#focused on follower count bc number have always fucked with my brain

[c-nan]

i feel so much comfortable on here than on twitter and idk why it’s such a shock every time i come back here

[angelicspaceprince]

Ouija

Author: Ama

Title: Ouija

Pairing: Possible Future Beetlejuice/Reader

Character/s: Beetlejuice

Word Count: 2, 473 words

Warnings: Beetlejuice has dyslexia, I do not, I tried.

Tags: @yankyo, @justballoonfishthings, @breadbudzo, @aethersghoulette, @ironically-deadinside, @beetlejuicecansteponme, @beetlebitchywitch (some of you asked, some of you I just tagged bc)

Prompt: You find a Ouija board and end up communicating with a ghost who has trouble spelling. Together you figure out a way for him to communicate with you a little bit easier.

Notes: I promised this fic like ages ago, based off of @slut-4-beetlejuice hcs that they wrote ages ago and we kinda did a dance of reblogs where we added to each other. But yeah, this is what I came up with! My plan for this fic is to do it in two parts and if y’all want more I can write more later, but I’m basically gonna portray your side of the story and then our favourite residential ghost with the most. This, obviously, is the reader’s side of the story. This is my first attempt at writing Beetlejuice as a fic, not as a hc so please be gentle with me. I hope y’all enjoy!Also, I had speechie friendo talk to me about dyslexia and I based Beej’s spelling mistakes around the notes she sent me.

Ouija Board Inspiration

Buy Me a Coffee

Ouija

It had started out innocently enough. You were bored and decided to spend the day exploring your new attic. You found a box filled with old games and decided that you wanted to sort through them, see if any were unusual or rare that you could keep. Most of them, you planned to donate somewhere, or put them back into storage.

You weren’t expecting much. Maybe a torn-up game of Twister, or Mouse Trap. Half a pack of Uno cards, or a ruined game of Trouble, and for the most part, you got what you expected. But when you found the Ouija board, you were a little surprised. Most of the games were for children, and weren’t in good enough nick to keep, let alone play. But the Ouija board looked like it just came out of the factory that created it. You go to lift the case from the bottom of the box, surprised by how heavy it was when you started to lift, nearly dropping it twice when you finally got it out and onto the table in front of you. Carefully, you lift the lid.

No wonder it was heavy. The Ouija board was wooden, and bigger than you were expecting. The dark wood had been engraved with the usual things a Ouija has, Yes, No, Goodbye, numbers 0-9 and every letter of the alphabet, the outside decorated with various designs you couldn’t make out in the dark. The one you could recognise was the pentagram engraved between the Yes and the No on the board. The planchette was also heavy, made from the same wood as the board, engraved with just two x’s, indicating where to put your finger.

You look over at the board as you hold the planchette in your hands. You were bored, yes. The attic was now in a state, yes. But the urge to test out the Ouija board was beginning to get too great. You organise yourself on the floor, placing the planchette in the middle of the board and just.... waiting. Not really sure on what to do now.

“Uh…hello?” Your voice is uncertain before you yelp when the cursor on the board begins to move. Yes, your fingers are on the x’s, but you weren’t providing any pressure. It just moved on its own.

‘H – I.’ The cursor spells out as your brain sort circuits as it returns to the centre of the board.

“Uhhhhh.” You pause, not sure how to proceed. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?” The planchette seems to shake a little before moving towards the ‘No’ part of the board, returning to the centre. “You don’t want to tell me?” It moves back to the ‘No’. “That’s ok then. Can I ask if you’re really dead?” It moves to the ‘Yes’. “Is that yes I can ask, or yes you are?”

‘YES, I – A – M – D – E – D.’ You repeat the phrase once you’ve spelt out the letters quietly to show you’re aware of which letter the ghost was indicating with. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d get a response, or one so soon.”

‘F – L – G – U – R – E – D.’

“Can I ask some questions about life after death?” You wait for the cursor to move over the Yes before continuing. “Is there a hell?”

So, it continued. Every day, after work, you’d come home and race up to the attic and spend time talking to your ghostly friend, who still wouldn’t tell you their name. All you knew was they were dead, had been for centuries, were bored, and were something called a bio-exorcist (which took a couple of attempts to spell). You also learnt that any form of parental figure, they hated, and any form of rules and regulations was not something they enjoyed.

You also noticed that they had a weird tendency to refuse certain questions or struggled to spell words correctly when they did. Sure, exorcist, intelligence and February weren’t easy words to spell when you weren’t writing them down, but replacing b’s for d’s and p’s for q’s, c’s for o’s and n’s for m’s. There were a lot of little things you picked up over time made you think perhaps there was more to this story.

So, you changed direction. One evening, you were talking about work and things that annoyed you and a question you thought they’d be fine answering, but the planchette just started to shake. You pause for a second, trying to figure out what was wrong. “Do you want to answer the question?” The cursor slides quickly and heavily to the ‘Yes’, causing you to move your whole body with it before it tentatively returns to the centre of the board. You think for a second as the planchette continues to vibrate with what feels like annoyance. “Can you spell the answer?” The planchette stops moving and everything is still. It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. You wait for thirty seconds before you say “Hello?” and like that, the cursor slowly, tentatively, goes over towards the ‘No’ part of the board followed by a ‘A-L-W-A-Y-S-B-E-E-M-A-B-A-D-S-P-E-L-E-R. “Oh. That’s ok, I’m pretty rubbish without spell check too. Take your time.” Everything stops for a second, the energy that is always humming when you’re up here seems to have dropped to a low throb, and you slowly remove your hands from the planchette as you think.

‘How can I make this easier for them?’ You hum for a second before returning your hands to the board. “Would you prefer yes or no questions?” The planchette slides quickly over to the ‘Yes’ and you smile. “Ok, if something isn’t a yes or no question, I’ll provide answers and you can slide to the numbers to tell me which one is appropriate. Does that work?” Again, ‘Yes’.

Life moves on. It was weird at first, but you got used to asking only yes or no questions and becoming content with that as a response. A few more weeks went by, you slowly began to spend more time talking to the ghost in the attic. It was fascinating, and you were lonely and suspected they were too. Why else would they talk to you night after night after night? You never brought up the idea that perhaps they may have been lonely, but you focused on making sure like they felt like they had a friend.

A few more weeks had passed before you came up with a new idea. As good as it was to make them feel like they weren’t stupid for their spelling, you felt like you were muting them or speaking on their behalf. So, on your Saturday evening as you ate your dinner and you asked a question about if they enjoyed scaring people whenever they got the chance and the planchette moved by its own accord, you stared down at the board for a few minutes in shock. “You can move things WITHOUT me helping?”

‘Yes.’

“Why the fuck do I have to hold it then?” You forget to offer options as you take a breath, hearing the planchette slide across the board. “Its fine, I was just in shock.” You explain, not looking at what the ghost was being said. An idea pings in your head. “With your bad spelling, does it affect your reading or is it easier? One for both are hard, two for reading is easier.”

The planchette wobbles for a second before it slides over between the two. ‘R-E-A-D-I-M-G-I-S-S-T-I-L-L-H-A-R-D.’ It spells out. ‘B-UT-N-O-T-A-S-H-A-R-D-A-S-S-P-E-L-I-M-G.’

You can sense the confusion in the room as you nod, already thinking of a plan. “Have you always struggled with reading and spelling?” ‘A-L-W-A-Y-S-B-U-T-I-N-J-U-S-T-S-T-U-P-I-D’ You you’re your heart break slightly when they call themselves that. “Sweetheart, have you ever heard of the term dyslexia?” ‘No’. “It’s where your brain struggles to recognise letters or sounds, it makes it hard for people to read and write. They often miss letters or get letters mixed up, or sometimes even add letters that aren’t meant to be there.” You explain gently. “I think you may have the same kind my friend has. He reads a lot even though it’s a struggle, but if you get him to spell, he’s absolutely hopeless. Amazing at math, though. Like a walking calculator.” You smile as you get distracted before you shake your head and bring yourself back to the present. “I don’t think you’re stupid, love, I think perhaps your brain just isn’t wired to like letters and words.” You explain as you fiddle with your hands, unsure on where to put them. The planchette doesn’t move, but you can feel the air growing thicker.

‘N-O-T-S-T-U-P-I-D’ – the planchette draws a question mark over the entire board. You shake your head.

“Not stupid at all, pet.” A few seconds pass before the planchette moves over to the ‘Goodbye’ section. You sigh, slightly disappointed that they wanted to leave so soon. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

You ran late to work the next day, replaying the conversation in your head with your resident ghost over and over again as it kept you up later and later into the night. Your plan wasn’t well thought out at this stage, but you could get things started.

You stay late after work to make up for the hour that you missed this morning before rushing to the bookshop, making it there 10 minutes before they closed. You found what you wanted and quickly purchased it before rushing home, making sure to grab something for dinner as you drive home.

The moment you arrived home and placed your bags by the front door, the house felt empty. For the first time since using the Ouija board, the house felt like you were the only one in it. Pulling out the Ouija board, you asked if they were here. Nothing. You put your fingers on the planchette. Nothing again. You call out to them to see if they were there, nothing. You sigh before packing it back up. Perhaps your new-found friend had moved on.

It was a few days before your ghostly friend returned. The house had felt barren the entire time they were gone, you had stopped bringing out the board the day they returned, figuring that they just weren’t going to come back. A loud crash from the living room caused you to run out from the kitchen where you were preparing dinner to see what had happened. On the floor was the Ouija board, set up and ready to go with the planchette moving wildly across the board, so fast you couldn’t keep up.

“Hang on, hang on, hang on.” You rush back upstairs to grab the item you had purchased for them the week prior before rushing back downstairs and putting it next to the board with a satisfying thud. “I got you a dictionary, they had one with pictures which I thought could help.” You explain to where you hoped the ghost was. You put a pen in front of the giant book. “Just…. point I guess to the word you want to say. If you want to try it this way that is, I thought it might be easier for you.”

The air seemed thick as you waited for something to move, the planchette or the book. Suddenly, the cover of the book seemed to gingerly open as the ghost slowly looked for the words he was looking for. ‘IT-IS-EASIER’ they indicated with the pen. You smile as the pages begin to turn in a flurry, clearly excited to be able to communicate with you a bit easier.

So, life continued. The ghost (who you later found out was a man) would follow you from room to room, carrying the pen and the book to indicate different words to you, making comments on nearly everything that he wasn’t able to before, from the shade of paint on your walls (he thought they should be green) to what you were wearing (he was really into you wearing stripes for some reason), he would readily give your opinion on everything. It was weird, but you could feel yourself slowly falling for the now forever talking ghost. The freedom that came with the dictionary meant that your conversations become more…. conversation like. He wasn’t restricted to just yes or no answers, and you weren’t restricted to staying in one room. You found yourself having dinners next to the constantly page flipping book and laughing at his bad jokes and giving some back of your own. You found small doodles on the outside of the dictionary too, his own little crude drawings he did when you weren’t home. It was nice, it felt like some kind of perverse kind of domestic.

It had been months since your initial contact with him, and you still didn’t know his name and, to be honest, it was beginning to bug you. You didn’t say or show your annoyance about not knowing his name, but you figured it was time you knew. So, when you came home that night and had set up your dinner in your usual set up, you finally decided to ask. “Can I know your name?”

It took a minute before your squatter decided to respond. ‘ORION-BRIGHT-STAR’.

“Orion’s brightest star?” You say, almost as a question as you pull out your phone to do a quick Google. “Beetlejuice?” You look up to see a fury of pages flying as he quickly makes his way over to the ‘A’ section of the dictionary.

‘AGAIN’

“Beetlejuice?”

The pen slams back down on the page. ‘AGAIN.’

You hesitate. “Beetlejuice?”

There was a crash, a bang, and way too much smoke that filled the room as bright green lights seemed to radiate from outside your house. You cough and wave your hand to clear the smoke from your mouth when you finally hear it.

“Thanks for that babes, I’ve been wanting you to see me for months now.” You blink before you see him. He was-

Cuter than you were expecting. Shorter too. Not the scary man you had envisioned, but rather an adorable guy dressed in arguably way too many stripes, even though it seemed to suit. The green in his hair was vibrant and his whole being seemed to shake with excitement. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to say.

“What’s wrong babes? Cat got your tongue?” He leans in closer to take a better look at you, but all you could focus on was the bright green of his eyes.

“You’re hotter than I imagined.” You heard yourself say before you turn bright, bright red. The grin on his face widens as he chuckles lowly, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh babes, we are going to have so much fun.”

[exhoe-imagines]

the green room → jww

summary → watching wonwoo’s twitch streams had always been something you’d enjoyed, but never in a million years did you think you’d run into him so casually at his daytime job

word count → ~2k

genre/warnings → gamer/streamer!au, florist!au, gn!reader who is oblivious to flowers and their meanings, random overwatch references that i had to guess on bc im clueless djfkdsjfsd

a/n → SO @gamerwoo did not think i could attack her,, hence this fic was born !! i pray it will wound her the way i am hoping for !! also any references to overwatch were made from the content i see about it on her blog/faq so thank u rocket for unknowingly educating a dumb bitch like me 😪

“Anyway, I’ll see you guys tomorrow at the same time.” The boy smiled into his webcam, giving a shy wave to the screen. His brown eyes were hidden behind his round glasses, but they did little to cover up the flustered blush that covered his cheeks. It was obvious, as usual, that ending a stream proved to be difficult for him -- the awkward void of noise from his game commentary or the sound effects coming from his computer speakers leaving him in uncomfortable silence as he said goodbye.

You giggled softly as the stream turned black, before his offline screen popped up, displaying his social media and schedule links in a thin blue font. There was no need to click on them, at least for you, since you’d memorized his handles and stream times months prior.

To call you a fan of gamerwoo_96’s twitch would have been a bit of an understatement, one could say. You were quite picky with who you spent your free time watching, especially when it came to hour long streams. Besides Wonwoo, which was his real name, only a few other lucky gamers had you regularly on their accounts -- notably, yutodagames and pcy92, but your casual viewing on their channel was nothing compared to your dedication to Wonwoo.

There was something about how natural he was at playing, that you and his other couple hundred regular followers greatly appreciated. He didn’t seem dedicated to becoming big on Twitch, even showing signs of embarrassment when a large number of people tuned in for his streams. However, no one, not even himself, could deny his channel grew rather quickly.

You’d stumbled across his account one Saturday while looking for Overwatch players, and you’d been hooked ever since. He wasn’t as loud or annoying as other guys his age on Twitch, but he wasn’t too quiet either, where it made it uncomfortable. He commented on things every now and then but stayed focused and would go silent every few moments. It was a nice balance, allowing you to concentrate on the gameplay, but also get to hear his thoughts, and very deep voice whenever he voiced his opinion on something.

Of course, you’d be lying if you didn’t say his looks kept you on his channel as well. He was cute, that much was obvious. His loose white shirts and tousled hair always gave him a laidback look, that contradicted the focus he’d put into his gameplay. Wonwoo’s nose would scrunch, his eyes squinting behind his gold glasses. It was downright adorable, and completely uncalled for considering he was already the prettiest gamer boy you’d ever seen.

Months later, you were still tuning in for his morning Saturday stream -- a perfect way to start your weekend if anyone asked you.

You clicked out of Twitch and closed your laptop before rolling on your back, letting out a deep sigh as you sunk into your bed. You had a list of errands to run, but you’d been putting them off, deeming Wonwoo’s stream more important. However, now that it ended, you had no excuse for putting off your tasks.

Begrudgingly, you got out of bed a few minutes later, trudging to your bathroom to get ready.

Mentally, you’d already planned your schedule for the day. Grocery shopping and getting gas were first, then gift shopping, and lastly, meeting your friend later in the afternoon to celebrate her birthday.

As expected, the first two errands were nothing special, and you got them done rather quickly. However, the next one was not as simple. Your friend had always loved flowers, and you wanted to get her a big bouquet when you greeted her. The only problem was, florists in your area were rare, which meant you had to drive out of town to find one.

“Thank god I don’t have any cold groceries,” you mumbled, before setting off on your detour.

When you finally pulled up to The Green Room, you were pleased with what you saw. It certainly seemed worth the drive, beautiful baskets and arrays of flowers decorating the outside of the small white shop.

Making sure you had your keys, wallet, and phone on you, you made your way to the entrance, noticing it seemed to be empty from your view through the large windows. Shrugging it off, you pushed the door open, a little bell sounding your arrival.

“Good morning,” a smooth voice from behind the counter greeted you. For a second, a slight feeling of recognition passed through you, and when you turned to face the cashier, you understood why.

Wonwoo stood there, a white apron tied around his waist, and a polite smile on his lips. Your eyes widened and your voice was caught in your throat, something he noticed quickly.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked, probably viewing your silence as confusion.

You had to be seeing things.

You shook your head quickly, squeaking out a response. “I-I don’t think so.”

Wonwoo nodded, looking back down at the book on the counter he had open. It was almost finished, and you swooned internally.

A bookworm too? you thought, how perfect is this boy?

Not wanting to stare too long, you scurried towards the back of the shop, trying to make yourself look busy as you racked your brain for an explanation as to why Wonwoo was running the one flower shop by your house. He’d never mentioned where he lived or where he worked, obviously, but never in your life did you imagine that out of everywhere in the world, he was a mere hour from your apartment complex.

What kind of fucking coincidence is this? you screamed internally, barely paying attention to the flowers as you passed them. Speaking of, you couldn’t wait to tell your friend -- she’d gotten sick of hearing you fangirl over your “little gamer boy” as she liked to call him. She was truly in for a treat now, as you’d probably never stop talking about the fact that you met him.

There was nothing you wanted more than to go back up to the counter and talk to him, but you had to get the flowers you’d come for.

The only problem was, you had no idea what to buy.

Your friend had told you all her favorite flowers, but there were so many, and with the thought of Wonwoo at the front of your mind, there was no way you were going to be able to remember them all, let alone know what they looked like.

Letting out a sigh, you decided to pick out a few flowers that looked pretty, and would maybe look nice together. It was the best you could do, and you only hoped your friend would appreciate the effort.

Sadly, it must have been pretty easy to spot how clueless you were, since, after a few minutes of picking different flowers, footsteps sounded near you.

“Who are you shopping for?” Wonwoo asked, as he stood next to you. His proximity and the natural warmth radiating off his form had you stuck in place, unable to escape.

“M-my friend.”

He hummed. “Special occasion?”

You nodded. “Her birthday.”

At that, Wonwoo visibly held back a wince. His eyes darted to the flowers in your hands before he looked back at you. “Maybe white lilies wouldn’t be the best choice then.” His voice was reserved, like he was worried about criticizing your choice. “They’re usually meant for funerals,” he awkwardly explained, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Oh god,” you groaned, “I really have no idea what I’m doing here.”

Wonwoo chuckled at that, visibly loosening up at your response. “It’s alright, it’s more common than you think.” He held out his hand, sending you a smile. “I can go put those back if you want me to help you make a new bunch.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “That’d be great, thank you.”

Wonwoo nodded, taking the flowers from your hand, his fingers long and warm as they brushed against your palm.

Hearing him ramble about flower types a few moments later was one of the greatest things your ears had ever been blessed with. You’d always liked his voice, but hearing him explain the different flowers and their meanings was the most you’d ever heard him talk at once, and it was amazing. Clearly, the shop was a huge passion of his, which you thought fit his personality perfectly.

“A couple of these alstroemerias, for friendship. Some yellow and orange gerberas too, maybe.” He was clearly mumbling to himself by then, plucking different flowers from around the shop and fitting them between each other. His skill was visible immediately, the bouquet effortlessly beautiful as he crafted it without a second thought.

By the time he was done, you were in awe. He sent you a sheepish smile as he led you back to the front counter, setting the flowers down as he moved behind the cash register.

“Thank you so much,” you said, pulling out your wallet as he told you the price. It seemed unusually low, compared to the price tags plastered across the store. You brushed it off, assuming a sale was happening or something.

“You’re really good at this,” you mentioned, as you picked up the bouquet, careful not to mess up all his work. “I wouldn’t have expected that.” You said the words before you could catch yourself, eyes widening as you looked up at Wonwoo.

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

You internally cursed yourself. There was no going back now. “I um, I’m used to seeing you on Twitch.”

You waited for the awkward response that would make you feel like a creep, but Wonwoo just smiled bashfully. “Really? I’ve never had someone recognize me, besides some friends and family, of course.”

You looked at him slightly in shock. “Are you serious? I watch your streams all the time,” you admitted, feeling some heat spread to your cheeks.

“What’s your username?” he asked curiously.

You told him, expecting he would just nod, but instead his eyes widened in recognition.

“You have the D.Va icon right?”

You tried not to openly gape, but the shock was too strong. Wonwoo, your favorite streamer, remembered you?

“Y-yeah I do.”

He smiled, glad he’d recognized you correctly.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you at the next stream then?” his tone was hopeful, and you nodded almost immediately.

“Of course.”

He nodded, and his usual awkwardness when it came to saying goodbye became apparent.

“Here um, take this, on me.” He grabbed a flower from one of the baskets behind the counter, and handed it to you with a blush.

You took it, mirroring his flustered expression. “T-thank you.” You smiled shyly before picking up your bouquet and waving him goodbye with your free hand. He tilted his head in response, and you quickly left the shop before he could notice how hard you were crushing on him.

You were able to hold back your scream of excitement until you made it to your car, when you slammed your hands against the steering wheel with a squeal.

However, nothing compared to your excitement when your friend noticed the flower Wonwoo gave you, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.

“Wonwoo gave you that?” she asked, grin growing as you nodded. “Did he tell you the meaning?”

You shook your head, and her expression brightened.

“Well,” she sing-songed, “if that ranunculus means what I think it does, it seems like a certain gamer boy finds you very attractive.”

[houseofdemi-blog]

Playing with Fire - 08 [Finale]

Summary: After breaking up with you, you decide the only way to get back at your -now ex-boyfriend and avoid public humilliation is by making a deal with resident bad boy Min Yoongi: you’ll give him money as long as he pretends to be your new boy.

Genre: Romance.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Rating: Mature  (BITCH READ IT IM NOT SPOILING ANYTHING THIS TIME)

Length: 3.3k

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 -  Part 7 - Part 8 [Finale]

A/N: wowowo so its finally here i decided to end this on part 08 bc 8 is my lucky number so anyways thank you so much for enjoying this as much as i enjoyed writing it and for your lovely messages im so emo now i need a moment BY THE WAY someone had the amazing idea of creating a playlist with songs inspired by the story so id love for you guys to send me which songs you think fit the fic?? id appreciate that a lot :)

Yoongi's eyes focused on the fan on the cieling. Staring, but not looking. Beer bottles surrounding his unmade bed; clothes scattered all over the floor; the TV's screen, pitch black. The window is closed. So is his door. The blinds are not entirely down. There are a few rays of afternoon to evening providing him with light. Enough light to keep staring at the cieling. A cigarette dangling from between his index and middle fingers. A lighter resting on his sheets, right next to his head. Ashes falling on the carpet, right on top of a small plastic bag of weed. Smoke filling the air as it filles his lungs. Blinding his vision, blinding his brain cells. The fan kept moving. Slowly. Too slowly. He didn't remember it being that slow. His eyes tried to keep up with the blades but they're too slow. He didn't remember them being that slow.

He heard his phone's ringtone in the distance.

He doesn't bother to pick it up. He hasn't picked up his phone since the moment you stopped picking up yours.

'Bro, what's up? How're you doing?'

He would snort if he could. If he had the energy to fake a laugh, to fake a smile. But his face hadn't left the scowl that appeared on it the morning he woke up to not find you beside him anymore. And that was exactly twenty nine days, eleven hours, thirty two minutes and fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.... seconds. But who was counting?

'You haven't left your apartment in almost two weeks, man.'

Of course he hadn't. He did leave his apartment the following two weeks after you started hiding from him. Because that's exactly what you were doing. And he knew you were hiding from him because those first two weeks he had been calling you, messaging you, he had been showing up at the places you and your friends -and you two together, for Christ's sake- always hung out at and -ignoring your neighbors' judgemental looks and the high possibility of your mum feeding his body to a Rottweiler- he had shown up at your doorstep, only to leave a couple minutes before when you hadn't answered the door.

'We just don't even know what's wrong with you. You should be happy that bitch disappeared.'

He should. He really should. He should be happy he didn't have to go to any of your friend's snobby parties. He should be happy he didn't have to pick you up from school everyday. He should be happy you were out of his apartment and his life.

Because at the end of the day, he knew this would happen. You both did. He knew the moment to approached him with such a stupid idea, the finale would be both of you going your separate ways. That's what your imaginary contract had said.

But he missed keeping an arm around you while a bunch of preppy kids threw daggers at him. He missed you greeting him with a -too enthusiastic, too feigned- kiss after saying goodbye to your classmates. He missed your legs on his lap, he missed the scent of your hair on his pillow and the way your body curled up to his in your sleep.

And, fuck it if he was crazy, but he was sure you had fallen for him as much as he had fallen for you. He knew it stopped being pretend the moment his lips met yours.

'You need to do something, Suga. You can't keep isolating yourself.'

Taking a long and last drag from his cigarette, he dropped the butt on the floor. He closed his eyes and held the smoke for a while, enjoying the burning feeling in his chest. It was better and way more enjoyable than that fucking knot in his stomach.

Yoongi read the paragraph all over again. His eyes read every word, analyzed every letter, every coma, while his head filled with questions and his chest filled with anger. His rough hands scrambled the paper at the sides. He hadn't realized his grip was so tight until his knuckes turned white. His jaw was clenched and his breathing was heavy.

He had opened his mail box three days later, closed the door to his apartment and sat on the couch skimming through bills to pay when he had come across a letter that definitely had nothing to do with his rent.

Un-fucking-believable.

It was the only way he could describe what he was feeling.

Standing up and grabbing his jacket and car keys, he had left his apartment again.

Yoongi walked through the café door, paper in hand. His eyes spotted her in the distance, laughing, talking, without a care in the world, and his boot claded feet immediately started making their way to her table in long and noisy strides. His hand almost smashed on the table, startling the group of people around her, who stopped the conversation to stare at him.

“Where is she?” his voice was low and menacing, but it was not shaky, it was not out of place. It was calm, steady, determined to get an answer.

Wendy gulped, knowing very well who he was referring to and knowing very well the look on his face said he was not there to play any games.“Yoongi, she doesn't want to talk to-”

“I don't give a shit if she doesn't want to talk to me. I want to talk to her and you're going to tell me where I can find her.” he said through gritted teeth. One of the boys- probably younger than Yoongi, wearing much expensive clothes than Yoongi and sporting a hairstyle that must have cost more than anything Yoongi could afford- stood up, ready to confront him. Wendy looked at him reassurangly, and he sat back down the moment Yoongi pierced him with his black orbs.

Wendy looked at him again, sighing. “She's in her house. I'm suppossed to meet up there in an hour or so because she wasn't feeling like hanging out.”

He didn’t need to hear anymore. He was practically out of the door the moment her first words left her mouth.

He was knocking at your front door faster than he had thought he would. It took you a while to answer, but when you finally did, you wish you hadn't.

The moment you saw him, you tried to close the door out of instinct, out of fear. He was faster though, his foot stepped between the door and him and  he placed the palm of his hand solidly on the door, keeping you from smashing it in his face.

Yoongi,being stronger than you -or maybe just not as tired as you were- pushed it open once again and rushed inside before you could even protest.

Your stomach couldn't help tightening when he passed next to you and his scent hit you. The same scent you had tried so hard to forget was also the same scent you had tried to remember. You had no other option but to finally close the door, not moving your hands from the handle after you did so. The thought of inevitably facing Yoongi was making you feel dizzy and sick, especially now that he was less than five feet away from you.

You turned around and was met with his dark eyes staring right at you and you took the time to admire him after a month.

He hadn't changed one bit, of course. His hair was the same pale blonde, almost white color. Almost as milky as his skin. His eyes were smudged with black eyeliner and ire and the bags under them confirmed he might have had the same amount of sleep as you. His lips, probably the most colorful thing about him, were still the same shade of pink, were still as plump and irresistibly kisseable as you remembered.

You folded your arms over your chest. To keep yourself from reaching out to him? A pathetic attempt at trying to steady their shakiness? Or maybe a pathetic attempt at trying to protect yourself?

His chest moved rapidly and his voice sounded rough when he spoke, raising the paper in his hand.  “What the fuck is this?”

Your eyes flickered to it for a second before they settled on his again. “I don't know. What the fuck is that?”

“Stop playing games, _____.”

“I'm not playing games. I don't know what that is.” you held your head high and didn't back down from his glare.

His tongue toyed with the inside of his cheek and he dropped his hand with an incredulous expresson on his face. “Ok, let me read it out to you to refresh your mind. Here I go.” he cleared his throat with a smile that held no humor at all. “'Dear Mr. Min. We were sent your tape last week, blah blah blah, we apologize for taking so long to reply to your email, blah blah blah, but we would be more than delighted to have a meeting to discuss a possible record deal and blah blah blah.'”

You gulped through an almost entirely closed off throat when he looked at you again with raised eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. You opened your mouth to speak but closed it again, not being able to find a decent excuse. But pride still held your head up high.

“That's awesome. You're going to pursue your dream. Congratulations. But I don't know what that has to do with me. So I think you should lea-”

“You think I don't know you sent my demo tape to a music producer?” his words stopped you right away and made your heart skip a beat. He could see it in the way your whole body tensed up and the way your breathing hitched. “You think I don't know you took my USB drive?”

“W-what?” you stuttered through an uneasy tone.

“You think I didn't see you putting it inside the pocket of your jacket that night?”

If you felt sick before, now you felt the whole room spinning.

“Did you you really think this would make me want to distance myself from you? Because it didn’t work.”

The lump in your throat burned when you swallowed and his stare was pinning you completely without letting you move. He must have sensed that and he seemed to show a little mercy when he looked away, finally letting you breath as he placed the hand holding the letter on his hip and brushed his hair back with his free one, huffing exhaustadly.

“Why didn't you say anything?” you managed to say. You almost winced at how vulnerable you sounded.

“Because that's how fucking crazy I am about you!” the sudden desperation in his raised voice made you jump slightly when his words hit you. He inhaled and probably counted to ten in his head, trying to calm himself. “I didn’t know why you took it and I didn’t care. I would have let you throw it into a garbage can. I would let you to anything as long as that meant keeping you by my side. And if keeping you by my side meant giving up my music, well...” he closed his eyes and you wondered if he was as close to crying as you were. “And then you left. Without saying goodbye. And you've been avoiding me for a month. And here I am again. What does that make me? A masochist? A low self-steemed moron?”

“Yoongi-” he cut you off again.

“I love you.” everything went still. “I'm absolutely, completely, one hundred percent in love with you.” He made his way towards you slowly but surely, almost hesitant, watching your reaction. Watching your eyes filling up tears that started to blur your vision. Yet you didn't look away. You couldn't even if you wanted to. “And I know you feel the same way I do. And you cannot tell me what we had-... have, is not real.”

“Why didn't you say anything before either?” your voice trembled as his hands rested on either side of your head on the wall behind you.

“Because I'm an insecure piece of shit?” his voice didn't hold a pinch of anger anymore. It was low, delicate, gentle. One of his hands left the wall and collected a tear that had slipped from the corner of your eye. “Every time you let me touch you, every time you let me kiss you, every time you let me undress... All I could think about was how much you deserved, and how little I could give you.” he caressed your cheek until it cupped your jaw. “You deserve someone who makes love to you in a five star hotel, not someone who fucks you on the hood of their car while it's raining.”

Your heart clenched and you raised your hand to place it on top of his.

“I don't care about any of that.” you licked your lips, tasting the saltiness of your own tears. “I just want to be with you.”

You almost you couldn't finish your sentence before his lips were on yours and, God, how much you had missed them.

He tasted of self-doubt. Of teardrops at midnight. Of empty bedsheets and lingered scents. He tasted of short-lived memories. Of songs on the radio and feet propped on a car's dashboard. He tasted of mint. Of coffee that only worsened sleepless nights. He tasted of worry as well as determination. He tasted of hopefulness and new beginnings.

It didn't take him too long to pull you closer by your waist and it didn't take you too long to pull him closer by his neck. It didn't take him long to lift you up and make you wrap your legs around his waist before disappearing up the staris.

He didn't need indications or any words. He knew exactly where your room was and where in your bed to place you.

He pulled back to admire you and your hair all over your pillow, rosy cheeks and bruised lips. You smiled at him. You had already stopped crying but tears were already threatning to pour again if he didn't put his lips on yours again soon.

He pulled his shirt off and your hands were glued to his skin almost instantly. He was always cold, but he was warm now and you were begging to feel him closer. His teeth grazed the skin of your neck. It reminded you of your last night with him.

Your hands slipped to his jeans, desperate to free him and to free yourself. He got the message. He got rid of your clothes as well, dropping them somewhere. Who cared.

Your tongues moved against each other as if they were old friends enthusiastically running into each other for the first time in years, except it had only been a month.

“I've missed this so much.” he mumbled against your mouth and you moaned in response when his fingers found your core, already drenched. “I've missed you so much.”

You cried his name when he inserted one of his fingers with ease inside of you.

“Have you touched yourself after that night?” you heard him in the distance but you couldn't mutter a word. Not when his finger was fucking you and his thumb was moving in circles over your clit. “Answer me.” his gruff voice, the curling of his fingers and the sudden roughness of his touch made you gasp in pleausre.

“Y-yes.” you breathed. His lips wrapped around your breast, his tongue worked around your areola and his teeth bit your nipple in punishment. That only made you cry his name once more and pull at his hair.

“You’re still a bad girl, huh?” The hand not inside of you travelled down until it was gripping your thigh, hooking it over his hip. A loud smack filled the room and a the beginning of a red mark printed on your buttlock.

“Yoongi, I need you.”

That was enough to make him pull his hand from between your thighs and replace it with the tip of his cock, already throbbing and fully erected. He teased at your entrance, watching your face twist in agony. You looked up at him and muttered a 'Please' that convinced him to push inside of you.

You both moaned in delight and he stayed like that for a moment, closed eyes with his forehead against yours and his breathing fanning against your lips. You studied his features before leaning up to meet his mouth. He wasted no time in kissing you back and started to move his hips. Slowly at first, but picking up his speed until they were slapping furiously against yours.

He was usually quiet, too focused on pleasuring you. But this time, the small ‘Ah's’ and hissed noises that left his mouth were too beautifully melodic and all you could do was appreciate the way his face contorted in bliss.

“I love you.” you said. His eyes shot open and locked with yours, looking for a confirmation. “I love you.” you repeated. Then, his hands gripped both your thighs and pushed them open, allowing him to thrust into you in an angle that almost made you pray.

“I love you.” Yoongi said. His lips attacked your neck, leaving bruises along the way while he pounded in and out of you. Sweat ran down his back and your hands tried to bring him closer to you as he brought you closer to the edge.

He kept leaving 'I love you's' on your flesh until you finally climaxed, clencling around him and making him reach his peak as well. He didn't move out of you and you were glad he didn't because you didn't want to let go.

You fell asleep with his arms around your body, his chest against your back, his breathing behind your neck and the shape of his lips on your shoulder.

You woke up at around two in the morning, muscles too sore to move. Body too tired to fully respond to anything. But also too cold to ignore.And that's when you realized Yoongi wasn't beside you to keep you warm. Your stomach twisted right away and you sat up to find out that, in fact, he wasn't there anymore.

He couldn't have left, right?

Your eyes moved frantically around the room and you sighed in relief when you realized that, no, his jeans weren't on the floor anymore, but his shirt was still over your frame. And that's when you spotted him.

He was sitting on a chair outside your balcony, smoke coming out of his mouth and a cigarette between his fingers as he seemed too enticed by the night to realize you had woken up.

You smiled.

Then you pulled the covers from your body and walked quietly towards him. He didn't flinch when you wrapped your arms around him from behind or when you leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek and nuzzled your face between his neck and his shoulder.

“It's late. Go back to sleep.” he ordened sternly, but you could hear the small smile on his face. You shook your head no, your nose caressing his skin, never getting tired of his scent filling your nostrils.

“I can't. I was cold.” you murmured before cirling around him and positioning yourself in front of him. He motioned you to sit on his lap and you did so. “I thought you left.”

“Well, you're still wearing my shirt. I'm not really into walking around naked at 2 a.m.” the playfulness in his voice made you kiss him and he kissed back.

He engulfed you in his arms after throwing the butt of his cigarette away. Then he made his way to your bed. He made love to you again, both sure it wasn’t the first nor last time and you were alright.

Everything was alright.

[samingtonwilson]

No More Big Southern Shadow - Jim Kirk

Title: No More Big Southern Shadow

Pairing: Jim Kirk x reader

Prompt: Could you do a Jim Kirk x reader where the reader and Jim have been close friends ever since they had class together at the academy. They were there for each other through thick and thin no matter what. Reader and Kirk tell each other everything but what she hasn't told him was her feelings for him. Reader is offered a promotion, doesn't tell Kirk yet but he finds out; Kirk isn't too happy but reluctantly congratulates her....  - @missmle712 (it won’t let me tag you!)

Word count: 1,787

Warnings: language

A/N: not sure about this one because it turned out to be very romcom-esque. but that’s all good, who doesn’t love a good romcom in their life? i really liked the specificity of this prompt, though (i didn’t include the whole prompt above bc it was quite long). mostly because it didnt take much brain power on my part to write this so i was able to finish it before bed last night. ANYWAY. i hope you ENJOY IT! and LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! also it won’t let me tag the person that requested it, so im a bit disappointed in tumblr. 

Jim stared at his boots. His communicator lied open on the round dining table before him. He couldn’t register much beyond what his mind was already repeating— over, and over, and over, and over. He placed his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He didn’t know what to say other than a rushed goodbye so he could throw his damn communicator against the damn wall.

“But do tell Doctor (Y/L/N) that her patients can be transported onto the Bradbury. She’ll have free-reign of the medbay as CMO and, while the Bradbury certainly is not the Enterprise, she’ll have umpteen research opportunities—”

Jim sighed loudly then— loudly enough to catch the attention of Captain Abbott who stopped speaking in reaction. “I apologize, Captain Abbott, but Doctor McCoy is her immediate superior and has more knowledge about medbays than I do.”

“You misunderstand, Captain Kirk. I was hoping you could convince her,” Abbott said in his deep, almost soothing voice— but, right now, it was grating to Jim’s ears. “She has been considering the offer for a number of weeks now and—”

He stopped listening again. While he wasn’t sure if Abbott had concluded his rousing speech, Jim spoke, poised to slam the communicator shut, “I’ll see what I can do.”

He leaned back against his chair, sighing out again and dragging his palms down the length of his lap. “Weeks,” he said to himself as he combed his fingers through his growing blonde hair and pulled on the ends. “Considering the offer for weeks.”

He stayed silent for the rest of the night. He had no interest in facing the others in the mess hall and had even less interest in eating. He wanted to sleep— only he couldn’t. He let those last words linger in the cold air of his quarters and listened only to his erratic heartbeat.

You weren’t having a much easier time with it. You felt guilty that you were keeping such a large, important secret from Jim. Secrets didn’t exist between the two of you. Since your days at the Academy, he was the first person you ran to. Problems, uninteresting anecdotes, new bars, the only person you went to was Jim.

Your feelings for him ran deeper than you would’ve liked to admit— even to yourself. you knew having feelings for Jim wasn’t wise. He wasn’t good in romantic relationships and it was certainly not worth risking such a long-standing friendship for three dinner dates and a couple of good orgasms. Although, from what you heard about Jim, it was a couple of good orgasms a night.

Nonetheless, you didn't want to leave him. He made space easier, he made it seem like every mundane planet you passed would hold the greatest adventure of your lives, he made your heart beat differently when he smiled at you in that special way that wrinkled the skin beside his eyes. He made you laugh, smile, even cry when he told you of his mother, his deceased father, and his fears. He made you feel everything at once, and leaving that was something you’d never contemplated before.

You also didn’t want to leave the Enterprise. Your job in the medbay as Leonard’s second in command, your friendship with Sulu, your secret alone-time getaway behind the training gym— the idea of leaving it all behind made your chest sink.

The night before the Enterprise was set to dock on the same starbase as the Bradbury, you were required to work two five-hour shifts— well, less required and more volunteered-in-place-of-M’Benga-so-you-could-avoid-Jim.

You were yawning as you exited the medbay, leaning part of your weight against the adjacent wall. You pressed your warm cheek to the cold metal and breathed in through your nose, out through your mouth. Your eyes shut momentarily.

“Long day?”

You opened one eye at the sound of his voice. “Long life.”

He snorted, rolling his crystalline blue eyes. He looked over you, almost as if he was memorizing every curve of your body and every contour of your face. When he brought his eyes back up, you were already looking at him, your eyebrows raised. He nodded in the direction you were originally headed. “You can close your eyes, I’ll guide you.”

You complied easily. Your eyes remained closed and you set your head on Jim’s shoulder, his arm securely around your waist. You hummed out a sigh. “I’m half worried you’re going to guide me into Chekov’s room again.”

He laughed through his nose. “He’s always had a crush on you, you’re single and in need of sex— nothing bad could come from that.”

“Who told you I’m in need of sex?”

“What, are you taking care of yourself?”

You snorted, setting your chin on his shoulder instead. You opened her eyes to look at him as he looked back at you. “And what if I am? I was raised to be independent.”

His gaze lingered before he looked forward again, sighing to himself when your arms hugged his waist.

Standing behind closed turbolift walls, he counted the decks that passed. He was trying to convince himself that talking to you, telling you he knew was the adult thing to do. He told himself he needed to be mature.

It hurt him to think about your departure. To him, it was much more than losing his best friend for years at a time. To him, he was losing the person that he cared about more than anything, the only person he could recall having a constant presence in his life— he was losing his heart.

But the opportunity was great. You were being promoted! And as much as he knew that was a reason to celebrate, he couldn’t even bring himself to smile.

He breathed you in as you moved to unlock the door to your quarters, nodding so he could follow. He watched you remove your communicator from your boot and rid yourself of the shoes all together. He tried to find something to say.

“I’m so tir—”

“I spoke to Captain Abbott last night.”

Your eyes immediately left your reddened feet to look at him, your eyebrows together as you rose from your bed. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

You wet your lips and scanned the room. “What do you think?”

“That you deserve it,” he said, completely meaning it.

You took a few steps towards him and stopped to stand ten feet away. “CMO’s a big deal. No more living in someone’s big Southern shadow.”

He smiled a little. “You don’t need to live in anyone’s shadow— Southern or not. You’ll be a great CMO.”

“So you’re saying I should take it?” Part of you didn’t want to hear his answer.

“It’s a great opportunity. How could you not take it?” The entirety of you wished you hadn’t heard his answer. “Congratulations, (Y/N).”

Leave did not go by easily for Jim. He was coping. His methods were neither healthy, nor effective but he was coping the best way he knew how: avoidance.

He made sure he wasn’t on the ship as you collected and packed your things, he made sure he wasn’t in your line of vision as you handed out goodbyes. He kept himself locked in the Starfleet-issued room in the barracks and turned down any offers from Leonard to grab a drink. He knew being alone wasn’t going to help him feel better, he knew nothing would offer relief from the pain he so deeply felt. He just had no energy left in him.

The morning of the Enterprise’s departure, Jim offered faux smiles to each crewmember that dared to look his way. His shoulders were slacked and his eyes low— he was the picture of a broken heart and he only blamed himself. He wished he had told you the way he felt— that he loved the sound of your voice, the way your eyes would widen as you listened to him speak, the smile that would overtake your every feature. He wished he had told you he loved you— that every passing moment only made him love you more.

He stood beside Leonard in line to board the shuttlecraft, only half listening to the doctor’s complaints when you spotted him. You could only see the back of his head and the snug way in which his jacket fit, but that was enough. You cupped your hands around your lips and called his name in the loudest volume you could muster, clicking your tongue when he took a step forward.

“Shit,” you cursed as you dropped your bag and took off running. “Jim!” You gave up as you stood only a few feet away. “Jim, you hard-of-hearing idiot, turn the fuck around!”

It got his attention— and, to be fair, it got the attention of everyone in line. He turned around with his thick eyebrows knit together and his mouth agape. He shoved past the ensigns standing in front of him, his eyes only focusing on you as you stood there with your lips turned down and your arms crossed over your chest. He noted the hair that had fallen over your narrowed eyes. “What the hell are you doing here? The Bradbury’s set to leave in—”

“Ten minutes, I know.” You traced his features with your swimming eyes and took a few steps forward. “You told me I should take it.”

He didn’t speak. He wanted to hear your voice, no matter how broken it sounded.

“I did take it. I should be there right now. I should— I shouldn’t be standing here.” You wiped your cheeks with the heel of your hand. “But I can’t leave. Because of you, I can’t leave.”

He stepped towards you so only a few inches separated you.

“Because I—” you sighed and looked away for a moment before looking up at him, keeping your eyes unwaveringly in his. “Because I need you.” His brought his hand up to sit against your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “And I— I love you.”

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours and feeling the aching in his chest die down slowly. His arm wound around your waist tightly. “I love you,” he said in the split second his lips were detached from yours. “I love you so much.”

Unbothered by the low whistles being sent your way, you rested your hand on his chest and spoke when he kissed each of your cheeks, “You couldn’t have told me that earlier? I wasted so much time packing.”

“And saying those very corny goodbyes,” he added, leaning his forehead against yours. He couldn’t help his wide grin as you frowned.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t get one.”