled your apartment almost immediately, indicating that he had a heavy intake of whatever alcoholic drink he consumed at the party.

He didn’t answer, or even bat an eye at you as he made his way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Your lips pressed into a thin line as your blood boiled upon being ignored by him. You glanced at the clock. It was nearly 3am. This was the latest he had ever been home after attending a party, which was something he had been doing almost every day lately.

You hated his new habit of getting absolutely wrecked after every party, and he knew that too. He also knew that you hated him getting too friendly with the alluring LA models that were up to no good, as much as you hated him spending most of his time on his job, resulting with him neglecting you far too often for your liking, until you guys were basically nothing more than strangers living under the same roof.

He knew many things, but he never cared, because those were the requirements of his job — to constantly socialize and make music — so he thought that you’ll understand but from the look of the annoyed scowl on your face, that didn’t seem to be the case tonight.

“Jonah, answer me,” you ordered sternly from where you sat on the couch in the living room.

He didn’t know whether if it’s the fault of the alcohol that was coursing through his veins or the fact that both of you hadn’t really talked in days (maybe months) had started to drive him over the edge, but he found your displeasure oddly infuriating, although he knew you were merely looking out for him.

You are his girlfriend, not his fucking mother. 

“Yes, not that it’s any of your business,” he seethed and you seemed taken aback by his reply. At least that’ll shut you up for now.

He placed the cup into the sink with a greater force than he intended before leaving the kitchen to head towards the master bedroom, trying his best to ignore your accusing glare that was still boring into his back and hold back the rest of the harsh words that was threatening to spill out of his mouth.

He knew he was drunk and he didn’t want to say anything that he would regret later in the morning so staying silent was currently the best option. Everything would return to normal the next day once you forgot about this, like you always had for the past few weeks. The tension would be gone and you both would return to playing the role of a lovey-dovey couple that, unbeknownst to others, barely talked in what felt like forever.

But you had other plans. You weren’t letting this matter go this easily. This had been going on for too long. You had enough of his immature behaviour that was gradually driving a wedge between the two of you. You wanted -- no, needed -- this to stop right now, for his own good and yours.

You wanted the old Jonah back -- the Jonah who’d walk to the ends of the world for you, who’d join you in bed at night to ask about your day and who’d put you as his first priority. You walked briskly towards him and captured his wrist in your hand.

“I’m your girlfriend, Jonah, and I have the right to hold you accountable for your dumb actions,” you purposely emphasized on the three words that you knew would get on his nerves. You wanted him to talk, to explain why he was suddenly so obsessed with getting drunk. Was he stressed? Was something bothering him? 

Once again, you received no answer from him.

“Drinking is bad for your health, Jonah,” you softened your tone, just by a little. “And you barely get enough sleep recently, it’s--”

“Just shut up for once, can you?” He jerked your hand away. “Always ‘Jonah don’t do this’, ‘Jonah don’t do that’ like I am some kind of dumb baby that needs help. Just so you know, I’m a grown man who is perfectly capable of making my own decisions, mind you.”

This was the first time Jonah had ever raised his voice at you. You tried not to let his words get to you, you tried to convince yourself that it was the alcohol talking for him but tears ended up welling up in your eyes anyways. You held them back as you continued to speak. 

“I was just trying to advise—”

“I said shut the fuck up! Even if I do need help, I won’t be asking it from the likes of you!” Before you could react, the glass vase that was once placed beside the TV went flying against the wall behind you, shattering into a million pieces.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jonah?” You cried out, your hands fisting the front material of his shirt. “What the heck was that for?”

“Get off me, you psycho!” he pried your hands off him and pushed you away forcefully, making you stumble backwards and fall to the ground due to your loss of footing.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably now. “You’ve changed. The old Jonah will never do this to me,” you stood up, wiping off your tears with the back of your hand.

“Maybe it’s because you don’t know me well enough.”

“You know what?” You were jabbing your finger on his chest. “If this is the real you, maybe I shouldn’t have dated you in the first place,” you shouted at him.

“Fine, don’t date me then! Maybe I finally can live a lot more freely without your constant nagging!”

Your breathing stopped for a moment and you swore his did too. Silence ensued, the only sound being the tv that you forgot to turn off before the fight.

Shit. He said too much.

When you finally came back to your senses, you pushed pass him to make your way into the bedroom, pulling out your luggage and set it open on the bed.

“You should’ve told me earlier that you didn’t want me in your life,” you said breathlessly as you proceeded to dump all your clothes into your luggage before slamming it shut, ignoring his pleas for you to stop.

“No, baby, I don’t mean what I said,” he grabbed your arm and you flinched at his touch. That was how he knew he messed up. Badly. “Let’s just forget—”

“I’m so done with always sweeping our problems under the carpet and pretend like they don’t exist, Jonah!” You yelled frustratedly. “Let me ask you, when was the last time we had a heart-to-heart talk, Jonah? When was the last time we had a peaceful meal together without arguing? When was the last time we actually spent quality time together?”

He couldn’t answer any of your questions.

“Can’t you see it? We haven’t been a couple for quite a while now,” you explained, pulling your closed luggage out of the room towards the front door, not forgetting to pick up your purse along the way. “What happened just now was just one more sign that we,” you gestured between the both of you, “are not meant for each other so maybe it’s for the best if we break up.”

“No, please, no,” he fell to his knees before you, his hands moving to grasp your arm. “Don’t go. I’m sorry. Please.”

“I’m not wasting any second more of my life with you,” you spat mercilessly in his face. “Now let go.”

“No, please, stay with me, baby,” he continued to beg, the grip on your hand unfaltering.

“I’m sorry,” you said and felt his grip loosen at the two simple words. He knew there was no point in holding on once you already made up your mind. “Goodbye, Jonah.”

You yanked your arm away and walked out the door, not looking back, leaving a distressed male behind, in tears.

Yes, Jonah remembers everything from that night, especially the slam of the door behind you as you walked out of his apartment and his life, forever.

And he is the one to blame.

#

Fast forward to the present, he misses you so much that he is starting to lose his mind.

He thinks about you so often that sometimes he forgets that you aren’t his anymore. He still finds himself reaching out to what used to be your side of the bed the first thing in the morning, only to find it cold and empty; he still looks forward to coming home from work every day to run into your arms that used to be his safe haven, only to be reminded by his quiet house that your laughter, your kisses, your touches are luxuries that he can no longer afford, no matter how wealthy he is.

You gave him a chance—scratch that, you have kind-heartedly given him countless chances in the past for him to make up for his mistakes, to prove to you that loving him was worth all the suffering, but all he did was disappoint you over and over again by choosing to walk away from you when his career was at stake.

It wasn’t until you were gone that he noticed all those valuable chances that have unknowingly passed him by.

He runs a hand through his hair and heaves a sigh, throwing his head back so that he is mindlessly staring at the ceiling.

He was cowardly fool, for putting his needs above the person who he swore to love till the end of time, for giving up when he should’ve fought a little harder to preserve what’s left of their love, for doing nothing as the distance between them grew by leaps and bounds until you eventually slipped out of his grasp into nothingness.

Most importantly, he was the world’s biggest idiot to ever think that he can live without you.

He knows that he should stop missing you; he knows that he should forget the past, or at least lock all the fond memories he had built with you into a box and shove it into the darkest, deepest corners of his mind, not to be opened ever again; he knows that he should move on, like you already did.

But “I know” and “I can” are two completely different things. Yes, he is terribly exhausted from holding onto the past, holding onto you, even as he feels the remaining shred of hope that you might one day return to him slowly diminish as days passed but at the same time, he is still too in love to let you go.

Therefore, for what seems like the thousandth time that month, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, and dials your number that is still marked as favourites in his contact list. As expected, the call goes to voicemail right away, after your recorded voice says, “Sorry, I can’t come to the phone at the moment but feel free to leave a message instead!” in a cheerful tone, as if you are mocking him for not being able to talk with you like he used to anymore.

After the beep, Jonah hesitates a moment before opening his mouth to speak, but no words escape. He has no idea where to start. He knows a simple ‘sorry’ isn’t going to fix everything, for the pain you had endured because of him is definitely not worth to be forgiven with a simple two-syllable-word. He contemplates if he should end the call, like what he has done for the past thousand times.

No, he has spent too much time dwelling in his misery without making any effort to win you back It’s about time he at least tries to start a proper conversation with you because even if you don’t reciprocate his feelings, you still deserve an apology from him.

“Hi,” he breathed nervously. “How are you? I know I should not be trying to contact you after what I did to you that night but,”

A pause.

“It’s not the same here without you, y/n. I miss your cooking, your terrible singing voice, your hilarious pep talks – hell, I even miss your long boring lectures whenever I forgot to wash the dishes,” he smiles a little at the memory.

“And I’m sorry, I really am, for ruining everything. I know it’s not enough but it’s true. Not a day passes where I don’t regret what I did to you that night and all the mistakes that I’ve made before that.”

“Please baby, give me one more chance to make it right. Just one more, please. Come back, be here with me because,” another pause.

He searches his brain for the right words to say, rubbing his temples with his fingers as his mind whirs.

Because of you, his life used to be filled with endless love and laughter. Your love was like the warm daylight, illuminating his world in golden, chasing away all the darkness. You painted his life with the vibrant colors of the rainbow whereas now that you’re gone, everyday it rains, the previous sunshine you provided long gone. He should’ve never let you go. With a swipe of his tongue over his trembling dry lips, he finishes his sentence before he decides to chicken out.

“Because I still love you. Without you, now everything’s grey.”

[reyescarlos]

you and i || a buddie fic

for my yeehaw darling @buckleys-diaz who has a heart bigger than her home state. i’m wishing you the absolute happiest of birthdays! forever grateful the fates decided to let our paths cross. ily 💕💜

word count 4.7k || read on ao3

We can meet in the middle Bodies and souls collide Dance in the moonlight When all the stars align

There are few people Eddie would drive six hours for on a Friday afternoon but with one goal in mind, for one person in particular, the journey— he knew— would be well worth it.

Putting a label on what Buck was to him now was a difficult thing to do. They were exes. They were friends. They were co-workers. But they were so much more than all of that combined. Those titles did not begin to tell the story of what Buck meant to him. But finding the words, let alone saying them out loud was just as futile a task as trying to parse through what he felt each time Buck so much as said his name.

Eddie’s feelings were many and varied and he wasn’t particularly skilled at speaking his mind. But what he could do was show a person what they meant to him and today would be no different.

Six hours behind the wheel was exhausting but it was worth each and every second to see the look on Buck’s as he pulled up to Mysterious Galaxy Bookstore in San Diego.

Buck had stared for a moment up at the shop. A line was starting to form

“You drove us six hours to go to a bookstore? There are so many great ones back in L.A.,” he said, confusion coloring his tone and features.

“True but none of them are doing an in-store signing with Andy Weir today, now are they?”

Eddie had thought Buck short-circuited with the way the man held his breath, jaw slacked, and eyes unblinking for a moment.

“No. No way,” he finally said, tearing his eyes away from Eddie and swiveling back to look at the store. He’d craned his neck a bit closer to the glass, taking notice of the poster in the store's window advertising for Andy’s latest novel.

“Eddie,” he breathed, shaking his head. “Are you serious right now?”

“Like you said, I drove us six hours. Do you think I’m kidding?” he laughed. “Come on, let’s grab a spot in line before it turns into a complete zoo out here.”

Eddie had gone into the backseat and retrieved an item he’d hidden back there this whole time. He came around to where Buck anxiously stood on the sidewalk

“I wish I had my—,” he started to say but stopped short as Eddie held out Buck’s personal copy of The Martian.

“I may or may not have nicked it off you the last time I was over at your place.”

Buck took the book from him and smiled so brightly it made Eddie’s heart ache. To be able to make Buck smile like that even after they called it quits felt like a gift.

“Unbelievable, thank you,” he remarked holding on closely to the well-loved book.

Eddie knew how much he loved it, so much so that Buck had made it a goal to get Eddie hooked on the novel. Buck was a huge fan of Weir’s but had unfortunately missed out on his signing back home due to work. Eddie had happened across an ad online promoting Andy’s new book and had clicked around to see more about it, the author’s name etched into his mind thanks to Buck’s repeated mentions.

Watching Buck get the chance to meet his favorite author and chat briefly was something he would never forget and Eddie knew for a fact that Buck never would either. Eddie had stood off to the side, taking pictures of Buck with the author,  practically beaming with Buck as the writer expressed how happy he was to see Buck’s well-loved copy of his first novel. Buck’s copy had tabs and annotations in the margins. There was no doubt that he’d read the novel repeatedly.

As they leave the store now, Buck’s happiness just seems to roll off of him in waves, the edges of it reaching Eddie until he’s consumed entirely by it as well. It’s something to relish in.

In the car Buck still clings to his books as if they're a lifeline of some kind. Eddie looks at him for a moment, a perfect snapshot of the man he loves reveling in the high of a perfect day before he starts the engine and merges with traffic.

“I still can’t believe you did this for me, Eds,” Buck reveres, staring down at the books in his hands. He opens up to the title page once more where his name is scribbled alongside Andy’s message and signature.

Eddie pulls his gaze back to the road, Buck’s enthusiasm rubbing off on him as he smiles to himself. It does something to his heart to see Buck this happy, moreover to know that he’s the cause of that joy. It’s a comfort to know he’s capable of such a thing.

“I know how bummed you were when you missed his L.A. stop and he’s your favorite. It only seemed right. It was nothing.”

“Wrong. So wrong, Eddie. It’s everything. Thank you,” Buck says as they pull up to a red light.

Eddie takes advantage of this short reprieve to look over at Buck again. He feels that all too familiar twinge in his heart that he always does when he stares into Buck’s eyes for even a second too long. All those feelings he tries so hard to stifle live so close to the surface. Eddie feels like it’s a full-time job trying to keep them at bay. Times like this really put him to the test, especially when he can see something mirrored back in Buck’s expression. If he was a braver man, he would ask but fear is a worthy adversary and Eddie is left with no other option than to concede defeat.

He offers up a small smile before pressing his foot against the pedal the moment the light turns green. It serves as the perfect break to the trance.

“I will get you to read The Martian one day, if it��s the last thing I do,” Buck jokingly warns.

“I’ll watch the movie and we’ll call it even.”

Buck scoffs and falls silent again. Eddie can hear the rustling of the book’s pages as Buck combs through it once again. The ease to which they’ve always been able to move around each other is something that Eddie will never grow tired of. Considering the fact that they’re no longer together, he’s even more grateful for the fact that they’ve been able to maintain a close relationship.

Far too often Eddie is wracked with guilt and doubt over his decision to end things. They hadn’t even been official long before he broke them up. He had surrendered to fear and succumbed to the voice in the back of his head that told him he wasn’t good enough, that he would inevitably find a way to screw things up. He felt Buck deserved better and had decided to set him free.

It’s a moment in his life that Eddie revisits constantly. He remembers with stunning clarity the way Buck’s face had fallen when Eddie had him over that night to talk. Eddie had been selfishly glad when Buck said he wanted to remain friends. He wasn’t sure how that would work or if it was simply Buck trying to ease the tension but it’s been a few months now and they’re still so tight-knit. Eddie knows how lucky he is for it, that so many people in his shoes would simply just miss out on maintaining any connection to their ex.

Eddie never wants to lose this. He isn’t sure how he’d be expected to carry on if he didn’t, at the very least, have Buck in his corner as a friend. But he also knows that he will always long for what they had. It might not have lasted long but the feelings they both had were quite real and serious. They’d had a solid friendship before getting together, one built on love and trust. It made dating seem like the only logical next step but Eddie had retreated.

He tries not to think about that now. Dwelling on his missteps never leads to anything good. He opts to focus instead on the fact that he’s still able to bring a smile to Buck’s face and do something special for him.

Eddie has only been driving for about thirty minutes when smoke begins to billow from the hood. He turns on his indicator, pulling over onto the side of the road.

“Just great,” he mutters as he kills the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car. He heads to the front and unlatches the hood, fanning the smoke away from his face as he peers inside.

Buck is right beside him seconds later, trying to gauge what’s the matter. Eddie leaves him to investigate; between the two of them, Buck is the more mechanical one. Eddie watches with furrowed brows as Buck pokes around for a bit, tracking a bead of sweat as it races down the side of Buck’s neck and disappears into the collar of his shirt. Eddie quickly shifts his focus. The priority right now is tending to his vehicle, not getting distracted by his ex. It’s far easier said than done as Buck stands back and wipes at his brow. He looks particularly rugged, his fitted t-shirt hugging his frame just so. It’s enough to make Eddie’s throat feel dry.

Eddie reins himself back in, all too glad when Buck speaks so that his thoughts can get back on track.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I think we’re going to have to call this one in,” he says with a sigh. “Looks to me like you’ve got a cracked cylinder.”

Eddie purses his lips but nods, taking his phone out of his pocket and pulling up the number for a local car service. He explains the situation they’re in to the man on the phone who assures him that he’ll get a tow truck out to their location as quickly as possible.

“And now we wait,” he says to Buck, heading back to the car to take a seat.

Buck is grinning as he settles back into the passenger seat.

“And I know just how you can kill the time,” he replies, holding up his tattered copy of The Martian.

Eddie jokingly groans but takes the novel from a smug Buck before turning to the first page. The opening line couldn’t be more accurate to how he feels about being stuck on the side of the road with an ex-boyfriend he’s still very much in love with:

I’m pretty much fucked.

He steals a glance at Buck but quickly sees there’s no reason for him to try and be covert. Buck is already engulfed by his new book. Eddie can’t help but to silently observe him, taking notice of the way Buck’s whole demeanor changes when he’s relaxed and zeroed in on the task of reading. It’s such a familiar expression and once again, it makes Eddie feel wistful for their relationship. How many nights had he spent in bed beside Buck, nose in a book swearing that he just needed to finish off a chapter before turning off the light? It’d always been endearing to see Buck in his element, soaking up as much from a story as he could before calling it a night.

If Eddie could go back in time and stop himself from ending things, he would in a heartbeat. At times Eddie would get the crazy idea in mind that he should just tell Buck he’s made a mistake, that he wants for them to try again. But to do so would be to disrupt the balance they’ve been able to find and maintain for themselves.

He can’t risk that nor would he place Buck in the awkward position of being put on the spot. This was Eddie’s error and he has already resigned himself to the fact that he’ll just have to live with the consequences of his decision.

They sit in a silence so comfortable for so long that Eddie has made significant progress on the book by the time their tow truck arrives. Buck’s copy is so dog-eared and well-worn that Eddie has to use a random receipt from the center console to mark his place. Buck reluctantly sets aside his new book, careful to put it back inside of the bookstore bag to keep it protected before hopping out.

Eddie climbs out of the car yet again too and greets the mechanic. The man gives the engine the onceover and confirms Buck’s theory.

“Can you fix it here?” Eddie asks. They’re hours behind schedule and the last thing he wants is to be delayed any further by having to go down to the shop.

“No, ‘fraid not. I can take it in overnight and let you know in the morning or early afternoon.”

Eddie blows out a breath and runs an impatient hand through his hair but Buck doesn’t seem bothered by the sudden change in plans at all.

“Is there somewhere nearby that we can crash for the night?” he asks.

“There’s a motel just up the road there. I can drop you fellas off and give you a call tomorrow when your car’s ready,” the mechanic says.

“Works for me,” Buck replies with an indifferent shrug. “I like a good adventure.”

That was one of the things Eddie had grown to love most about Buck. His optimism could almost be blind but it meant he chose to see good in people and situations. That was a trait Eddie would always respect. Looking on the bright side wasn’t always easy for him but with Buck, he had learned how to let the light in. That kind of thing left its mark on a person and Eddie’s life hasn’t been the same, in the best ways imaginable. But holding on to good wasn’t a skill Eddie had ever truly mastered, even when he had someone so perfect for him right within his grasp.

He fights the thought from lingering now. He’s spent the last few months falling down that spiral and it’s yet to assuage him of the regret he feels.

Instead, he follows after Buck to the car to grab their stuff before piling into the cab of the tow truck.

This evening isn’t going at all like Eddie envisioned; the last thing he pictured for either of them was being smushed in the front section of a tow truck or having to stay overnight in San Diego. But life, he knew better than most, seldom went according to plan. What mattered most was that this day was still special for Buck and wasn’t overshadowed by the sudden turn of events.

The mechanic drops them off at the motel and Eddie trades contact information with him before thanking him and parting ways.

“Do you think we should have called ahead to make sure they even have rooms available?” Eddie asks, suddenly realizing the gamble they are taking.

“Maybe but I’m sure it’ll be fine. If they don’t have any vacancies, we can always try somewhere else. Come on.”

Eddie nods and follows Buck inside. As far as off the road motels go, this one isn’t too sketchy which comes as a mild comfort to Eddie. Their night is already feeling like some kind of parody.

He marches to the receptionist counter where a middle aged man is writing something down on a notepad.

“Hi, excuse me,” Eddie greets. “Would you happen to have any rooms available for the night?”

The man looks up and glances between Eddie and Buck. “For you two?”

Eddie stands up a bit straighter. “Yes.”

“Lucky you; I’ve only got one free one left. Everything else is booked up solid.”

Eddie sighs in relief. “That’s perfect. We’ll take it.”

He hands over his card for the man to charge before taking it back and the key he hands to him for their room. Eddie leads them both over to their room, toying with the motel keychain attached. It’s silly to feel nervous when he’s spent so much time around Buck but he hadn’t been planning on spending the night with him like this. The plan was to just drive straight through, maybe trade off if he felt tired and let Buck bring them back to Los Angeles. Nowhere on the itinerary did he expect to be sharing a room with his ex.

Eddie opens the door to the room once they arrive and falters for a moment. He retraces his conversation with the receptionist, suddenly realizing he hadn’t been clear in seeing if the room had two beds. When the man asked if they would be sharing the space, Eddie realizes now that the clerk hadn’t been prying or being standoffish. He must have assumed that Eddie and Buck were a couple who wouldn’t have any qualms about sharing a bed.

He steps further inside and drops his bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed, staring at it as if it’s something he has to decode. He then looks to Buck to see if he’s just as taken aback as he is but he can’t detect any unease or discomfort at the situation they’ve now found themselves in. They haven’t shared a bed in months, not since they broke up and Eddie doesn’t know if this is pushing boundaries.

“I can take the floor or see if they can bring up a cot or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t bite you know,” Buck teases. But Eddie’s face heats up thinking about all the times that wasn’t true when they both got carried away in bed. Buck must realize the inaccuracy same as Eddie because he laughs and says, “Well, not always, anyway.”

Eddie laughs in spite of himself and shakes his head, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Alright. If you’re cool with it then I am, too.”

Buck smiles reassuringly at him before setting his duffle bag on top of the bed and scrounging around for a change of clothes. He manages to find something and Eddie lets out a breath when Buck takes his findings to the bathroom to get changed for bed.

This is going to be a long night, Eddie thinks to himself as he follows Buck’s lead and grabs a change of clothes for himself. He makes quick work of swapping out his jeans for pajama bottoms. As he’s tugging down his new t-shirt he hears a small creaking sound of a door to the left of him.

“Sorry,” Buck mumbles where he stands frozen in the doorway of the bathroom, pulling his gaze away from Eddie’s frame.

Eddie stays in place, rooted to his spot as well. “You’re fine.”

He wonders at how long Buck may have been standing there but he casts the thought aside. It’s ridiculous to think that he could have still have that effect on Buck. What they had was over and done with. It didn’t matter if his heart still wanted Buck, if every part of him still longed for his ex. He wouldn’t drag Buck back when they already agreed to move forward.

Buck taps his fingers soundlessly against his thigh before he joins Eddie in the main space of the room.

There’s an odd energy between them now, living in the silence that cloaks the room. Eddie can feel the weight of it pressing against him but he has to wonder if it’s just all in his head.

“We should get some sleep. With luck we’ll be able to get out of here early,” he says with a small yawn.

It’s been an extremely long day of driving all the way up from L.A. and the thought of closing his eyes and getting decent rest sounds appealing. But once again he looks at the bed they’re going to have to share and suddenly his fatigue dissipates.

“You’re right, yeah.”

Buck braves climbing into bed first, taking a spot on the left side of the mattress, his usual place in bed. Just the familiarity of that makes Eddie feel nervous but to dawdle would be to raise suspicion and the last thing he wants is to make Buck feel as if he can’t be around him.

Eddie shuts off the bedside light as he lays on top the covers. His mind is a storm sending his thoughts crashing around his head. It’s all so loud and disorienting, so much so that all Eddie can do is stare up ahead at the darkened ceiling above him and wait for it to pass.

He doesn't hear the usual soft sounds of Buck’s breathing, the telltale sign that sleep has found him. He knows what this means, that beside him Buck is wide awake too. He wonders about what Buck could be thinking of. A part of him— all of him, truthfully— is hoping that Buck is awake now for the same reasons he is. There’s so much on the tip of his tongue that’s been trying to come out. But for months now, Eddie has been able to hide it safely behind friendly smiles. It’s been taking its toll though and now, laying beside Buck, being close enough to feel the warmth of his body, it feels like he only has seconds left on the clock before this little game is over.

“Are you awake?” Buck asks.

Eddie sits up a bit and turns on the lamp before shifting to see Buck.

“What’s on your mind?”

Buck turns his head to look at him. All Eddie can do is stare silently, studying the features he’s long since grown accustomed to. It’s how he knows there’s a hesitancy in Buck’s eyes, that there’s something he wants to say but isn’t sure how to.

“I’m just thinking about how awesome today has been.”

“You mean car trouble and impromptu overnight stay aside?”

Buck laughs softly. “Maybe even more because of it. I actually wasn’t ready to go back home yet. I really like having this time with you.”

Buck holds his gaze and Eddie’s traitorous heart beats faster at the implication of these words.

“Yeah, me too. I wanted today to be special. You deserve that. I’m glad you had a good time.”

Buck opens his mouth to speak but just sighs instead, casting his gaze downward to where Eddie’s hand rests in the small space between them. Eddie holds his breath to see what his ex will do, silently praying for some kind of contact, some kind of sign that Buck wants to get closer too. Eddie knows he can’t be alone in feeling this pull.

Silently Buck places his hand over Eddie’s and gives it a soft, barely there squeeze.

“It means more to me than I think you’ll ever know. The fact that you went out of your way like that...I don’t know. I’m just lucky to have you,” Buck says. “I mean, as a friend. I’m uh, I’m really...um, grateful.”

Buck frowns a bit to himself and it’s obvious to Eddie that there’s more Buck wants to say. If Buck could be brave enough to breach the conversation that’s apparently long overdue, Eddie knows he can be too and take the baton from Buck and continue this race.

“Friends, right.”

Eddie clears his throat and braces himself for what he’s about to say. Jumping in headfirst is terrifying but if it leads to complete transparency and the chance at speaking honestly, Eddie decides it’s more than worth it.

“I don’t think we’ve ever really gone back to being friends. At least I know I haven’t, not completely. You know, sometimes I’d think it’d be easier if I could just move on from this. But I know how lucky I was. I don’t ever want to forget what we had or how it felt to be loved by you,” Eddie says boldly, cutting right to the chase.

The weight of the truth off his chest is an instant relief though, quickly in its place, comes the worry that he’s said too much too soon. With him it always seems to be all or nothing, one extreme or the other. But Eddie feels that he’s been quiet for too long about this as it is. These last few months have been torture with the true nature of his feelings eating away at him. Now isn’t the time to cower anymore.

There’s something about being out of Los Angeles and miles away from home that makes him feel brave, as if he and Buck are somehow on a different plane of existence. Whatever is spoken now is truly just between the two of them now. There isn’t any concern of anyone coming along and interrupting. True to form, with Buck he can be his full self. He can be candid and vulnerable with him in a way he would never even dream of letting his guard down around anyone else.

“Past tense,” Buck notes quietly. “You say that as if I’m somehow over you.”

This comment catches Eddie off guard and he knows it must show in his face from the way Buck smiles at him.

“Are you really surprised by that? I didn’t want us to break up. I just respected the fact that you weren’t ready just yet. That didn’t mean I stopped caring about you in that way. I could never.”

“I’m sorry I got scared,” Eddie says, intertwining their fingers and pulling Buck’s hand to his chest.

Buck shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize; I’ve never been upset with you. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Eddie cups Buck’s face with his free hand, watching the way his stunning blue eyes drift closed, lashes casting shadows on the apples of his cheeks. Another snapshot from this already perfect day: the sight of Buck in what could only be described as bliss from his touch. Eddie takes in Buck’s expression, the softness of his face, the openness and trust being expressed here.

In a word, it’s perfect. And in this moment, it’s his.

Eddie leans in tentatively and Buck’s eyes open once again, tracking Eddie’s movement, his lips parting in anticipation. Eddie breathes him in as he closes the distance, allowing himself to free fall right into this kiss.

He strokes Buck’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, tracing the contours of his face like a sculptor. This moment is a masterpiece and Eddie wants to give it the time and care that it rightfully deserves.

Buck matches his pace, his mouth roving over Eddie’s with such ease. This is nothing new to them and yet in some capacity this feels different. Second chances don’t come around often too often for Eddie but this time around, he’s certain he can get it right. These last few months without this level of access to Buck had been trying. So many weeks stretched out before him, each day fading a memory of what he once had.

Kissing Buck now is like breathing new life into him. The void that had taken up residency in the center of him is being filled with each touch, each soft sound leaving Buck and being entrusted with him. Eddie kisses him back deeply, letting go of all those fears that plagued him before, that he would somehow turn out to be the opposite of what Buck wanted. This man was very clearly choosing him, and has deemed him worth the time it took to wait for Eddie to finally accept a good thing that was being presented to him.

Now that they’ve crossed this threshold, there’s no turning back and that’s precisely how Eddie wants it.

Eddie pulls away to draw in a clean breath after a few moments, his chest heaving. Buck’s face is flushed, his lips slightly swollen and upturned in an almost embarrassed smile but Eddie doesn’t think he has any reason to be bashful. He leans in once more and places a gentle kiss on Buck’s lips, feeling the smile wipe away as Buck grows serious and wraps his arms around Eddie, holding him tightly.

This day has turned into something he couldn’t have ever seen coming but Eddie knows one thing to be true:

The safest place he could ever dwell is right here in Buck’s heart.

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

pinky and the brain - s1e1: das mouse

dejavu! have we been here before?

episode summary: brain concocts a hypnotic pancake recipe in order to hypnotise the surrounding population into being his loyal minions. however, one of the crucial ingredients is the meat of a specific type of crab, which can only be found in the reckage of the titanic.

the rundown:

we open with the mice attempting to blow their cage open.

SENIOR PRODUCER: TOM RUEGGER. sorry about that, y’all, but the opening credits are in the actual show, now, so nothing i can really do about it. at least they seem to have a water bottle in their cage, this time, which is good.

NEVER MIND I GUESS. IT EXPLODED. literally every frame there is a smear frame - again, nothing i can do.

poor mousie go bomp. ):

apparently, the plan was less regarding explosive force, and more to set off a rube goldberg chain of events that completely disobey the laws of physics to end up picking the lock.

PRODUCED BY RUSTY MILLS

it’s hard to convey without animation, but this spoon flies through the air and just straight up lands in the lock. it’s wild.

“ooo!” says pinky, watching this all impossibly unfold. “good one, brain!”

“they’re all good ones, pinky.” we will never be free of brain’s face, it seems.

as the mice wander along, brain tells pinky that tonight’s plan will "recieve the aid of legions of unassuming humans”, because he intends to hypnotise them all with the secretions of!

“what, a frog?”

yes, a frog. apparently the frog sweats out hypnotic fluid. it is Filled With Peptides. (pinky’s response to this is “naaaaaarf”, which is very helpful.) after they collect this fluid, brain just needs to work out how to get thousands of people to ingest it.

“like a giant pancake jambouree?”

“please, pinky, i--”

“yes.”

so pancake jambouree it is. brain cooks pinky an experimental batch before he decides to release them to the masses.

look at brain’s lil dress! and pinky has his tongue stuck out. everyone here is having a good time and it’s very cute. this is exactly what lori alexander wants marriage to be.

pinky does briefly express his concerns that he might, yknow, be hypnotised, but apparently the concoction doesn’t attain Full Potency until he adds the meat of a fancy crab, and these are just test batches so he can work out how to hide the taste of the Frog Juice.

it goes about as well as one would hope.

but never mind, eh? time for crab.

turns out all the crab is stored in the titanic.

still, brain is pretty convinced that they can just.... go down there and get it. look at his lil scheming face. pinky argues during today’s pondering segment that “there’s still a bug stuck in there from last time” (okay?) and brain cuts him off to insist that they GO DOWN TO THE DEPTHS OF THE OCEAN AND RAISE THE HULL OF THAT SORROWFUL SHIP.

he does a gay little point and everything.

so obviously, they have to steal a boat.

brain got one taste of crime from stealing that minivan, and it just never went away.

“behold the alvin, pinky. our ticket to the ocean depths.”

“look, brain! a baby sub on the front!”

“that’s the jason junior, pinky. an additional sub carried by the alvin for remote exploring.”

it’s an additional sub because there’s already one on this mission. (i sweat, watching the fbi draw their guns on me, and insist that i definitely meant submarine. what else could that be, right, guys?)

(the fbi put their guns down.)

anyway the mice steal the boat.

in they go.

the first thing brain does is swap out his hat for one that he brought with him, and demand to be referred to as “captain brain”, so he is definitely someone everyone should take seriously.

he just packed that specifically.

the second thing he does is pull out his big map of the ocean and give pinky a whole bunch of co-ordinates to follow. “bowplans at 2-2-9, on my mark!”

“um, brain?”

well that’s a bastard. brain blames “the sub club”, which i’m sure he knows a lot about BECAUSE HE’S REALLY INTO SUBMARINES, MR PRESIDENT, PLEASE WITHDRAW YOUR MEN

and pinky works out that he can dislodge the wrench-- the submarine clamp??? the county council clamped their submarine for overstaying their welcome in the library submarine park???? - enough for them to make right turns, but not left. inconvenient, but doable.

but before they can set off, brain directs pinky to the radar console.

this apparently stands for Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, and is their special signal that they would use to trace their submarines for oceanographic purposes. brain requests that pinky randomise the signal so they’re not followed.

a difficult job? sure. good thing pinky is a trained sub operator with a good few years of experience.

.....you can literally see him operating the submarine a few pictures up. stop looking at me like that.

with a few minutes of careful handiwork, pinky successfully scrambles the sub’s internal computation, and leaves it probably a little dazed and confused.

good thing ‘narf’ doesn’t actually mean anything, in this universe, apart from being one of pinky’s verbal tics?

oh dear.

turns out that the CIA have found the submarine, and have realised that it is, for the most part, unidentified, apart from the letters NARF.

“have you ever heard of jack mcguire?”

“captain, north atlantic. cold war nut. he was discharged-- always saying that when the enemy arrived, it would be with some mythical--”

“nuclear attack readiness formation.”

“narf.”

“the old man is concerned.”

“the president?”

“no, just some... random old man.”

so dearest “jonesy” (blonde) is instructed to track down jack mcguire in hopes to get rid of the submarine. because nobody can track down a sub like jack mcguire (hm) and “the boys want that thing terminated.”

“you mean the pentagon?”

“no, my two boys, josh and aaron.”

meanwhile, at the sub club, brain plots their course for the titanic.

see they’re here,

and the titanic is there,

but they can only make right turns, so what should be a two hour journey will take, by brain’s calculation,

“seven months.”

“well. that’s a bit longer, then. isn’t it.”

“are you jack mcguire?”

“who wants to know?”

“the cia. got a job for you. there’s a sub in the water, and they want it terminated.”

“ha.”

“so the boys finally saw it my way, huh?”

“the pentagon?”

“no. josh and aaron.”

“hold onto your newtons, desk jockey. we’re going sub hunting.”

“how long have we been at sea, brain?”

“seventeen minutes.”

it turns out that pinky is so bored that if he doesn’t do something soon, he’ll die. please, brain. this is also me whenever i have to spend more than half an hour in the car.

brain suggests that he tries to improve his pancake recipe, and pinky can try it out for him.

pinky decides that actually, he’s busy, thank you very much.

no dice.

“i’ve got another reading”, says jonesy, in the meantime.

“go.”

“4-6-0-0-5, bearing 2-2-7.”

“they’re running the nautilus.”

“the what?”

“1943. german boat captain heinz grindelwald evaded destruction by running a circular course, based on--”

“a nautilus shell.”

“so we cut them off.”

“whoever these guys are, they’re good. they’re probably plotting a missile trajectory at the oval office as we speak.”

meanwhile, pinky throws up.

“well? any better?”

i hope that answers your question, brain.

“pinky! are you alright?”

cute!

he does drop him immediately after pinky confirms that he is, indeed, still alive, but it was cute while it lasted.

“why don’t you let me try making the pancakes yummy, brain? my mother fed us very well.”

“please, pinky. you’re practically the poster child for cheese whiz.”

“pleaaaaaaaaaase.”

(he gets to make the pancakes.)

because they have bigger problems now, presumably!

that can’t be good.

it wasn’t!

and neither is that. brain laments that “someone is dropping death charges,” while pinky goes and shuts down the engine.

the sub operator saves the day once again.

“THIS IS CAPTAIN JACK MCGUIRE. IDENTIFY YOURSELVES OR BE DESTROYED.”

“this is..... jacques cousteau.”

“really. can you prove that?”

“here, ze ocean is teeming with life. but everywhere, there are signs of man’s encroachment.”

“darn! it is jacques cousteau!”

unfortunately pinky decides now is a good time to chime in with a “haha, nice cousteau, brain” so jack declares that his “little ruse will cost him.”

“i must admit. i admire your skill. perhaps in another time, maybe we could have been friends. we are very much alike, you and i.”

“i doubt that.”

so mcguire fires another charge, and the mice go down. ocean mice! sink.

):

“haha! yeah! we did it!”

“i get no joy from the demise of another man.”

“....usually.”

“HAHA YEAH WE DID IT YES YES YES WE GOTTEM WE GOTTEM WE GOTTEM”

(”take the jason hr on ahead full, mr pinky.”

“aye aye, captain brain.”)

conclusion:

this is a long episode.

still, now that they have a vehicle that steers properly, the boys seem to make it okay.

“we should be approaching the hull of the titanic at any--”

DONK.

“naaaaaaarf.”

“yes, pinky. soon we will have the white crabs of the titanic, and then,”

WE SHALL HAVE THE WORLD

“about that recipe, brain, and, um, getting rid of that bad taste--”

“not now, pinky.”

“but brain?”

“just cut it out.”

“oh! aye aye.”

hm.

so the mice bodge an air pressure mechanism to yeet the titanic to the surface. as you do.

“but brain, the icky stuff--”

“i said cut it out, pinky.”

hmmmm.

the balloon expands, as balloons do, and the titanic wobbles a bit.

RISE, LITTLE ONE, AND BE FREE

neat!

“our journey is almost at at end, my friend! we release the air and propel the ship!”

that’s a very cute happy face!

so brain does exactly that, and the titanic farts itself over to california.

i’m not exaggerating.

perhaps brain feels vaguely at home on the titanic. he has vague memories of being drunk out of his mind, and bathing in a sink. best not to unpack that.

instead, he decides to crash it into acme labs. for the lols.

“yes!”

(:

the pancakes are jamboureeing. it’s very cute.

jonesey and mcguire are here too! “nothing like a pancake jambouree after blowing up a sub, huh.”

they’re dating now, i guess. i mean, i hope they’re dating. they should be.

“as the hypnotic fluid winds itself through the minds of our friends, they shall return, happy and content to have us rule over them.”

“well isn’t that nice,” says pinky, in a very condescending manner. “narf.”

“but tell me, pinky, about your pancake batter. how did you manage to hide the taste of the hypnotic sapo?”

“well, the hypnotic stuff tasted terrible, brain. so like you said. i cut it out.”

bonk.

anyway this one goes to pinky because he is emotionally intelligent enough to A, understand sarcasm, and B, to know and/or remember what the plan was in the first place. perhaps he deliberately threw it out to make sure nobody had to eat bad pancakes? honestly, i don’t blame him. pinky, defender of the earth.

brain: 4 ½ pinky: 6 ½ outside influence: 10

“here’s our course. heading 3-2-9, depth 100 metres, bowplanes at 15 degrees. any questions?”

“um. if you could be any animal, what would it be.”

“oh, i’d have to say a hawk, pinky,”

“so i could soar through the sky,”

“and grab tiny white mice in my claws,”

“and feed them to my young.”

“that’s just... weird, brain.”

[peachyteabuck]

study buddy, pt iii

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: after an eventful night, there are things you have to accomplish at the library...alone. 

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,365

trigger warnings: explicit talk of sex work, heavy sexting, smut (incl. fingering, oral sex (F receiving), strap ons, mdlg, humiliation), angst if you REALLY squint

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two

You and Natasha stayed like that, her entire body wrapped tightly around you. After sleeping alone for basically the entirety of college, you enjoyed the closeness. It was hard to fall asleep, given how intimate you were to someone you’ve been fantasizing about for, you know, forever. Natasha fell asleep first, mouth pressed onto the back of your neck and hand laying across your waist. When her breath evened against your burning skin and you found the perfect angle to admire the posters on her wall, your own eyes droop closed (what can you say, being the little spoon makes you feel...safe. Also, you hadn’t had sex in a long time and you’re very tired of the mix of solitude and the post-orgasm haze).  

When your weekend morning alarm went off, it took everything inside of you not to throw it against the far wall. You played softball for one season in eighth grade and still had pretty good aim, you could probably hit the very center of a beat-up dart board about four feet up from the round. Luckily, you were able to constrain yourself enough to just hit snooze a few times.

Natasha, annoyed by your overly-adorable alarm song (hey, Ed Sheeran is a great artist to wake up to! The guitar calms you as the reality of the crushing weight of your own self-expectations crashes upon you), pushed you to get out of bed. “C’mon, babe you definitely have something to do. And that’s like, one of his worst songs and I need it to stop.”

You shrugged. The Google calendar alert that flashed across your screen notifies that you did, indeed, have to get up and do something. You groaned at the thought of being productive, flopping back down while you told yourself that Zizek would want you to do stay in bed.

Isn’t the only way to defeat capitalism to become unproductive? You’re studying for the next quiz, you tell yourself, even as Natasha starts pushing at the bottom of your spine to get you off the mattress. You’re just experimenting with different ways of destroying the most invasive and deadly economic system. Wait...is capitalism just an economic system, or is it more of a way of life? Can capitalism merely be described as an organizational system and a way to categorize the exchange of goods and services for monetary compensation without influence from government(s)? And like, do humans control the market, or the does the market simply own us like little pawns or a bunch of dumb, yappy puppies? What even is the market? Is the market a finite thing or is it some indescribable, infinite theory? Is it, like the universe, becoming infinitely larger by the minute?

Finally, you sat up, discontented by your own incredibly existential train of thought. As you got up and stretched, you could feel your worn muscles aching and joints popping obscenely loudly. As you bent to crack your back, a dull but satisfying pain started to spread through your body. You couldn’t tell if it was Natasha’s sub-par bed frame or her extraordinary sex kills; either way, though, you’re going to need some painkillers before you leave.  

Searching for clothes was...much harder than you anticipated. The pink cotton underwear and matching lace bralette you had pulled on in the middle of the night stood out against the grey cinder block walls, the smoke stains on the ceiling, the deep brown floors. Starkest of all, you were an anomaly amongst the piles and piles of dark clothes. Like a sunflower that’s sunken down to the bottom of the ocean, a ray of sunshine deep within a cave, a small baby animal stuck in a concrete cage.

Still - for whatever reason - you couldn’t find your clothes from the day previous. You would’ve screamed if it wouldn’t further disturb the half-asleep Nat. Why didn’t you just bring clothes with you, you knew were going to be staying over! You even thought far ahead enough to wear a matching underwear set. But no! No, of course you couldn’t just pack an extra skirt and tank or top or something else in your bag. Or even just a toothbrush, or floss, or some fucking gum, because of course you were out of gum. Of course, you were.

Good job, scholar.

After ten minutes of desperate, fruitless searching, you finally accepted your fate of wearing Natasha’s clothes for the day. Sighing, you grabbed a pair of (hopefully) clean workout shorts and a worn hoodie from a band you’ve never heard of and take them into the bathroom to shower.

It was stereotypical, something out of a scene in a shitty romance movie: You wear her clothes as a sign you’re really in love or something, and then she sees how hot you look in clothes you’d normally never be caught dead in, then she fucks you nice and slow with one of those cute white strap ons while she moans into your ear everything she wants to do to you.

Maybe she won’t be fucking you, maybe you’ll ride her dick, or thigh, or her fingers so she can maintain a good look at your in her soft sweatshirt, or maybe-

Fuck, the short and hot shower needed to turn into a long and cold one real quick. A long one. A very, very long one. That also needs to be cold. Did you mention that it needed to be long? And freezing?

When you trekked into the kitchen, you found the cupboards mostly empty. You were able to track down some bread to make toast and discover an egg in the back of the fridge, so you shouldn’t have been be excruciatingly hungry until you could get back to your food-filled apartment. You could pick up a snack on the way to the library if you get hungrier, anyway. Everything should be fine. It’s fine! Everything is fine. You even found some pepper and rosemary, that had to be a good sign.

About halfway through your tiny (and minimally satisfying) meal, Natasha emerges from the bathroom (that’s weird, considering you never noticed her come out of the bedroom). Her sides were fixed, and she had makeup on. Nice makeup on. The soft orange eyeshadow, white eyeliner, blush, bright highlighter, and pink lipstick made her look...sweet, kind, approachable. Her usual outfit had been replaced with black dress pants, black heels, a black dress shirt, and a burnt orange cardigan. You’d guess she’d be dressing for work, or an internship. You watch her closely as she moved behind you and wraps her arms around your waist. Natasha rested her chin on your elbow and pouts, silently asking for a bite of your breakfast like a pitiful dog.                         .

Reluctantly, you broke off a piece and fed it to her. She grinned as she chews, then kissed your fingertips as she swallowed. “That’s good,” she mumbled.

“Th-thanks,” you managed to get out, still inert at the feeling of her lips on such sensitive skin. In that moment parts of that night flashed in front of your eyes, including when she shoved four fingers into your mouth and told you to prep them for when they’d be inside you. You stuff the last of the bread and egg into your mouth to stop yourself from saying something stupid, sexual, or both. Also, from moaning. But mostly from talking and embarrassing yourself.

Sweet Jesus, you needed to get out of there.

Natasha still hadn’t moved from behind you and pressed her crotch into your bruised ass as she speaks. “You look amazing in my clothes,” she whispered in your ear, nibbling at your earlobes. It was hard to moan and chew at the same time, but she still got the picture as you choked on your half-chewed breakfast. Natasha giggled, a stark contrast to the heat behind her voice. “Look almost as pretty as you did last night,” it sent shivers down your spine. “All spread out and begging for me to touch you.”

You swallowed and whimpered, reminded of the night you two spent together. More memories flooded your brain all at once:

Her standing over you as you babbled for her to “take it, take it Natasha it’s yours it’s all yours please take it.” Her barely touching you with a vibrator while she mumbles how cute you look when you’re a struggling, desperate mess. Her complimenting your high-pitched whines when you’re begging for her to fuck you again, and again, and again and...

“Natasha, please,” you pleaded. You didn’t want to pull away, too entranced with the thought of more time along with Natasha. Still, if you had a sliver of a chance of getting done what needed to be done that day, Natasha would’ve had to let you go first. “I need to go study at the library.”

Natasha stopped peppering kisses on your neck and shoulder to smirk. “Oh, please. You have a whole day off, and I don’t have to leave for work for another hour. We can afford to spend a little more together.”

You sighed as you scrunched your eyes shut and bite your bottom lip. You wanted that so much, so fucking much, but that study session wasn’t a regular one that you can just blow off. You couldn’t just push this work aside and make up the time missed the next day.

That day was that time where you look at all the commissions people have applied for and pick the ones you want to do. You normally only did it once a month, but your rent was almost due, along with student loans and some repairs required around your apartment and you were anticipating your mother’s birthday gift costing a lot (on account of your guilt) and you were hoping to buy some new sticky notes and your favorite pens were almost out of ink and-

In short, you needed money and you needed it now.

That was usually a thing you make into a little time with just yourself; you made some sort of day of it. You’d go to the library, pick one of those secluded rooms where no one can bug you for a few hours, put on the large headphones you only use for when you get super intense in your studying, and listen to your favorite music. You’d track everything in gorgeous marble-patterned notebook you use especially for planning commissions, with some inspiration quote in golden lettering along the front. In it, you’d track stuff props needed, when you’d do the commissions, how much money you’d charge, if there was anything that money needed to go to, if you have to spend anything to buy something specific, and so on.

It was like the calm before the storm of which is taking lots of lots of nude photos and videos of yourself.

All of this means you had to put your foot down and turn down whatever Natasha wanted so you could leave. “Nat, seriously. I’ll be back by,” you checked the clock on your phone. Fuck, it was already nine fifteen. You wanted to be out of here ten minutes ago. “What time does your shift end?”

She shrugged, a little taken aback. “I dunno, like one or two this afternoon. Two fifteen at the latest.”

“I’ll be back before two, I promise.”

Natasha looked you up and down, eyebrows furrowed with concern. She’d never seen you like this in the short time she’d known you. She could feel you were tense, incredibly tense. Sensing something was off, she dropped it and backed off. “O-okay. I’ll see you then.”

You smiled, grateful for her not pressing you on why you seem so pressed. At some point, you’d need to explain to her what you were doing, what you did for a living - especially if this relationship was going where you thought (hoped) it is. But not right then. You’d know when the right time is, and that wasn’t in Natasha’s kitchen with your heart racing. Maybe once you figured out her stance on sex work. But how could you weave that into a conversation?

Hey babe, before we start officially dating, I just wanted to ask you about SESTA/FOSTA, the decriminalization of sex work, and material autonomy? What’s your stance on camming as sex work?

Maybe you could relate this back to what you were supposed to be teaching her, sneak it into a mini-lesson or something like that. Butler’s talked about sex work, so have a bunch of other people. Maybe those people were queer theorists or media studies scholars, but they were still people talking about sex work in a context at least loosely related to post-modernism! Just because those people wrote obscure papers or dissertations from small college in the middle of nowhere didn’t mean their opinions on sex work didn’t matter! But those papers were all probably about prostitution, or escorting, or the phrase “sex work.” None of them about camming or selling private Snapchats and nudes or being commissioned for special videos (which included anything from getting yourself off with a hairbrush or eating cheeseburgers until you throw up). None of them exactly matched up to what you needed to know, making your inquiry that much more complicated.

Still, you could almost imagine the short-answer questions now:

What would [insert author here] say about “modern” sex work verses “old school” sex work? What does newer forms of sex work say about the way capitalism forces us to adapt the ways in which we are productive? What has changed in sex work since its origin? What hasn’t? Why do some disagree with postmodernists stance that the dollar is the most powerful force in the world, whether dissenters believe that racism, sex, or gendered violence is more powerful? How does the frequent use of “porn” as a metaphor show how postmodernists view porn and the way we relate to it? Should porn ever be used as a metaphor? If no, what should take its place?

Grabbing your backpack and phone on the way out the door, you started on the twenty-minute walk to the library. The commute was mostly barren of people, leaving you to the thoughts whirring around your brain.

By the time you’d tripped five (5) times, you’re cursing yourself for nothing taking the bus. Why would you ever need so much time to think? It’s just thinking!

Process might be a better word, though. That girl back there fucked you so good you’d never be able to sleep with anyone else again without measuring them against the night before. You’d never be able to get yourself off without seeing her when your eyelids flutter closed from pleasure. That type of experience just doesn’t happen without changing a woman. Worse, you’d gotten this little baby ache in your sternum and shakiness in your hands that always happened when you had a crush. Why couldn’t you ever see pretty girls without reconsidering your entire life story?

As you kicked a rock over a tree stump, you tried to remember that she seemed into you too. This wasn’t like in tenth grade when you were drooling over that super popular senior girl and it turned out she just wanted to use you for an AP Calc project. This wasn’t some unrequited love story. So why are you so fucking nervous?

Oh. Right. Your profession (or, “profession” as some people have called it in poorly-worded anonymous messages on Tumblr or with fake emails).

Once you stepped inside the library, you found your favorite spot (close to the vending machines and bathrooms) and started working. Once the door had been locked and the headphones were on, you opened your laptop. Slowly, as your email loaded, you saw a notification of a text from Natasha.

You looked behind you on instinct, even though you were completely alone. When all your eyes saw was a wall covered in poorly-applicated beige paint, you sighed and clicked on the little grey box.

As the text loaded, all you could see is that there’s an attachment, and it caused your heart rate to increase dramatically. It felt like a forever later when you finally opened your scrunched eyes, and another trillion years until the photo loaded.

It was a picture of her holding the pink panties you forgot to grab (in your defense, the shorts you snatched from her bedroom floor had built in underwear) back at Natasha’s apartment with the caption “Looks like you forgot something...you gonna come back and get it?”

God, you hadn’t even opened a single commission email, which is the only thing you had intended on doing that day. You should answer at least a few before you text her back…

But a hot girl was flirting with you! Money and paying your rent be damned, you needed to focus on getting laid again.

You hold your breath as your typed, as if filling your lungs would cause your fingers to lose the ability to type.

I don’t know.

You bit your lip as you texted her again.

Why don’t you keep them as a trophy?

You opened one email while you wait for her reply. It was about scat. You specifically said that you don’t do that. Deleted. Immediately after you got a reply from Natasha.

Don’t be naughty with me or I’ll gag you with them.

Before you could reply you get another text.

Or is that what you want?

Um, yes. It was what you wanted. It’s all you wanted. You mean, it’s one of many things you wanted. But you did want it. Since you weren’t physically with Natasha, it’s easy to make your replies a little bolder.

If I did want it, would you give it to me?

You quickly opened another email. This one was easy, just some really artful nudes with your stretch marks on display. Maybe some cool-colored mood lighting. You replied with the normal stuff (the payment, when you’ll have them done, etc). Once that email was sent, you saw another text.

I can give you anything you want, princess

That made you shiver, your hands shaking and breath hitching as you reply.

Anything?

You didn’t have time to open another email before you saw Natasha’s next texts.

Anything at all, Princess

You just gotta tell me what you want.

You felt like God is speaking to you directly. Surely this woman was Heaven sent, given to you by the Holy Father as a gift for all your hard work over the years, or something.

But how am I supposed to talk if I’m gagged?

With that sent, received, and read, you closed the chat before Natasha could reply. If you just opened five more emails, then you could answer. That’s good, right? That’s a good way to keep yourself focused. Four answered emails, two replies from customers, and one blocked user later, you found it in yourself to open the texts from Natasha again.

Oh, really? Is that what you want?

Not gonna answer me?

Looks like you’re actually studying

what a good girl you are

Bad news:

I have nothing to do without you here bc I finished everything early

so I guess I’ll text you what I want

A sharp inhale of breath pierced the stale air, scaring you. Oh wait, you realized. That was you.

Want so much from you. Wanna sit on your face, I bet you’re the champ of eating pussy, aren’t you? So pretty and eager to please. I’d love to see you blow a strap on. Had a girl do that once a while ago, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. She wasn’t nearly as pretty as you, though. Bet you’d look a billion times better with spit dripping down your face while I shove my cock down your throat. Maybe tie your hands behind your back with those panties you left me. You look so cute tied up.

You nearly choked on the water you started chugging in an empty effort to make yourself calm down. Oh fuck.

That’s when you saw another message from her.

I know you’re reading these, little one. Don’t run from Mommy.

You sucked in a breath, unable to respond. It took forever for you to craft your text, in the meantime you tried to switch back to your inbox to see if there was anything you could do to ground yourself.

No such luck, though.

Tell me more, Mommy. Please.

Natasha happily obliged.

You know what my absolute biggest fantasy is? Me and some other top just domming the hell out of you. Passing you around, leaving bruises all of your pretty little body.  You’d be so cute, just mewling and whining under us. Maybe we’d both fuck you at the same time, stretching your pretty little holes to the max.

This woman was about to be the death of you.

I’d love that, Mommy

After you saw that message had been sent, you started to pack up your stuff. You texted her you were about to start your walk home, but before you could stash your phone in your backpack you saw another text.

Don’t worry baby. Mommy’s got you. I’m right outside.

And when you stepped out the front doors, she was. You blushed when you saw her, clamoring into the front seat with your knees nervously knocking themselves together. You were about to stutter out a “thank you” before she lunged forward to kiss you deeply. It was hard, aggressive, dominating. As she pulled away, she bit your bottom lip before she turned back to the wheel. “You’ve been bad, baby. So bad.”

You didn’t speak as she sped away, making your way back to her apartment in record time. Each stop light, her fingers seemed to worm their way up your thighs and tease at the hem of your shorts; each time the light went back to green, and she pulled away, you’d whimper as loudly and lewdly as possible. In all honesty, you were hoping to get her attention. Whether or not it would end how you wanted it to be questionable, but it was worth a shot. You would try anything at that point, to be close to her. To feel the softness of her cardigan, to unbutton her shirt, to unzip her pants.

When you made it her front door, you could barely make it inside before Natasha had you pressed against a wall. She slipped your backpack onto the slightly-warped hard wood carefully, not wanting your laptop to break.

You gasped as she ripped the shorts from your body. “Oh, God, Nat- “

She placed her left pointer finger over your lips as two fingers from her right slid into your dripping center. “Sh, baby girl, call me Mommy,” she whispered before she dropped to her knees.

Natasha didn’t start with any niceties, no prepping, rather she immediately began sucking on your clit and curling the now-three fingers inside of you. You wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to do something, but the combination of shock and the proximity to the front door made your mouth silent as you shook violently. You’d stuffed the sleeve in Natasha’s hoodie as you shrieked from your almost-too-quick orgasms, the fabric muffled your hearty screams as Natasha continued to fuck her fingers into you.

“N- Mommy, mommy please stop,” you begged. “Please stop I can’t, Mommy I can’t take it!”

Nat just laughed, never slowing down. “C’mon, princess. If you come one more time like this for me, I’ll stop. Okay, baby girl? Just one more…”

You’d had both hands covering your face now, your cheeks hotter than the face of the sun as your whole body convulsed. For a moment the feeling you had to piss cuts through the fog that had flooded your meninges, and then you felt a wash of pleasure wave through you that made you collapse against the wall.

“Hey, baby girl,” you heard Natasha coo in a metaphysical plane not your own. “Hey, princess it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

It took a few moments for you to come back, for your vision to stabilize. When you were finally able to see the woman in front of you, the first thing you noticed was her cheeks and lips and chin and nose glistening wet. While you looked confused, a shit-eating grin broke out on Natasha’s face.

“Was that your first time squirting?” She asked, her voice just above a whisper and full of excitement.

You nodded. “Y-yeah.”

Her grin only got bigger as she picked you up and brought you into her bedroom, sheets just as messy as when you had left them that morning. The uneven fabric was uncomfortable as she dropped you onto them, but then was no time to complain. No, you were smart enough to know as Nat held up a toy in each hand that you were not in a position to grumble about the sex-dirty sheets or protest to being thrown or grumble that this woman seduced you into coming home from the library early that day.

“Which toy you want, sweetheart?”

They were both silicone cocks, the one in her right hand a glittery pink while the toy in her left a matte black. The pink one was sleek and long, but the black one was truly the one that caught your attention. It was girthy, veiny. Your pussy already ached looking at it, and you squeezed your thighs together for relief as you imagined Natasha fucking it in and out of you at a pace that would leave you bruised and breathless.

Natasha noticed this right away. “Aw, is my little princess feeling greedy today?” She crawled on top of you after pulling on the strap and securing the toy in place. “You sure you want this one baby girl? You sure you want me to fuck you with something so big…could your tiny little cunt even take it?”

All you could do was whimper.

“Good girl,” she purred. “This is gonna look so cute covered in your cum.”

[anotherkpopvictim]

All That You Are (Is All That I’ll Ever Need) - VHope Littlespace Drabble

(Source - taegidda)

Request from starbabiebangtan on tumblr: “Vhope bc i cant resist baby Tae sndjdjdjdj I’m sorry LOL But another Vhope, where Taehyung is insecure because of how he feels like he looks more like a daddy to Hoseok than the other way around bc of him being taller and having a deeper voice than Hobi. Hobi does his best to reassure him that he is his little baby no matter what, and continues to go ahead and love on his baby and it causes him to regress v young bc im a sucker for baby space as well 🥺 ”

A/N: this sounded very interesting! I hope I did your request justice :P And thank you for all the awesome ideas you’ve given me!!

Also, the title is from Tenerife Sea by Ed Sheeran.

Pairing: Little!Taehyung X Caregiver!Hoseok

Rating: T (swearing, panic attack)

Words: 3250

Hurt/comfort, fluff

WARNINGS: Taehyung has a panic attack in this. It is not very detailed, but I don’t want to trigger anyone.

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Taehyung and Hoseok had been together for forever.

Okay, two years officially, but they had also gone through a phase of what the rest of the BTS members had dubbed “everyone else knew you two were together except you” for about four or five years (forever), which wasn't completely untrue. Jimin and Jungkook could vouch for that – they made sure their fellow maknae line member understood just how much pining they witnessed from Taehyung. Hyung line said the same about Hoseok.

But their incorrect feelings of unrequited love didn't matter anymore, because they were very happily boyfriends now. Sure, they had been through their fights just like any other couple did, but in the end, they loved each other in a way that no one could deny and they always orbited back to each other.

More than boyfriends, Hoseok was also Taehyung's caregiver when he slipped into littlespace. The older had a soft spot for the little and their friends always made fun of him for it, calling him “whipped”. Any time that happened, Taehyung would assure his hyung that he was very happy he loved little Tae so much (Hoseok would then puff his chest out like a gorilla, all proud, and it was so adorable honestly Taehyung couldn’t handle it sometimes).

As their Love Yourself: Tear album promotions came around, the two of them were in a place where they were completely comfortable and happy with each other. They hadn’t even had a real fight in months.

So, of course, just as they relaxed, something else came up that threw them off-kilter - this time in the form of insecurities.

It was during a fan sign that it really began. Taehyung and Hoseok just happened to be seated next to each other, and they were very careful to keep their closeness to a friend level. It wasn’t often that management allowed them to sit next to each other, and they weren’t about to mess up the chance they’d finally been given just because they couldn’t keep their heart eyes to themselves for a few hours.

A girl around twenty years old, who introduced herself as Jisoo, was in line to get their autographs and talk to them for their forty-five second time frame. When she reached Hoseok (the second last in the row of seats) she smiled brightly, showing off her cute smile. “You guys are so inspiring!” she gushed, “Thank you for promoting self-love, it's really helped me.”

The lead dancer couldn't help but grin back at her, “I'm glad. You guys have helped us achieve so many of our goals, and we want to use our success to spread a good message to everyone.”

Hoseok passed the girl's poster of all the members (now signed everywhere apart from below Taehyung's picture) over to the second youngest beside him, and they let their hands linger a little longer than they probably should have. Sometimes they really couldn’t help it.

Taehyung gave his hyung a quick side smile, more meaning behind the small action than anyone else could see.

“Oh my gosh! You guys are so cute! VHope for the win!” Jisoo held up a fist in a “fighting!” motion, a teasing grin on her face as she watched the two of them.

“Oh,” Taehyung chuckled, looking away to properly sign her poster. “Thank you.”

“And your size difference is adorable!” she said, now gaining Taehyung's sole attention as Hoseok moved on to the next fan in line. “Hoseok looks so tiny next to you, I bet you could pick him up without any trouble.”

Maybe it was a little odd to say something like that, a little straightforward, but Taehyung got the feeling that Jisoo was the kind of girl to speak her mind.

“Y-Yeah,” Taehyung silently cursed himself for stuttering, but he was a little taken aback by the comment. He knew Jisoo didn't mean anything bad by it, but it made Taehyung's brain start going into overdrive, just like it always did when all he could think about were his insecurities.

She was right; Taehyung and Hoseok were definitely different in size, but not like Jimin and Namjoon were. There was only about two inches difference in height between the lead dancer and the vocalist, but Taehyung was undoubtedly more broad than his hyung. So yes, Taehyung was naturally bigger than Hoseok was, but he'd never really thought about it before now.

Did Hoseok have a hard time picking him up sometimes, like he did quite often in littlespace? Did Hoseok think it was weird that the bigger person between the two of them was also the one to regress into a child-like headspace sometimes?

No, Taehyung told himself, stopping his thoughts abruptly, Hoseok loved him too much for that. He would never hold something so insignificant against him.

...Right?

“It was so nice to meet you, Jisoo,” Taehyung replied, the smile on his face feeling a little more put on than before. “I hope you continue to support us. We will do the best we can for you!”

Despite his best efforts, the thoughts plagued the second youngest for the rest of the day. He had to hide his mood from Hoseok and Jimin, and managed to evade them by saying he wasn’t feeling well and hiding in his room.

But that was it.

After that day, Taehyung was thrown headfirst into preparing for their repackaged album release and another tour. He didn’t have time to really think about anything, let alone the moment with Jisoo at the fan sign, but it was still there, admittedly, in the back of his mind.

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

“Jeon Jungkook, if you don’t get down here this instant!-”

A smirking maknae looked down from his spot on the tree branch...thirty feet up in the air. At the base of the tree stood an extremely unimpressed Seokjin with his hands on his hips.

“What are you going to do, hyung?” Jungkook asked tauntingly, “Are you going to put me in time out?”

Seokjin narrowed his eyes, “No, but I will take away your television rights for two weeks, in or out of littlespace.”

Jungkook gasped, looking a little more scared now, “You wouldn’t. You love little me too much.”

“Try me, bitch.”

With an overly exaggerated whine of annoyance, Jungkook began his trek back down the tree.

“Be careful!” Namjoon shouted, joining Jin at the base of the tree. “If you fall and get hurt management is going to kill me!”

“Is that all you’re worried about, hyung?” Taehyung asked, a smirk on his lips as he looked on from a nearby lounge chair, “Not that Jungkook could get hurt, but that management would kill you if he did?”

Namjoon turned away from the tall tree to glare at the younger and smack him over the head. “Brat.”

“My brat!” Hoseok burst out of the doors of their accommodations and pushed Namjoon out of the way so he could cuddle his injured baby in his arms. “Don’t hit him, Namjoon!”

As Namjoon grumbled under his breath and walked off, Hoseok pressed a kiss to the back of a pouting Taehyung’s head. It didn’t even really hurt all that much, as Namjoon hadn’t hit that hard, but Taehyung was enjoying his boyfriend’s attention too much to tell him that.

All the members of BTS were spending a rare few days off between tour dates, and currently, they were in Chicago. Management had rented a cabin-like house on the outskirts of the city for their three-day stay.

“TAEHYUNG!” Jimin screamed as he came running out of the house.

“SOULMATE!” Taehyung screamed, sitting up from his hyung’s embrace like a meerkat scoping out the land.

Jimin jumped on top of the Taehyung-Hoseok pile, causing the two on the bottom to grunt at the sudden added weight.

“Jimin...” Hoseok whined, weakly using his partially trapped hands to push the younger off of them.

The attacker backed off with a wicked grin, “Sorry, hyung!” (He didn’t sound all that sorry).

“What did you need, soulmate?” Taehyung asked, sitting up properly and fixing his messed up hair.

“Oh,” Jimin said like he just remembered why he’d come here in the first place, “Yoongi thinks he has a lower voice than you, so I need you to prove him wrong.”

“What?” Taehyung chuckled.

“You obviously have the lowest voice out of all of us! I just need you to sing a lower note than him so I can get my ten-thousand won.”

Taehyung shrugged, standing up from the lounge chair and starting to follow his eager best friend into the house. The others were only a few feet behind them.

“Taehyung’s voice is definitely lower than Yoongi’s,” Jungkook stated, “I’ll bet twenty-thousand won!”

Namjoon snorted, “You’re on, dumbass. Yoongi’s totally going to win.”

Jin and Hoseok rolled their eyes and looked at each other with matching expressions that said “Idiots”.

They all entered the living room to find Yoongi lounging on the couch, typing away at the keyboard on his laptop. The oldest rapper looked up at the sudden noise and frowned, unimpressed, when he saw all of them filing into the room. “You actually got them, Jimin? Seriously?”

“We made a bet and I’m eager to get some ice cream with the money I’m going to win,” Jimin replied, arms crossed and chin in the air.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “Whatever. Alright, Tae, let’s go.”

Taehyung and Yoongi proceeded to have a low note battle, while five other pairs of eyes watched on in fascination. It started off easily, but as the notes got lower and lower, Taehyung noticed Yoongi beginning to really struggle to make a noise.

It was Taehyung who won in the end (much to Jungkook and Jimin’s delight and Yoongi and Namjoon’s disappointment) and he smirked as Jimin dragged a sulking Yoongi out the front door and to the corner store down the street. Namjoon slapped the twenty-thousand won into Jungkook’s awaiting palm a little harder than necessary, but the maknae decided not to say anything about it because he had some beautiful money in his possession. (A/N: bts forgetting they’re millionaires part 382750????)

“Ooh, listen to my baby’s sexy voice!” Hoseok exclaimed, sliding up to Taehyung from behind and wrapping his arms around his waist, lips pressing a kiss to his right ear. “So deep and hot as fuck.”

Taehyung chuckled and turned his head a bit so his boyfriend could kiss him on the lips, “Thanks, Seokie.”

The moment was ruined when a certain maknae fake gagged and yelled, “EW!”

All his bandmates (minus Jimin and Yoongi) began complimenting his deep voice. Taehyung accepted the praise with a smile and a light pink blush on his cheeks.

It wasn’t until later that night (because night was the time to reflect on the day) that Taehyung thought about it again.

He never particularly loved his voice like so many did, sometimes he wished that his voice wasn’t so low. Maybe it was because a lot of the comments he saw said things like “Taehyung’s voice is so sexy! He’s such a daddy!” and “V’s looks and his deep voice just scream “she calls me daddy too”” and other things that were a little more...explicit. Now, Taehyung adored these compliments, even the extremely dirty ones, because they were from his fans, but his little side didn’t like it one bit.

The moment with the fan (Jisoo, he recalled) from nearly half a year ago popped back up in his head. Hoseok was smaller than him, and Taehyung had a deeper voice too. Hoseok always told him how much he loved his deep voice, but Taehyung was a little, was it strange for someone in a four-year-old’s headspace to sound like a grown man?

Jimin and Jungkook, who were also littles, didn’t really have to worry about that with their caregivers - Jimin had a naturally high voice and Jungkook easily spoke in a tone reminiscent of a child.

Surely Hoseok had noticed their differences and probably thought about them. Did he hate them and was just too nice to tell Taehyung how uncomfortable it made him? Did he resent Taehyung for being so...strange?

Taehyung stood up from his bed and stumbled from his room to the bathroom across the hallway. He felt a tightness in his throat and a buzzing in his ears suddenly as he slammed through the door. He knew it was the start of a panic attack, and he tried his best to calm himself down with deep breaths. He splashed some cold water onto his face, uncaring that it wet his bangs. His hands then gripped the edge of the counter as his thoughts began to spin out of his control.

He needed Hoseok and he needed him now.

Like a miracle, a knocking from the door broke through the buzzing in Taehyung’s ears. He couldn’t speak, so he just made a sound, something that came out like a mix between a groan and a whine.

And then Jin was by his side on the ground (when had he fallen to the floor?) and holding his shoulders gently. The older was speaking to him probably, but Taehyung couldn’t hear him, could barely see him through the tears forming in his eyes.

Jin turned and shouted something over his shoulder and then a few moments later a frazzled looking Hoseok appeared in the doorway.

Taehyung’s eyes seemed to only be able to focus on his Daddy’s worried gaze as he hurried over to him.

“-Baby!” was the first word Taehyung heard from Hoseok, “I need you to follow my breaths, okay?” The older grabbed Taehyung’s hands and placed them on his own chest, beginning to exaggerate deep breaths for the younger to follow along to.

Taehyung tried his best to take in deep breaths and in a few minutes, he felt his heart rate decreasing from where it was in near hyperspeed. “’M sorry, Daddy” he said, his voice weak from his tense throat.

Hoseok shushed him and moved to wrap his arms securely around him, leaning them both against the bathroom cabinets. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for having a panic attack, Taehyungie,” he sounded a little out of breath, but completely sincere. “What’s going on, bub?”

“TaeTae sad!” Taehyung blurted before he could stop it - little him had always been more open about his feelings.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Hoseok replied, “Why are you sad, baby?”

“TaeTae too...TaeTae too...sexy...” the younger mumbled the last word in embarrassment.

Hoseok looked shocked, “What?”

“TaeTae b-bigger than Daddy...a-and he have low voice...TaeTae is bad little!” Taehyung burst into tears, moving to bury his face in his hyung’s chest.

“Oh, my baby,” Hoseok cooed, “You are not a bad little. You’re Daddy’s best boy.”

Taehyung stayed in his hiding place and shook his head vehemently, hands clutching the fabric of the older’s t-shirt.

Hoseok held him closely and pressed a fond kiss to the top of his head. “Do you think I don’t like you because of your deep voice and your height?”

“TaeTae weird.”

“No, TaeTae is unique,” Hoseok corrected, pulling the little away from his chest so he could see the sincerity in his expression. “Baby, I love you so much, exactly the way you are.”

“D-Daddy don’t think it’s weird TaeTae don’t look like a baby or sound like a baby?” the younger inquired, big eyes looking up at his hyung with hope.

Hoseok smiled and booped his nose. “No, sweetie, Daddy doesn’t think it’s weird.”

“D-Daddy doesn’t hurt himself picking TaeTae up?” he asked.

The older frowned jokingly, “Hey! I’m very strong, you know! Of course I can pick up my baby.”

Taehyung would have laughed if the situation were any different, but as it was, he couldn’t help but burst into tears once more - this time, though, they were happy tears. “TaeTae love Daddy.”

“Love you too, bub,” Hoseok replied, one of his arms moving so he could rub up and down the little’s back soothingly. “So, so much.”

Taehyung hiccuped through some more tears as the reassurance filled him with a familiar warmth and calmness. His eyes brightened just a little bit more and his hands shook as he grappled at the older’s shirt. “D-D-Dada.”

Hoseok’s smile grew at the new name, indicating that the younger had slipped into babyspace. Taehyung had to feel extremely safe to fall into such a deep headspace, and the older didn’t mind because baby Taehyung was just as adorable as every other Taehyung. “Hi, baby.”

The younger still had tears shining in his big, bright eyes, but he smiled through them cutely, “Dada!”

Hoseok attacked his face with kisses, causing the baby to giggle uncontrollably. When he pulled away again, the older said, “Now, TaeTae was supposed to be sleeping, but how about we go see if anyone is still awake and wants to watch some cartoons with us?”

Taehyung didn’t respond, but Hoseok had expected that - he was too young to fully comprehend his words. The other just looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky, like Hoseok was the younger’s everything (that wasn’t actually all that far off from what the baby was thinking).

After hitching the baby easily onto his hip, Hoseok stood up and made his way out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom. He laid Taehyung on the soft bed and moved to grab a cute tan puppy onesie from the boy’s suitcase. He kept a close eye on the baby, who was beginning to wiggle around on the bed curiously.

After grabbing a pacifier from the emergency little bag (thank god he had remembered it) Hoseok returned to his baby and slipped the rubber teat effortlessly between his lips. Taehyung blinked up at him and suckled at the pacifier as he watched Hoseok change him.

The older secured a diaper around the little’s waist and worked on zipping him into his adorable puppy onesie.

When he was finished, Hoseok took a moment to look down at Taehyung. The baby looked so cute it was almost too much to handle...so, naturally, Hoseok snapped a picture and sent it to their group chat.

MEMETAN (MuscleBunny - Jungkook, SmolBoi - Jimin, Dimples - Namjoon, JHoe - Hoseok, TongueTechnology - Yoongi, MrWorldWideHandsome - Seokjin)

JHoe: anyone who wants to join baby taetae and me for some cartoons is welcome to come to the living room

JHoe: *attached image*

MrWorldwideHandsome: omg *gasp* he’s so cute!!!!!!!!!!!!

SmolBoi: lol Jungkooks running naruto style there now and im right behind him

MuscleBunny: i csll dibbs on cuddlin the babu!111

Dimples: me too!!!

MrWorldwideHandsome: what about you yoongi?

TongueTechnology: yea ok I’m coming too

SmolBoi: dont act so tsundere yoongi

SmolBoi: we all know you have a soft spot for baby taetae

TongueTechnology: oh yea like you don’t all have one too

JHoe: taetae is very excited to see you all :)

Dimples: we’d better watch some good fucking cartoons or I’m out though

MrWorldwideHandsome: yea like Clifford or Paw Patrol!!!!!

SmolBoi: we all know taetaes gonna be the one to pick

JHoe: update:

JHoe: Jungkook has arrived in the living room and has slipped into littlespace

JHoe: he’s now cuddling with baby taetae

Dimples: OMG IVE GOTTA SEE THIS

TongueTechnology: IM ON MY WAY FOR THE OVERLOAD OF CUTENESS

MrWorldwideHandsome: uwu!

SmolBoi: those two will be the death of me with how adorable they are

JHoe: the cuddle pile is waiting :)

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A/N: not my favorite ending, but yeah.

Tell me what you thought of me adding some background couples and extra OT7 cuteness! I thought I’d try something a bit different this time.

If you would like to request a BTS littlespace drabble, you can go to my Request Guidelines page :)

I love you guys!

[shesdangerace]

I learned from my pain

Happy belated Valentine’s Day! Tumblr hates us all and might make this super hard to post here SO. I’m going to post as much of it as I can, and if you like it, you can check it out on AO3 (also linked at the end). I now present to you, a very Andrew Minyard Valentine’s Day. -

He remembers the colour of the sky outside the window.

He remembers the tree branch swaying in front of the glass.

He remembers the breeze that day.

He remembers the hands, the quiet, the pleading.

AJ’s first Valentine’s Day.

Andrew’s eyes feel heavy.

Allison gave Renee roses today, a question written out in cursive with a kiss on the end. Matt was talking about his plans in the locker room. Nicky has been beside himself thinking of Erik coming to visit.

Andrew is leaning outside of his open mesh-free window trying not to think. Cigarette burning down in his hand.

Andrew never got asked. Andrew never got elaborate plans. Andrew never got giddy anticipation. At least, not his own.

And now, he doesn’t want those things. Can’t want them. Doesn’t see a point in them.

It always came at a price, is the thing. And it was never enough.

Love meant crying without making a sound so she wouldn’t know. Love meant bleeding so his twin wouldn’t have to. Love meant throwing away the chance of it. Love meant cut brakes.

That was the love he was taught anyway, when his ‘family’ told them they loved him as they crept into his room at night, asking Do you love me? Do you love me?

Andrew was taught that love was cruelty. Pain. Bloodshed. A blind eye. Vengeance. Sacrifice. Loss. Responsibility. More bloodshed. He never knew what love was meant to feel like.

And now all Andrew knows how to feel is nothing.

There’s a knock on the door frame, firm and assured.

“Hey. Time for practice.”

Neil, standing there like a memory of a different life. Auburn and dressed all in grey.

The cigarette falls slowly from Andrews’ hand, swaying back and forth by the light February wind until it touches the ground of the car park below like a distant feather.

-

The cheerleaders are here. They’re being loud and it’s unnecessary.

Andrew doesn’t know why the cheerleaders are here. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. It matters that they are and that they’re being loud.

She’s here too, of course. She’s also a cheerleader after all. Not quite so loud though.

That may be because while Andrew is not looking at her, he’s looking at Aaron, and Aaron is looking at her. He’s willing to bet she’s looking back.

Aaron looks happy. Wistful. Awed almost. Where did he learn that? How did he manage to learn how to feel like that?

Andrew doesn’t look at him.

He hits balls and waves his heavyweight stick around for hours, while Kevin yells and Neil cusses out the baby Foxes and Nicky laughs like a demented hyena and Aaron feels all over the court floor.

Andrew doesn’t look at him.

And then Katelyn comes wafting over, blonde ponytail bouncing and hands wringing and smile matching the quiet one on Aaron’s face. A smile Andrew has no clue how to replicate on his own. And then she asks him, and he grins at her and says yes, obviously, and then she kisses him on the cheek and giggles and her ponytail bounces away.

Andrew tilts his head away and doesn’t look at him.

He looks at Neil. He doesn’t really have a choice.

He’s standing right in front of Andrews line of sight, close but not close enough to touch Andrew, smirk almost as sharp as his eyes. Batting his eyelashes like an idiot, hands wringing and toe nudging against the floor.

“Be my Valentine sugar plum?”

That cocky smile, that exaggerated posture, that orange bandana, that mess of hair, that shock of bright blue, that stupid, stupid idiot.

“Fuck off.”

Neil just laughs, that huff of gentle sound, and Andrew looks at him and can’t seem to stop. And Neil can’t seem to either, looking right back, smile just strong enough to bring out the subtle dimple on his right cheek.

How did he learn that?

How did he learn to dimple like that from bruises? How did he learn to look at Andrew like that from a lifetime of running? How did he learn to laugh for Andrew after knives and cleavers and flames and irons?

Andrew just looks at him.

Neils’ hands on his Exy stick are strong and unwavering and deliberate. Careful. Reverent.

Andrew just looks at him.

---

It’s two days before Valentine’s Day.

They’re at the coffee stand. The three of them have classes in 15 minutes but no one cares. Neil stands beside him, staring as disinterestedly as Andrew.

It’s pink. It’s stupid. There’s large lettering in altering colours of red, green, and yellow. There’s three black silhouettes like bathroom door signs. A red cross. A green heart. A yellow question mark. A lot of pink. It’s a poster.

It’s a traffic light party.

“Neil please, come on, it’s literally perfect and you’re the only one who can convince him.”

Andrew thinks about the colour red.

“No.”

It’s so vicious and ugly, so glaring, a screaming no that Andrew has had painted on his hands and his lips and his skin for years now.

“Neeeeil come on!”

Andrew has been red for a long time.

“Nicky, you have a long-term partner. Why would you need to go to this?”

Neil sounds tired. Neil is right to be.

“But Neil, that’s the point. Not only do I get to declare myself as taken, I get to show off my hot German husband.”

Red is not as simple as a t-shirt or a badge. It’s sticky and it festers and it stains like dye and you don’t get to change your mind once it’s on you.

“You know you haven’t even asked him to marry you yet right?”

Green is an unrealistic colour. It’s bright where red is dark, joyous like red is angry. A garish neon sign declaring yes. Yes, I’m here and I’m alive and I’m okay and I fucking want this.

Andrew doesn’t think he could ever be green having been red.

“Fuck you, Neil. It’s understood, it’s an inevitability, and the world needs to know!”

Green can start pure and be muddled and abused until it’s ugly and brown enough to be red anyway.

“The world does know. You’ve been talking about him non-stop for days. It’s annoying.”

There’s a coffee cup in his hands. When did that get there? Latte, caramel and vanilla. Neil’s name is written on it.

“Okay, can we please get back to the point? Which is the party? And that we should go?”

The sun is out today, and there’s no breeze. The skies are clear and still. Neil is walking beside Andrew, staring at him under his lashes every now and then as Nicky pleads his case. He’s walking close enough to Andrew that Andrew could touch him if he asked.

He’s wearing yellow. It’s a logo, on his grey hoodie. The drawstrings are yellow. Bright, like the sun. Hopeful.

After a while, after Baltimore and Riko and several screaming panic attacks in department store changing rooms with Allison’s guilty voice over the phone, Neil started to touch colour. Gentle prods, careful explorations.

He has an emerald green shirt now. Long sleeves. He has several Fox-orange articles of clothing that he wears in the dorm, the house, or with Andrew around campus. He has accents of colours on his shirts or his hoodie or his hat in the winter.

He has no blue brighter than navy. He has no red either.

Today, he is quietly yellow. Sipping his black coffee with one sugar and studiously ignoring Nicky in favour of watching Andrew ignore Nicky.

When Andrew asks and Neil says yes, in an alcove five minutes late to class, his fingers wind their way into those sunshine yellow drawstrings. He swears it stains his fingertips just a little.

-

Nicky is singing. A little bit drunk, a lot off key. It’s pop music and it’s incessantly loud. He got a phone call half an hour before. He did not take it well.

Erik has to stay in Germany for another day. A despondent Nicky had explained to them, and Kevin, that this means he’ll be flying in on Valentine’s Day instead of tomorrow, and this means that he’ll miss most of their first Valentine’s Day together in forever and Kevin would you please pay attention?

“Fuck men, seriously, Ari is so right you know? She just fucking gets it like, she understands and you know what I mean right Neil? Back me up Neil.”

Neil is in no condition to be anyone’s back up. He’s wrapped up in the embrace of the beanbag chair next to Andrew’s and he’s exasperated and exhausted. Nightmares. Not Andrew’s this time. The yellow was a particularly bold a choice today. But Neil is smirking in amusement all the same.

“Thank you, more like no thank you sir- “

In the corner, Matt is trying to film discreetly. On the couch, Kevin is paying absolutely no attention, waiting for his phone to ring.

As Nicky dances to the same song over and over, and Kevin bolts out of the room to answer Thea’s call, and Matt fails at discretion, and Neil radiates sleepy warmth next to Andrew like a furnace, Nicky bleeds.

He’s haemorrhaging love, the good and the bad and the ugly need of it. With the clarity of experience and many Wednesday sessions Andrew can see it. He can see the dark edges of Nicky, the sadness underneath his exuberance, his pain. He sees Nicky’s own sharp memories poking out from beneath his grin.

When he looks back at Neil, he sees the same understanding in those perceptive blue eyes.

It’s not about some pointless day in February. It’s about months without him. It’s about not knowing love without pain before him. It’s about conditions and fear and confusion and self-loathing and conversion. It’s about finally getting to hold someone’s hand knowing that he’s safe.

“I’m just saying I’m a fucking catch and I don’t deserve this, and you know what?”

Nicky stops here, stares at Neil balefully, then at Andrew, then back to Neil, gesturing with his whole body for the peanut gallery to speak.

Neil sighs and gives in.

“What Nicky?”

“I’ll tell you what Neil! I’m so fucking ungrateful for this treatment! That’s what.”

He trips.

And then, from his pile of slumped limbs and tired bones, Neil laughs. A true sound, a warm rich low sound.

Something in Andrew stutters for a moment. And then Nicky is throwing himself at Neil.

Nicky with his explosive love. Neil gifting his affection in laughs and smiles where there used to be none. Kevin breaking his single-minded devotion at the drop of a hat when Thea calls. Matt texting all the videos to Dan no doubt. All of them, loving each other out loud.

Andrew closes his eyes.

Nicky haemorrhages for hours.

---

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day. They’re at the traffic light party.

Nicky is bright red in the face from dancing, bright red in the face from alcohol, bright red in his shirt. He’s smiling almost as wide as he was when Andrew loomed over him in the locker room and said they were going.

Neil is wearing a black and neon-orange hoodie because he lives to be contrary and confusing. Andrew is wearing black because so does he.

The music is loud enough that Andrew almost can’t hear his thoughts. Almost. But of course, Andrew could never be so lucky, nor could Neil be so merciful.

The lights of the club are passing over his face like real traffic lights, sharpening and softening his face and colouring his eyes different shades. They could almost be in the Maserati, driving a touch too fast, Neil looking out of the passenger window, lounging like he belongs, smiling softly at Andrew’s reflection under the cover of night.

But they’re not. Neil is standing there like a living, breathing fuck you, glaring down anyone who gets too close, staring blankly at those who mistake his orange for yellow and then laughing to himself when they scuttle away. He looks gloriously alive, and completely unreal.

They’ve lost Nicky.

Neil looks at Andrew, really looks at him. Face like a storm.

The music gets improbably louder. Bass heavy. Rumbling. Growling.

Neils eyes get impossibly darker, his face impossibly sharper, his presence impossibly brighter.

He raises his eyebrow at Andrew.

Are you red or yellow or green?

Andrew steps closer and hooks his fingers into Neil’s collar.

Neil takes him by the edge of his black denim jacket, turns away, and Andrew follows the glowing shape of him through the thick crowd of sweat and mistakes.

By the time they reach the wall in the corner Andrew’s vision is all traffic lights and neon and storms.

Neil leans his head back against the wall, the bass louder still. He smirks at Andrew, but his eyes betray him and it becomes a smile. Warm and mischievous and foolhardy. He tilts his chin up at Andrew.

“So does black mean you’re taken?”

Andrew doesn’t dignify this with a response, just breathes.

“Should I take that as a yes or a no?”

Aside from the sharp roll of his eyes, Andrew doesn’t respond to this either.

“Andrew. Yes or no?”

Neil isn’t joking anymore. His eyes are softer than they have any right to be in lighting this sharp and dangerous. He’s searching, he’s already accepted Andrew’s answer.

The growling, rumbling bass around them is eclipsed by Andrew’s own growling yes, Neil’s lips brushing his like a promise. Neil kisses him like he’s desperate, not for his own sake but for Andrew’s. Like he’s been waiting. Like he just wants Andrew to know that Neil is there. Like he just wants Andrew. Whatever that means at any given time.

Right now Andrew doesn’t know what it means.

Neil tastes like midnight. And that makes no sense and it’s fucking stupid.

The lights are still flashing but the bass is different when Neil leans his head back against the wall. For some reason Andrew follows, can’t seem not to, rests his forehead against Neil’s. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and neither does Andrew.

And then.

“Andrew, can I hold your hand?”

It’s a wonder Andrew hears him over the sound of this stupid party. Andrew says yes because honestly, he’s mildly curious to know what happens next.

Neil’s hand is warm. Firm. Scarred and unafraid and gentle and soft and calloused and it holds Andrew’s so tenderly. Like a rose and not a thorn.

Andrew doesn’t understand it and doesn’t understand why he doesn’t understand it because it shouldn’t be complicated. He doesn’t understand how Neil can look at him and feel. Because he so clearly does and Andrew can’t seem to hide from it.

Are you red or yellow or green or –

“Fuck, there you guys are! Come dance with me!”

And Nicky grabs Neil’s hand and pulls and Neil, as sharp and observant and devoted to his Foxes as he is, would never say no.

---

Andrew wakes up slowly and way too late in the day, to see Neil still asleep. His face is half crushed into his pillow, eyebrows relaxed, hair skewed in every direction like hellfire. His mouth is soft in sleep, his cheeks flushed with warmth.

There’s something so different about Neil when he sleeps.

When he’s awake, Neil is all winter stillness, observant and contrary and dramatic. Ferocious and disinterested and loyal. Loose and honest when Andrew kisses him. Defiantly, viscerally alive.

When he sleeps he is just as still, but unguarded and vulnerable. Almost awake almost always. Soft and quiet, warm like a summer morning.

The February sun is streaming in through the dorm room window, and the sky is clear and crystal blue.

Nicky is beside himself with excitement outside the dorm room somewhere. Eriks’ flight lands that afternoon.

Because it’s Valentine’s Day.

It’s also a Saturday and that’s much more meaningful to Andrew. It means he’s not missing anything Kevin can annoy him for.

Eventually, Neil’s eyes open, and he sniffles at Andrew like a kitten.

It’s so rare to see Neil so taken with sleep. Andrew doesn’t often see this, Neil all strung out on the feeling of being only half awake, soft and malleable like taffy.

Andrew sighs and asks quietly:

“No nightmares?”

And Neil smiles, and that dimple is back on his right cheek. Such a rare sight indeed in February. And to have seen it twice already is almost hard to believe.

“No nightmares.”

Andrew nods.

Neil edges closer, just the tiniest bit. He’s almost nose to nose with Andrew, and Andrew is almost there. He’s on the precipice of something.

One of the worst things about being Andrew Minyard is that apathy makes feeling almost painful and hard to ignore. Andrew has no choice; he can’t lie and he can’t hide and he can’t run and for some god forsaken reason he doesn’t particularly feel the need to.

He gives, and lets himself feel the warmth of Neil. He whispers his name in the scarce air between them, and kisses him. Soft. Unyielding. Bee would be so proud if he would ever tell her.

Neil whispers right back. Kisses right back. Runs his fingertips between Andrew’s on the sheets without touching them. Andrew nods his answer and he feels Neil all around him like the winter sun. Sharp and painful and bright and vital.

Neil is awake, and so is Andrew.

---

At sunset, everything in the Maserati is cast in purple and blue and pink. Neil is lounging like he belongs, smiling at Andrew’s reflection in the glass of the passenger seat window. He looks dreamlike, like he’s feeling that feeling Andrew can’t name.

He turns to Andrew and asks. Andrew says yes and then Neil is holding his hand. He grins at Andrew and for fucks sake. How can he look at Andrew with that much feeling? Who was it that taught him how to feel it at all?

The sounds of the road echo in Andrews ears, the sounds of Nicky’s happy crying from a couple hours earlier in Erik’s arms, Neil’s laugh, his cutting remarks, his questions. Neil’s lips brush Andrew’s hands like a prayer and it’s possible somehow.

Somehow, despite all reasoning and logical experience, it’s possible that Andrew is capable of more than nothing.

When he tells Neil this, laying in the grass off the highway in the last rays of purple light, the look in his eyes and the depth of his kiss are evidence enough.

ao3

[scribeofmorpheus]

Dangerous Liaisons Part 6

Catch Up here!

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Words: 3888 (It’s a long one guys)

Rating: L for Strong language! Is that even a rating?

A/N: Okay, this took me a while to finish because I kept getting distracted. Editing? What editing? Just ignore my errors for now! But! I really enjoyed the dynamics in this one. Writing for Karen and Ward was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Especially, the dark side of our heroine! Not a lot of Billy sadly, but he’s front and centre in the next chapter... and so is the prickly family dynamic! (I also tagged some new people to this update, hope you don’t mind). Don’t be afraid to ask to be tagged! Sidenote: I’ve been waiting forever to use this gif.

***

You made your way through the busy offices of the Bulletin. The room was buzzing with life. Employees in middle-class dress smarts hovered around from desk to desk. Some had files in hand, others typed away brutally at the clunky, old computer keys. The atmosphere was electric… productive. As a kid, your father had spent many hours dealing with interviews and alike, but always in the comfort and security of his own home. He always liked having the high ground, made reporters feel uneasy in unwelcome spaces. Except for this one reporter, Ben Urich.

You had been barely out of your teen years when you had watched through ajar doors as your Father lost his iron-clad composure after being accused of something malicious by the straight-shooting reporter. You had never seen anyone rattle your Father to that extent. Ben Urich had gained your respect in that moment, and it wasn't until this very moment that you realised just how much you admired him for that. The irony of Karen Page working for the same newspaper as the one reporter you respected did not escape you.

"Can I help you?" asked a balding man with a salt and pepper beard and drooping eyes. He was cleaning his glasses using his tie as he stood like a man of authority next to a door labelled:  'EDITOR' with a name underneath written: 'Mitchel Ellison'.

"Mitchel Ellison, I presume?"

"Just Ellison," he extended his hand once his glasses were fixed back onto his face. You shook it. "Still haven't answered my question." He said plainly.

"Ah, yes sorry. My name is Y/N Y/L/N." He raised a brow at the mention of your last name. He recognised you then.

"Ah, the elusive heiress to Armistice Security," he said knowingly.

You shouldn't have been surprised. Your Father was Carl Kurogawa, CEO and founder of one of the leading military contracting companies. The press loved him and after Henry's death… well, more and more people were digging into your family's history. That's one of the reasons you legally changed your last name to your mother's maiden name.

"Since my Father and I don't share the same last name, I'm inclined to correct you on that front. I have no affiliations with Armistice Security," You said rather harshly.

"If that were true you'd have sold your shares a long time ago," he retorted quickly. No doubt Ellison had a hard time trusting people, but at least he called things as he saw them.

You sighed, "I'm here to see Karen Page. I called earlier about giving her an exclusive."

"What about?"

You smirked, "Sorry, that's privileged information. You'll just have to find out about it in the editorial room." Ellison huffed lazily, you amused him a little.

"Her office is right through there," He pointed down the hall and to the right.

"Thank you." You smiled flatly.

You knocked on the door with a sign covered by masking tape with the name Karen P. written on it. It was obscuring the name of whoever owned this office space before her.

"Just a second," a soft female voice spoke out.

Impatient, as always, you opened the door anyway. Karen was about to speak from behind her laptop screen, but upon seeing you, her face had a confused look plastered on it.

"Who?--" She squinted her eyes trying to remember. She didn't seem to recognise you. Being in a room full of reporters who usually could pick you out in a crowd, this was certainly a refreshing first. A laugh tried to trickle out of you but you held it back and instead chose to introduce yourself.

You held out your hand, "Y/N Y/L/N. We have an appointment today..." Karen still had a hard time placing you, this time you did giggle. "The Rand Enterprise exclusive about expansion in Hong Kong."

And suddenly, like lightning hitting its mark, Karen finally put two and two together.

"Of course, sorry," She returned your handshake. "I've been swamped lately, and as you probably deduced for yourself, I'm a little new at this." She gestured to her desk filled with overflowing, loose paperwork.

"Reporting or an efficient filing system?" you joked. She laughed awkwardly.

"Both," she sat down and gestured to the chair in front of her desk for you to have a seat. "Which is why I am a little apprehensive as to why you chose me to handle such a story. In fact, why the New York Bulletin? Isn't the Hong Kong expansion something a business magazine would kill to get an exclusive on?"

You smirked, "Oh, it is. Which is why I'm not giving the exclusive to a business magazine. Also, I read some of your other stories. You tend to be discrete about who your sources are when they want to keep things hush, hush."

Karen pulled out a notepad and pen, clicking it once to jot down something on her notepad.

"Why the secrecy? It's not like you're reporting on anything the company doesn't want the world to know… right?"

"I'm just… beating a colleague to the punch," You felt proud at the prospect of Ward reading this exclusive in a small newspaper after he had spent months preparing to give this exclusive to the Wall Street Journal. The look on his face when he finds out he doesn't have an exclusive anymore filled you with delight.

"Sounds alarmingly ambiguous."

"It sounds like an exclusive."

Karen took hint of your tone and cleared her throat, "Okay, so what can you tell me about Ward Meachum's new merger deal?"

You crossed your legs and leaned back, but made sure not to look too comfortable. "For starters, I can tell you it's not Ward Meachum's merger. He shook hands and posed for photo ops but they were my contacts and it was my project. I worked in Hong Kong for several years before I returned. Suffice to say, I had the means, Ward had the poster boy look."

Without skipping a beat, Karen jotted down on her notepad in shorthand. You were curious to read what she had written down, but this story wasn't what was important right now. You needed to gain her trust and get her guard down before asking about the incident with General Schoonover.

"Why did you leave Hong Kong?"

"I'm sorry?"

Karen plastered on a genial smile, "You mentioned your posting in the Hong Kong offices as being your primary qualification for spearheading this merger. If you managed to accumulate such good connections, why leave such a promising post? Wasn't accepting the post at Rand a step down?"

Karen was a sly one, this explained why someone with no background in journalism got ahead so quick. She was fishing for two stories in one interview. The Rand scoop and why you were offering her the Rand scoop. You made a mental note not to underestimate her. "This story isn't about me, Miss Page."

"Is it not? You’re not a disgruntled employee as far as I can tell. And giving a small newspaper access to such an exclusive doesn't make much sense unless you're trying to gain all the credit, but that wouldn't exactly help moral at the workplace if they found out you leaked the story. And unless you're Mr Meachum's scorned lover--"

You snorted a little at the insinuation of you being Ward's scorned lover. "You want to know what I get out of this. What my angle is."

"To be frank, yes."

"That's easy Miss Page. An ally at a respectable paper. That's something of great value in my line of work."

"In corporate legalities or military law?"

You smiled. Karen had just given away her ace in the hole. She had done research on you, which meant she knew exactly who you were when you walked into her office. She really was a sly one. "In a competitive corporate world."

You both exchanged a look that carried the fake pleasantry smiles not uncommon with most of your social interactions, but both you and Karen's eyes held a glare that spoke volumes. It was a look of respectful rivalry and cautiousness.

"Look, Miss Page--"

"Karen is fine."

"Okay, Karen. We can spend hours going round in circles, continuing this verbal detente with one another, or you can ask what you really want to ask me and save us both some time."

"It's the same question. Why me? And no bullshit. Why come to me, out of all the other more qualified and respected reporters? Why come all the way down to Hell’s Kitchen?"

"To be honest. My father hates this newspaper. And my boss is an ass. So if I can manage to serve a big ol‘ 'fuck you' to the both of them, it's a win-win for me." Karen seemed pleased with your answer. "But, there is one other reason."

"Yes?"

"The Punisher."

Karen froze for a second, you noticed her battling for control to remain unreadable.

"Whatever do you mean?" She asked, trying to seem oblivious to what you were implying.

"You are the one who wrote of his demise, did you not? It was quite the… unexpected angle. You framed his narrative to be more sympathetic than most other news outlets."

"I wrote Frank's story. Everyone else had already written about the Punisher."

"And weren't you assigned his case when you worked for… Oh, what was their name again? Murdock and Neilson?"

Karen's brows knitted together and she straightened her back to appear slightly taller than you, "Nelson and Murdock." Karen huffed. "And here I thought I was the one conducting the interview here."

Strong-arming Karen was proving to be ineffective. It was time to play a different angle. You sighed and stood from your chair, gathering a file from your purse and presenting it in front of Karen.

"Look, Karen. I'm not here to accuse you of anything. If anything I commend you for writing the real story about Frank Castle. It shows your willingness to bring the truth to light. It's the reason I thought you could help. You worked with him and I know you were at the scene of General Schoonover's murder."

"How?" Her eyes skittered between you and the file.

"I also know that you've read up on me. You and me have something in common." Karen broke eye contact for a brief moment. "I just want closure. And I think… I think you knew the Punisher better than you let on. And everything that happened, all the people he killed… I think they were part of something bigger. Schoonover, Frank and… my brother’s death." You had to pause to take a breath. "It's all connected. And I've hit a dead end. You're the last thread I can pull. I know you know something. I'm just hoping..."

Karen looked at the file you gave her. It had your brother’s name printed on the yellow jacket. She sighed and slid it back to you. "I don't know anything. I'm sorry."

You smiled with disappointment, sliding the file back to Karen. "I've got more copies. Keep it." You grabbed your bag and headed for the door. "My numbers on the back. In case you suddenly remember something." As you walked out the door, you caught a glimpse of Karen burying her head in her hands and whispering a soft "Fuck" under her breath. That made you smirk slightly. Now you just had to wait and see if she'd call.

Even though you knew full well that you and Karen had kept your voices more than professional, you couldn't help but feel eyes on you as you walked out of the Bulletin's doors. Specifically, the judgmental eyes of Mitchel Ellis.

***

When you got into your car, you finally let the tough as nails act slide away and suddenly you felt limp. You closed your eyes and looked up at the car's roof feeling particularly aimless. As the seconds turned to minutes, your mind kept trying to make sense of all the puzzle pieces that didn't fit together in your investigation. Then, your phone chimed from inside your pocket. You half expected it to be Cecil and the other half… well, you reprimanded yourself for wishing it was Billy. What you didn’t expect to find was an email from Ward. Not just any email, a letter of notice.

He was firing you.

Over a fucking email.

The damn merger story hadn't even been put to print yet, even if it had, your name would remain anonymous. Which leaves the very probable reason for your contract termination being the result of a hurt ego and rejected advances.

"Asshole!" You swore. Rage bubbling to the surface, you typed away at your phone and sent a message you knew you'd come to regret, but your anger had gotten the best of you.

"Karen. About keeping my name anonymous, don't bother." You hit send and without missing a beat, you dialled Cecil's number. If Ward wanted to play dirty, you had no problem playing it his way.

"Heyyo," Cecil answered in a drowsy tone.

"Hey, I need a big favour."

***

You stormed your way up to Ward's office, ignoring the protests of his assistant clomping after you in heels she wasn't comfortable running in.

"Ma'am!" She whisper-shouted frantically after you as you burst into his office. Ward had turned to you with a shocked expression mid-sentence. A room full of important busy-bodies craning their necks to look at who cause this disturbance. Ward glared at you menacingly and then eyed his assistant who swallowed loudly. "I'm sorry Mr Meachum. I tried to stop her."

"That's quite alright. We're just finished in here," Ward buttoned his three-piece suit-jacket and motioned for the men to exit the room. A fake smile tugging at his lips. When you were finally alone, Ward closed the door behind him before walking over to his desk. He leaned his tall frame against it languidly. When he didn't speak, you did.

"A fucking text, Ward? You don't have the balls to fire me yourself, you had your assistant type up the fucking thing?" You tried to keep a handle on your temper. "What was the reason? Please tell me there's a better reason than your hurt pride!"

Ward gave you a cheeky smile, enjoying your anger a bit too much. "Well, you mean despite you showing up late to the meeting the other day, then feeding me some bullshit excuse of traffic being the reason you were late? And don't even get me started on all the other times you've put off work hours to do God knows what!"

"You're firing me for tardiness? I'm the one who spearheaded this expansion project in the first place. Without me-"

"I'm firing you for unprofessional conduct. You can do whatever you please after office hours, but social calls the same day you're late to the closure of the project you were in charge of? That's unacceptable."

"So this is about your dumb fucking ego!"

Ward's eye twitched and you could all but see his professional disguise begin to crack, "I expect you to remove yourself from the premises immediately before I call security. You can collect your things from rece-"

Before Ward could finish his threat, you took out your phone and pressed send on a video file. In an instant, Ward's phone chimed from his desk. He glanced over at it and saw your name on the email.

"The fuck is this?" Ward asked, an eyebrow arched.

"This is me choosing to stoop to your level, Ward." Your words were saturated in disgust.

"Is this a threat?" He gawked at you, completely surprised.

"Open it and find out."

Ward did as you suggested and his face went pale. The video showed him rifling through his desk drawer and pulling out a small tin, before proceeding to empty it of its contents and snort the white powder that came from it.

"I think that camera angle suits you. Does those cheekbones of yours the justice they deserve." You held up your own phone which played the same video.

"You bitch!" Ward snarled.

You took a step back and held up a single finger, "I'd be very careful about what you do next, Ward. One press of a button and I send this video to a very respectful reporter whom I was just in talks with a few hours ago. Then the whole world will know that the respectable and business savvy, Ward Meachum has a coke problem."

He clenched his fists till they went white, "How the fuck did you get your hands on that? Are you spying on me now?"

You laughed, "I have better things to do, Ward. But don't forget, I'm great at making connections. And this is a video from your security cameras in your office. I just know a guy who's good with computers."

"What do you want," Ward's words came out hesitantly.

"My job back for starters. I've worked too hard for someone like you to get in the way of it. Shouldn't be too hard to do, I'm guessing you hadn't consulted anyone about it. We can just keep your email between you, me and your lovely assistant."

Ward folded his arms and took a tentative step forward. He was trying to reassert his position of power, but you didn't budge. "And how do I know you aren't bluffing? I have a PR department available around the clock. We can spin this video however we want."

"Read tomorrows paper," you said snidely. "And once you realise I'm not bluffing. Add a raise while you’re at it." You added before walking out of his office. Adrenaline soaked your muscles and you felt powerful. As the door closed behind you, you heard a crash coming from Ward's office. His assistant looked at you with wide-eyes.

"Might want to hold off Mr Meachum's appointments for the day. Something tells me he won’t be in a very cooperative mood today." You winked at the assistant and rode the elevator to the carpark.

***

As you walked to your car, your phone rang. You sighed and rolled your eyes. "Jesus, I can't catch a break today." When you saw the caller ID you were pleasantly surprised. "Mom?"

"Honey, hey! I was worried I wouldn't get a hold of you, busy schedule of yours and all that," she rambled quickly in that shaky tone that had become her new default in the last couple of years. "I- Uh…"

Your heart began to race with worry, "Is everything okay?" You interjected.

"What? Oh, oh, yes! Everything's fine. Why wouldn't it be? I'm calling because there's something important I have to… Umm. Why don't you come home for a bit and I'll explain everything."

"Mom, what is this about?"

"See you soon," she said hurriedly, cutting the line straight after.

"What?" You stood dumbfounded and slightly worried. You made your way to your car at a jogging pace and set off for the family mansion.  

When you arrived, you were surprised to find a car parked by the driveway. You didn't pay it much attention, you were more preoccupied with finding out what that weird phone call was about. You rang the doorbell and the house butler answered the door. He seemed baffled to see you. To be fair, you were surprised you hadn't talked yourself out of driving through that accursed gate brandished with your father’s initials.

"Weathermire." You greeted him professionally.

"Miss Y/N. It's been a long time. I last saw you at the--"

"Gala. My mother called me. Do you know where she is?"

"The kitchen I believe, miss."

"Thank you," you made your way through the grand opulent mansion with familiarity.

"Would you like me to inform your Father-"

"No," you said almost instantly. "It’s better he doesn't know."

When you got to the kitchen, you were greeted by the image of your mother and several cook staff preparing food.

"Oh, Darling. You got here quicker than I expected," your mother said gleefully. She walked over to hug you, wiping her wet hands on her apron. She looked elegant as usual. Weathermire entered the kitchen just then and with a simple glance, she instructed him to go off and do something. He complied with a simple bow.

"Mom, what's all this? When you called, I thought…" You didn't know what to say, you honestly didn't know what to make of her phone call. You shook your head. "Why did you call me here?"

"Oh, well I figured we could have a little family dinner. I have been sat at an empty table for weeks now. Your father always has his meetings, you always have yours. I figured today there would be no excuses for you to be antagonistic towards each other."

You snorted, "Whatever brought that idea on?"

Just as your words escaped your mouth, Weathermire opened the doors to your father's study and your father and his guest stepped into the kitchen. Everyone's expression -except for your mother's- was that of being caught unawares.

"Billy?" You asked in shock. But as soon as you said his name, you regretted it.

"Do you two know each other?" Your father asked with a stiff tone.

You shot Billy a look you hoped mirrored 'Don't tell them about us'.

Billy, like the chameleon he was, flawlessly kept his composure and replied, "Yes, we had the pleasure of meeting at your Gala a few weeks ago." He smiled at your parents dashingly.

"You never told me you knew my daughter," Your father said.

"Your daughter?" Billy pretended to be caught off-guard. Now it was Billy's turn to shoot you a knowing look, "It never came up."

"We only talked for a brief moment. There wasn't any polite way to bring up my parentage to a complete stranger." You said through gritted teeth.

Your fathers eyes squinted in your direction and your mother cleared her throat, "Come now, we can all get to know each other better over some food."

Billy and you simultaneously tried to object but your mother interrupted, "Hush, you're both staying for dinner and that's the end of it."

You put on a painful grin. Something in Billy's expression found this whole exchange humorous.

"You two go set up the table, we'll be right over." You mother ushered them out of the kitchen.

You sighed when it was just you and your mother in the room. "How long have you known?" You asked her, not even bothering to deny you were more than acquainted with Billy.

"Since I saw the two of you leaving the Gala together." She had a smile on that showed she was proud of her meddling. "When he came over to discuss business with your father… well, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to have a reason for the both of you to be civilised and enjoy a meal with your mother while she got to know this very nice man I've heard nothing about, by the way."

"There's nothing to say. We went out for drinks once."

Your mother eyed you for a moment, not believing you for a second.

"Okay, maybe twice. But he's not--"

"I'm not what?" Billy asked.

Chapter Seven!

MASTERPOST | For Tumblr App

Tags:@songtoyou @rainyboul @itsjaynebird @delusionsofnostalgia @andreiaafaria @500daysofbecky

Permatags: @thechickvic @gruffle1 @notawarriorjustyet @electroma89

[hecallsmehischild]

IZ Fanfic - Hey Spacejerk - Bonus

Surprise! So these fragments are not part of the story. However it took me a few tries to get the last chapter the way I wanted, and I wanted to put those efforts somewhere. While they didn’t fit exactly right, I really liked certain aspects of them. So consider them bonus snippets. No, there will not be more about them. They are just failed attempts at the final chapter of Hey Spacejerk.

Attempt #1: Child vampire stakeout

The hall light flickered as Dib kicked at the ratty brown carpet runner. Someone had drunk staple-gunned it in place so it sported several trip-hazard folds sticking up to catch unsuspecting shufflers. Though the competing stereos and crying babies might cover up an approach on floorboards that cracked like gunshots, it wasn’t good to take those kind of chances. A painful encounter with a Jersey devil had taught him that paranormal creatures living in plain sight often knew when they were being hunted and took detailed inventory of their home-base’s typical sensory input. They rarely missed subtle changes like, say, an unfamiliar set of footsteps. With that in mind, Zim had been sent up the side of the crumbly apartment building to watch for the target’s departure and signal an all-clear.

He lifted his hand up to his nose, his finger hovering just over the bridge of his glasses. Pushing his glasses up would send a cricket chirp to Zim, an unobtrusive check-in that wouldn’t compromise his position. A tap to the right glasses arm would open two way communication. A tap to the left glasses arm would send audio without receiving any. The new setup had drastically reduced their blunders in the last few months.

If Zim didn’t chirp the all-clear signal in ninety seconds, Dib decided, he’d chirp to see if things were still okay.

Of course things were fine. He scolded himself, jamming his hands in the pockets of his signature floor-length black trenchcoat. Zim would have alerted him if he’d run into anything he couldn’t handle. There had been that one situation with the fae… but they weren’t inspecting a mushroom ring this time. Zim would be fine.

There. Two quick chirps through the receiver in his glasses frame. All clear. Dib strode down the hall, giving a wide berth to the radiator that smelled like something had died underneath and took the stairs two at a time. Questionable-looking brown smears covered long stretches of the wall and the air was thick with the smell of marijuana. Up. Up. Up to the seventh floor and down the hall, passing doors with numbers crooked, upside down, or just missing.

Apartment 704 had the same tired red paint that every other door had, but none of the peeling paint or mold spots. Strips were missing, but the surface had been sanded smooth, and there wasn’t a sign of mud or stains. The door was already ajar. Cautious, Dib tapped the bridge of his glasses once, double checking with Zim.

Two fast chirps back and Dib entered, shutting the door behind him. Under his feet was a worn but clean little rainbow doormat. The walls, though beige, fairly gleamed. The threadbare carpeting was flush with the floor. Dib ran a gloved hand along the counter and pulled it back dust-free.

“Doubtful I could find any germs, even with microgoggles,” Zim marveled, poking his head into the fridge and freezer. “Nothing here. Empty refrigerator. Cleaning supplies in the cupboard, but no food.”

Dib glanced at a small bookshelf crammed with raggedy paperbacks. He pulled one out at random. “The Selection. Kiera Cass.” He stuck his tongue out. “Cover tells me it’s a princessy love triangle.” He slid it back in its place.

Zim grabbed it back off the shelf, inspecting it. “Love triangle. Terminology to describe a recurring concept in various mediums of storytelling where creature number one cannot decide whether to mate with creature number two or creature number three. Sometimes creature number two and creature three want to mate with each other, and creature number one is furious. But how can you tell just by looking at the picture on front?”

Dib shrugged. “Eh, publishers tend to put very similar visual cues on books that emphasize a particular ‘recurring concept’ in their storytelling.”

Zim inspected the book, thumbing through a few pages. “Note to PAK, begin database of published book covers for cross referencing.”

“I’d count that as less important than figuring out that you shouldn’t go shouting your name at the fae when they ask.”

“It was one time! I was not warned! When are you going to stop mocking me?”

“The day you stop reacting.” Dib pulled a couple more books to check for hidden compartments but his enthusiasm was fading. A couple anime and cartoon posters hung on the wall, their edges carefully repaired with tape. A twin mattress with overlarge mickey mouse bedding was crammed into the corner. No TV, no electronics, and according to Zim, no food.

Dib lifted the mattress. Underneath was a ziplock bag with a few dollars and coins in it, but nothing else. “Zim, you got visual confirmation of her leaving? ‘Cause right now we’re not getting more than circumstantial evidence.”

“She took the fire escape down.” Zim pointed at the window he had likely used for his own entrance. Dib approached, scratching a nail along a pane. A thick layer of jet black paint curled away under his nail. Blackout curtains hung on a bent rail overhead.

“I was expecting a hidden store of blood somewhere,” Dib admitted. “But it doesn’t look like she has the cash to get a hidden cold storage system, and you already checked the freezer.”

“Those are children’s cartoons, are they not?” Zim pointed at the cheerful bedspread. “Perhaps your informants overestimated her age.”

“That’s possible, but who knows how long she’s been whatever age she is, too.” Dib sighed. “This is a mess. No way to determine if she’s a threat or not from this.”

Zim cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Agent Mothman, we should consider waiting here and speaking to her when she returns. Perhaps she has something to say for herself.”

Dib slowly slid the book he was holding back in its place, keeping his eyes on the shelf. Stilted formality was a cue Zim had locked onto from their lessons about saying-what-you-mean-without-actually-saying-it. If she was anywhere, she was probably at the window, and he wasn’t going to spook her by glancing over. “You have a point, Agent Spiderlegs.”

Reason dropped: They’re way too competent, so it’s been a long time and that makes it harder to do exposition right. Also for what purpose are they here? Is it to protect this child vampire? Is it to recruit her? See if she’s a threat or not? Exactly what is their standing in the Eyeball by now? It kicked up more questions than I was willing to answer in a final chapter but MAN did I love playing with setting clues for a bit.

Attempt #2: PAK replacement trials

“Would you stop twitching already?” Dib squinted along the headlamp’s beam into the mess of Zim’s PAK. “Okay, so there’s a blueish glassy cylinder in here that’s filled with tiny bead-like things. Glass is cracked.”

A long string of Irken curses followed this observation.

“Right. I take it that’s not easy to get ahold of. Start figuring out how to explain to me what this does and I’ll see if we can’t find a substitute you can use to patch it up.”

“That is pure Meekrob valgrathstal! You cannot just substitute and patch like you’re repairing a ship’s hull! This is a component of my existence!” Zim screeched.

“Well we don’t have a lot of other options, Zim!” Dib flipped the PAK shut, rubbing his eyes. “That’s enough for now. I don’t think we can probe farther in until we have some materials to repair you.”

Morose, Zim twisted around to face his workspace. Reaching into the top drawer, he pulled out the makeup kit Dib had pieced together for him and began applying a white paste to his face. It was a temporary solution that served a double purpose as water repellent and a base over which Zim would apply a nosepiece, prosthetic ears, and tan foundation.

Dib plopped down on his bed and sighed. It was going to be rocky for a while on their new pay level, but Agent Darkbooty had thrown in a deposit on a mediocre apartment near Zim’s old base, as well as some used furniture. Hopefully in a few months they could scrape together enough funds to start experimenting with earthly substances that had a shot at operating as replacement PAK components.

The damage from the Tallests’ attack on Zim plus his internal battle for control had cost Zim dearly. Attempting to activate any sort of hologram triggered an agonizing shock, and until Dib could reach the deeper circuitry to remove the pain/pleasure conditioning hardware, they would have to rely on low-tech special effects to mask Zim’s appearance. And Zim could no longer initiate repairs on his own PAK, as the amount of time he could separate from it had been cut in half. In addition, he now he required something akin to sleep in order to function properly. For about five hours per day, Zim had to shut down all PAK functions except life support and lie comatose. It was up to Dib to “restart” Zim, and Mars have mercy if he was even thirty seconds late.

He wished Zim would cut him some slack when he slipped up. On the other hand, Zim was swallowing huge amounts of humble pie while learning, so maybe Dib just had to let the browbeating sessions go.

Reason dropped: was too much of a downer. Slipping too much into exposition. I wanted to reward the protagonists more than this.

[asgardian--angels]

Noodle’s Involvement in #FreeMurdoc

There’s a lot we don’t know right now about phase 5 and the #FreeMurdoc campaign. But it’s clear that hints are being dropped, peppered throughout recent press releases, photos, interviews, etc. It’s difficult right now to interpret everything we’re being given - what’s important, what isn’t, what we should be paying attention to. I’ve been talking with @sampersandman a lot and one thing that’s stood out consistently is Noodle’s reaction to the #FreeMurdoc campaign.

The first official, publicized mention of #FreeMurdoc is here, a photo for the Vive Latino concert in March 2018, with Noodle:

(the phrase Free Murdoc is on the blimp. And feel free to correct me if I’m wrong here about this being the first public mention, I wasn’t a fan yet. But what’s important is that it’s Noodle in the picture.)

This is only about a month after it was made known at the Brit Awards that Murdoc was in prison. A week later, another picture featuring Noodle and FreeMurdoc:

(his face is on the sign)

Then, in May, we have Noodle and Ace at the Kentucky Derby, where it’s said that one of the race horses had Free Murdoc written down its leg. 

When confronted about this during the Noisey interview, Noodle responded

She then proceeds to dropkick the interviewer, causing him to change the topic. (This has already been pointed out as suspicious by others here on Tumblr!) Noodle even follows with “For now, Murdoc is in a place with lots of bars and locks.” (bold mine) In light of the other band members seeming not to be concerned with Murdoc’s freedom, and them even trying to disperse Free Murdoc protesters at concerts, this seems an important word choice. Noodle seems confident that Murdoc’s predicament is temporary. She also speaks to the importance of the band sticking together. Perhaps she knows Murdoc is needed for some larger purpose.

The above photos put Noodle at the center of three separate Free Murdoc related posts. Now, she isn’t alone in any of these pictures, but what’s significant is that she is the constant. Russel is in the first two, and Ace in the third, but Noodle is always in the forefront (and more than that, she’s placed on the side of the photo where the Murdoc-related item is). 

I would also argue that the Muds Mug (as I call it) seen on Instagram belongs to Noodle.

 In the posters that come with The Now Now, Noodle can be seen with a similar Frankenstein mug, and Jamie posted several other drawings of items seen at Noodle’s bedside at the same time as the mug, which upon inspection is shown to be just out of shot in the final art piece (the cushion and arm line up exactly). Therefore, this acts as yet another direct connection to Murdoc, and shows that she is still thinking of him while he is in prison.

Now, let’s move on to Murdoc in prison. Disregarding for now the info we’re given about HOW Murdoc got there (deserves its own post, probably will write one soon) we can just examine what we learn about Noodle through the chat bot and the rest of that Noisey interview. 

Noodle has frozen Murdoc’s bank account. 

Noodle is the only member of the band to contact him, sending him a single thumbs up emoji. (2D said that he accidentally sent Murdoc a cake, but Murdoc has made no mention of this, so it’s likely not important)

We don’t know why she’s frozen his account, but the emoji is definitely significant. Nothing says suspicious like a cryptic coded text, right? All we need now is neon flashing lights. However, the fact that Murdoc readily shared this information suggests he is not privy to whatever Noodle may be doing. He seemed just as confused as us (he was not aware of the Free Murdoc campaign until he was told by the interviewer either).  

So three questions remain. Firstly, what IS Noodle’s involvement with Free Murdoc? They maintain that it’s fan-started (which is not true - at the very least they coined the phrase, publicized it, and let it take hold, and then the petition was started - for the phase to work, Free Murdoc had to come into existence). But could Noodle have started it? She has been following the Free Murdoc instagram since its inception, which certainly raises questions. But if nothing else, it appears she is secretly supporting it, and may be involved in some sort of ploy to free him. Are there inconsistencies? A couple. Namely, the Now Now Youtube Q&A, where, when asked about her memories of the band growing up, she says ‘2D was like my brother/pet, Russel was my uncle, and Murdoc I try to forget.’ Whether this was intentional, perhaps even to throw us off or make it seem like she doesn’t care, or is just bad writing due to whoever was answering the questions not being aware of the lore or upcoming plot, I am not sure. But for the most part, the official interviews and art seem to support the idea Noodle has something planned. 

Question 2 - Does she have accomplices? Out of the band members, Noodle is the only one showing anything more than total disregard or annoyance at the prospect of the Free Murdoc campaign. 2D claims to have better things to worry about, and says he is happy to be free of the ‘demon’ that plagued him (and of course, trying to decipher where 2D is at has been the focus of much of our theorizing as of late). Russel has made his position clear, that he does not want Murdoc back. He has been the most aggressive on this front. It’s very unlikely Russel has anything to do with Free Murdoc. During the chat, Murdoc calls him a traitor and a wanker, for reasons unknown. But there are no fuzzy feelings between them right now, that’s for sure. Ace has no comment. Now, we still know very little about Ace, and more likely than not, that’s intentional. I’ve seen all kinds of theories about Ace’s intentions, his role in all of this, and it’s just too early to tell. Noodle is on friendly terms with him, that’s all we know. Maybe she’s trying to get him on her side, or secretly manipulate him, maybe they’re in it together, maybe Ace framed Murdoc himself and is using Noodle, WHO KNOWS. But the one mistake we could make is to underestimate Noodle. Never do that. She can take care of herself. (As for who framed Murdoc, a possible clue could be found in THIS chat response. He seems adamant that 2D and Noodle are innocent, but Russel and Ace are up for grabs)

Lastly, what would Noodle’s motives be for breaking Murdoc out of prison? Let’s turn to the lore. It is well-established that Murdoc and Noodle have something of a father-daughter relationship. Murdoc especially feels this bond deeply - listen to literally anything from Plastic Beach, Pirate Radio, or these tweets -  and has attested to this as recently as the chat:

(from here)

Noodle is the only band member that Murdoc speaks positively or neutrally of no matter what you ask him on the chat (so far as I know). The other members usually receive negative responses unless you use specifically worded prompts.

After El Mañana and Plastic Beach, their relationship certainly became more complex, and is something Murdoc still feels guilty about (see this interview, where Noodle says how Murdoc has doted on her for seven years now). But Noodle has acknowledged that she does not hate him for it, rather that the situation is complicated, and that she is there to comfort him (after a bad acid trip, same difference). Noodle has shown to be more tolerant of Murdoc than the other members, possibly because he already treats her better and she knows that she holds a special place in his heart. Whatever the specifics, they are close, and this may be playing into some hidden motive she has for breaking him out. Loyalty to her surrogate father probably isn’t enough to fuel a whole prison breakout plot, but it could be a start to something bigger. 

I would keep a close eye on Noodle in the coming months.

That’s what I’ve got so far. Only time will tell if we get any more hints! Let me know if I’ve missed anything! Thoughts?

[rosalynbair]

Nerd Kylo Ren Headcanons

AO3 | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Kylo’s a nerd

Warnings: None

A/N: This came up in the group chat so whaddup bbs @damndriver @galaxygarbage @your-mom-kylo ((has this been done before??))

Kylo isn’t exactly the nerdiest of nerds. He’s not a geek (he’s horrible at math and Leia once sent him to math camp because he was failing so hard in school) He just really likes nerd content.

Math camp in itself was a horrible experience for him so please don’t ever ask about it (even if you see the cute little photo in the Solo’s living room of Kylo in his bright orange I Survived Math Camp t-shirt)

Kylo originally finds solace in comic books when he was only eight. He had a lisp as a child and hated speaking to people because they would always comment on it or make him repeat everything that he had said.

His lisp had made him retreat into awkward silence, refusing to speak which then showed itself through his high level of shyness.

It only gets worse when he’s prescribed glasses because he’s strained them too much from reading in the dark when he’s supposed to be sleeping.

They’re really big, square glasses at first. Until he gets into his teens and he finally replaces them with in-style rectangular ones with a black frame. Though once he graduates high school, he only uses them for emergencies since he’s discovered what contact lenses are and how to put them in.

When he’s in his tenth and eleventh grade, he’s collected a really incredible amount of vintage and original comic books, signed memorabilia (his favorite is the signed Batman poster he has above his dresser that’s signed by everyone who has played him on the big screen)

His bookshelf is lined with Funko Pops, they’re mostly superheroes, but he has a few characters from tv shows. He has a lot of them still in their boxes stacked up beside his computer desk as well.

He rides an old skateboard most of the time when he’s in high school. He gets his license at 16 and his parents buy him a second hand car, but he prefers his skateboard unless it’s raining or during the winter.

Nic wants me to let everyone know that Kylo wears VANS all the time. Every season, he’s always wearing the same type of VANS (black on black with old laces. He gets a new pair every school year.)

Kylo has trash taste in music. It’s eclectic and often includes movie scores and music that nobody has heard of. (He does have a few songs that people DO know, he’s a fan of Kendrick Lamar and a few of Drake’s songs.)

By the time Kylo is in twelfth grade, he’s completed his speech therapy so his lisp no longer exists. Though he still doesn’t like to talk to people that much.

Kylo goes to college on the East Coast for fine art and photography when he graduates. He lives in a shared dorm for the first year with a guy he actually makes friends with.

During his second year, he moves into a shitty apartment after staying at his parent’s place for the summer. He grows up a lot during that summer, he goes through a final growth spurt and he’s no longer lanky and awkward. His voice has lowered by a shit ton, and he grows his cropped hair out until it’s shaggy and Leia complains about it.

He’s not as quiet as he was when he was younger - he’s one of those kids that college does real well and when they come back to visit, you barely recognize them.

Kylo is snarky with a hilarious sense of humor. He also has a smirk that can make anyone swoon (he doesn’t know this though. He still thinks he’s still 14 and awkward)

When he goes back to school // moves into his new apartment, he takes as much as he can in his shitty little car that he’s had since he was 16 and has barely maintained.

Leia and Han end up shipping the rest of his stuff out to him so he can have everything he wants and needs for his ~aesthetic~

While he’s going to school, he ends up working at a comic book store a block away from his building. He gets a lot of shit from there on his employee discount, especially new games for his stations, or the Switch he had preordered for himself (he’s finished Breath of the Wild twice already)

This lame ass probably also streamed his playthrough on Twitch as well.

He meets you during November of second year.

Unlike Kylo, you’re not a nerd. But you do know a lot about what he likes. Which draws him towards you while you’re both in the cafe on campus.

At first, Kylo thinks you’re way out of his league. You’re pretty and have friends, you have your own study group and you tutor students when they need help.

You both end up near each other a lot, you work at the bookstore on campus to pay your rent. Kylo comes in a lot when he needs a snack, energy drink, or a new set of charcoal pencils for his class.

He doesn’t know it, but he’s really good at smooth talking you. He thinks he’s still the awkward kid with a lisp, so he thinks he’s just talking out of his ass. But he’s been late to class a few times because he’s so caught up in talking to you.

There’s one point where he’s running ridiculously late to class, and he has to stop by the bookstore to get a new notebook.

He’s also wearing his glasses in public for the first time since he’s started college.

His hair is a mess, his flannel shirt is inside out and he’s in the same shirt as the day before. He’s also wearing the wrong pair of VANS, which means they’re old and half tattered as he runs into the store.

You watch him, amused. He’s rushing to grab a spiral notebook for his lecture, his bag half open and hung over one of his shoulders.

You check him out quickly, making him take a deep breath as he pays.

It’s then that you ask him out on a date.

Kylo is an absolute mess, and doesn’t even hear your question as he yells ‘thanks!’ and runs out.

You’re embarrassed, but realize how rushed he was. And you knew he wasn’t too great with people.

Your question doesn’t even register to Kylo until he’s halfway to his class (which is on the other side of the campus)

He yells ‘Fuck’ really loud and pulls out his cracked phone from his pocket as he jogs, He searches up the bookstore number and dials it, cursing as it rings.

“College Bookstore, y/n speaking, how can I help yo-”

“Yes!” he yells, breathless as he gets into the building “Yes i’ll go on a date with you.”

“Okay.” You reply with a laugh “I have caller ID on here, so i’ll text you my number. Have a good class Kylo.”

Kylo is 25 minutes late to his class, and he’s so out of focus while he bounces his leg the entire time. Waiting for your text to come through.

He thinks you’ve forgotten until he remembers that his lecture hall doesn’t have any service. He forces himself to take notes at that point, trying to be productive until his class was over.

When he’s dismissed, he packs up quickly and rushes outside. Checking his phone every step of the way until he had full bars again. His phone lights up with a text from an unknown number.

He’s grinning as he sees the shitty DC meme you sent to him, followed by letting him know that this was in fact your number.

Kylo picks up a coffee after that, grabbing you the one you usually order and dropping it off to you at the bookstore. You thank him happily, letting yourself lean against the counter to talk to him.

You let him pick the type of date, saying that you would be done your shift in an hour, and then your class would be done at six. (he’s adjusting his glasses aggressively the entire time he talks to you, resuming the nervous habit he had as a kid.)

He picks you up from the campus in his car, the engine stuttering and the gear shift clunking loudly.

He takes you to the comic book shop, and the diner across the street from it.

That’s right. Kylo takes you to his work for your first date. (He needed to pick up something as well. So it’s like hitting two birds with one stone.)

It was originally going to be in and out, he didn’t want to bore you with the shop. But you end up staying in there for almost an hour, pointing out games you’ve played and arguing about which character and which game in the series was better. (also making fun of the people who think that Link is Zelda.)

It’s the best (and only) date he’s ever been on.

You both go out on a date once a week until you finally make it official after a couple of months. You had skipped the honeymoon/newly dating phase and had gone directly into the type of couple that has been dating for years.

No one really understands why you two are together. From the exterior, you look like opposites. But anyone who’s friends with either of you know how much you two are similar.

There could be a group conversation and you can banch off until there’s only the two of you talking about something the others don’t understand.

You always complain about his car. You hate it. You’d rather him carry you like a bride while he rides his skateboard.

There’s a particular moment where the car stalls and Kylo reassures you “Don’t worry, this happens every once in a while.”

“WE’RE ON THE HIGHWAY KYLO.”

Kylo gets a new car after that.

In his third year of college, you move in once your lease is over. You share his space, but everything has to be moved around to accommodate you and your stuff. So Kylo moves most of his stuff into the second bedroom that used to house his old roommate.

It’s like the dream nerd room. With all his memorabilia, posters, his really expensive gaming computer and a tv with all his gaming systems.

He wears his glasses whenever he’s at home. And you love it. He looks so fuckin cute when he wears them.

You really like the little indents he gets on his nose from wearing them for long periods of time.

You also pick up on his habit of adjusting them when he’s nervous, anxious, or shy. Which you find really cute. (he even attempts to do it when he’s not even wearing his glasses)

When Kylo’s with you, he feels like he’s all the superheroes he used to look up to. He loves the hell out of you.

Even after being together for a long time, he still takes you on dates to the comic store (which he ends up being the manager for in his final year) and you still get into heated arguments about games and comics.

All in all, you guys are like a dream team. Kylo still can’t get over the fact that you picked him out of all people.

Taglist: @tonguepopperr @ben-solo @lumifuer @secretlygrantaire @sdavid09 @imagine-this-motherfucker @bellaren18 @oh-adam

[maeleeme]

HER

Chapter 02: Beginning

A/N: Story also crossposted in AO3 & AFF.

| Inner thoughts in Italics |

Staring at the screen, Namjoon languidly nodded in agreement. Standing at approximately 5’6” was a petite woman with a sun kissed face with soft rounded cheeks and a cute button nose. Her wide-set eyes were like pools of dark chocolate, framed by neatly plucked eyebrows shaped into a perfect arch.  Her lips plump, an attractive rose budded colour which were currently smiling at the camera displaying a set of perfect teeth. She was beautiful… just wasn’t his type.

He glanced at the two members and noticed Jimin so concentrated on the woman. That’s a first… Slowly, a cheshire smile appeared on Namjoon’s face.

“I think our Jiminnie has a crush!” he called out teasingly.

Jimin awkwardly coughed and looked away from the television screen, suddenly caught off guard.

“Just saying she was pretty. That’s all hyung…” he said nonchalantly, shrugging his defined shoulders before picking up the remote and moving the channel into the music chart show he originally was meant to watch before he got distracted.

“It’s not like I’ll ever meet her…” he whispered, not realising Namjoon had heard the whole thing.

Namjoon guffawed, not believing what he had just heard. “What was that Jiminnie?!”

“Ah—ah.. nothing hyung! Just saying how I can’t wait when we starting promoting again soon.” Jimin pointedly indicated towards the screen. Now that wasn’t a lie. BTS were hoping to release an album soon which was to become a part of their chronology.

“Ne.. ne—” Namjoon teased — “You nearly sounded like our international ARMY fans when they compare the limited interaction they get in comparison to our Korean ARMY fans.”

Jimin was about to retort back when Jin-hyung called from the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready guys! Wash up and come to the table while its still hot!”

“Finally!!” Jungkook yelled out eagerly before rushing towards the kitchen.

To avoid further grilling, Jimin immediately followed the maknae to the kitchen where the rest of the members resided, hoping Namjoon-hyung doesn't bring up the subject again.

Minutes before…

Showtime, Mia thought as the car slowly came to a halt in front of the theatre where the premier was being held, neatly stopping in front of the half a mile red carpet specially set out for this special occasion. Outside, the environment was charged with excitement with one side of the venue consisting with crowds of enthusiastic people lining against the barrier while the other side consisted of press junkets all awaiting behind the winding stanchion with their camera; all set up to interview her and her colleagues. Movie posters were scattered throughout the site and plastered against the railing with the sole purpose to promote the film. A long backdrop could also be seen at the end of the carpet where some of her fellow colleagues were already posing in front of forever hungry paparazzi's.

“Mia…” a voice called out, halting Mia’s admiration of the venue before glancing at Haeun-unnie who was sitting right beside her. Having been in the film industry for only four years, it never failed to astound and surprise Mia of how far she had come and the support she has received and continues to receive from her fans. She was truly honoured and blessed.

“You know me... I don’t mean to pry but what’s happened the past couple of months and what’s happened between you and Rob—“

“Unnie! It’s fine... I’m fine.” Mia insisted. “I just don’t want to waste any more minute mulling over that jerk” — she exasperated  — “I’m just glad I found him out before it got any deeper… does that make sense?” Mia asked glancing at her unnie, her eyes also insisting Haeun to not discuss the subject any further. She was in a good place in her life now.

Slowly nodding her head, “As your manager… but firstly your caring unnie—“ Haeun slowly teased — “I want to make sure you're in a right frame of mind. Specially with all of this going on.” she said seriously while nudging her head towards the chaotic site outside.

Mia gently smiled, “I am unnie… I wouldn’t lie to you now.” she said before cutely sticking her tongue out towards her to break the somber vibe. “I know how you love to report everything to Eomeoni in regards to everything about me. I just wished you wouldn’t go into too much detail… I’m 22 for pit sake! Not an irresponsible teen wilding out painting the whole town red!”

Haeun laughed along with Mia. She preferred this Mia. A carefree Mia. As her first cousin, it hurt her when Mia went through such difficult situations. As a close family member, Haeun knew Mia inside out; before the film offers, the fame, before the million dollar contracts. Heck! she had gotten quite acquainted with Mia when she went through her teen angst years. So when Mia was hurt, Haeun was also hurting. She was like the dongsaeng she never had and likewise, Haeun truly wanted only the best thing for her. 
 Besides Mark who was Mia's younger brother, men has traipsed through her life and caused more hurt than necessary. Sadly started by her own father.

“What’s with the long face unnie? We have no time for your melodramatics tonight!” Mia said teasingly. “My crowd awaits for me!” she shouted dramatically before fluttering her eyelashes and framing her petite face with both hands.

“Araso.. araso. Let’s go hotshot!”

"Just saying!”

Security moved towards Mia’s side of the car before prying the door open. Taking a slow deep breath in advance to calm her racing heart, Mia then gracefully got out of the car and smiled towards the excited audience. 
 Wanting to keep it simple, Mia wore a slim fitting nude dress, held by two thin spaghetti straps upfront before crisscrossing behind her nude back while her jet black hair was expertly tousled up with soft curled ringlets framing her face. For jewellery, she kept it minimal with a pair of diamond earrings and a white gold thin bracelet encasing her left wrist; both of which were gifts from her Eomma and dongsaeng. A little piece of them that she could bring along to this type of events; her own good luck charms. 
To the people around her, she simply looked stunning and elegant.  Screams increased in volume at her entrance and she could just about pick up her name being called out by the swarm of people. She glided towards the carpet before stopping midway between the press and the crowd. As per protocol, she faced the blinding cameras first to pose for the paparazzi to promote the film and when it was finally acceptable to move on, Mia turned and greeted the crowd.

“Hey guys! Thanks for coming along and I hope you guys haven’t been waiting for too long…”

“I will wait till the end of time for you!!!” one man shouted enthusiastically, one hand animatedly waving a magazine with her recent photoshoot cover on; with a marker pen in the other.

Grabbing the pen and the magazine altogether, Mia quickly signed her autograph before returning them back to their rightful owner. “Thank you but you’re too kind.” With one last smile she moved down the red carpet greeting her fans and repeating this same process for the next couple of minutes before Haeun-unnie gently touched her forearm and leaned towards her to whisper in her ear.

“You’ve got a quick interview with Tara from Movie Screen Junk.” Haeun said before nodding her head towards one side of the barricade. Nodding her head to show she was aware of the situation, Mia thanked the current person she was speaking to before moving towards the section where the interviews were specifically being held.

“Good to see you again Tara!”

“And you Mia! I also think that congratulations are in order! Looking at this rowdy crowd and according to reviews from the previews, it looks like you have another award winning film bagged.”

“Thank you but I can’t take all the credit! I’ll have to say that our lovely director John Thompson did such an amazing job showcasing the story. All I did was read the script and hope I did a good enough job portraying the character.” Mia jibed jokingly. “But on a serious note, everyone worked extremely hard in order to feature the story and do it justice. Sometimes it can be difficult to transition a books plot line into film and I think John did an exceptional job. It specially helped that we had the author come along to set and worked along with the actors during the filming process. It specially helped me get into the nitty gritty of my character.”

“I think you did more than read the script…”

The interview went on for a couple of minutes before Mia thanked Tara and was directed by the staff to enter the theatre hall in preparation to preview the film. After two hours of watching herself on screen, Mia decided that she wasn’t prepared for the after party and decided to head straight back to her hotel room alongside Haeun who was extremely happy with the films outcome but more than ready to relax. Both knew that they had busy schedules to fulfil for the next couple of months to promote the film so anytime free was golden in their eyes.

Settling herself comfortably in the car for the drive back to the hotel room, she excitedly shouted at Andrew; her driver for the night to play her ‘jams’. Closing her eyes, she contentedly listened.

Soft piano keys started to play in the background before a soothing hum could be heard then a deep voice started to slowly rap. Yes BTS. Hold me tight! Mia smiled dreamily.

[cannibalhouse]

RDC3 Personal Highlights (spoilers: feels!)

So it’s been a few days since RDC3 and I still have not finished processing all the emotions. But I wanted to post my personal con highlights while they’re still fresh in my memory. Brace yourselves--it’s going to be a long one!

Firstly, let me get a few basics out of the way. It was beyond wonderful to see my wonderful fannibal family again. Truly, you guys make my life better every day in every imaginable way. In fact, my only real regret is that I was running around like a mad woman on a mission all weekend, and didn’t spend as much time with friends old and new as I wanted to. I didn’t even give out many of my posters! I hope you all forgive me <3 

I got a chance to meet a couple of my favourite artists, @camilleflyingrotten and @theseavoices - I think I kept my cool and didn’t fangirl too hard. I also briefly ran into @bansheegrahamtao who sadly did not throw wine at me again, I was very disappointed :P 

I would also like to thank everyone for all the amazing and thoughtful gifts and swag I came away with--including a beautiful handmade scarf from one of my dear friends. I will cherish it all, and plan to plaster the art all over the walls when @the-winnowing-wind and I officially move in together this month.

Onto the guests, who were all fantastic. Ellen seemed lovely, though I missed her solo q&a on Sat because I was stewarding. Demore was an absolute delight and so, so funny and sweet! Scott and Aaron were on their ‘best behaviour’ after their shenanigans at the first con... So naturally this translated into 50 Shades of Hannibal, featuring such scenes as Scott wearing Hannibal’s actual collar from ‘Digestivo’, Scott in high heels pretending to be Hannibal while Aaron as Will cried and smacked him with a riding crop, Aaron on his belly kissing Scott’s feet, and an actual adorable kiss. Love these guys so much. Myself and the co-writer of CopCop also had a chance to explain the upcoming comic to them, and they seemed excited at the prospect so watch this space!

(We’ll talk about Bryan in a little bit. I have a lot to say about Bryan.)

Hugh Dancy was just such a friendly, genuine person, and he seemed to have such a great time the whole weekend. He was so up for everything, dressing up with Bryan for the costume contest, doing all the crazy poses in photos... Speaking of which:

I said ‘I’m going to freak out’ because my mind went blank and I couldn’t think of a funny pose. Bryan said ‘should we freak out too?’ and then Hugh... Oh Hugh. There are no words for how much I love this picture.

I sadly missed the fannibal musical because I was taking part in the costume contest, but let me say that I’m so proud of everyone involved, and really grateful that I got to contribute in small small way with a few illustrations in the booklet. I’ve heard the performance was beyond amazing!

As for the costume contest, everyone looked amazing. In what is becoming a weird con tradition, the Chesapeake Stripper made a return, despite her utter terror at doing that in front of Hugh and Bryan. Luckily, she was joined by a friend--the fearless and fabulous @violetdebauched as the Stripper!Will to my Stripper!Hannibal. The pictures I’ve seen of the guests’ faces are amazing, and I’ve heard Hugh’s jaw dropped when Stripper!Will came out. And even though I ever so slightly... fell over in my stripper heels... right in front of my idols... Well, we looked fierce :P

I’d also like to share a pic of my Hannibal vinyl which I’ve had signed this con and last, and which now bears the sentiment ‘Great Stripping’ from Mr Aaron Abrams. This is the kind of positive affirmation I need in my life ha ha!

Now. Let’s talk about Bryan. Sit down, we’ll be here a while. 

I’ll start by saying I had a few moments with Bryan that I can’t talk about publicly, either because they were deeply, deeply personal, or because they relate to something which may happen in the future but I don’t want to jinx it.

Bryan was just a bundle of energy and enthusiasm and love the entire weekend. From yelling ‘I want to crowd-surf!’ and going running around the hall slapping high fives, to signing autographs on Sunday for 8 freaking hours straight without taking a break (except to do the closing ceremony, and going straight back to it), he was just incredible. He was just so excited to see everyone and could not be stopped from jumping out of whatever he was supposed to be doing to take selfies or snap a pic of someone’s costume or tattoo (he took a pic of my arm ha ha!). 

Speaking of his marathon autograph session, I stewarded it the whole time (3.30pm-11.30pm, phew!) and I don’t think he stopped smiling once that entire time. He was insistent on spending time with each and every person and it was a real delight to witness. Towards the end of the session, when there were only a few dozen people left, I remembered I had some of these posters in my bag and handed them out to the people queuing to spark some conversation with them, since we were all tired by then. I went back to guarding the door, when a fannibal ran up to me and said Bryan wanted one of the posters--he’d seen someone holding it, but I don’t think he knew where it had come from. I didn’t have any left on my person, so the lovely fannibal gave hers back and the staff let me slip it onto Bryan’s table (lovely fannibal, if you’re reading this, let me know who you are and I’ll send you a replacement and something pretty to say thank you!). Sadly, this almost ended in tears because one person at the end of the queue did something shockingly spiteful and unkind which resulted in Bryan losing the poster... I won’t go into details because it’s not worth the drama. But thanks to the kindness of the staff, and possibly because I have good karma, we got him a spare and he told me he wants to frame it. I don’t know if he will, but it was so sweet of him to say I just cried! That was the second time he made me cry that day! As for the first time...

As many of you know, I was compiling a fan book for Bryan featuring art, letters, poems, and pictures from fannibals all over the world. I got around 200 submissions, so thank you all so much for making that happen! Bryan already knew about the book because he somehow found my post on Twitter, and had said he was super excited. Boy was he excited.

I spent weeks working on the book, culiminating in two sleepless nights before the con feverishly finalizing the proofs, and sent it off to the printer Thursday morning. Kudos to my printers for hearing a frantic fannibal on the phone begging them to rush the order and doing such a great job of it! It arrived at the hotel shortly I did on Friday, and I began taking it around for people to sign and write messages on the inside covers. After all, I had titled it the Fannibal Yearbook, so that seemed appropriate. Thank you all for the enthusiastic and heartfelt response!

On Saturday morning, I had a photo with Bryan and decided to get one of us holding the book, because I was really attached to it by now and wanted something to remember it by. Bryan’s face lit up when he saw it and he said he’d been looking forward to it, but I told him he couldn’t have it yet and shouldn’t look at it! He said he loved it already and squeezed me after we’d taken the picture:

On Sunday, with the book now chock-full of messages for him, I decided the best time to present it to him would be during his q&a panel with Hugh, so everyone could enjoy his reaction (it wasn’t my book, so many people made it possible and they all deserved to share that moment). I got in line, and when I got to the mic and told him we’d like to present him the book, his reaction was amazing. He grinned and said something like ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all weekend! It’s the last day of the con and I thought, where’s my book, I want my book!’ Then he hopped down off the stage to take it, and gave me a huge hug.

(photo by @solamentenic on Twitter, whose tumblr name momentarily escapes me!)

(Photo by Naomi Roper Photogaphy)

I believe what happened next was Bryan thanking everyone for all their lovely art and letters, etc... But I was suddenly very emotional and didn’t want him to see me cry (again, that resolve lasted all of about 10 hours) so I went back to my seat and had a wee sob. Thanks to the person who gave me a tissue! 

I hope he loves the book, and maybe he will tweet some pictures at some point! Then earlier today, someone sent me a link to these pictures on the Starfury Instragram account:

These pictures were already EVERYTHING. And then I noticed which page they were looking at in the first picture. It’s this one:

The one in the bottom right corner that Hugh seems to be looking/pointing at? That’s a piece of my own art that I included: The Brides of Hannibal pastiche poster, aka my favourite thing I’ve ever drawn. I don’t know if they’re looking at the same page in the second picture, but that reaction is so beautiful and pure that, whatever caused it, it’s giving me life! Just think guys--we made Bryan throw his head back laughing, we did it!  High five!

I’m going to wrap it up there because this has taken 3 hours to write already, even though I’m definitely forgetting about 100 amazing things that happened. Thank you all for the hugs, the gifts, the laughs, and just basically for being the most lovely and caring group of people I’ve ever had the privilege of associating with. I love you all, and I can’t wait until we dine together again!

Yours totally functional and more or less sane,

Sam xx

(p.s. I think I’m right in saying Bryan confirmed Will and Hannibal are switches?? This makes me suuuuuper happy)

[neoculturetaekookies-blog]

Aligned

Pairing: Mark Lee and OC

Genre: Fluff

Anon: smtrainee from canada ('99) & ceo holds a big meeting to introduce you. you and mark become best friends & he makes you call him oppa althought you're like 2 months younger i don't want to be too specific so you can take it from there :) LOTS OF FLUFF PLEASE AND PLEASE MAKE IT LONGGG

Yesterday, becoming an SM trainee was a dream. Today, it became reality. Never in a blue moon did you imagine you would really be standing in the legendary SM practice room full of bright lights and fake sky curtains. 

You paced around the room anxiously as you waited for the ceo of SM to take you to an introductory meeting. Before long, Lee Soo Man joins the quiet room with you. Skipping the long talks, he guides you upstairs to the conference rooms. Everything was surreal as you walk pass framed albums and large posters of the successful company artists. Opening two large wooden doors, he steps aside and allows you to enter first. 

The large oval table settled in the middle of the room is tightly surrounded by unfamiliar faces. As you scan the faces closely, you realize that these are also new trainees like yourself, but among the them, were idols as well, NCT 127 to be exact. Lee Soo Man gently gestures you to stand at the head of the table in order to introduce yourself to the rest of the trainees and NCT.

After a brief introduction, he follows with a speech about how you were all picked because of outstanding talents. His words turn into a dull buzz as you distract yourself from the lecture. It was beyond belief that it was your first day here and you’re already in the same room as NCT. Trainees rarely meet other idols until they’re ready to debut. 

You snap back to reality when Lee Soo Min hands out folders to each trainee. Inside held information for dorms as well as schedules. He brings attention to the bright yellow sheet tucked to the left pocket. The paper had 9 boxes, each box had 6 names, 5 of the trainees and one bold, of an NCT member’s. Addressing his goodbyes, Lee Soo Min leaves the NCT members to take over.

Upon Taeyong’s request, you all separate into the corresponding groups. Checking the paper a second time, you find the name in bold in your box. Mark is the leader for your group. Your group, aside from Mark, consisted of all Korean girls who seem to know one another. You quietly tail your group to the hallway with Mark leading.

“Alright, hey everyone! Welcome and congratulations on beginning your journey with SM Entertainment. My name’s Mark Lee and I’m part of NCT and I will be you guide for the next few days. We should probably go around and introduce ourselves but I was thinking we should save that for lunch. In the meantime, I’ll take you guys around on a tour!” His bright personality displayed on TV is nothing compared to real life, he seemed like a genuinely sweet guy and you were glad you were assigned with him considering the fact he was one of the few members who could speak English.

After long hours of walking around the company, you were finally able to sit down for lunch. Naturally, the other girls in your group paired up and talked privately among themselves, leaving you on the end on the table across from Mark. Although the cafeteria was loud as voices bounced on one another, the silence between you and Mark was killing.

You quickly finished your meal as Mark silently poked at his. The table vibrated as he bounced his left leg, you took that as boredom or maybe even nervousness but you felt the same way. You watched as individuals walked around the room until the clearing of Mark’s throat caught your attention.

“So where are you from?” You looked back at Mark to find his eyes fully focused on you with curiosity.

“I’m from Canada!” You responded. You watched as his eyebrows raise and his mouth form into a smile.

“No way! Me too!” Lunch passed by in a blink of an eye as you two connected through surprising similarities. You guys recalled similar childhood memories of the shared country and through a matter of time, you finally felt comfortable.

It’s been months since orientation and although you spent most of your days with the other trainees, you felt the closest to Mark. Due to the clash of schedules, it was rare to run into him which forced the two of you guys to rely on texting one another. 

Now that new years day is coming up, SM allows every idol and trainee to take a couple days off to go and visit their families. NCT 127 is wrapping their promotions in two days which fortunately gives Mark time to reconnect with you. 

Unfortunately for you both, your parents live in Canada, making it difficult to visit them, especially when only given a couple days and the flight there alone would take up the break itself. That leaves you to have to spend new years by yourself but because Mark is staying in Korea as well for break, you two decided having company is better than none!

.

.

.

You shuffled over to your dorm door to invite Mark in from the cold. Your shared dorm was completely empty for the other girls left for their hometowns. You had the new years countdown on your TV to make the vibe somewhat celebratory to distract the homesickness.  

“I brought some snacks!” Mark beamed as he placed two large grocery bags on the kitchen counter. The two of you guys instantly hopped on the counter and devoured the goods. He began sharing events over the promotion period and before you knew it, the tv announced 10 minutes to countdown.

Overtime, you considered Mark your best friend. He was the only one you felt safe to talk to and spend time with. He obviously felt the same way considering the fact he shared a story about the time he clogged the toilet and pissed the members off. You two never felt the need not to share secrets and show your real personalities.

Although that’s what you believe, Mark was off tonight. After he shared his stories causing you to burst into giggles, he would always glance quickly at you and then look away. When you guys sat on the sofa to watch the new years performances, he would sit at the very end of the sofa, hugging the leg instead of sitting by you. 

As much as you hope this isn’t the reason, you felt like he didn’t want to spend the night with you. Maybe he was homesick? Or wanted to spend it with some friends from school? Or maybe he just wanted to be alone.

You couldn’t help but feel guilty, you were the one who brought it up and he agreed to it. Knowing him, he can never afford to say no, he can’t bare hurting others. 

“Hey, are you alright?” You asked Mark as you watch him distract himself with his phone instead of watching the tv.

“Yeah, what makes you think I’m not?” He asked in confusion as you watch him closely.

“Just making sure.” You said, if you kept digging in deeper, you knew you would make him mad or even get yourself heated.

The next few minutes consisted of you two sitting in silence. When it comes to Mark and you, silence never lasted for more than a minute. There was always something to talk about, from stories during practice to random shower thoughts.

“Do you want to go on the balcony for the fireworks? There’s only two more minutes.” You asked, hoping he’d agree. He silently nods and follows behind you. You lean against the railing and listen to your neighbors talk loudly as they got ready for the celebration. 

“Hey, Mark-” He turns to you with a straight face as you attempt to analyze the cold vibe brewing from him.

“Oppa.” He cuts you off. He’s finally talking again after almost an hour of silence and it didn’t even make sense.

“What?” 

“Call me oppa.” He ordered while maintaining the straight face. 

“Wait what?” You awkwardly chuckle, this was beyond out of the ordinary. He’s always been okay with you just calling him Mark.

“Just do it.” His face remained stone. Your neighbors from below are shouting numbers as the new year is approaching. You hesitate in confusion before obliging and whisper:

“Mark oppa?” As the individuals beside, above, and below you guys shout the final number and fire works begin exploding, Mark leans down and captures your lips.

You were so pleased with his actions but so confused by his those leading up to it. He wraps one arm around your waist and uses his other hand to tilt your chin. You both break the kiss and simultaneously step backwards to avoid eye contact.

“Sorry.” He follows the apology by clearing his throat.

“No, it’s okay.” You obtain the courage to look him in the face and you watch as he looks left and right while mouthing words to himself.

“I like you.” He quickly states and watches as you give him a smile as a sign of shared feelings. Taking that as a ticket to continue, he clears his throat again.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to do. And I-I have been trying to ignore those feelings and when you invited m-me over, I just tried not to think of it. And I don’t know, I just couldn’t help it I guess? Every time you laughed or giggled, I didn’t know what to do so I started ignoring you. I-I didn’t know what else to do and then I just kissed you a-and I’m s-sorry, fuck-”

You were fully amused at the stammering boy in front of you. In the movies, they get the viewers hyped on the idea of a boy smoothly confessing but you can’t help but enjoy this clumsy confession instead. It gave you another reason to fall heads over heals for Mark.

“Hey!” You cut him off as panic rushes through his eyes, causing you to break into a fit of laughter. Losing your train of thought through the amusement, you shake your head and walk towards him. Placing both of your hands on his cheeks, you lean up and kiss him back to give him your response.

Despite the spontaneous confession and slight awkwardness lingering around, you were all smiles to the fact you ended the year with your best friend and started the new year with your now so boyfriend.

[wolfenm]

The Problems with Reposting

Recently someone reposted my work -- as in, downloaded it and then posted it from their computer -- on their Insta and their Twitter. I politely but firmly pointed out that they did not have my permission, that they really should reblog / retweet an artist��s work rather than repost, and asked them to take it down. They BLOCKED me without responding on Twitter. I THINK they took it down from Insta, but I'm not 100% sure it’s *their* gallery that I'm seeing (which would mean they didn’t block me there), or one with a similar name and theme, because the one I saw before had less images. Anyway, I'm betting they did indeed remove it.

To their credit, they DID @  me on both posts, which I do appreciate. I know what some of you are thinking: Wolfie, that’s like a link, and you’re getting exposure -- why are you still upset? Except it’s really not.

Keep in mind that I am not some mega-corporation -- I don't have a huge following, I don't make tons of money (practically none, really -- I do it mostly for the joy), and my work is not instantly recognisable (although, really, if a famous artist posts their work, you should hit that reblog / retweet / share button in those cases, too). And for those who are thinking, “well, posting on the internet means you give up your rights” -- NO. That is 100% false. Read these:

https://sarafhawkins.com/copyright-online-photo-etiquette/

https://fairuse.stanford.edu/overview/faqs/copyright-protection/

https://about.deviantart.com/policy/copyright/

Here are some of the problems with reposting instead of reblogging/etc.

1) With it reposted in someone else’s space, if I want or need to change or even take the work down ... I can’t, because I don't have access to their account. 

2) It adds a level of distance between the artists and the work, with dangerous potential for further separation. Even if the one who reposted gives the link to the artists’ site, that doesn’t guarantee that someone who then takes it from THEM will share that credit.

Once, someone took an image of my Grootmas tree, stripped my credit from the photo, and posted it on their page, saying nothing about who it was by, so as far as anyone knew, they had made it. It was shared by over a thousand people before I learned about it. I contacted the poster, and he laughed and said “You didn't make it -- it’s not yours.”) So I showed him the original, with my credit still on it (meaning it had the part of the photo that his version was missing, not just the credit) -- and he insisted that proved nothing. So I took a pic of myself with Grootmas, with a sign saying who I was. *Finally*, he conceded and took the post down, but those people who reposted it would never know who really made it.

3) Too many people only link to the parent page of the artist, not the display page of the image. For artists like myself who post on DeviantArt, if a person does actually follow the link (many do not!), they then have to hunt for the image in the gallery -- if they don't find it, we don't get the pageviews. That makes it a lot harder to judge the success of a work, because we're not aware that people are even seeing it in those cases.

4) Not everyone who sees a repost speaks the same language as the reposter. This means they may not get that the reposter isn’t the originator, and is crediting someone else in the description, rather than just tagging a friend they want to show the work to, or a client who paid for a commission, etc -- context is lost.

5) Sometimes those credits get lost by the way the social media site displays on certain devices -- people may not see the actual credit at all, as it gets hidden behind a “see more” link.

6) It’s basically stealing “likes”. I mean, if someone reblogs my work, MY numbers go up, and helps my work to be seen more. It’s pretty much the same at Twitter. But if someone ELSE posts it directly to their social media, as a separate post not connected to me, it’s only THEIR numbers that go up, THEIR exposure that increases, not mine.

Putting a lot of work into something, only to see someone else get more recognition for it than myself, doesn't exactly encourage me to make more art, ya know? If you like an indie artist’s work, SUPPORT THEM, in the best way possible: share THEIR posts. Don't take control of their work out of their hands. If you want to use it for something outside of just a simple post, GET PERMISSION.

Once, some fanzine informed me, *after* the fact, that they had used art of mine in a post of theirs, but added that they would take it down if I wanted them to. Let me say right now that, even if I had been okay with the post it was included in, I still would have been hella annoyed that it they hadn't asked permission FIRST. As it was, I was even more upset when I discovered HOW it was used: it was art of Harry and Petunia that I had done for a fanfic of mine, and they were using it as a header for a ficrec of someone ELSE’S fanfic. (Seriously?? They used my work for my story to celebrate someone *else’s* story?? HOW could that be anything but rude??) At any rate, I saw on their site that you have to fill out a form to opt *out* of your stuff being used!! Outraged, I pointed out that inclusion in their zine should be opt-IN, not opt-OUT ... and they replied that it would take too long then for them to gather content, so they wouldn't be able to share artists’ works with the world, framing it like they were doing people a favour and we should be grateful, even if we never asked them to do it. 

Don't be like that, please. You aren't loving the artists when you act like this; you’re acting entitled and using them for your own benefit.

I know, I know,  “Wolfie, you hypocrite, you do fanworks! You aren't getting permission from the original artists!” Putting aside that I tend to gravitate more towards creators who welcome and encourage fanworks than ones who don’t .... you're right, and I entirely understand if you lump me in with the very people I'm complaining about. Any justifications I make are, in the end, me rationalising and excusing, whether I’m right or not.

So what are my justifications? I'm remixing hella well-known works, often owned by corporations (ones that I likely have given more than a little money to). I'm taking something that has become part of the fabric of our society, a touchstone, and participating in the conversations about it. I’m sharing my own thoughts about the stories by framing those thoughts in the form of new stories -- save for occasional quotes, I'm not sharing the actual original text. I give credit to the originators. When I do portraits, I typically use promo art, and often compile multiple images and otherwise put my own spin in things. My brain forms the words that my versions of the characters speak, and the actions they do, and my hands lay down the lines. (And I don't sell the fanworks, but that’s a whole other discussion.) 

I don't make gifs, but yes, I do share them -- these soundless, quick scenes that are used on the internet as a form of conversation, as well as a means to  study, re-experience, and share favourite moments of a show. They’re no substitution for the real thing, In fact, I have started watching shows BECAUSE of gifsets! (And showrunners aren’t, unlike me, ever going to need or want to take down old versions -- presumably they have put forward the best version they ever expect to do. Once a work is distributed en masse, that ship has sailed.)

There is no risk whatsoever of anyone mistaking me as the creator of the franchises I make fanworks for. Everyone knows where to find the source material. Everyone SHOULD be smart enough to understand that the originators are not actually participants in fanworks; if the reader / viewer doesn't like something, they should know not to hold the originators responsible for what a fan does with their characters (and if they aren’t smart enough, gods help us; we’re doomed).

(Also, if I know that a creator has forbidden fanfic, I *respect that and don’t do it*. And as I said, some of the fandoms I indulge in have even actively welcomed fanworks, rather than simply turning a blind eye. Like, Sony sent me a bunch of stuff for being “Fanartist of the Month" for October of 2004 on their Spider-Man website, and my Iron Man / Tony Stark painting ranked #1 for a while on the movie site for the first film, and James Gunn shared my Grootmas -- yes, he reposted, but I let the content-originators slide on that point. Hell, Warner Bros actually had a fanfic thread on their Harry Potter website years ago, Rowling having given her blessing, and had files for fans to use to make fansite graphics ....)