#he was a little thrown off but handled it like a champ

[moody-alcoholic]

Family

Now I will have a glass of wine and relax for the evening, because editing 2 chapters back to back was rough.

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Slow burn (sorry but not sorry). 2.8k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe. CW: Child abuse, mentions of war, toxic family dynamic, fuck Jack, alcohol.

AN: This chapter does have some heavy topics so if you want to skip it due to the content warnings that’s fine. You CAN skip this chapter and not miss any of the main story notes. This is basically just a little backstory into Jack and the shenanigans his family have been up to. TLDR: It's okay of you skip this chapter, we still hate Jack, fuck him he’s a bad person.

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

Enjoy <3

Jack had always hated being told what to do, from a young age he would fight back. ‘A problem child’ his mother would say when he would kick up a fuss in public. ‘Just needs some strict discipline’ people would reply. Coming from a military family he learnt from a young age how to follow orders. His family were very proud of the fact they could trace their family history all the way back to the civil war. Jack had never questioned what he would do in life, he always knew in this household when you turn 17 you’re joining the military. He just hated being told what to do, then one day it all changed.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, 14 years old, his parents where hosting a goodbye party for his brother who was about to be shipped off to war. A right of passage, someone to look up to. Jack did look up to his brother, he loved his brother, watching him walk around in his shiny new uniform being doted on by everyone was the first time Jack decided maybe the military was for him. It was when his mother asked him to do something for her that he decided to kick up a fuss, he didn’t want to leave the party, didn't want to miss saying goodbye to his brother. 

“That boy needs some discipline!” His grandfather shouted at him pointing his cane. That was the only thing Jack remembered about his grandfather, the cane and the Vietnam War medals he would wear constantly. His mother screamed at him to listen making even more of a scene. 

“If I spoke to my mother like that my father would beat me! Young kids now-a-days have it too easy! You’ve all gone soft, God help our nation if these are the soldiers of tomorrow!” His grandfather barked. His mother embarrassed and frustrated attempted to drag him inside, it only made him fight harder. His father gripped him by the collar despite his mothers pleas that ‘she can handle it.’ He was dragged into the kitchen thrown on the cold tile floor. 

“How dare you embarrass me like this!” His father yelled. Jack was used to his father yelling used to feeling the back of his fathers hand on his face. This time was different, this time his father was furious. 

“I hate you!” Jack shouted as he pulled his body off the floor. His fathers fist found his face knocking him off his feet and the wind out his chest. Before Jack could react his father was dragging him along the floor. He pulled the pantry doors open throwing Jack inside.

“You will stay in there and think about your actions! No son of mine will ever speak to me that way!” The door was slammed shut the deadbolt closed. Jack sat there in the dark his head throbbing as he sobbed.

His brother let him out, opening the door and bending down, Jacks eyes still raw from crying, his head still throbbing. 

“Chin up champ, dad doesn't mean it, he loves you really.” He said extending his arm out to help him up. 

“He hates me,” Jacks said burring his head back in his knees, ignoring the hand. 

“He doesn't hate you, he just gets mad sometimes.” 

“Take me with you.” Jack begged, his brother just laughed. 

“I’m going to a war zone, I don’t think they let kids come Jackie.” 

“Don’t call me that!” Jack shouted back, he hated being called Jackie, Jackie was a girls name. His brothers and cousins would call him that to wind him up, he hated it. His brother laughed again walking into the pantry and sitting next to him. 

“How about when I’m back I’ll take you on a trip somewhere? New York, we could spend the day there see all the sights.” 

“New York’s boring.” Jack said huffing. 

“Okay, what about DC? You love DC, we’ll go to all the museums spend the weekend stuffing our faces.” Jack smiled at his brother who smiled back.

“You have to be good though? No more kicking up a fuss, no more fighting with mom and dad. Be a good boy and we’ll go for the whole weekend?” His brother said nudging him. Jack smiled throwing his arms round his brother. It was a good hug, the type of brotherly love Jack missed. Jack promised to be good, promised to not fight with his parents. He kept his promise, learned to just do as he was told even if he didn’t like it. 

His brother never came home. They said it was a bomb, some kind of landmine, there wasn’t even a body to bring home. Jack remembers his mothers sobs late into the night, his father becoming more withdrawn and distant. His other siblings leaving home one by one, each with a look of dread on their faces when they were sent to fight the same war that killed their brother. When they all came home safe time after time Jack couldn’t tell if his dad was relieved or disappointed. 

“To die for your country is the greatest honour you will ever know. Your brother gave his life for our freedom, you will do the same.” His father said as Jack left for marine boot camp. Jack liked being a marine, enjoyed it, met Susan his wife a navy mechanic one tour. When he went back to the US to get married, it was the first time he had seen his dad be proud. 

“You did good son, you’ll be wanting to start a family no doubt.” Jack’s father said to him on his wedding day. 

“I think it’s time you got introduced to the family business, so you can provide for my grandchildren.” Jack looked at his father confused. Little did he know what kind of world he was about to get himself into. 

—————————— 

“We need to get rid of 141, they’ve already shut down our operations in Iraq and Urzikstan, if they get our routes in Syria or Lebanon we’re in trouble.” Jacks father says. Jack wasn’t really paying attention, sipping his whisky looking out down at the garden of his in-laws house getting ready for the party below. 

“I thought you were handling it?” Jacks father-in-law, Albert asked. 

“We ran into some problems in Urzikstan.” 

“Anything we should be concerned about?” 

“No, it’s being delt with. We should focus our concerns on the Syria route, we can deal with the rest later.” Jack heard a glass being put down, he turned to look. His father and father-in-law were stood round a desk in Albert’s study looking through papers. Jack walked over to the desk his fathers eyes watching him. 

“You are ready for Syria?” He asked.

“Yes sir.” Jack replied. 

“Getting you that base used all my contacts, you’re lucky your father was able to get you the promotion so quickly.” Albert said filling his glass with another drink. Jack was happy he got the promotion and the base, a supply depot in the middle of Syria. It is mainly used as a medical facility for the surrounding bases and a restock depot. Quiet and filled with supplies, supplies Jack would be responsible for selling to Al-qatala. It’s the first time he had been trusted to do something like this alone, without his fathers or his brothers help.

There was a knock at the door, Albert closed the files they were looking at and got up to answer it. Jack looked at his father sipping his drink, Albert was talking too hushed for Jack to hear. The music had started out in the garden, people must be starting to arrive. Albert came back to the table and finished his drink. 

“I am required to greet guests, I expect you to be down for my wife’s speech.” He says straightening his uniform out. Jack salutes him as he leaves. 

“Captain Price is going to be here tonight, I would assume he is bringing the rest of them with him. You should use tonight to get to know them, find their weaknesses.” Jacks father said.

“Are they really that much of a problem?” Jack asked. 

“They can become a problem very easily. Right now though we think we have thrown them off the trail.” Jacks father says finishing his drink. He pats jack on the shoulder putting the glass back on the drinks tray. 

“Don’t wait around too long Jack you’re expected to show your face at this event.” Jack nodded as his father left the room leaving Jack alone. He looked over at the folder, the one with all the intel collected on 141. He flipped it open seeing pictures, he needed to remind himself who to look out for. There was another knock at the door he quickly put the folders away leaving his glass and going to answer it. It’s his squad-mates-or since his promotion ex-squad-mates-they owed him one last favour though. 

“It wasn’t hard to get,” One of them says holding the gun out. Jack moves so they can come into the room. 

“Okay look, she needs to be gone before the speech starts and she needs stay gone for the whole night,” Jack explains. “The gun is to scare her only, that’s all you’re doing is scaring her.” They nod and the one with the gun tucks it away in his waist so it’s hidden. 

“Why are we scaring her again?” Jack hit’s him over the head tutting. 

“None of your business, you’re getting paid for it but only if she’s gone for the whole night.” Jack says.

“What can we do though? What if she screams or something?” Another one asks. 

“Gag her I don’t care, no marks on the face or arms though, in fact try to avoid leaving any evidence at all.” Jack says rubbing his temple. He starts to move them out the room.

“Come find me at the end of the night.” He says following them out. They head downstairs and Jack takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror in the hall, he always liked the way he looked in his formal’s, he likes the way it made him feel. Jack always liked the power of being in control, and now with his father and father-in-law trusting him with this latest trade he felt more powerful then he had before, he liked that, he smiled at himself in the mirror then headed out to the party. 

—————————— 

Jack’s father walked up to him as he was mingling with some people. He felt the familiar squeeze on his arm. A sign to wrap up his conversation and move away from the crowd. He let his father lead him back over to the bar. 

“10 o’clock that’s Price, don’t stare.” His father said then ordered a drink. Jack turned to look his eyes scanning the crowd until he say him, he did recognised him, it’s his beard that gives him away.

“Who’s the guy with him?” Jack looking back at his father and ordering a drink. 

“Riley, his lieutenant, the guy greeting them is MacTavish.” Jack turned to look taking a sip of his drink. 

“Who’s the woman?” Jack asked looking back.

“Friend of Chloe’s MacTavish is her plus one.” Jacks father replied finishing his drink and ordering another. 

“His girlfriend?” Jack asked, his father sighed, Jack knew that was his job to find out. 

“Is she military?” Jack asked, he expected a sigh back.

“Army nurse, that’s all I know.” Jacks father got up off the stool. The band started to die down as Jacks mother-in-law took to the stage. Jack was not listening but he did raise his glass and nod when she mentioned his name, pointing him out as people turned to look at him. Chloe was absent from the rest of her family, thank God something is going right and they’ve done their job.

He wanted to make his way round the crowd towards Price, talking to them would be a good start to get intel. When the speech was finished everyone clapped and he started to make his way over as the music picked up again. Jacks father had beaten him too it of course, already shaking hands with Price. Jack picked up the end of the friendly introductions. 

“This is my son Jack,” He introduces them and Jack shakes Price’s hand. Jack listens to his father talk as his eyes focus over each person, they seem harmless enough, one of them is missing Garrick, maybe he was somewhere else in the party. Jack felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned to look. It was one of his squad-mates. He squeezed his lips together grabbing him by the arm and leading him away from the crowd. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asks. 

“There’s a problem, some girl came and caught us she took Chloe.” Jack feels his stomach drop, he quickly looks around.

“Where are the others?” He asks. 

“In the pool house, she gave Chris a bloody nose.” Jack dipped his head.

“Fucking hell, what did she look like?” Jack asks. 

“I-I don’t know,” He says stammering. Jack sighs.

“How drunk are you?” Jack says smacking the beer bottle out his hand. “If you saw her again could you point her out?” 

“Yeah,” He says sheepishly. Jack nods pulling him back to the crowd, he’s looking around as Jacks eyes fall back to Price and his father seemingly wrapping up their conversation as they shake hands. 

“Her there.” He points suddenly, Jack slaps his hand down tutting but looking in the direction. He sees the movement in the crowd and manages to catch a glimpse. Shit. It’s the girl MacTavish came with.

“You sure it’s her?” He asks. 

“Yeah, that’s her.” 

“Are any of you sober?” Jack asks. 

“Brian’s only had one beer.” 

“Bring him to me and the rest of you say out of my sight.” Jack says waving him away. Jack waits around till Brian arrives. 

“Follow, and don’t have anymore to drink I need one of you to be sober.” Jack says as he leads him inside. There are some people mulling around mostly interacting with Jack’s mother in law. Jack finds a corner with Brian as they pretend to make conversation. After a few minutes watches as Price leaves out the front door followed by Riley with the woman, MacTavish and Chloe. 

“Go get the car ready.” Jack says as he finishes his drink Brian nods slipping out the front door. 

—————————— 

They follow them to an apartment building in Canary Wharf, everyone but Price leaves the car heading into the building. When Price drives away Jack reaches into the back of the car bringing out a laptop. Brian tries to make conversation Jack ignores him trying to find the mystery woman’s military file. Who was she and what connection does she have with 141? According to all the intel they had she has no connection with them. She has to be a friend though. Jack was just about to give up when he saw something that caught his eye. A medical note for MacTavish, signed by an army nurse, now he had a name, he looked her up. 

“Oh that’s her.” Brian says pointing at the picture on the file. Jack smiled, now he has a name, and a location. He makes Brian drive him back to the party and finds his dad pulling him back into his father-in-laws office. He places the laptop down on the table with her file open. 

“Who’s she?” His father asks. 

“How we get intel on 141.” Jack explains the situation to his father, leaving out the hazing part. The whole time looking for any kind of approval in his fathers expression. 

“How do you know she’ll talk?” His father asks. 

“She doesn’t need to, it’s win win either way she’s a bargaining chip.” Jack says.

“How do you know she’s so important to them?” Jack paused for a second. 

“I have the boys watching their movements.” He says, somewhat of a lie. His dad sighs he seems unimpressed. 

“I’ll get her on your base, regardless if you can get info out her or not this can’t fuck up any of the deals we’ve made.” His father almost spits at him. 

“Yes, sir, of course not.” Jack’s father finishes his drink handing the glass to his son. He looks like he want’s to say something more instead he shakes his head leaving the room. Jack watches him leave then turns back to look at the file on the laptop, she had to be close to them, she had to be the key, and there are always multiple ways to get information from someone. Army nurse, he scoffs, she’ll be easy to break.  

Next part

[entrepy]

The realisation of his mistake hits approximately one second after the words have left his mouth and one second before Bucky sends that scowl at him. If you could call that a scowl. Steve just knows Bucky’s face well enough that he can tell what Bucky’s trying to do with his face, even if it is blacker and bluer and more cut up than Steve would ever have liked. Broken bones, a concussion, bruises and deep cuts were apparently not enough to slow Bucky Barnes from dishing out the criticism that Steve — deep down — knows he well and truly had coming, so he purses his lips and takes it like a champ, looking just the right amount of guilty. 

His own outburst was on the back of escaping his own medical examination — which was still incomplete because he’d rushed out of there only to arrive to see the nurses finish setting Bucky up in bed. He was still amped on the adrenaline of the fight, more than usual after witnessing Bucky being thrown around like a rag doll between the group of goons that would have taken him by surprise if Bucky hadn’t intervened. He’d have taken the ambush anyday, over seeing Bucky get hit like that. Between the two of them, they’d taken the group down eventually, but not after Bucky had suffered what no one single person should have ever attempted to tackle on their own. Yeah, yeah, pot, kettle. Except this time Steve wasn’t the one who’d rushed head first into something to prevent harm coming to someone else so he feels well within his rights to express how stupid Bucky had been to jump into something like that when he very well knows Steve can handle a little ambush or too. Even if it means he shares half of the injuries Bucky is sporting now. Steve would have preferred that. Well, no — Steve would have preferred if Bucky stuck to his outlook as planned and that it was him in that hospital bed, but voicing that would only get him a longer lecture, he knows.

Steve softens some time around ‘ experimental serum ’ and the downpouring of sarcasm, shuffling to find a seat at the at the edge of Bucky’s bed — out of the nurse’s way — and tries to sneak a hand under Bucky’s arm lying on his front. They’re not usually so public with displays of affection, but Bucky had just declared their love for each other to the room, mockingly or not. Steve thinks it’s okay to slip his fingers between Bucky’s fingers —- short of climbing into that bed with him and curling in close. There have been a few of times where the situation had been reversed, back when Steve was too sick to be treated at home, that Bucky had say by his bedside and Steve would stew in all their unsaid things, willing Bucky to realise that he deserved more than to be stuck by a sick man’s side when the sun was shining and future partners were lining up for him. Well — all those thoughts are banished now, and Steve’s only concern is not losing his current position as future partner, and that may require some grovelling . . . 

‘ I don’t make stupid, risky decisions. I make calculated, necessary ones . . . ’ he mumbles, knowing that it was the wrong thing to say but unable to help himself. ( So he’s not great at grovelling. ) He takes Bucky’s hand once the nurse finishes her examination and signs off his vital’s sheet, leaving them to it, and raises it to his lips. He presses a kiss there to the metal. ‘ I do love you. And I know you have my back. ’ He sighs, resting his other hand on Bucky’s leg, over the covers. ‘ I just hate that it means you get hurt in the process. ’ Images of the goons getting the jump on Bucky while Steve fought through his own fair share to get him so they could fight them off together are far too fresh in his mind. The cuts and bruises on Bucky’s face — and the fact that Steve knows that they’re all over under the hospital sheets — are too new for Steve to let this go just yet. It only takes a second of feeling helpless, for Steve to stew in it for the rest of the week, and it’s especially poignant with anything that concerns Bucky. 

He rests his cheek against the back of Bucky’s hand. It’s cool against his heated face. ‘ You kicked some serious ass back there, though. ’

@maavel

"...Are you seriously asking me that right now?" Bucky scowled at Steve from the hospital bed as a nurse came in and checked his vitals. It wasn't that he was necessarily angry at Steve, because of course he wasn't, but the gall of Steve Rogers to ask him if he put himself at risk for no reason very often! The nerve, the sheer hypocrisy of Rogers asking such a question when it was all he ever had done! His vibranium arm draped over his middle as his right one was poked and prodded, and though Bucky had affected a scowl, it was only an approximation of one - his eye was blackened and there was an impressive gash along his forehead above his eyebrow. It had been cleaned, but it looked angry, even if it was likely to be healed within the next day or two. "Look. You had goons advancing on your position, and I'm not allowed to have a sniper rifle anymore." The conditions of his pardon had been that he was not allowed to handle firearms, and he tried to stick to it, as he'd come to rather like what freedom had to offer him. "How was I supposed to know they'd been jacked up with some of that experimental serum? None of the intel we had for this mission even suggested that - so no we have that to deal with. And anyway, I think the words you were searching for were 'Wow, Buck, thanks for the save, always knew you'd have my back, I sure love you.'" The nurse was clearly trying to hide her smile as she listened to the two men banter; the examination was really just rudimentary; Barnes was generally well enough despite some rather nasty injuries that would have taken out an unenhanced man - cracked ribs, a mild concussion, bruises and some deep lacerations in places. "...Are you saying that you're the only one allowed to jump in and make stupid risky decisions on the fly?"

[transport-phenomena]

got my gender affirmed at a college bar last night fellas

[6mommymilkers9]

If your comfortable with this, how would the four lords react to fem!reader being pregnant?

As soon as I read this, I knew I had to write it! Thanks for the request :)

The Four Lord's With A Pregnant S/O Headcannons

Alcina Dimitrescu

° Alcina is extremely ecstatic. Considering you both...lacked the necessary equipment to have a child of your own, it was planned, so it was nothing but happiness for the Lord and yourself.

° Lady Dimitrescu, having daughters of her own, knew nothing of how to care for an infant or child no more than the size of her calf. Her daughters were born from Cadou; this was something new. She won't say she was nervous, but her eyes told her lies.

° The pregnancy was a very 'on the fence' type. Life in the small village wasn't as boring as everyone thinks, so the constant excitement was a bit of a problem. Thankfully your daughters let their antics subside (The mom look Lady Dimitrescu gave them scared the shit outta them).

° With that, there were maids, of the highest order per Alcina's request, that took care of you. They had helped you walk around when your baby bump grew heavy, making you wobble. As well as with getting up the stairs and such. You never touched a single broom or dusk cleaner during this time.

° Alcina took care of you in the more intimate ways. Putting away her books and drama with Mother Miranda, she gave you her iconic smile as she helped you bathe or rub your back when it was a testing day. She always made sure you wore a face around her.

° Over all, she may be nervous, but absolutely in love with her unborn child, ready to see them any moment to spoil the hell out of them. It's mother instinct you know.

Salvatore Moreau

° Moreau, as soon as he heard the news, was scared AS SHIT! Before his mutations, he was a doctor, the birthing wasn't what bothered him. It was the part of "I'm a dad?"

° Only Mother Miranda knows how he landed you as a partner, but you carrying his child? Oh boy that was something new. Him being insecure, this made it worse, but at the same time made him happier than ever. All he ever wanted was a family, and looks like he was getting it, even if he had the personality of a wet towel.

° He would stalk up on books about parenting and pregnancy to help you at any point he physically or mentally could. Since he is physically disabled from his reactions to the Cadou, he isn't that much of help with walking around or such things of that sort. He is more than happy to help you talk your head off. Even if he can't speak well, he musters the longest conversations he could with you to get things off your mind.

° He gives you tons of offerings and gifts. If you mentioned you liked something, he would get it for you. Though, he found you much preferred to be wrapped in his coat on the large bed you two shared in the mines. He would smile everytime he walks in on you napping in his coat, his pride shows through.

° With his happiness, he worries about his child's conditions. Would they be the same as him? Would they have his same complications? With the little technology he had, he couldn't know the answer and that scared him.

° What he suffers from was preventable, he doesn't want his child to suffer from something they were born with. To him, he saw it as cruel. This ends up with you having to comfort him until you convinced him that whatever happened, your child would be loved the same. Things will be alright.

Donna Beneviento

° Well, it's the same concept with Lady Dimitrescu. It was planned with some help. Now, in contrast to Alcina, Donna had dealt with a small child, bearing her own. Do to an accident, her child passed away, which made her dive into her work as a doll maker.

° She was extremely scared. Not for you, but your baby. Her failure to protect her child in the past projected to her child now. What if she couldn't protect the baby? What would she do in an emergency? In summary, she is a big worrier.

° All the corners in the houses and sharp objects were child protected, and you were only in your first trimester! That's not the worst of it, she was always by your side. It sounds nice, but she was way too clingy. After some talking, she gave you room to breathe.

° As a doll maker, she also had a hobby of knitting clothes, making outfits for your child. They arranged from dinosaurs, to dolls, to even herbs. You watched as she knit and even tried it out for yourself. Let's just say you ended up with a deformed sleeve. You let Donna handle the clothing from then on.

°She is always there to comfort you in any way possible. If she is off for a meeting, she makes sure Angie stays with you to keep you company and help with anything you need. Angie sees you as her mother and treats you as such. She can't wait to see her new sibling.

° When you are in pain, you bet Donna is on her way to make some tea with special herbs to help with it. Her green thumb is something special in that garden of hers. You couldn't thank her enough. Better than a prescription from a doctor anyways.

°She and Angie take great care of you and make sure your needs and wants are met. You have two amazing people..and dolls by your side. Just wait until the little one arrives!

Karl Heisenberg

° He is on the fence about it, really. It's not like he doesn't want the child, but he doesn't have the best parental figures. He doesn't know if he would be a good father or not.

° Over time, he would ease up, listening to your encouraging words about your future family and events. Though he still has moments of doubt when he wanders around the factory to tend to the Soldats that were malfunctioning.

° He ain't soft and he ain't a sissy, but that facade is thrown down the drain when he would curl up behind you to wrap his arms around your baby bump and whisper to his unborn child. He isn't much of a singer, but he hums songs from his childhood against your bump, thinking the baby could hear him.

° Karl absolutely gushes over you and the baby when he can feel a kick. He can sense the strength the little one has already. "Atta champ! Just like your old man." He is going to drag for days to his machines about the strength of his child and how they will grow to be a great leader someday.

° He is overprotective as anyone could think. Especially when Mother Miranda is around. Her, thinking it's her grandchild, decided one day to pay a visit. Karl wouldn't have that, nearly tripping over his own feet to drag her ass to the bottom of hell's tunnel.

° No one is going to mess with you and he makes sure to everyone that is clear. The Soldats don't even try to bother you. In a factory of killing machines, you are the being they are most afraid to even look at. Just wait until your child is born. Those poor machines.

[pixie-mask]

Help. I dreamt about Laura in the Ash vs Evil Dead universe and she got attached to Chet cause he looks like Travis (duh) and they got together also she was a classic werewolf in my dream and now I want to write a Chet x Laura au fic…

Oh my God. (Now forgive me for getting anything wrong as I've mainly been absorbing info limitedly by third hand.)

But um...amazing.

Like has Travis passed away or something.

But honestly just like Travis, maybe even more so, Laura would rock his world. The new vet is a hottie that moves into town and despite everything is instantly drawn to Chet. Not that Chet (as far as I've seen) has any self-esteem issues, it's more unbelievable to everyone else. Who in the town would think that Chet would pull in such a girl.

Laura can drink, but yeah she can't keep up with her new man. Though she does try to get him to slow down some just out of fear for his health although he's made it this far. Also like I said prior she can't handle a Pink Fuck so he ends up just setting up a comfy spot for her in the bar while she works through it. Speaking of the bar, guess who's the new raining champ for the amount of time spent on the mechanical bull.

When it comes to aspects of their love life. Yes, sometimes Chet is late opening the bar. Sometimes that doesn't mean he's not there, he just might be in the back for a while getting "help" from Laura. Sometimes Laura faintly smells like alcohol despite being absolutely sober. Chances are she'll be answering the door wearing on of Chet's shirts. Speaking of Chet would have no problem with how shameless Laura can be. He's proud as hell about it.

In terms of Deadites and the related, Laura is somewhere between unfazed to appropriately freaked the fucked out depending on what's happening at the moment. She's with Chet when she reveals she's a werewolf.

((btw I don't know what you mean by a traditional werewolf. Cause how they're set up is all over the place. As opposed to The Quarry werewolves do you mean in appearance and they still change on the full moon or do you mean in appearance but she can also change at will, but only at night and sentient the whole time?))

Chet's a little thrown at first thinking she's been possessed until she protects him, though he ends up having to get between her and Ash who was coming in with his chainsaw after failing to get a shot on her. Once everyone is convinced that nothing Necronomicon based is happening with Laura she becomes a very useful member of the team.

Also more werewolf traits that drag over in this au? Mainly cause, even if a bit awkward I'd kill for Laura to be able to easily lift up Chet. He's also into the sharp teeth and her eyes give off clues when they change from blue to amber. Like when she's angry, hungry or aroused.

Like I super idk.

[randombtsprincessa]

Brush His Picture

All Rights Reserved. © RandomBTSPrincessa, Tulips98.

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Words: 12.6k I am sorry for getting carried away...again.

Genre: Fluff, Angst cause it’s me

Rating: General!

Summary: Your job of writing a bio for Kim Namjoon is thrown for a spin when feelings get involved...

Warnings: It’s Namjoon. I have gushed. I am not sorry.

A/N: Firstly a warm and cuddly hug for @wynniewright​ for whom this fic is written. I enjoyed our conversations and look forward to more of those! Secondly a big hug and heaps of thanks to @casuallyimagining​ for the gif banner because I suck at those. Thirdly thanks to @thebtswritersclub​ for hosting the wonderful exchange!

Smeraldo Books, in your opinion, was the best building in the small corporate complex located just a little walking distance from your little apartment. It was slate gray; concrete and glass which gave off a cold, aloof appearance from outside, but when you entered it, it was rich creams, warm browns with tons of plants and flowers. The smell followed you, as you climbed up the floors, multicolored as should be the place where you entered new dimensions via books.

Your own floor was pastel blue, pine wood and deep tones of red and browns sprinkled here and there. If you looked hard, you’d find some pink nestled somewhere too. Today it was on your own desk. You had outdone yourself to be early today. You’d packed up everything you could think of in a sensible tote – notepad, tablet, pens, pencils, heck you’d even thrown in a sharpener and ruler scale. You’d grabbed your hello kitty travel mug, filled it with yummy hot chocolate with a touch of espresso and strode down the street to work.

You would be getting the first assignments of the incoming season today and since it was your first writing assignment overall, you wanted to make a good impression – a very good impression. Your pressed clothes and smart shoes were testament of your frazzled fluttering last night, preparing for today. Making sure you had everything; you took a deep breath and made to enter the conference room at the back of the floor.

Each floor had one, for on-floor calls and projects undertaken by the different subsets of the publishing house you worked for. Yours, in particular, was the same blue and pine, a long oval table in the centre with purple and blue mismatched chairs around it. Light streamed in clearly from the high wide windows, with glass animals on the sill throwing rainbows on the wall. In the very centre of the table was a vase, sporting the very flower that the company was named after. The ethereal blue petals blushing with pinks and violets at their veins curled delicately, recently sprayed to look dewy and fresh.

You adored these flowers; you had three pots of them at home.

***

Rena arrived at sharp 9:45. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek high ponytail that you were semi sure could cut if she – ahem, whipped her hair back and forth fast enough. You’d mentioned that during a drinking night, and had been friends since. She was your mentor in more ways than one, and you relied on her heavily, this being your first year at Smeraldo. Your appearance today would reflect on her too and you wanted her to know that she could trust you.

“Good morning, Y/N.” She smiled at you.

“Good morning, Rena. Any news for the morning?”

She shrugged, unbuttoning her navy suit. She crossed her legs. “I know seasonal meetings are important, but you don’t have to be quite so stressed about them.” She winked at you. “Don’t worry, you’ll ease into it.”

You sighed in relief. If Rena was this unbothered, you had absolutely no reason to worry.

Your steady breathing remained until about ten minutes, when at 9:55, the door was opened and the head walked in with her assistants and the other members of the floor. You shuffled to the front of your chair as the meeting commenced.

As Rena had said, it really wasn’t anything to worry about. Your head was chill enough when she presented spreadsheets, delegating people to watch the stats and curves before the real reason for the meeting was dealt with.

The ‘projects’ were the writing, the works, the foundation of Smeraldo. Every ‘project’ floor had three to four of those. The stars, who would usually grab the opportunity to head out there, do the work your creative writing professor preached about and bring in the digs. The rest of the floor was the sheep, handling excels and graphs – like commoners.

This season began with two fantasy drafts, both quickly given out to the oldest, most experienced Stars, no questions asked. They were to draft first, present later before Smeraldo published them under their banner.

“Right then,” She looked up. “Now, I don’t suppose you need to be reminded that last year we joined hands to collaborate with HYBE. It is an honor that they chose us and we intend to honor them right back, don’t we?” The words were intimidating enough for us to all nod.

“We have already worked with them so it should be easier for us to get going on the contract this time around. Right Kayla,”

We all turned to look at each other while there was silence from where the Head pointed.

***

As a part of the Smeraldo-HYBE collaboration, personal booklets for each member were released along with quarterly albums, as a sort of promotion. Last quarter, it was Min Yoongi. Now the big season project fish was Kim Namjoon. These works were separate from Smeraldo fictions but equally as important, and if the Head was to be taken seriously, even more so.

After all, BTS was worldwide famous. To do them wrong, would mean our name was mud.

Kayla was the third writer on your floor, senior to you and she had handled Mr. Min’s book. It was a given that she would take charge for the other member’s books as well…

…only…Kayla was absent…at a seasonal meeting…

The fuming ears of the floor Head suddenly told you that maybe you did have something to worry about. With all due respect to Rena, you quietly celebrated showing up an hour early.

“Where the hell is she? What’s going on?”

We stared back dumbly.

“She didn’t call in sick or called off today.” One of the assistants supplied helpfully but cowered when the Head glowered at her.

“Well, that’s all very well, but who do I brief now?”

“Not to worry, you can brief Y/N.”

There was a longer pause in which the members of your floor, simultaneously, turned to look at you. Your jaw nearly dropped, head whipping to look at Rena; the picture of ease. She looked at you and smiled.

To her credit, the Head looked equally thunderstruck. “I…Y/N?” she asked.

You looked around meekly. “Yes ma’am.”

She looked at you askance, before resolutely glancing at Rena. “You will watch her, yes?” At Rena’s nod, she turned back to you. “Miss Y/L/N, I won’t remind you that this project is extremely important to Smeraldo. I would expect your utmost best, understand?” You quickly nodded your head.

“You will be meeting with Bang Sihyuk and Namjoon himself in two days. All information about the album and the HYBE workings will be in a dossier in your mail. Don’t disappoint me.” she cast another look at Kayla’s empty chair, sighed in annoyance before swiping her files over to her assistant.

“Until next time, people,”

When the room finally emptied, you immediately turned to Rena, “Why would you do that?” You demanded.

Rena looked exactly the opposite of how you felt. Stretched onto your nerves now lay the weight of the world, your world. You had been thrilled to get an internship at Smeraldo, working your entire life around the business and after scoring an actual job here you had never thought that one day so soon you’d be at the risk of losing it.

If Kim Namjoon’s book tanked – you were dead. Dead, dead and very much dead…

“I told you, Y/N, you worry too much. This job is probably the easiest ever and since Kayla decided not to show up…I mean, come on, you’re one of our writers…the job was bound to come to you. Head madam just needed some time before she came to you. I hurried the process up. Besides, how will you learn if you don’t actually do the work?”

“But…it’s Kim Namjoon…” You mumbled.

“He’s hardly going to bite your head off, Y/N. Chin up and head to the meeting like the champ you are. You’ll be fine.” She tipped your head back with her hand before walking out herself, leaving you to scurry to your desk, feeling nowhere near as consoled as you should’ve been.

***

Two days in and you were getting dressed up yet again. Only this time, your nerves were sparking like a frayed wire no one was paying enough attention to. You chose a simple but professional outfit, worrying if there was any way anyone could nitpick on it. You ended up switching to something much more formal (and in your opinion, stuffy) attire in the wee hours of the morning, unable to get back to sleep.

HYBE’s building was situated in one of the most upscale business locales in the city. You had to take a cab to get there, already deciding that no way would you have enough time if you took a bus or the train. Already the buttons on your top felt like an over-tight corset. Thankfully, you seemed respectful and important enough to the cab driver that he stepped on the gas pedal, having you step out on the pavement in front of the building with almost twenty minutes to spare. You swigged at the espresso chocolate mix in your cup before stuffing it back into your tote.

You could do this. You had all the qualifications…if not the experience.

You could not possibly screw up that bad, could you?

According to the dossier, the meeting was set in the lounge, somewhere comfortable and open, probably a request of Namjoon’s himself. You knew enough about the man to take a guess.

Inside the building, security quickly but thoroughly sorted you out. You were patted down by a friendly lady, who smiled as she scanned you out an ID and rifled through your purse. She spotted your Hello Kitty cup and chuckled, giving you a wink that had you blushing all the way to where you were supposed to meet – directions given very kindly.

Along the way you knew. You knew that if you ever had to change jobs, you would dearly love to take one at HYBE. The place was an eclectic mix of practical and fun. There were artist posters and records and awards sprinkled around, the most prominent being BTS of course. Sunny gold lined the areas, with crisp blues and greens.

You might have even passed a little park arena.

When you reached the lounge, a sprawling area of lush moss like carpets and pink and purple art work on peach walls, there were only two other people in. The ones you were here to meet.

You recognized Namjoon from the door itself.

Insanely tall and thickly built in all the right places, he stood at a window. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his baggy khakis, a thin blue sweater hanging over his frame, hiding just how muscular he truly must be. Your lips twitched at the deep rose pink hue of his hair.

The other man must have been Mr. Sihyuk, grey suited and glasses perched on the tip of his nose, steadily going through sheaves of paper. Both men looked up at your knock on the glass doors.

Mr. Sihyuk stood up first, hand outstretched but his smile looked a little confused.

“Um, Miss Kayla…how nice to see you, again…”

It seemed like a question, his eyes scanning over your face as if trying to place you and you froze. Your hand paused just a little away from his, eyes darting around to the Idol who joined his CEO.

“It was wonderful to have you with us again on the bio projects for the albums,” He continued, seeming unfazed by your gob-smacked face. “You did a brilliant job on Yoongi’s. I was sad to be unable to meet with you before.”

Oh…dear…they didn’t know it wasn’t Kayla who was going to be on the job. Suddenly you felt like sinking through the soft carpets, right underground. They probably had dossiers of their own, with Kayla’s name across them. They didn’t know that she had slept in that one day and they didn’t know that they were now stuck with you.

“I’m – I’m afraid there's some misunderstanding, Mr. Sihyuk. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m afraid Kayla was unavailable for the project.”

There was absolute silence on both ends after you finished. Mr. Sihyuk’s shoulders fell at your words, mouth parting as his eyes went scanning you again. This time you could distinctly feel him sizing you up. His eyebrows twitched up just so.

“Well then,” The other man, Kim Namjoon, the one you were supposed to write about, extended his hand. “I suppose we should rehash that welcome. Hello Miss Y/L/N, my name is Kim Namjoon. I look forward to working with you.”

You jolted a little, even stumbling forward to shake his hand, now thoroughly shaken out from your humiliated stupor.

“Forgive us, we must not have read the email citing the change.” Bang Sihyuk continued, spreading his hands genially.

“Don’t worry about it. These things can happen.” You fiddled with your bag strap with a tight smile, ignoring the urge to sway on the balls of your feet. The thick tension had still not dissipated as the three of you stood in a triangle, wondering who was going to make the first move.

It had to be you, shockingly. “So, um, shall we begin?”

You were shown a plush red armchair, Namjoon and Bang-PD taking the matching sofa as you were given the preliminary data. A small biographical book of sorts, more of a booklet if you were being honest; talking about an important segment in Namjoon’s life and his process and journey throughout the inspiration and creative take of the upcoming album. Standard, new age stuff…same as Yoongi’s…you already had Kayla’s old notes on the write up forwarded in your email.

You scribbled in small notes in your notepad while Mr. Sihyuk slid a small calendar across. “This is the tentative production and release schedule that we want to follow. There is, of course, plenty of time for you to follow Namjoon around and get a feel of the work environment, the studio life and of course, Namjoon himself. You’ll have quite a lot of time to write. The book will be issued and launched before the press conference and promotions will be done along with availability of the bio in stores.”

You studied the calendar before slipping it into your bag. “Thank you, Mr. Sihyuk. This is most helpful. We’ll be starting work from next week then?”

You were met with nods.

“Well, I’ll be off. It was wonderful to make your acquaintance, Miss Y/L/N. Please, forgive us about the whole Kayla mishap.” Bang-PD stood, you and Namjoon following and with a parting handshake he marched out of the lounge.

You began to slide in your pens and notes back in the bag when you noticed that Namjoon hadn’t followed his CEO out. Instead he stayed back; hands behind his back, watching you pack up.

You glanced up at him in question, meeting his impish small smile with a confused one of your own. “I’m sorry, I just feel so bad about the…thing before.” He said.

“Oh please, really, don’t worry. I’m, like, very new to this so it was bound to happen.” You waved a hand, slinging your tote on your shoulder, preparing to leave.

“Drive safe.” He said, gesturing for you to walk before him.

“Don’t have a car,” You blurted out instinctively before mentally slapping yourself.

“Oh, do you need a car? I’m sure we can get one to take you back to the office.”

“No, no, please.” Your ears burned at the thought of taking one of HYBE’s no doubt lavish company cars to simply take you back to Smeraldo. “I’ll just take a cab.”

You didn’t wait for his reply, shooting a quick smile and wave as you nearly rushed towards the exit.

***

Next week saw a dip in temperature, with you arriving at HYBE wrapped in a coat and scarf. You pulled off your beanie when the kind lady at the desk handed you your lanyard, this time stamped across it were the words EMPLOYEE/ COLLABORATOR. It felt heavy around your neck, the figurative noose as it were, in case you messed up.

Namjoon met you near the reception desk, jogging over from one of the elevators. “Hey!” He smiled wide, rosy hair glinting under the lights. “You’re right on time.”

“Oh,” You wondered if they were watching you for slip-ups and punctuality was one area they were scrutinizing. “On time for what?”

“To meet up; it’s so cold we’re all taking coffee breaks every ten minutes. I thought we could just work in the café?”

Namjoon rubbed his large palms together, drawing your attention to his fingers – soft and perfectly formed. You cleared your throat, shocked at yourself – tightly smiling back.

“Sure, lead the way.” As if you were going to refuse a request from Kim Namjoon himself, you and he walked the same route as you had the first time you’d come here. Only this time, you passed the lounge and followed another hallway which led to what was obviously the cafeteria. The back was lined with counters and serving tables of buffets. There were couches strewn about, booths, and tables. You felt like you were back in school. You hoped the food would be better.

Namjoon led you first to the serving tables. Stirring himself a simple cup of coffee, he turned to you. “Anything you want, you can find here. Sandwiches, subs, ramen, noodles, yeah, we have to go out if you want something more…sustainable.”

“No, this is great.” You gratefully tore open a mixer packet of hot chocolate, bringing out your own mug to put it in. you’d sipped the drink in the journey over, before finally realizing you’d emptied it.

Your new muse raised his eyebrow at the Hello Kitty but didn’t say anything, only suppressing an amused smile. You pretended not to notice that.

Once you were sitting at one of the tables near the windows, you spread your recorder, notebook, pens and cup, ready to work. “Ok, shall we start?”

Namjoon took the final gulp of his coffee, nodding.

“Right so, you’re going to be writing the prologue of the book yourself.” You muttered, flitting through the primary requirements.

“Yep, it’ll be more of a front to my thoughts which you’ll be writing about. It’ll be a personal note to the members, the staff and ARMY from me. Something that is completely mine but it will set the tone for your work.” Namjoon turned his phone to you, tapping a note on it. “I already have the first draft for it. It’ll be revised of course but I’ll email it to you so you can start with that.”

You picked up your pen and then it was only Namjoon talking about how the primary idea for the album came to life and began to gestate in his mind. You found it incredible, how a small incident or a sound could inspire someone like that. You’d never had any experience that moved you like that. You told him as such, wistful of the kind of inspiration that might never ever come.

Namjoon placed an elbow on the table, looking keenly at you. “You’re a writer.” He pointed out.

“Not really; I am working as such, yeah, but I wouldn’t say I’ve been inspired by anything. You have. I think you’ve been inspired since you were…what, fifteen?”

“I had a different beginning than yours, yes. But you can’t compare inspiration with experience. Experience comes after inspiration. Before, there’s only the feeling, the emotion that leads to it. Would you say that you started writing out of just an everyday inspiration, or did you feel something for the craft that drove you to it?”

“I wouldn’t say that’s a fair comparison.” You fiddled with the pages of notes. “I know your beginning, of course, everyone does. I didn’t have that kind of harsh circumstances pushing me to motivation. To be very honest…I’d say I’ve breezed past life. I love my job, but I don’t have much to show in the journey to it.”

Namjoon was silent for a few moments. His tongue poked into his cheek as he regarded you shrewdly. Finally, he gave you a sweet smile, eyes scrunching and dimples popping. Your pen stopped twirling in your fingers, blood easing in your veins at the simple change of expression.

“And that’s okay,” he said, “Not everyone should have to suffer through awful situations to achieve things they aim for. Success shouldn’t be measured in tears, Y/N. The point of life, in my opinion, is happiness and in the end that is what matters; the fact that you end up happy.”

You blinked as Namjoon’s blinding smile dimmed, turning into moonshine as he ran a finger over the rim of his empty cup. The seconds stretched by, you silently removing your gaze from his and taking down everything he had said. Your eyes wanted very badly to return to his face but you kept them firmly on the page, pondering his words, until you realized through your daze that he was speaking again.

“I’m sorry again, about PD-nim and the whole Kayla thing. The email we got was sitting in the inbox but we weren’t informed and neither did we think of checking the company email before the meeting itself.” His voice had softened, turned apologetic that had you hurrying to ease his conscience.

“I already told you, it’s no biggie, really.” You insisted.

“It must’ve been nerve-wracking, especially on the first day.”

You huffed, air whistling from your lips at him, before acquiescing, “Yeah, ok, maybe a little.”

That moonshine smile brightened again, defeating the sun beams that streaked through the windows. “Allow me to make up for it by giving you a tour of our studios. Same time, tomorrow.”

At that time, you were only glad that you could gaze at his face without an excuse.

***

It took you a few days, getting used to the new schedule. You were used to the short walk from your home to Smeraldo. You were used to the morning crispness on your cheeks, the thud of your feet on the pavement and then the warm confines of your office cubicle.

The new pattern involved you having to catch a cab everyday to HYBE. It wasn’t too expensive thankfully, and the hours you spent in the expanse of HYBE, shadowing Namjoon to his haunts and work areas was starting to prove much more enjoyable and rewarding than anything you’d be doing in Smeraldo.

You were drawn into the chatter and gossip of the makeup artists, the lady who intercepted you daily at the desk struck up more conversations with you when you entered. She had a son, you’d learned. Her husband worked away from the city but he commuted every weekend and they found time for getaways whenever they could.

The most jolting experience was meeting the rest of Bangtan.

Namjoon had asked you to accompany him to one of the group practices and when you entered the huge mirrored room, you spotted the rest of the boys sitting here and there, some on their phones, the other stretching.

“Hey guys,” Namjoon slipped the strap of his work out bag over his head, turning slightly to the side to show you standing behind him to the rest of the idols. You raised a hand awkwardly, waving.

“You brought a friend?” One of the men at the back asked – Jimin, with his baby features and an inquisitive smile.

“Actually, this is Y/N. She’s the one doing the bio book for the album for me this time.” He placed a hand gently on your back, pushing you ahead when you failed to step forward.

“Uh, hi,” you mumbled, “nice to meet you all. I’m Y/N.”

“Yeah, Hyung just said.”

Your cheeks immediately heated, helplessly turning to the one who’d spoken.

“Yah, Jungkook-ah, be nice.” A taller man – Jin - smacked the back of the maknae’s head, before smiling at you. “It is very nice to meet you, Y/N. Are you going to be working while we practice?”

The gentle voice of the older man did wonders for you. Reminded of Rena’s composure, you immediately brightened, bowing to them naturally. “Yes sir, I am supposed to be shadowing Mr. Kim so…I hope you don’t mind.”

This made them burst out laughing – Namjoon included.

“‘Mr. Kim’, wow, Namjoon you’ve traumatized the girl. Please don’t be so formal, we’re not used to it.” Jin chortled.

Namjoon rolled his eyes, taking your elbow gently to guide you to sit on one of the cushions against the back wall. “You can sit here and watch. We won’t kick you in the face that way.” He winked and you managed a weak giggle back when you had recovered enough.

Why, oh why did he have to be so attractive? In those loose black shorts, that blasted white tank, you hadn’t been able to quite meet his eyes ever since you’d met him today.

You decided to obey the laws of ‘work’ as BTS practiced their routines. You pulled out your usual supply of pens and your trusty notebook and began to scrawl everything you’d observed, this time the process of choreography and how the dynamics between the group members and Namjoon worked in these hard routines. It took you about five pages, filling out and circling details that you would highlight in the bio.

Soon enough, you ran out of work to distract you. You folded your hands in your lap neatly, simply watching in awe. Each member hit the beat with a different type of attitude. If Jungkook was sleek as a panther, Hoseok was a coiled serpent, but none of them ever missed a beat. There was a tandem between them all, which made you sure that they took this very seriously. After all, they were known for their work ethic and it was their bread and butter.

They couldn’t slack in this just as much as you couldn’t slack in the bio.

Your eyes drifted back to Namjoon. Even though you knew, he wouldn’t describe himself as a dancer primarily, he was no less behind in his steps than his members. He moved with an awkward grace not unlike people of his height. God of Destruction – you remembered – and yet, you couldn’t help but watch when he moved. His chin jutted in concentration and you balled your fist under your chin, chiding yourself.

You were self aware enough to recognize the flow of your emotions and right now, they were particularly worrying. You were in awe of Kim Namjoon, anyone with any semblance of sense would be. He was intelligent, chivalrous, generous, charming, thoughtful, and humorous and in the days you’d worked with him, more than just books and music. He was a fun and charming person to be around and he attracted people like moths.

But…he was way beyond human leagues.

Someone like Kim Namjoon couldn’t be human. He had to be some eldritch being, put together into conception out of pure matter and stardust. There was no way his mind and his soul were meant to be meandering on this planet. And while you were aware he was far from purposeless, you wondered if he would ever be satisfied with his purpose in time.

Maybe…maybe not…

And you, as the self aware person as you were, couldn’t – shouldn’t – be having such tumultuous emotions regarding him. He was pink roses, a dusty shade of gold that had been polished and made to shine from a young age and he basked in the glow of adoration. He was at a peak you couldn’t hope to touch.

Never mind the fact that feelings mixing with work were always dangerous. You had no room for failure if these got in the way. You couldn’t afford to lose your job. You would lose everything you had staked and for what? You couldn’t throw your life away for an unattainable man. You sighed, closed your eyes and ducked your head before any of the men could notice your hard stares.

***

If you had to pick a climax for your journey with Namjoon, you’d pick the day he texted you a weekly schedule filled with interviews and media covered events that you couldn’t shadow him to. What would you do? You couldn’t exactly carry a notepad and pens in your mouth after him like a loyal puppy while he did his job. The interviews were okay, all you had to do was stand at the back behind the camera and note the way he answered his questions and if it was an English interview, the way he deflected stupid and rude questions from his members. Although it was clear by their now unimpressed faces they knew exactly what was going on.

The trouble was the red carpet event that you couldn’t push through. It would be a shame too, since this would be one of the prime times to jot a piece of Namjoon down. In front of flashing cameras, strutting with his head held high, knowing and projecting assurance. It would’ve been a great detail in the bio.

Apparently Namjoon thought the same, because as soon as he saw blue ticks in your text chat, he called you.

“So, what do you think?” He asked.

“About what, the event…? It’s too bad, I’ll watch it on TV and you can tell me how it goes over ice-cream.” You answered, in the face of his snort.

“Or…you could just come with me as my plus one. As a friend, of course, you can sit with that little note of yours and keep writing while people scream in my ear.”

You clutched the phone hard. He wanted you to come with him? He wanted to take you with him to an event? A red carpet event at that…on his arm, with people around…but as friends of course…

“Um…it’s kind of short notice…I don’t even have a dress.” You hedges unsteadily, hoping he didn’t notice the abrupt breathiness of your voice.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I have a fashion extraordinaire handy. Text me your dress size,”

The next you heard from Namjoon was when a huge, pure white box made its way to your apartment door. The delivery man took your signature on a tablet, wearing a sleek blue shirt and pressed pants that nowhere in the world could be a uniform for couriers.

You carried the heavy box to your couch in confusion, fingers fluttering with the navy blue ribbon around it in trepidation. Should you dare open it? It looked very expensive. Maybe this was a mistake and it got delivered to you in a mix up. But it couldn’t be. The name on the tablet was yours, the address yours…

You took a deep breath and pulled the knot loose.

The ribbon fell away gracefully, the top of the box grasped in your fingers and then you opened it up.

If you weren’t holding your breath…you’d have gasped.

Inside was a gown. Ok, that was a massive understatement. The fabric was thick, layers and layers of silk and glitter draped over each other to make a thing of dreams. The delicate straps of it felt like gauze, slipping over your skin when you pulled it out in pure awe.

You couldn’t possibly wear something like this. You could never pull it off. You glanced at the mirror near your door, the skirts catching the light of your room and sparkling.

You’d be wearing a million stars sewn on your body.

Your phone chimed the very moment your weak fingers were about to drop the dress, a sacrilege that proved you unworthy of it.

Hope you liked it J I’ll pick you up at 7.

And he didn’t take your calls. He didn’t hear you out. He didn’t listen to you list the reasons why you couldn’t do this, shouldn’t do this.

Your heart was already beating drums in your chest, each set letting you know that it was misreading this gesture. Namjoon wasn’t wooing you with this dress. He was simply making sure you didn’t look like a garbage can next to him. After all, red carpets meant celebrities, paparazzi, superior expectations. He couldn’t afford to show up with someone looking like they had barely been able to put together an outfit fit for the walk.

After hours of trying, at five you gave up, beginning to get dressed.

You washed and dried your hair, putting it up in a roll that was easy and you had mastered for your interview. It couldn’t be faulted…maybe it was a little simple but hey, you hoped the attention wouldn’t be on your hair. Not with that dress…

As you had guessed, the dress was heavy, weighing your body down till you had to carefully bunch handfuls of the sparkling skirt just to walk. You paired it with the lowest heels you owned, and a simple silver set – a gift from your parents upon graduating.

The brilliant shade of lipstick applied, you prayed and prayed that Namjoon wouldn’t find you disappointing. Of course, only so; that you wouldn’t be a source of embarrassment to him and HYBE and Smeraldo. It had nothing to do with you wishing you could be swallowed by the earth if Namjoon looked even slightly put off.

He arrived sharp at seven, even climbing out to greet you. Your trip in the elevator had been thankfully solo. No peeking neighbors to comment on your appearance but of course the building manager caught sight of you, gaping through the glass door of his office. You hoped he wouldn’t attempt to raise your rent.

Sleek and pristine in a black suit and silver shirt, open at the throat, your breath did catch at the vision he made. His hair was pushed back now and he grinned when you slowly tottered over. “Hi,” he said simply, eyes glinting in the glow of the dress.

“Hey, you didn’t take my calls.” You blurted out, again wanting to smack yourself.

“Yeah, I’m sorry; I got busy with speech training and fittings. They messed up though; I’m wearing shoes one size big.” You and he both glanced down at the polished black shoes with silver toes. you shook your head at the distraction.

“Namjoon, this dress…it’s too much; I can’t say anything right now but thank you.”

“Don’t thank me – it was Taehyung who picked it out.” His eyes moved down the dress before he looked away suddenly, hand moving to rub his neck. “You look great – beautiful, I mean.”

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

Namjoon helped you climb into the car, bending down so he could collect about nine drapes and pleats of silk to lay them on the car floor before shutting you in. You glanced at the driver of the Cadillac that Namjoon had brought and decided to stay mum for the drive.

The sprawling expanse of the hall where the gala was taking place sent you into nervous jitters. You touched the edge of the top, wondering if it was tight enough, if the necklace was enough to draw attention away. Of course, the dress was the highlight of your outfit, but suddenly all you could think of were the faux pas that could get you kicked out and possibly fired.

You had no time to turn to Namjoon with these worries, to beg him to allow you to stay in the car when valets were opening the doors.

Flashing lights, camera with too bright heads blinded you momentarily and all you heard was a quiet ‘wait’ from Namjoon before he was exiting the car.

He shot easy smiles at the front line of the media before turning to assist you. Maybe they realized that Kim Namjoon had indeed brought someone with him because the screams increased in pitch and volume, deafening you as well.

You were completely disoriented when you felt Namjoon’s arm go casually around your waist, one hand still holding your skirts so he could walk you at least to the main photo calls and away from the paps.

“Hey, easy, okay, they’re always like that. Are you okay?” Namjoon mumbled in your ear when you were a safe distance away, turning you to face him.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay…I just…wow, it’s a lot to take in.” You grabbed the skirts that Namjoon had let go and began to set them around you properly.

“Okay, all we have to do is walk this bit, get some photos, talk to that man at the end and then we can head in.”

You followed Namjoon's instructions quietly. Smiling lightly, when Namjoon posed in the centre of the carpet with the logo of the sponsors behind you two; Your posture probably wasn’t the most glamorous because the camera man shrugged before letting you pass – to the interviewer.

“Kim. Namjoon.” The white suited man gasped as if Namjoon had just landed from outer space and said something scandalizing.

“Oh dear, should I be worried?” Namjoon laughed breezily but his hold on your back stiffened.

“Not at all, it seems…who is the lucky lady? We’ve never seen you. Are we finally seeing the elusive RM being snatched up off the market?” The man took the time to level a polite smile at you before Namjoon waved his hand.

“Rubbish; I could never hope to snag someone like her. This is my friend; she’s accompanying me as part of a job.”

You noticed he never gave your name, thankfully.

“Ah…just friends? Pity, you look stunning together.”

“She is stunning but I would never claim to be as lucky as that. Do please excuse us, heels and all.” The interviewer laughed as Namjoon ushered you inside the hall.

Your smile had glazed over by now and when Namjoon sat you in one of the chairs next to him, you made sure to not move too much while he had to mingle.

As heavy as the gown was, the weight of it was something completely different now. Your wings had wilted back into nothingness, bringing you down to the earth with a less than pleasant thump.

Here, in the hall with actual stars around you, it didn’t matter if stars covered your body tonight. You couldn’t be part of this. You belonged in your cubicle at Smeraldo with books that had been your lifelong companions.

You weren’t stupid. You knew Namjoon being an idol was a consequence as well as reality. His proximity had blinded you, with those bewildering smiles and irresistible dimples. He’d poetically woven a spell that with him being now gone was breaking.

You were worlds apart.

Maybe this could be a story someday.

But it would never be reality.

***

Your realization couldn’t have come at a more opportune moment. As days went by, time spent with Namjoon waned; instead you went back to your little pastel cubicle, typing away at your laptop, pouring facts mixed with sentiment onto the digital document.

Soon, pages of this would be flying off the shelves along with an album. Your connection with Namjoon would be severed and you both would part ways as acquaintances.

That would be that. You tried not to think too much of it like that. It colored your work a little melancholy and you’d have to go back and redo it so it would be upbeat.

It was one of those days of you clacking away when a shadow fell over your cubicle. You didn’t lift your eyes at first, engrossed in the mild noises your keys made when the presence started to…feel hostile. You glanced up curiously, meeting the curve of an arm first and perched on it, was the weight of Kayla.

She wasn’t looking at you; instead her eyes were on the screen of your laptop, reading your work with a tilt to her head that – to you – was condescending.

“Kayla,” You called in confusion and her eyes flitted to you.

“Carry on, carry on, I’m just going to watch. I want to see how you’re going to do this.” Maybe you were paranoid…but she definitely sounded snide.

“Do what, type…?” you mumbled under your breath, about to turn back to work but she heard you and decided to answer.

“I want to see the new worker ruin Namjoon’s story. That way we can all go back to our normal lives.”

You stopped. Your eyes widened in surprise at the blatant vehemence. You turned to her.

“Excuse me, but I’m not ruining anything. It was you, who decided to sleep in and you who missed the meeting. If anything, you’re the one who ruined your shot.”

“It wasn’t a ‘shot’ for me, Y/N. It was a guaranteed project. I was sick, it happens. I’m just surprised they let the newbie take on such a big collab. But then again, being a lapdog pays in this industry. Connections are more important than talent, I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, you definitely would be the one doing Namjoon’s story justice with that attitude.” You snapped back. If there was one thing you wouldn’t stand for, it was her sullying Rena.

She smiled again, removing herself from your cubicle wall. “Petty fights don’t matter to me, Y/N. I’m still your senior and soon enough I’ll be back to doing my rightful share of work.” She walked off in a very final manner, leaving you to stare after her a good while before you could turn back to your screen.

The blinking cursor taunted you, each second that passed without it budging, a point in proving that Kayla may have been right. You growled internally, rubbing your dry eyes.

You needed a change of view.

***

Your laptop was now perched on the same table you and Namjoon had sat on that first day. Your back was to the rest of the café, eyes free to drift out the window. You sipped on a simple smoothie and tapped away, making good progress. At this rate you could hand in the first draft in less than a week. A hundred pages worth of a booklet formed much easier when your mind was clear. You wondered again if you could change places here.

You hoped at least this way you’d be safely out of Namjoon’s path and could also enjoy the lovely environment of the building. After all, one sin didn’t have to equate to ditching another, did it?

No sooner had your mind finished that thought when you heard his voice. Your fingers rattled over your keyboard, printing the stupid version of words on your screen and you had to halt in case he had seen you and was coming over.

When you didn’t hear that cheerful deep voice that was now uncomfortably familiar to you approach from behind, you took the chance to peek over your shoulder, just to see how he was – just that.

He wasn’t alone, thankfully. Next to him stood another familiar figure; much shorter and just as broad. Min Yoongi hadn’t been very verbose with you when you’d been introduced but then again, you knew the man wasn’t a fan of small talk with strangers. He was under no obligation to chat you up and you weren’t expecting him to either.

They finally picked up their orders, sitting at one of the tables in your line - Comfortably far away so that they wouldn’t notice you; but also within earshot of you. You sighed, returning your attention to the document on your screen.

“So, how’s the book coming? Any news yet?” You heard Yoongi’s baritone.

“Not yet, but I’m sure it’s going to come along fast. Give or take a few days maybe,” Namjoon took a loud gulp, scrolling through his phone.

“I hope so. She was new, wasn’t she? I didn’t remember seeing her when it was my turn. It was that other girl…Kayla something. What’s your girl’s name again?”

You silently cleared your throat, expecting Namjoon to snap in that you weren’t ‘his girl’ but he only hummed. “It’s Y/N. We messed up that day, called her Kayla. Guess we must have thrown her off her game that whole day, but she was amazingly professional. It was stupid too, that email was sitting right in the office email, and an intern missed it and didn’t tell us.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t treat your workers right. Even interns are deserving of respect. Maybe if they were catered to the way the company expects them to cater to it, it would -,”

“Hyung, I love your rants – but please.”

Yoongi shrugged, taking a bite out of his sandwich. You cracked a smile, biting your lip to stifle a giggle at Namjoon’s dazed expression.

“So, what’s she like? You hung out with her quite a lot.” Yoongi’s voice dipped, muttering something to Namjoon whose fingers stopped scrolling, a pensive expression on his face now. You glanced back at your screen, frowning, wondering what Yoongi must’ve said.

Namjoon didn’t answer for a long time and you had to keep glancing over, just in case he was actually muttering too and you were just not hearing anything but nope. He remained silent for a good long while, staring down at the coffee cup in front of him.

“I think…I think I would’ve preferred to work with this Kayla.”

You froze, your fingers hovering over the keys, making zero noise. You wished the other people in the café would quiet down and Namjoon would repeat himself but only this time you’d hear something else, something positive, something not so utterly crushing.

“Oh, she’s not up to the standard?” Yoongi asked.

“It’s…its stupid. I know it’s a shitty thing for me to say, but -,” But he was still going to go ahead and do it. He was still going to get those words out, unaware that you were able to hear him and have your gut wrenched.

What was wrong with you? Why were you not good enough to work with Kim Namjoon? Was it the rambling or blurting out thing? Was it the inability to retain composure? Had you messed up during a meeting that he was holding a grudge against? Did you somehow embarrass him during the gala? Had he already complained about you to his management and members, told them that this was the last time you were to work with them?

They had hushed up now, clearly having a private conversation and you were thankful. You didn’t know how you could handle hearing more. And you definitely didn’t want the rest of HYBE staff to hear how pathetic you were to their stars. If word got back to Smeraldo, you’d be fired. You’d lose everything.

You shut the laptop screen quietly, a hand sliding your things from the table top straight into your bag. Slinging your stuff onto your shoulders, you walked out of the room – out of the building – away from anything related to BTS.

***

You were resolute the next day, walking into Smeraldo with no words of greeting spoken to anyone. You got to your floor and then marched straight into Rena’s office, hurriedly knocking the prologue to the urgency of your matter.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Rena frowned, actually getting up from her seat when you stumbled in.

Something did happen, yes. I got way in over my head.

“I…I…need to um, change – the BTS project. I can’t do it anymore.” The words rushed out, thick and unintelligible but Rena apparently got the gist of it because she dropped her shoulders, crossing her arms.

“What happened?” she asked flatly.

I have a crush on my subject and he thinks I’m the worst thing to happen since the rise of patriarchy.

“Nothing serious; I just…I’m not cut out for this Rena. I told you that day of the meeting. It’s too much, I can barely sleep, can’t eat.”

Ok, provided that was only one day because your mind was too obsessed thinking about what you heard but still – you could definitely apply the cases.

“What are you talking about? You just gave me your stats two days ago. You were fifty three pages in and climbing.”

“Yeah well I’m not happy with it. I’ve been writing in a daze. Please Rena.” You begged; you’d have gotten on your knees at that point but mercifully, after about nine seconds of shrewdly eyeing you, she finally sighed.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed – and very, very surprised. You’re one of the better writers at Smeraldo, Y/N; I wouldn’t have pushed you for this if you weren’t. I believed in you. But I can’t make you work if you’re not happy and I certainly can’t let it affect this collaboration. It wouldn’t help anyone – so…fine. We’ll make the change. I’ll have the boss send an email…and you can personally go and hand Kayla all your material on the job so she can start as soon as possible. We still have time to make it up I think.”

You nodded, surreptitiously wiping a streak of moisture that had escaped without notice before you paused. And then you put in a request for Rena to consider before grabbing all your notes, drafts and your work laptop and walking up to Kayla’s more spacious cubicle.

She was reading a magazine when you tapped the side wall, eyes rising up to yours before her eyebrows raised at the amount of things you were carrying. Without preamble, you let them crash on to her neat desk.

“Uh, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not doing Namjoon’s bio anymore. They want you to do it.” Namjoon wanted her, in particular.

Kayla stopped scowling, looking at you in confusion before her face darkened again. “Listen Y/N, I don’t care much for charity -,”

“It’s not. I swear it’s not Kayla. I really, really can’t do it anymore. Please…please just take it off my hands.”

Slowly, her face cleared, eyes still examining yours for any insincerity before she picked up your notebook, carding through the pages.

“It’s a little shocking, I’ll admit but fine. But you…why are you giving it up? It’s BTS. It’s probably the biggest break you’d ever get.”

You shrugged, unwilling to converse more than necessary about this. “I just felt bad…and ill about it.” You didn’t exaggerate and Kayla didn’t ask you to elaborate. You glanced down at the biggest bag which you’d placed under her desk. The box was still exquisitely white and unblemished.

“Can you just do me one last favor?”

“What?”

“When you see Namjoon, can you give that bag back to him? Tell him thanks for everything.”

***

The days passed quickly, each one easier than the last as you decided to stuff your stupid, pointless feelings – hurt and otherwise into one single compartment: DO NOT TOUCH.

Namjoon had had to meet with Kayla quickly, to put in effect the plans that the senior writer was going to play with. She already had your notes, but they would still have to spend some time together just so she could get a feel of his prologue and run with it.

It had taken about two visits from Kayla before your phone started to act up.

He sent a text first. At a decent time…you were at work, taking a small break when the ping came. You promptly slid the notification aside and pushed the nagging in your head to look at it into that one compartment. An hour passed…then another before another message came. You couldn’t help but glance at the words even as you slid it out of focus.

Are you ok? What’s going on?

Namjoon didn’t text again for the remainder of the day and you heaved a sigh of relief. It would be easier to not mess with that box of goodies in your head if only anything pertaining to Kim Namjoon was taken out of your path.

Only…he decided to call you…

As soon as you entered your little apartment and took off your shoes, flexing your toes, the trill of your ringtone made you fumble in your bag. You almost slid the call to accept, catching yourself just in time when you saw the big white KIM NAMJOON flashing on the ID.

You stared at the name, a proverbial finger dancing over the latch of the compartment. But you couldn’t…you couldn’t mope over him again; you had given an entire day of wallowing up to his name.

Again, you heard him preferring Kayla. You placed the phone onto the coffee table and went into the bathroom to change.

Namjoon’s persistence remained impressive though. He called and texted every day ranging from thrice to five times. Almost every time you frowned. You had given him Kayla. What more could he want? He was desperate to know if you were okay, wondering if something had happened to you and that Smeraldo was trying to cover it up but you couldn’t bring yourself to put him at ease.

Also, it was getting steadily difficult to keep his name out of your life. BTS was worldwide, he was a global entity. He was everywhere…the media, the news, there were even fucking standees in malls for them.

But your job was keeping you busy, mercifully.

The day you had gone to Rena to ask her to put Kayla on the bio project and take you off, you’d also asked to be moved to a different section of jobs, just for the time being – till you could come back to yourself, or so you told her.

In reality, the editing and beta reader position that you now held was time consuming and kept you focused and engrossed enough to not think about the idol. Not every piece of writing was amazing, but fiction was fiction and you gladly succumbed to romances and fantasies that were wildly improbable - simply because they were possible in their worlds.

You could not be more grateful to Rena for this. You finished more than your quota of three manuscripts a day, sometimes even staying up at night if one was particularly interesting. You knew you’d have to go back to writing someday but for now, you wanted to do a good job so you wouldn’t let down Rena more than you already had.

You shuddered to think of returning to your laptop. It was a mistake to think that you were cut out for this job. There was a certain level of coldness required to be a writer – the sheaves of paper in front of you proved that. You had none of that ruthlessness in you. You were too soft, too sheltered. You had grown attached to a subject that you were supposed to present as facts. Instead you had painted him in a fantastic palette of misdirected emotions that he was under no obligation to act upon.

And so now you were hurt…and it was your own fault.

To write again, you would first need a spine, one forged in titanium instead of the malleable clay that had wrapped around the fingers of others so easily.

In some days of your ruminations…Namjoon stopped calling and texting and you were then rudely interrupted by Kayla, striding over to deliver news you hadn’t asked for.

“Mr. Kim took the dress back.” she announced as soon as she pressed herself at your desk. You looked up from your fourth manuscript of the day, peering at her through your glasses. Your back was sore and your neck felt lodged.

“He’s asking about you.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, clearing your throat before reaching for a bottle of water. “I’m okay.”

“He said he reached out but you never responded. Why don’t you respond? He’s obviously concerned.” She continued, putting an unnecessary emphasis on ‘obviously’. It irked you.

“He was my subject matter. Now he’s not. It’s inappropriate.” You barely kept from snapping, shrugging noncommittally. Kayla was still there, eyeing you in that way, that made you feel smaller than her.

“Well, I don’t think he feels it’s inappropriate. He’s enquiring about someone he considers a friend. He’s been known to care about friends.”

You put the manuscript down finally. You looked up at her blankly but she didn’t flinch. Instead Kayla returned your heavy look with one of hers, raking you down with an appraising look. After a few moments of silence she gracefully straightened and turned on her heel, returning to her cubicle.

You picked up your manuscript again.

***

The cursor was blinking again. The walls of your cubicle needed a wipe down. Some of the pens in your drawer needed replacing. You revolved on your chair once – twice – thrice before facing the darn cursor again.

It had been two days since Rena had asked (basically commanded) you to return to your original post. One because you had gotten through the work she’d set aside for you. Second because Smeraldo’s projects were lining up and they needed their writers to buck up. You being one of them now needed to get in the game.

Or you would lose your job. After all, even though Rena treated you like a sister, it didn't mean she was going to baby you forever. Her own job would be on the line.

So you returned, starting out slow, with slogans and advertising scripts. Only…advertisements meant media research…and you knew what you were going to see the first thing you delved into that.

When your phone rang, you were almost eager to get to it. Namjoon hadn’t called in a while – it was safe again. You glanced at the unfamiliar number once, curious before you pressed the accepted call to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,”

The deep thrum of his voice reverberated in your ear, travelling straight through your heart – setting it to thump unsteadily – and landed deep in your belly, burning uncomfortably.

Your fingers tightened around the device, unable to speak, unable to pull it away from your ear, unable to comprehend simply hanging up. Instead you helplessly muttered his name. The two syllables were heavy on your tongue, some emotion injected in them that you doubted he could sense over the phone.

It irked you that you had so easily been caught unaware. You had paid attention to every text, every call for so long, swiping him out of your sight to avoid the temptation and here he was, smartening up and using another number altogether.

You guessed his IQ really did pay off.

When he spoke again, there was no weight in his tenor, no sense of concern that Kayla had said he felt about your absence. If anything he sounded cold, indifferent – as if you were just another person he was talking to.

And you were...you couldn’t mean anything to him.

“How have you been? It’s been quite some time.” He said, formal, aloof.

“Yeah, I’ve...I’ve been keeping busy. What...about you? How are you?” You mumbled.

“I’m fine. The bio is going on fine, I heard from Kayla.” He seemed to be moving while he spoke, you could hear distinct shuffles around him.

“That’s nice. So, is something wrong? Did you need something? If you lost Kayla’s number –”

“Can I not call you unless there was something wrong?” he cut you off smoothly, pleasant while you stumbled to correct yourself.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just –”

“Anyway, so the boys wanted to throw a party in celebration of the album finalization. It’s a dinner and games thing so be prepared to be bored if you’re not into that. They wanted to invite you because you were part of the bio making process.”

They...they were inviting you, not him. It seemed silly, to be stung by such a tiny little detail but you couldn’t help the down-turn of your lips, the frown settling upon your brows. “What about Kayla?”

“I don’t know, maybe one of the boys will get to it. So, do I count you in?”

“Why me, Namjoon, I left the project, didn’t I?”

“Is that a no?”

You sighed, annoyance surging at the way he deliberately ignored your pointed remarks. “Fine, I’ll be there.”

“See you at 7. You know where the dorm is. Just tell the front desk you’re here for BTS and give them your name.”

He hung up before you could spill out another question, pose another objection. You looked irate at the blackened screen, feeling used and mocked yet again. He had reached you so long after you cut him off and he had had the gall to sound miffed with you? You stuffed the phone back into your back.

The evening would last long. You vowed that this would be the last time you would have anything to do with Kim Namjoon.

***

You had been intimidated by the idea of BTS before. After spending a few days with Namjoon, you could appreciate them being normal men, seven men who just wanted to make music, who were young, a little dorky but overall just themselves.

Coming here, standing in front and looking up at the gigantic building that housed the dorm of BTS and their separate private apartments, you could only feel the previous nerves spiking again.

Your fingers were shaky as you pushed open the heavy glass door, thick enough to stop bullets and made your way to the marble front desk.

The concierge, decked out in a cream vest outfit, politely smiled at your approach – too professional to not rove his eye critically over your modest dress. You were at the dorm of BTS, after all. You couldn’t show up in jeans for a dinner party.

He nodded when you relayed your name, giving Namjoon’s reference which had them flurry to get you an elevator. Once trapped in the sleek metal box, the chiming numbers indicated your rising panic.

What were you doing?

Why were you here?

You had cut them out of your life for a reason. Why would you willingly show up again? Inside, of course, you knew the reason. You had unsettled issues. You wanted to talk this out with him. But you couldn’t – which again, added to the question as to why you would accept his invitation in the first place?

There was no way you were brave enough to stand in front of Kim Namjoon and ask him to explain himself.

When the doors opened; the wide hallway only led to one set of double doors. You looked around once; just to make sure that you were on the right floor and not about to barge into some unwitting souls’ suite.

Walking to the etched wood, you knocked a hurried patter that sounded abnormally loud. You didn’t even have to wait long. The door swung open almost immediately, as if he was waiting right inside for you.

Namjoon stood in a simple black long sleeve, rolled up till his elbows. His jeans stretched tightly along the length of those legs. Huh, he was wearing jeans...go figure...

“Come in Y/N.” He said, walking back into the house. You followed, slower, clutching your bag strap like the first day.

It was...relatively clean, being the house full of men. It was also too big for you to take in everything. You supposed they needed the space, each one with a personality of their own but together all the time. You wondered if they had studios in the two storey house too.

You focused on Namjoon, who had by now moved to the sitting area, flicking through some pages, not paying any attention to you. There was no sound. No one came to greet you, not even Jin who you thought was the actual host.

It was...suspiciously quiet.

“Namjoon,” You called. “Where is everyone?” 

The man only shrugged his shoulders for a second and it seemed that he wasn’t about to answer your question at all. However, at the very last moment when you were about to repeat yourself unwillingly, he muttered. “They went out to eat.”

What?

They were out to eat? After calling you over to have dinner and play games? 

“So...we have to go and join them or something?” you asked.

Namjoon sighed painstakingly, as if you were disturbing his peace but he finally dropped the papers onto the coffee table and stood up, hands in his pockets.

“No, Y/N, we’re not going to join them.”

What the hell was going on here exactly?

“We’re going to talk.”

You had opened your mouth when he finished his sentence, pausing in contemplation to what he could possibly want to talk about. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying I want answers, Y/N. Why did you stop coming over all of a sudden? Why did you stop working on the bio and give it to Kayla? Why didn’t you pick up your phone when I called you? Why didn’t you answer my texts? What the fuck happened?”

You blinked, once, staring at him in shock mingled with annoyance. There was a lot to Kim Namjoon; you would be the first to admit it. But you never took him to be this cruel.

“Why are you even asking me these questions? I wasn’t competent enough for you. So I did the right thing, I gave the work to someone who could match your standards. End of story; I don’t understand why you had to bring me here.” Your vehemence faded by the end of it, leaving you to drop your head and mumble half the words at your shoes.

You kept staring down when Namjoon didn’t say anything in retaliation. Seconds ticked by and finally you had to glance up to see Namjoon’s face tight, jaw clenched and he drummed his fingers over crossed arms. 

“Unfortunately,” He began when your eyes met. “Doubt and Insecurity are two things that every artist struggles with in their line of work. There are no ways around them; you simply have to push through them. Work through them, Y/N; but you can’t let it take you away from your passion. If you felt doubtful of yourself, you should’ve talked to me, or any of us...you didn’t have to brand yourself incompetent and give into this negativity.”

If you had two cents of courage you would’ve screamed at him. Indeed, Kim Namjoon was a cruel man – a blind man.

And your nerves had finally grown into something more ferocious.

“I gave in? I’m sorry, Namjoon, but when your client is the one that ‘brands’ you incompetent, you kind of have to give in. You are the one who said you preferred Kayla. So I gave you exactly what you wanted. So stop pretending like you care about my insecurities and my doubts.”

Namjoon gaped at you like a fish, eyes wide and thoroughly confused. He held up a hand immediately. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

You snapped. “I heard you, that day, talking to Yoongi about how you would’ve preferred it if it was Kayla who was working on the bio rather than me. If I was bothering you that much or if you found me – I don’t know, not a good writer, you could’ve at least been professional about it. You could’ve emailed the company and asked for a switch, instead of bad-mouthing me to your damn members!”

Both of Namjoon’s hands were up in the air now, defensively. His eyes flickered around his house as he attempted to place the scenario you were describing to him. You saw the light bulb go off about a few seconds after. His demeanour changed immediately. His hands lowered, face cleared and his eyes scrunched before he did the worst thing imaginable that he could’ve done at that moment.

He laughed.

His body bent forward, hands clasping his stomach as his shoulders shook. His head dipped, chortles echoing around you as you stood rooted to your spot, stricken by his mirth.

In the moments that he managed to raise his head, he caught sight of you and laughed again, eyes watering.

You were seeing red. His frame lit up in flames in your head, fuelling you to whirl about on your heel. You marched away, almost at the door when fingers wrapped around your elbow, stopping your next steps.

You turned, seeing Namjoon already there, still smiling.

“Let me go.” You said firmly.

“I didn’t say I would’ve preferred Kayla to you because I thought you weren’t a good fit for the job, Y/N.” He said instead, hand loosening on your arm but not quite letting go. “I said it because...well, I was afraid I would be breaching our contract. Since...I kind of wanted to take you out.”

You stood there, watching Namjoon’s eyes flicker between yours, waiting for a reaction. His hand was still loosely cupping your elbow, fingers warm and splayed out over the skin. His thumb briefly brushed over the bone as if checking that you hadn’t frozen over.

But you had...you were standing stock still, staring up at the idol, uncomprehending the words that had spilled out of him. He had just said something very controversial, very brave...and very confusing.

You thought back to all your hangouts. The long talks that you scribbled down with your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth, the walks that you took, sometimes huddling together with shivers due to the cold weather, sharing hot coffees and chocolate ice creams. Telling him about yourself when he wanted a break and needed to listen instead of supply conversation. Then they changed to his texts, the good morning or good night texts that he would send, the occasional music recommendations and book suggestions.

And then the night of the Gala...that stunning dress...his behaviour...

Nowhere in any of these cases had you seen anything that spelled anything other than friends being friends. He had never flirted brazenly with you, simple banter being the only form of cheek you could recall. He was after all; your client and anything that could offend or upset him would result in your suspension.

“That’s...that’s...impossible. You never – not even once – I didn’t ever get the idea, not ever,” You fumbled over your words, pulling away or trying to once again but Namjoon shrugged, smiling sardonically.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly come out and say it, could I? You were working with me, for my company. I know the kind of pressure you must’ve been under. If I did say something, you’d have been obliged to agree because you’d think you owed it or something, just to keep the job. I didn’t really want to put you in the spot like that. The night of the gala I got carried away. I had a plus one and if I had to take someone, I wanted it to be you. I begged Taehyung to put the outfit together because I’m shit at high end fashion but you looked absolutely gorgeous and yeah, I owe Tae a thousand favours now but it was worth it.” He took a breath.

“I was waiting for the project to be over so I could actually, properly ask you out but well, I guess you heard me being an idiot that day and...” he waved his free hand vaguely.

“Oh,” you mumbled, your eyes leaving him and travelling back down to the floor. What else could you say? Sorry, I was eavesdropping on your conversation and got my feelings hurt and acted like a child? Yeah, you didn’t think that’d go over well.

“Which brings me to the question, why did you stop?” His thumb brushed over your skin again, prodding your attention to him and you shrugged like him, mumbling something about doing right by the client.

“Bullshit, if you wanted to do right by the client, you would’ve waited for me to say something. Changing people like that could’ve resulted in a breach lawsuit and I doubt you’d have risked that.”

You looked up at him again, irritated. Why did he have to poke holes in your admittedly stupid story? Hadn’t he shaken your world enough by telling you that THE KIM NAMJOON wanted to ask you out?

“You hurt me.” You hissed. “You made me think I was inept and it hurt my feelings because I’ve been attached to you and this book since day one. I finished the bio at home, for fuck’s sake. I lost objectivity when it came to you because you’re adorable, scary smart, caring, generous, a total goof and it doesn’t help that you look like a damn sculpture all the time.”

You yanked your arm one last time, successful this time around because Namjoon smiled widely, shyly, deep dimples poking into his cheeks that had you internally melting from how cute he was.

“I want to kiss you.” he said simply. “May I?”

What were you going to do, say no?

Instead, horrifyingly you started to sniffle. “You better, because I’m really ashamed right now and I will start crying.”

Namjoon was quick to cup your face, cooing over your squished cheeks in his large palms and he brought you closer, closer and closer to himself. Your hands clutched at the sleeves of his shirt while he pecked you lightly, dropping a flurry of equally soft and fast pecks on your cheek, the tip of your nose and chin before returning to your lips, delving deeper, testing the waters.

Your eyes fell shut, revelling in the plumpness of his lips as he delicately trailed them over yours, smacking kisses over you till you let out a giggle.

“Finally, she smiles.” Namjoon beamed at you, leading you back until you were gently propped against the door, your head comfortably resting on the wood and he deepened the kiss, bowing and moulding his body with yours.

“Should we be doing this here?” You asked nervously, when his lips began to travel over your jaw.

“The boys won’t be back for a while but we can head to my room if you want?” He wriggled his eyebrows at you, heat pooling into the skin he still held between his hands.

“Uh, I’m good here.” You muttered to his amusement. His eyes travelled back to your mouth, eyes hooding and then he was slowly leaning in again. You met him halfway and his mouth opened with the barest brush of tongue when loud pounding sounded right on the other side of the doorway, laughter and footfalls sounding the arrival of the rest of the band.

You moved away just as the door flung open, six boys piling in, “Can you believe none of us thought to grab our wallets, we have to go back and tell manager-nim to get the car again –” Jin grumbled with the boys stopping to gape at you in Namjoon’s arms as the two of you blinked at them like deer in headlights.

Then chaos erupted.

The whoops and cheers of ‘finally’ made you drop your head in a shy grin with Namjoon groaning behind you.

“Namjoonie finally got some!”

“OH SHUT UP!”

[queenbeean]

forbidden / dark!nomad!steve rogers

part one

warnings: this is a dark fic, minors DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS FOR PEOPLE 18 AND OVER, SERIOUSLY LEAVE, again this is a dark fic, SMUT, language, blackmailing, DUBCON

author’s note: this is my first attempt to a dark fic, there will be mistakes as this is not edited, might become a series or have at least three parts

pairing: Dark!Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

“Excuse me, boss. Here’s two more.” Steve’s main man, Roman, entered his office and averted his eyes once he saw his boss was rather occupied fucking one of the newest and very enthusiastic assets.

“Give me a moment, Roman. I’m almost finished with this one.” Steve grunted as his hips went faster, his hands holding the girl’s ass cheeks apart to see how much she was splitting her open. Her outer lips were puffy and almost red raw but she was taking him like a champ.

“I’m almost there, Sir.” She exclaimed as her walls clenched hard on him and her face dropped into the cushion.

“Fuck, yes, just like that.” Steve groaned and moved one of his hands to her front where he rubbed harsh circles against her clit. He smirked when he felt her move around desperately to get away from his ministrations.

“Sir, please, sir!” She begged him and who was him to deny her, right?

“Come, my little slut.” He whispered against her ear, loving the way his chest felt against her back as he pushed her against him, his hand feeling the way his cock rubbed against her walls as she orgasmed. Once she finished, he pulled out of her, ungraciously letting her fall down onto the couch. He took the condom off and jerked himself three times before dumping his load on her ass and her still fluttering walls. He reached her and cleaned the last drops on her thin dress before standing tall and looking at the new recruits.

“Names?” Steve breathlessly asked Roman.

Roman cleared his throat and prayed the Boss didn’t notice him fixing his pants. “Marina and Y/N.” He pointed at the girls with their respective names.

Steve gave Marina a once-over and moved onto you. His eyes did a subtle double-take. You were beautiful… but then again, he was used to beautiful women. He cleared his throat and smirked, walking towards both of you as he tucked his still hung member in his black pants. Marina looked away after the glimpse while you swallowed and looked down.

This one will be fun to break in, he thought.

“Roman?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Take Mindy and relieve yourself. She’s a little raw right now but nothing she can’t handle, right?” Steve looked at the girl who still had trouble catching her breath. Her eyes widened as she pulled her dress down and nodded.

“Yes, Sir.” She whispered.

“Excuse us, Sir.”

Steve made a dismissing hand gesture and once the door clicked closed, he brought his hand to his full beard.

“Roman told me about you, Marina, but I didn’t know you’d bring company.” He looked sternly at you but still you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I apologize, Sir.” Marina started but Steve still had his eyes on you. “She’s my sister, Sir. We were thrown out and Y/N is in need of a job too.”

Steve put his hand up. “I’m sure we can arrange something. You are not a virgin, right?”

“No, Sir.”

“What about you, Y/N?”

You were frozen in place at the question. You knew you’d had to do whatever it took to survive but the nonchalance of his voice made it that much real and rough.

“I’m a virgin, Sir.” Your velvety and soft voice made Steve groan inaudibly.

“Come with me, girls.” Steve moved to his desk and pressed a button on his intercom. “Buck, I need you to check two girls right now.”

“Send them in.” The guy, Buck, groaned in the same manner Steve had done when they came in.

Steve opened a door in his office and again, you looked down. There was a guy with a metal arm? He was sitting on a couch with a girl on his knees in front of him. Buck put a finger up and then took the girl’s head down onto his crotch and bucked his hips fast. When he calmed down, the girl took his cock out of her mouth and wiped her mouth with her forearm. She quickly got up and left the room. Buck stood up and tucked himself too.

“Wash, I need them inspected now.”

“Chill, dude. I’ll send them when I finish.”

“I want to see Y/N. She says she’s a virgin and I want to make sure.”

“Oh, okay. Girls, behind the divider, you’ll find gowns to change into. Strip of everything, especially panties.” Buck said before disappearing into the bathroom.

“Marina, you can change behind the divider and Y/N, you can do it out here.”

You froze for the third time but didn’t dare object. “Yes, Sir.”

Steve loved how compliant you seemed to be and he couldn’t wait to have his fun with your body.

You stepped out of the divider a few seconds later and without meeting his gaze, you started stripping. You had just taken your bra off when Buck came back with a glove on his human hand. You felt as if your skin were on fire with both of them looking at you. “Virgin, huh?” Buck asked Steve.

“Apparently.”

“Don’t be a jerk and keep her to yourself when you take it. Sharing is caring. I’ll be calling Sam.” Buck said as he arranged his cock.

“I’ll think about it.” Steve helped you put on the gown over your head. When he had said gown, you assumed it was a hospital gown. Not a black singlet that hardly covered your bum and was transparent enough to see your nipples peeking through it or if you weren’t careful enough, any movement could make them pop out.

Distracted by the thin material of the dress, their conversation didn’t register on your head until Marina was up in the stirrups in front of Bucky.

“It’s protocol.” Steve said and you did a double take. Protocol to share my body with his… associates if I’m a virgin? “We gotta make sure someone is a virgin or not.”

You started taking deep breaths as you saw how Buck was poking and prodding at Marina’s nether regions with his metal fingers.

Once more, you looked down in shame. Before you could exhale again, it was your turn. Steve helped you sit on and helped your legs onto the stirrups. You closed your eyes as you felt the thin material of your dress bunch up at your waist. Whatever it takes…

The first touch had you shivering. His finger was cold against your outer lips. “Just relax, love. Or it might hurt.”

Buck’s breath was down there and it made you clench against nothing. Next, you felt his glove covered hand spread your lips apart. His metal finger moved up and down and gathered enough wetness to slowly poke without much restraint. You kept taking deep breaths until you felt a human finger going in very easily despite its size. Your eyes shot open and you saw the top of the Boss’s blond hair.

“...feel that? Untouched by a cock. Maybe she’s played with herself but yes, she’s a virgin.” Buck said and moved back in his chair but that finger was still deep inside and slowly moving against your walls.

“Take Marina to where she’ll be staying when you are done with her. I’ll explain to Y/N how we work here. Call Sam and tell him I need him if he wants in on this to be here in two day’s time. She’s all mine until tomorrow.”

part two

[sunjaesol]

clandestine meetings and longing stares

juke secret dating au | title: illicit affairs // taylor swift | a middle of the night scribble

When twelve year old Julie Molina got a stern talk from her father that she wasn't allowed to date until college, the tween had no qualms with it. The only boy she's ever liked had been Sokka from Avatar and that was it. Real boys didn't interest her. 

Until she turned sixteen and caught sight of Luke Patterson. 

In the years between, she had small crushes here and there. Lance, Nick, Noah. None, however, competed with storm that erupted in her stomach each time Luke smiled at her - her heart in a constant frenzy. 

It was the beginning of junior year when he randomly sat next to her in music class and brought out all the bravado. It shouldn't have been cute. Julie should've rolled her eyes, dismissed his cute smirk, but she simply couldn't. The shimmering green of his eyes and the nice laugh was too alluring, too attractive. Soon enough, Julie was crushing on him hard. Which was fortunate, since he very much liked her as well, something he never hid from her. 

("Watch out, Julie," he joked during one of their first conversations. "The charm is gonna make you get a crush on me!") 

Luke kissed her two weeks after, chastely and secretly under the bleachers. Her infatuated mind forgot in that moment how she wasn't even allowed to look at a guy and eagerly kissed him back. It had been her first kiss and wow - what a perfect one at that. 

A beat later, she realised her mistake and told him about her dad's stupid rule. His face had crashed for all of ten seconds when a mischievous grin crawled on his lips (an expression that would get her into serious trouble one day) and said: "Why tell him?" 

Had it been any other boy, she would've shaken her head and regret kissing him. But this was Luke. She really liked Luke. The idea of not being with him, of not seeing where this could go, was a greater fear than her father's disappointment. In response, she snatched him back into a kiss he all too hungrily went along with. 

Rule #1: Don't date! Broken, busted, thrown out the window with a smile. 

It started off easy. At school, no one had to worry. She sat with him at lunch and let herself be coaxed under the bleachers and snuggled into his embrace at the end of the day. On the parking lot, she could pretend she was simply saying goodbye to her boyfriend and not going home to lie in her dad's face about why she was so overly chipper all of a sudden. 

(Luke made her so ridiculously happy it was unfair. Each time he surprised her with a hug, her feet lifted from the ground; each time they kissed, his thumbs grazed her cheeks like she was a precious gem; each time she came up with a clever lyric, he gave her the toothiest grin and called her all the cute nicknames he could think of. Boss, baby, babe, Lyric Queen.) 

God, she was complete mush for this boy. Sometimes she wondered if she was doing enough, not quite matching his overt display of affection, but she knew she must be doing something right if he never stopped smiling when she talked. That his eyes held a certain softness, timidness, reserved for her only. 

They outgrew school quickly. Both wanted to go on dates without raising suspicion, Luke wanted to come over and just be with her without causing havoc. 

"Why does the rule exist anyway?", he asked at the end of a cool December day. 

Julie toyed with the lapels of his red shacket. "It's dumb. I mean, I get it, but it's dumb." Sighing, she explained his reasoning. "He wants me to fully focus on school so that I can get into a good college. Once I secured that, then I'm allowed to have fun."

Luke frowned. "I- I guess I kind of get it."

Her eyes rolled teasingly. "You don't even want to go to college." 

"Correction: I wanna go to frat parties and have the college experience-" 

"Without the classes part," she deadpanned. His face fell flat, a giggle of her own following. 

His frown returned, a look she hated seeing. "You don't think he'll… I don't know, let go of that rule when he sees we're good?" His calloused hands slipped from her waist to softly cradle her face. Julie sighed, leaning into the touch. Resisting Luke and everything he did was hard. A smile twitched on his lips. "Would be pretty dope to come through the front door and kiss my girlfriend."

Her heart clenched at his confession. It would be amazing, but it sounded so unbelievable that it could easily be taken as a joke. Dad would go absolutely insane if she pulled something like that. Hey dad! Don't mind me as I jump into the arms of my boyfriend and he kisses me like a heartthrob from the movies! 

She should've known Luke would try something. His impulsivity was an admirable trait, she found, though the pebbles hitting her window past midnight have her such a fright that she cursed for a beat how one track minded he could be. Until she caught sight of him. Eyes twinkling in the moonlight, a wide smile, his casual stance. He pointed at her and she nodded, grabbing her phone to text him there was a ladder by the garage. 

Quiet like a ghost and quick like a fox, Luke snuck into her room, feet falling onto the floor with a soft thud. 

Butterflies raged in her stomach. Her secret boyfriend was here, in her room, right now, with her father sleeping just down the hall. 

"What're you doing here?", she whispered, already breathless from having him near. 

His nose scrunched up. "Trying to be romantic. Should I have called you first?" 

She shook her head. "It's fine. Maybe next time. It's-" Her arms slung around his shoulders, heart hammering a mile a minute. Her pyjamas were nothing special, an oversized pullover and sweatshorts, but it felt oddly intimate to be so cozy together. His own faded t-shirt was from a zoo in Oregon and his sweatpants softer than any of the ones she owned. Julie almost asked to borrow them, if it wasn't for his lips to swallow the words with a warm kiss. 

Her fingers slipped into his hair. Yeah. This was better than talking. 

It soon became routine. Every other week, Luke would text her a moon emoji and then climb into her room around midnight. They'd kiss and cuddle, Luke often leaving by five am and then making a whole show at school as if he hadn't seen her. Julie thought it was cute. If she could, she'd return the favour and go to his place, but Luke assured her she did not want that and, consequently, her father would just know. Unfortunately, she didn't have Luke's agility like some parkour champ. 

"Trust me, Jules, I don't mind," he told her at lunch while stealing a cherry tomato. "I like sneaking in."

Alex shot him a look. "You like feeling like the main character of a movie, that's what."

"You brainwashed me with romcoms, so it's your fault, dude,' Luke retorted, grinning when the blonde flipped him off. 

They got cocky though. Julie knew her dad would be gone during the day for a photography gig in Santa Monica, all the way on the other side of Los Angeles. It was the perfect excuse to get Luke over. Excited, Julie opened the front door for him with a flourish and did a silly courtesy. 

"Your first time using my door," she teased. "Must feel special."

His cocky nod made her roll her eyes. "Super special," he replied gravely, playing along. "She's been begging for me."

Her expression turned sour. "I haven't been begging for you." 

His smirk widened, tugging on a curl as he slipped past her. "Was I talking about you?" 

He didn't, but he did start making out with her the second they were in the safety of her bedroom, so she knew there wasn't much competition. 

That afternoon, they successfully avoided her dad's wrath and felt arrogantly confident about it. It made them daring. Pushing the limits, how far could they go, how blatant could they be before he knew? It was almost a game, the thrill part of the insane attraction she felt each time he snuck in. 

His strong arms were wrapped around her as she straddled his waist, kissing him. Every touch was languid and intentional, a searing passion that rippled her skin and left her mind empty. Kissing Luke always put her in a dreamy, blissful haze. Her fingers clawed at his shirt and he shrugged it off in one fluid motion, pulling her back in. His skin was warm, hers to explore. Julie grinned into the kiss. His fingers toyed with the hem of her top.  

"Julie?" 

They froze. Her dad. Other side of the door. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. As quietly as possible, the girl hoisted herself from his lap and motioned at her closet. 

"Julie?" The door handle began to shake. 

Her voice squeaked. "Just a second!" Luke tiptoes into her closet, Julie kicking his shirt under her bed as she ran to the door. Her flushed cheeks would be a dead giveaway had her father ever doubt her trust. Fortunately, Julie Molina was in the eyes of her family a perfect good girl. 

(The guy hiding in her closet would whisper something else in her ear.)

"Why is your door locked?" Dad frowned. "You never lock your door."

Julie shrugged, innocence leaking from her tone. "I can't have some privacy?" 

"Of course, Julie," he said, though his lips were pressed into a thin smile. This clearly wasn't the last time they'd talk about it. "I'm going to the store. Do you need something?" 

"No, thanks," she rushed. "Anything else?" 

"Uh, no. Don't lock yourself in, hm?" It was said as a joke, his brows lifted, but both she and her father knew he meant it. No more locking doors. Shit. 

When the front door fell shut and the car rumbled into the street, Luke reappeared with a careful smile. 

Julie sighed. "That… was close. Maybe we should stop hanging out right after school. I didn't even hear him coming up the stairs."

"Damn, Jules!” Peppering two kisses on her forehead, it did little to relief her stress. “Now that's an ego booster."

"I'm serious!" She huffed. "I hate this. I hate the rule and I hate that I'm making you put up with it."

"Hey, hey," he soothed. "It's shitty, yeah, but you're not making me do anything." Nodding at her lips, he added: "Your smile is already…" 

The smile bloomed on its own accord when he trailed off, edging closer. "What?" 

That little shake of his head almost made her kiss him, but she wanted to know what he was going to say, why his lips were parted in that wonderstruck expression. When nothing came, a curious hum rumbled in her throat as she placed her chin on his chest. 

He relented, tapping a finger against her cheek. “Your smile is already making me do dumb stuff.”

Oh, God. If he was going to continue saying things like that, she might actually fall in love with him. Back when Julie and Flynn were still obsessed with those relationship quizzes in magazines, she always claimed she’d like guys that weren’t so smooth with their words. She thought it meant they were players. But Luke never half-assed anything. 

Her head tilted, amused. “Do you always have words ready?”

“Zero words, Jules,” he quipped. “Ever.”

Yeah, she might actually love him. 

Public dates became a thing after that conversation. She simply couldn’t let him get away because of some rule, even if he claimed he wouldn’t. Eats & Beats was a cute, little café in the heart of Los Feliz with live music and amazing lattes; it was also their regular spot. They’d settle themselves into a booth, share a baked good (“If we’re trying the carrot cake now, we’re doing the pastel de nata next week.” “Deal.”) and talk for hours. Sometimes, when either was tinkering on a song, they’d work on it together.

One leg overlapped his, his fingers drawing pictures on her knee. The booth with the suede red couches and the scratching of a star in the wood was their safe haven.  

“Mh, no,” she swallowed the piece of muffin. “That’s such an ugly word, don’t use that.”

He grinned, shoulders nudging as a tease. “Drencher not doing it for you?”

A laugh bubbled up, kissing his cheek. “Just use ‘rain’, you dork!”

“Dork?”, he mocked, getting in her face. 

“Yeah.” Her nose brushed his. “Dork.” 

“You are a dork.”

“That’s the best you’ve got, Patterson?”

Luke smirked, eyes flicking across her frame. “Want me to show you my best, Molina?”

She pushed his face away, a blush creeping up her cheekbones. They haven’t done it yet, but whenever he got like this, she felt her entire skin heat up at the mere idea. A part of her wanted to take that step, but she felt bad doing it if her dad or tía didn’t know. Knowing that they wouldn’t support her for as long as the rule existed, made her settle with that heat for a little longer. Her leg slipped from his and turned back to his songbook. 

“So-”

“Julie?”

The couple looked up, once more paralysed as her dad’s familiar voice called her name. Why was he literally everywhere?! His tall figure stood in front of their booth, his hat shrouding the grimace on his face as his scrutinising eyes flitted between them. Oh, God. Did he know? Did he see? How much did he see? Did he see Luke checking her out? Mortification didn’t even come close to what she felt. 

“Dad!” Her pressed smile hopefully looked relaxed to him. Her dad had moments of obliviousness; she might be able to save this. “What- hi, I didn’t know you had a booking here.”

His suspicion didn’t waver. “Yeah, honey, for the Rodriguez’ - I told you last night. Was just getting, ah, coffee.” He nodded at Luke. “Who’s this?”

My boyfriend. The one I’m falling for. The boy I’ve been hiding for months. “This is Luke, he’s one of my classmates.” The way his arm tensed at the label made her ache, but she had to truck on. “We’re working on a song.”

If he didn’t believe her, she just hurt her boyfriend for no reason. It did the trick though. Her father’s face mellowed, noticing the scribbles in the tattered book. “You’re working on a song?”

“Yeah. It’s really getting along.” Her finger tapped against his thigh. “Right, Luke?”

He perked up, a cough following as he straightened his attitude. This really was not the way she wanted them to meet. “Uh, yeah.” His hand stuck out. “Hi, mister Molina.”

Dad shook it with a smile, fully relaxed now. “Ray. Nice to meet you.” The barista called out his name. “See you at home, Julie. Don’t stay out long, yeah?”

Her smile twitched and crashed the second he turned around, grabbed his coffee and closed the glass door. She groaned, dropping her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I gotta be honest,” he whispered. “That hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

Luke sighed. “I was okay being a secret before, but…”

She coaxed his jaw, needing him to look at her. “It’ll hurt more if I tell him and forces me to break up with you.”

For a moment, silence sunk onto the table, wedging itself like thick smoke between her and Luke. He seemed pensive, the green of his eyes peering. Suddenly, they lit up. “But wait, aren’t you getting your results? Early admission?”

She sagged in her seat, pouting. “If UCLA wants me.”

“They will,” he smiled. His arms wrapped around her. “Of course, they will. And if you get in, he can’t be mad that you’re dating me, right?”

Hope tinged her chest. She hasn’t considered that. She’s been so focused on Luke and trying to keep it hidden, that everything college-related went over her head. The letters and essays and interviews happened before she and Luke got serious, so with her being on that pink cloud ever since, school stress has been locked away. Why bother mulling over UCLA when she could be having fun with Luke? 

If she locked in UCLA… then Luke might be right. And if not UCLA, then she’d hear of USC and NYU next year. (If they were even still together by the time those letters got in the mail.) 

“You might’ve found the loophole,” she teased, hoping to lift the tension. And then she uttered out her biggest fear: “But if you haven’t… will you stay?”

His kiss answered her, soft and sweet and with a hint of blueberry muffin. A grin bloomed on her lips, burrowing her face in his shoulder. She felt it. That overflowing, unbridled adoration overwhelming her all at once. Julie loved him. It was April fourteenth and it only took her six months but Julie loved Luke. They stayed in the booth until they had to go home.

Her phone was mocking her. Luke and her were in her car, stagnant, as both stared at the white screen. Every few minutes, she refreshed it, yet no email came. Gah! Couldn’t colleges just send the email when they said they would? What was taking so long? Did that mean she didn’t get in? Was this a bad sign? It helped having Luke there, easing the rising stress that clenched her ribcage, but she wouldn’t be fully okay until that freaking email come through. 

As if sensing her thoughts, he drummed against the dashboard. “It’s gonna be cool. You look great in blue and gold, you gotta get in.”

She giggled, nerves lacing her tone. “Imagine if that’s how you got in. You’d get into USC then.”

“Are you saying I look hot in red?”, he teased. 

“You know you- oh my God!” She lurched for her phone as a new email pinged in, heartbeat stuttering in her ears. Frozen, her thumb hovered over the fated email. This would change everything - for better or for worse. She knew she should focus on the fact that it would determine where she’d go to college, but all she could think about was Luke, Luke, Luke. Was it selfish to care more about junior prom then UCLA? At this very moment, she thought it was completely justified. 

She shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t do it. You open it.”

His brows raised. “You sure?”

“Yeah-” She stuffed the phone in his hand and put her trembling ones on her lap. “-do it for me.”

Luke took a deep breath. Julie shut her eyes. Please. Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please accept her. Please let her be with Luke.

Ten seconds passed. His voice gave nothing away. “Julie?”

“Just rip the band-aid off,” she choked out.   

A familiar, calloused hand softly grabbed hers. Her eyes cracked open. Luke had the biggest smile on his face and it made her heart pop out of her chest. She bit down on her lip, fighting off a grin. “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not,” he sang, reaching across the console to show her phone. You got accepted! blinked in bold, black letters. “You’re UCLA bound, baby!”

Euphoria burst out. Julie squealed, throwing her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss. She got in! She fucking got into college! A great one at that! Another Molina was going for gold! 

And it might even get her to date Luke without secrecy. God, she hoped this was enough. She wanted to do everything with him. All the time, the entire time. Flynn has called them clingy, but Julie just wanted to get rid of the anxiety of her dad finding out. To finally relax and be fully with him.

Her head tilted, bashful. “Is it crazy to say that I might be in love with you?”

He dropped her phone in the cupholder and peppered another kiss on her mouth. “No. That’s good.” His thumb traced her bottom lip, eyes glittering with adoration. “Cause I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you too.”

She pecked his thumb, giddy. “Fuck it. Let’s tell my dad right now. About UCLA and you.”

He smiled. “You sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

Storming inside the house, the couple made a beeline to her dad’s office, his hand in hers. 

“Dad!”, she called out, door slamming open. Her startled father perked up in his seat, his wide eyes going from Julie to Luke right behind her. “I got into UCLA!”

Ray sprung up, cheering. “Mija-!”

“And I’m dating Luke!”, she yelled after. “And that’s okay, cause I got in, so you don’t have to worry about the rule anymore! So... ” She put her foot down, awkwardness creeping in her tone. “Yeah!”

Flabbergasted, dad faltered and let the cheers die in his throat. Luke came to stand next to her, squeezing her hand. Slowly, he nodded. “Ah… so that time in Eats & Beats-”

“A date,” she admitted. “And I’m sorry I went behind your back, papa, but I… really care about Luke. And we figured that if I got in, you’d stop enforcing the dating rule.”

His grap became even tighter. “I, uh, really care about her too,” Luke mustered. “Sorry that we kept it a secret.”

Ray sighed, propping his head in his hands and scrubbing the confusion away with his palms. The pair shot each other a look. He wasn’t mad, she deduced, so that was a good sign at least. Finally, dad moved again and gave her a tight hug. Her confidence grew, hugging him back and withholding a cry of victory. 

He pulled back, crossing his arms with a hint of amusement. “Well… the rule clearly didn’t work, but you seem happy and you- you did actually get in, right?”

She laughed, nodding, and showed the confirmation email. His smile grew. “Then I guess,” he trailed, “you’re allowed. To date. But no funny business!”

Julie quickly nodded, grabbing back onto Luke’s arm and jostling him in excitement. Luke bounced on his heels, trying to temper it but failing miserably. She thanked her dad, promised him they’d celebrate her acceptance later tonight and rushed back out with Luke. Dad yelled something about establishing new rules, but both gleefully ignored it. Once in her bedroom, he snatched her into a tight embrace, kissing her full on the lips. Julie whooped against his mouth and danced between his arms. This might be the best day of her life! Luke was her real real real boyfriend!

“You heard your dad, Jules,” he teased. “No funny business.”

She pouted, faux-peeved. “You won’t get to climb through my window again.”

“Won’t have to hide in cars anymore.”

“Won’t have to say you’re just my classmate.”

Luke dragged them onto her bed, laying side by side. “I can take you to junior prom.”

She kissed him with a giggle. “You’re taking me to prom?”

“Hell yeah, I am!”, he bellowed, drumming his fingers against her hips. “Let your dad take pictures of us and everything.”

She scrunched her nose. “Let’s maybe not push him just yet.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled, humming in agreement. “You’re probably right.”

Luke did that her to junior prom, to homecoming, to senior prom, called her hot in blue and gold and vetoed no when she begged him for a bright, blue velour couch for their first apartment. When someone asked her father what it was like, seeing his daughter find the one at sixteen, he had to admit with embarrassment red on his cheeks that it all flew under his radar.

That it all started with sneaky bleacher kisses and a hopeful heart. 

@blush-and-books @ourstarscollided @sophiphi @bluefirewrites​ @willexx​ @unsaid-emily​

[lucenties]

Oooh I see your fav is Joseph and I've been so soft for him lately so I'd like to drop a request! Fic or headcanons, idc, whatever comes to ya! And female or neutral reader, if that matters? Reader has been subject to wearing the training mask, just like Joseph, but is handling it horribly. And Joseph finds them hiding somewhere to stress cry, because they don't want anyone to think they're weak? 🥺 (but now they're double embarrassed cuz their crush caught them crying?)

— training woes

such a cute concept I love it!

battle tendency!joseph x gn!reader

⤷ fluff, slight angst (lack of self confidence)

⤷ 1.2k words

You always knew becoming a hamon master would mean you would have to endure hellish training. Every day you took blow after blow that was thrown at you, putting every single bit of your skill on the table so that Lisa Lisa could finally see that you were ready to go out and battle on your own. It was painful, yet the years worth of bruises and sore muscles were nothing compared to the tightening growing in your chest when Caesar emerged from the oil-slick hellhole, shortly followed by Joseph.

It just wasn’t fair.

You always expected Caesar to finish his trial long before you; he was already growing proficient in his Hamon training upon your arrival on Air Supplena Island. Although you’ve always worked your butt off, it was thanks to his support that Lisa Lisa even considered giving you the training mask. He never turned down your request to be a sparring partner, even if he went easy on you most of the time, and despite his own training, he always gave you pointers on how to improve.

Joseph, however, was a prodigy. In the short time that he spent on the island, he managed to conquer the very pillar that took the lives of many previous hamon users. He never seemed to let anything get him down; even when things didn’t go his way and his sharp tongue got the best of him, his wit and skill managed to get him out of any situation. Conquering the Hell Climb Pillar was only his most recent accomplishment. This was only the beginning. His skill was impressive and he was so cool in your eyes; he was everything you only dreamed of being. 

He confused you. On one side, you couldn’t help but feel intimidated and slightly jealous of his abilities and his knack for quick learning. On the other hand, that same skill and resiliency is what led you to look up to him and strive to become better. Although Caesar was your go-to for help with training, with Loggins and Messina assisting here and there, you couldn't bring yourself to ask Joseph for help. Feeling too weak in comparison, shame always seemed to overcome you and pulled you away from even asking for his help. You not only looked up to him, Joseph had you head over heels and wrapped around his finger without even realizing it. However, the attraction you felt towards him and the fear of disappointing him were too great to allow yourself to get too close to him.

"You have to move faster if you want to gain the upper hand against the Pillar Men, [Y/N]." Despite Lisa Lisa's corrections, the balls of hamon launched your way were only narrowly being avoided, if not crashed into you entirely. 

Stamina training was harsh, especially with the mask latched on your face restricting your air flow. You managed to redirect some of the energy away from yourself in an effort to catch your breath, yet the orbs kept coming, each leaving aches in your body that were sure to be felt tomorrow. 

"You have to push yourself!" your mentor shouted, taking note of the slight improvement in your form. The stinging, wet feeling in your eyes only grew stronger the more her corrections were thrown at you. Despite the pain, you did your best to step out of the way and focused what little energy you had left on dodging the attacks.

"You're doing pretty great, [Y/N]!"

Just like that, the single thread of motivation you were hanging on ripped. Joseph's voice was meant to be encouraging, but the thought of your crush seeing you in such a weak state, not being able to overcome such a simple task, hindered your concentration. A last concentrated bit of hamon rammed against your leg, knocking you over. With a sigh and sympathy in her eyes, Lisa Lisa reached out a hand to help you stand up.

Without even waiting for her dismissal and with a quick mutter of gratitude, you scurried off towards the center of the island and turned the nearest corner. Making sure you were alone, you slid down the wall, the tears finally spilling as you wallow in despair.

You were never going to reach the end of your training. What felt like an eternity spent learning how to channel hamon, practicing how to wield it, and surpassing the stamina techniques was beginning to seem like a waste. It was a waste of Lisa Lisa's time and it was a waste of potential on your part. Now that a new trainee had arrived, far better in every aspect, you began to feel as though there was no point in continuing your trials. Between your blubbering cries muffled in between your legs and the ringing in your ears from exhaustion, you failed to notice the figure closing in on you. 

"There you are. Lisa Lisa was concerned when you ran off like— hey, why are you crying?" Again, Joseph's voice only acted as a trigger for your panic. Your head shot up in surprise and mild disbelief. Every single attempt on your part to avoid him seeing you in such a weak state proved to be not enough. It was almost certain his opinion of you shattered in the instant he looked into your sore, bloodshot eyes.

And yet, he slid down on the wall beside you and laid a hand on your shoulder. 

"You did pretty good back there," he looked away, still keeping his hold on you. It was firm but not tight, a silent assurance. "The way you held yourself against Lisa Lisa was pretty impressive."

"Yeah right." A mix between a scoff and a squeak leaves your throat. Rolling your eyes, you feel the heat in your cheeks rising at the thought of being pitied. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I'm serious!" This time, Joseph opts for placing your hands in between his and lifting them up towards him. "Even though you weren't able to avoid her attacks, you took each hit like a champ, and there were a lot of hits," he teases. "Lisa Lisa wasn't holding back, either. I saw fire in your eyes that shook me to my core."

At his praise, you finally look up to meet his gaze and you feel a twinkle in your eyes. The heat on your cheeks doubles, and this time it is because you realize this is the closest you've ever been to him. Joseph lets a hand go to reach it up to his head, scratching at it awkwardly. "Don't stare at me like that, it's kinda weird…" he chuckles jokingly.

Wiping away the tears from your face, the tightness in your chest subsides. Joseph stands up and extends an arm to help you up. Without a second thought, you engulf him in a hug that holds all the things you wish you could tell him. His chest rumbles with a hearty laugh and you feel his arms tightly wrap around your smaller frame, offering a sense of peace you haven't felt in a long time.

"Thank you." It's muffled in his shirt. You find comfort in his smell, sharp and sweet but not overwhelming.

For now, it'll have to do.

[goldafterglow]

my love is a dagger

Summary: Jack Daniels is hopelessly gone for you, and you’re starting to think it’s a two way street. Maybe.

Request: “May I please ask for Basorexia and Whiskey please? 🥺” - @scribbledghost (ma’am I’m SO sorry this took me so long and then after the long wait you got whatever this is); taken from this post

basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x reader

Word Count: 4.8k+

Warnings: suicidal themes (just a little and not really but there’s definitely a line), sexual harassment, anGST!!, PINING omg SO much pining like folks get ready to y*arn, a little bit of fluff bc Jack is a sweet talking southerner and I couldn’t help it, more angst I rly hope you cry, there’s a cute little lesbian couple in one line so don’t read if ur homophobic! but that goes for all of my work :)))

Author’s Note: Thank the GODS for @catfishingmorales for being my first ever beta reader!!! maybe this one will make any fucking sense at all!!! also a special shoutout to my wife @pascalplease bc she stayed up all night vomiting headcanons with me about this and I didn’t even get to all of them.

Gif Cred: the lovely @coredrive​

Masterlist | Taglist Modifications

“Two single-bed rooms,” he says. No; he manages.

Jack has to pry the words out of his esophagus, the passageway so clogged with sleep that he thinks that if he clears his throat he might be able to clear it.

It doesn’t work.

He tends to add a little brightness and smile to his voice when he talks, always eager to please even strangers. He embellishes his sentences with pleasantries and a chipper shimmer that makes even the most overworked bartender smile and the most destitute rancher crack a grin because he has this uncanny ability to make everyone feel special. But right now, at eleven pm on a Saturday evening after what might’ve been the worst, most emotionally grueling mission Jack has ever completed, he is not pleasant. His words are simply a tool for him to get a message out, his voice choked and flat.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, but it looks like we only have one king-size room available,” the lady informs. She is looking intently at the screen, still typing and clicking like the words might miraculously change right before her eyes.

The powerful Agent Whiskey’s heart falls into his stomach.

He can’t tell if this is the best or worst thing that has ever happened to him. Is this finally the excuse he needs to sweep you off your feet, like the catalyst giving him the strength to overcome his intense paranoia? Or is this the last straw, the final stone before you step off the staircase of his heart and back out onto the run-down open streets without him? Panic floods his chest and he is so paralyzed that he doesn’t even know what to tell her; for once, Jack Daniels is speechless.

Thank god he doesn’t turn around; he’d’ve seen your wide frantic eyes and would’ve known immediately what you’re thinking.

“Oh, it looks like a vacancy just opened,” the hostess chirps, a hint of relief floating on her words. You and Jack turn your heads to your left, where a young couple is saying their “thank you”s as they rack up the handles of their suitcases, hand-in-hand. One girl leans over to kiss the other on the temple with a smile; they both seem so secure. You turn your head back to the hostess; the sight of two people being content was disturbing to you and frankly a little offensive. “Unfortunately they’re on separate floors. Is that-”

“We’ll take them,” Jack gruffs. He wants to sleep, wants to die, wants to be in any existence where your soft eyes aren’t glued to the back of his head because he can feel it and he thinks you might burn holes into his skull just to find that he’s hollow inside.

Empty.

The transaction is quick and a little forced. She hands you both your respective key cards wordlessly, and if your eyes had lingered on her just a little longer you would’ve caught her face falling into it’s default relaxed state of misery. Jack walks with you to the elevator in silence, but he’s still close. He’s always close to you. Often you’ll turn your head in an empty room and anticipate him being there just to be sorely disappointed, though you aren’t sure what you’re always so disappointed for. His spirit haunts your thoughts, floats around your body and does laps around your brain because he is always there when you need him, so much so that you expect him to be there when you don’t need him. You want him to always be there. To always be with you.

Strange thoughts to have so late at night.

Jack sets his bag down beside you, stepping forward to press the button for you; it’s such a small gesture, something that he probably didn’t even think to do since hospitality runs in his bones, and yet you noticed it.

Strange.

The door opens, and he wordlessly puts a hand on your back, guiding you towards the elevator in front of him. Letting you on first. You can’t help but smile a little at him; you can tell he’s so tired and yet he still finds it somewhere in his heart to make you feel so important.

“You know I don’t need that from you,” you tease lightly, turning to look at him as the doors drag shut. The elevator shudders around you, indicating that it’s ready to start it’s journey to the fifth floor.

Jack grins at you; it’s not something he’s doing with his voluntary muscles, something that he thinks is coming off muted because he just doesn’t have the energy. It’s something he doesn’t even think about doing, a visceral reaction to hearing your sweet voice like aloe vera on his scorched throat.

“Well then, darlin’, take it anyways just to indulge your favorite cowboy,” he almost begs, lip pouted and eyebrows raised like he’s a child asking for candy except he’s an addict crying for just one more dose before the night ends because the nights he goes home without the memory of your eyes, your smile, your scent in his system are the nights he can’t sleep through.

You giggle softly, nudging his side gently because you want to crush him in your embrace and lift him onto the barbs of feathers into the moonlight all at the same time. To Jack, it feels like you’ve just kneed him in the chest, hogging all his air and wrapping his head in plastic so he can’t breathe, not that he minds. He’d let you tear at the delicate skin of the inside of his wrists, bite into the gentle flesh of his cheeks until he’s on his knees, bleeding at the seams. He’d let you destroy him if you wanted to.

He sighs a little, so dead, as a flush of air enters the vacuum of the elevator; you’ve arrived. But he doesn’t want to leave yet, wants to wring every last drop of your attention out of your pliable bones, so he follows you out and walks you to your room.

“I don’t need this either,” you say, a yawn stretching and blurring the edges of your words.

“I know,” Jack concedes, rolling his eyes in a way that is so adoring that he might as well have kissed you full on the mouth.

Not that you wanted him to.

“I know you don’t need a lick of help from me, sugar. Maybe I just like giving.” He grins down at you again, his side brushing against yours as you place slow, careful steps down the carpeted floor.

Yeah, he likes giving.

He gives you his leftover coffee when he “doesn’t want it” - it’s a tall cup of his favorite brew. He definitely still wants it. He gives you his blazer when you call his desk landline just to tell him your office is cold because you know he’ll give it to you. What you don’t know is that it’s because he’s completely and utterly whipped for you - he’d strip naked in a snowstorm to keep you warm, hold you in an icehouse as the bite of the frost burrows into the cracks of his dried skin, because he doesn’t need clothes when you’re in his arms. That’s about as warm as he’s ever been.

He gives you his time of day - almost all of it. He’s the first person you see when you step into work, the last face you see when you’re ready to retire. He walks you to your office every morning - he had to beg Champ to switch offices with him so that he could be adjacent to you, but every ounce of dignity lost was paid back to him with royalties in the precious extra seconds he gets to spend rubbing his shoulder against yours. He saunters into your office unannounced daily at 12:35 pm sharp to eat lunch with you, flopping onto your couch with the audacity of a man wet with wealth and simultaneously listening to you rave about your day with the patience of a therapist. Your time is a sacred commodity to him, and he makes sure that he’s earned it.

He gives you his whole soul. Sometimes he wonders if you’ll one day open your purse and find his glass heart sitting there, beating hard and loud and only for you. He wonders if you’d pick it up and smash it against a wall. He wouldn’t mind it at all.

The silence hangs in the air, dancing on your breaths as you seem to be inhaling each other, soaking in each other. It’s strange, the moments you share alone with Jack. There are the ones you share late at night, croaking at each other over the phone about how shitty that one show ended or how beautiful blue things are. Blue like his suffocated lungs, like the ocean of tears that drown him when he looks at you, like the finger you’ve got him wrapped around real tight.

But then there’s the moments when you’re in a room full of people. The briefing room sitting at a table spanning the length of the room that’s completely full of people, a club chock full of sweat and neon energy, the lobby of the lavish estate of a target where the bourgeoisie can swarm and stalk each other. All he has to do is toss you a roll of the eyes, a grin, a subtle brush of his hand against yours, and you are instantly thrown into the web of his affection as you get lost and locked in the atmosphere of his presence. Like, even in a room full of people, he’s the only one around. You’re not breathing in oxygen but the hickory fumes of his skin, the only sound getting registered being his dark honey voice. You’re not quite sure how he does that, distorting reality so heavily that you feel like you’ve traversed to an alternate dimension every time he touches you, pays any mind to you. Every single time.

“This you?” Jack asks, his words like a rubber band to your pulse as you’re snapped out of your train of thought. You look up at the room number - room 513 - and then down at your keycard. It reads the same. There’s a dull ache of disappointment that erupts through your chest, beige and static like the chipped paint on the walls.

“Yeah,” you mutter, turning to face him with your back to the door. He smiles at you softly, gentle like his fragile soul that you always manage to make hurt so bad without doing a single thing, and he opens his arms to you. Nothing out of the ordinary; you’ve grown accustomed to his goodbye hugs. “You’re so needy,” you giggle, stepping forward to bury your face in his pillowy chest and letting yourself sink into the quicksand of his warmth. It’s so easy to get caught up in him like a butterfly to a flower, and yet it’s so hard to pull away. He’s always been difficult to separate from; every time it’s like you’re sewing a microfractal of your esse into the velvet of him. Not big enough for you to notice, but still missing, and it adds up every time until there’s a big gaping hole in your chest that Jack holds claim to and the only way you feel right is when he’s with you.

I know, he wants to say to you. I know I’m needy. I know that you’re the only one, the only person, the only fucking thing that I’ve ever wanted this bad. I know I steal your time and your space and your thoughts but I’m a greedy man. Please forgive me. But he doesn’t say that; he could never say that to you. So instead he buries his face into the top of your head, trying to get a big sleepy lungful of you before he parts with you for the night, and says “Can you blame me, baby?”

You look up at him, eyes bleary and red but still eager to be so close to him. “Always such a tease.” He smiles wide at you, like he’s looking at a whimsical sprite so colorful and magnificent, but it’s just you. What does he see when he looks at you?

“G’night, pretty girl,” he coos, arms still wrapped around you and eyes big and doe-y. Please don’t leave yet, my perfect thing. Except that’s the part that stings him the most; you’re not his. He doesn’t get to say that sacred “my.”

“Good night, Jack Daniels,” you whisper, words fanning on his cheeks like waves of heat from a bonfire. But you don’t move, and neither does he. Not yet. Please.

He’s looking down at you with a certain reverence, like you were sculpted by the angels and placed right here in front of him with intimate precision. And then, without a breath to spare, he leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead so light that you wonder if it even happened or if someone has just thrown a marshmallow at your face. A friendly kiss from a friend that you’re friends with.

It feels like the seams of your limbs are being ripped out as you slowly separate from him, flashing him a soft smile as you take your duffel bag and unlock the door in front of you. You step into your hotel room, the air conditioning immediately sticking to your damp skin. As you close the door you catch him still standing there, looking at you like you’re something so precious.

Platonically, of course.

You sigh as you look around the room, suddenly freezing. The tiny dress you’re wearing doesn’t add much insulation and the big diamond necklaces and chandelier earrings and silver cuffs adorning your body like ornaments become ice on your skin. Kicking your shoes off and into a forgotten pit of the room, you step into the bathroom. Flicking the light on, you stare straight at the bulbs, letting the light sear your pupils just so that you can focus on something other than Jack fucking Daniels. Your jewelry is the first to go, becoming a delicate display on the bathroom counter. Something so pretty, but they’ve left angry dents in your skin that are starting to inflame and you figured it was too good to be benign. Nothing so beautiful, nothing that makes you feel so beautiful, could do so without hurting the paper-thin barriers of your heart. You’d have to be a fool to not know that.

You open up your duffel bag, fishing around impatiently until you find your makeup remover and cotton pads. As you erase the paint on your skin, removing the rough mission from the memory of your face, you start beginning to look less disheveled and more exhausted. Now you can really see the dark circles under your eyes, the discomfort of Rolex’s touching the small of your back and Armani cologne grabbing at your hips while you let it happen. Your body had become free real estate and in just hours you had broken down to feeling like you were stained, a dirtier version of yourself that couldn’t ever be cleaned.

You hadn’t felt so filthy when you were in Jack’s arms.

Eager to try and scrape the mission from your lungs, you peel the tight fabric off your body, letting out a breath of something far redder than relief as it falls to a pool around your ankles. You turn around to reach for the shower handle and grip it hard, letting the cold steel fill your palm as you twist it mid-way. While you wait for the steam to seep into your pores you reach for a bar of packaged soap on the bathroom counter, sizing up the créme box. It’s about a centimeter thick, easily filling your palm, and you frown a little at realizing that most of it will be thrown away, unused. Such a waste.

Turning your attention to the water, you run your hand under the water pouring out of the shower nozzle. It’s warm enough. But you don’t want it to be enough. You want it to melt your skin, to burn through your used body and shed your cells to unleash the layers beneath, the layers that Jack had touched, because thinking that your body has been safe inside his embrace feels better than thinking that you put your head in the jaws of the alligators and hoped they wouldn’t snap.

Once the water is burning, sure to inflame your skin, you step in and close the shower curtain before beginning to let the soap glide along your arms. Except it’s not enough. You’re not clean enough. So you run the bar over yourself again and again, wearing it down as your skin turns hot to the touch until you’re using the tips of your fingers to salvage the last bits of product onto your chest. Shit. You don’t even realize that the bar is all used up until you feel the sensation of your fingers rubbing against your now irritated skin and yet you still feel soiled. So you elect to give up on your sorry attempt at washing away the strange eerie touches and predatory looks and turn off the water, drying yourself off.

The solitude in the air stings.

By the time you’re laying in your bed and looking up at the plain off-white ceiling so that you don’t have to look at the old collections of dirt in the crevices of the wall and carpeted floor, you haven’t thought about Jack for the past 30 minutes. Not since you were washing yourself and the ghost of his fingers scraped your scalp, making you long for the feeling of his chest pressed to your back and the sound of his voice floating into the vinyl of the curtain liner while his hands danced in your hair - 

Not since then.

But Jack Daniels is most certainly thinking about you, and he’s far too deep to bother pretending that he isn’t anymore.

He stands outside your door for just a little while longer after you close it, staring at the fool’s gold embellishment on the front as he basks in the faint warmth of your spirit that lingers in the space of the hall and inside of his bones. He’s not sure how he got so lucky so as to be able to touch you without abandon, kiss your forehead out of greed and hold you in his arms because he really is so needy. He replays the scent of your dainty floral perfume and rewinds the heat of your forehead under his used, chapped lips, trying to commit you to memory as if he hadn’t done this a million time already, as if he hasn’t tried to burn a million of your hugs into the plush cotton of his skin like a brand. Your fading ghost consumes his mind, and by the time it’s whispering farewell to him, he’s already at the bank of elevators waiting patiently for the doors to open for him. Jack does a lot of that; waiting.

The weight of his duffel bag starts to grow and he can’t tell if his tired left arm is getting weaker or if the bag is getting heavier, but he can tell that his nerves are aching because he already misses you.

He’s always missing you.

The trip to his room is quiet, lonely, and as the elevator doors close for him to make his way to the 6th floor he wonders if this is how it’ll always be. Having you so close, seeing you right in front of him, and yet never truly being with you the way he wants to be. Never belonging to anybody, just a wisp of air passing through your life without holding any true substance or having any real meaning to you; but what a privilege to be one of your wisps. To have been in your lungs and have seen what he imagines are wide open plains, vibrant with wildflowers and gentle beasts. He wishes he could stay.

The elevator door dings.

This time he is caught off guard and he inhales like a shudder, eyes darting around the cold yet damp walkway to see if anyone has caught him thinking, caught him yearning.

Hallucinating.

Deluded.

He steps inside of the compartment with his stupid heavy duffel bag, immediately letting it fall to the elevator floor. His eyes find the plastic, cloudy buttons making up the keypad of the elevator. His left arm lifts to press the “6” button but he immediately regrets it, feeling a searing agony shoot through his shoulder. He mutters a little “fuck” to himself like it’ll help balm the pain, and of course it doesn’t, but Jack is a stubborn man and the buttons are to his left, so he shakes his arm out the way you shake out your boots before stepping inside mama’s house and tries again. But his dry, chapped fingers struggle to reach for the buttons, shaking in his own seismic wake. It takes him a few seconds to steady himself, taking temporary control over his body so he can actually touch the button; the plastic is cracked, a small piece having fallen off to be lost, likely thrown away. A discarded fracture in the shell leaving the inner label forever open and exposed, never to be whole again.

The elevator door shuts.

Jack lets out a low sigh, leaving his arms to fall to his sides as he leans against one of the walls. The back wall of the elevator is reflective, muddled and stained but clear enough that Jack can see what has become of him. His stetson is barely on his head anymore, his tie crooked and his collar untucked. He almost feels like a suit monkey, walking around playing dress up with the caveat of poisoning a man’s fresh champagne. But you told him he looked so handsome all gussied up like a proper gentleman worthy of taking a dime like yourself out. So he leaves it at almost.

He does a lot of that too.

The elevator hiccups, and as expected the doors open, inviting him to leave. He looks down at his duffel bag and he can already feel the weight of it on his weeping muscles, but he’s so close to his room and he can’t give up now that’s he’s made it so far, so he uses the momentum of his swinging right arm to sweep the bag up off the floor and drags himself out of the elevator. Not the best thing he’s ever done, but certainly one of his proudest moments.

The sixth floor is less damp, less like a moldy underwater cave and more like he’s at the top of a breezy mountain where the strands of air are like spurs to his cold, tight skin. Crisp. It is different, and yet he feels the same. Like his joyful warmth has drained out of his system, flushed out of his body, and on the inside he is the 5th floor of a shitty decrepit hotel in the middle of fuck all Kentucky. 

He makes quick work of finding his room, the inertia from getting off the elevator being the driving force that gets him down the two hallways and standing before room 645. He pulls out the plastic keycard, adorned with scratches on its surface and stains on its edges, and shoves it into the card reader. With a subtle flash of green and a gentle click, the door gives way for Jack to practically fall inside. He flings the bag as far across the room as his arm will let him, letting gravity control his movements as he is drawn to the white mattress in the center of the room. He releases a groan a little louder than should be appropriate this late at night - he checks the alarm clock on the bedside table to confirm that it’s 11:08. He hasn’t been apart from you for longer than what, 4 minutes? No, he did stand outside your door for a little bit. He decides it’s been 5 minutes.

Oddly enough, the extra sixty seconds don’t make him feel any less fucked.

Now that he’s finally still, his body begins to focus on how sore his legs are as any pain grows from the ends of his limbs and seeps into his chest. He can feel the weight of the night press down heavy on his diaphragm, suffocating him in a way that travels to his eyes and sprays sand like mist onto the walls of his throat. He selfishly lets himself lay there for a second, thinking about that weight being you pressed up against him, face buried in his chest or his neck or in his own face. It’s sacrilegious the way Jack thinks about your touch, the flutter of your lashes like majestic butterfly wings against his cheek, so enticing. So pretty.

His shower is fast despite the way his muscles screech at him to let them rest, begging him to just fucking sit down. When he leans down, back made of creaky burnt red iron, to reach for his sleep clothes, he does a double take; there’s not much in the bag at all. A bunch of small, disguised weapons, communications devices, a pair of grey sweats, a white t-shirt. Nothing oppressively hefty to pull on his tendons; at least, not in a way that could practically drag his shoulder out of its socket. Then suddenly he remembers; he had been holding your bag until you’d both reached the lobby desk. It was a long walk from where you’d been instructed to dump the care and the hotel, so after watching you squirm a little in the freezing air, he offered to take your bag off your back. He’d walked with a bag in each arm for maybe a minute before he realized that his greedy fingers missed being wrapped around your side, missed your melted essence seeping into his stomach, so he’d held both bags in the one left hand for the rest of the thirty minute walk. He hadn’t even noticed how bad he was hurting; perhaps you were too distracting, smile too alluring as your words painted his eyes in lilac and blinded him from his own discomfort.

For being the one person Jack wanted, you sure did hurt him a lot.

Once he is dressed, he lets his sore body absorb into the linen sheets as his muscles finally find some form of permanent relief in the salve of stillness. But this is a dangerous state to be in; when Jack isn’t talking someone else’s ear off, he thinks. He fantasizes, ponders, mulls and muses himself into a state that is suspended between consciousness and sleep.

He thinks about your lips.

You’ve never been too shy to mouth him off, poking and prodding at him and his eccentric cowboy aesthetic. Seeing you walk in every morning and beeline it straight to greet him with a casual fifteen-second hug sends daggers flying into his heart every time, a pain that he’s learned to brace himself for and yet can never seem to be able to handle. And when he looks down at you, adoring eyes and all, he can never help but glance at your lips. It’s always short, a self-indulgent guilty pleasure that he could never admit to, and he thinks about the way they feel against his collarbone when you hold him tight. He thinks about the way they might feel on his own lips.

Sinful.

And then he is thinking about that wretched mission, flashes of luxury clothes and manicured hands trying to feel you up right in front of his eyes. The way you fake smiled at men with money and wrinkles as they leaned into your ear, trying to whisper enticing tales of exorbitant trips to islands that are garishly tropical and dresses so exclusive and designer that no one in the world would own a duplicate. Watching in utter silence because no matter agonizing his need for you is, you’ll never be his.

Suddenly that ache in his body has traveled to his face. It’s so painful to think about you, and yet he takes the jagged edges of his love for you and drags them through his wrists because he’d rather fucking bleed than ever forget you.

Outside his window he hears the clouds crash into each other as an icy downpour beats the pavement. And like a curse, at the expense of his own self-destruction, the image of you in his arms in front of room 513 slices through his brain. Your face right under his mouth, forehead right up against him, your lips right fucking there. And then the feeling of you pulling away. Of you leaving him to rot with the flies, because he’s never going to be strong enough to tell you how bad he needs you,  let you tear his heart into a million pieces for good.

From somewhere in his room the rain begins to fall on his face.

people who asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @ergotautology

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This is new so I’m putting it down here too, but I made a little form for those of you that want to be added/removed from my taglist (pls take it my tags are very disorganized rn).

[sorenskyhigh]

Ok... this boy in my school that I'm friends with and likes me can speak fucking Korean and it just does something to me. I keep telling myself that 2D boys are better than 3D boys but like I cannot help it (he is from fucking Ireland btw). Anyway, if you get where I'm going with this... Tendou, Aone, Kenma and a character of choice with a spouse who can speak a different language... be creative with the languages queen and go crazy. Also as a scenario :) THANKS BESTIE :)

Ooooo i love this! Yes! I gotchu! Need a reminder of the real good men, FICTIONAL

A s/o Who Speaks Another Language

Includes Tendou Satori, Aone Takanobu, Kozume Kenma, and of course my pick is gonna be Kuroo Tetsurou but just for fun I'm gonna throw in Hanamaki Takahiro

Tendou Satori

Satori loved being in France, the language, like any, was hard to learn. Still, he loved everything about the culture here. You being his language tutor was a big help as well.

Since most all of your conversations were in French, unless you were practicing your Japanese (you wanted to learn it for him), Satori never knew you were fairly fluent in Arabic.

Arabic is one of a few of the most spoken languages in France (next to French of course and contending with Spanish, German and couple of others), so a good many people could speak it but Satori had no idea you could.

The first time he heard you speak it when you were trying to give someone directions.

You both were lounging about in the grass in The Champ de Mars, the Eiffel Tower at your backs.

It was a day off for Satori and he wanted you both to have a fun lunch out. Satori and you had both worked and cooked up a lunch to take with you to eat out in the sunshine.

You both were munching on some food, his long arm around your waist as you leaned into him when a work friend of yours came up to you.

"Hey, y/n, can you give her directions? She's trying to find her hotel I think?"

"Sure," you said, before standing up and engaging her in conversation. Turns out she was trying to find the Pullman hotel, it was known for its great view of the Eiffel Tower.

She was an older women and had no idea how to use her maps on her phone.

You gave her some quick help before she was on her way. Your friend thanked you, telling you they had no idea what to do and were so glad they saw you.

With a goodbye you turned around to join Satori and his eyes were wide in cartoony shock. You chuckle a little.

"What?"

"I didn't know you could speak, well I don't exactly know what language that was but, that was really amazing!" With that he jumped up and wrapped his arms around you , kissing the top of your head incessantly.

"Yeah, there were a lot of people at my old job that couldn't speak French very well so I learned Arabic to help them out."

"Arabic? Is that what that was?" He pulled away to look at you in excitement, his eyebrows shooting to the stars. His smile was wide and ever so slightly crooked.

"Yes," you barely get out through your giggling.

"You sounded so beutiful!" You could practically see the hearts in his eyes as he stared at you.

"Thank you, it's been awhile,-" Satori cut you off before you could dog yourself.

"Oh, my dear Paradise, as always you sound lovely. No matter the language."

He proceeded to quiet your protests of how shit your thought you were in Japanese with a rather passionate kiss.

He always surprised you with these in public. Satori wasn't shy to show affection in public, he just doesn't show it like this much.

You had to stop him when his long fingered and boney hands slowly wrapped themsleves around your ass cheeks.

Aone Takanobu

Nobu never said it, but he loved the German nicknames you gave him.

He truly loved a of them. Like when you call him your Liebling (darling) when you're asking for him to grab you something you can't reach. Then there's Schnucki when he does something cute or sweet, like when he got you something you had been wanting for a long time for your birthday.

All of these and the many more you use are great, but his favorite is when you call him your Knuddelbär. He melts when you refer to him as your cuddly bear.

You tended to use it when, obviously, you two were cuddling. Like tonight. You both were cuddled together in bed, his big, strong arms wrapped around you with his nose firmly planted onto the crown of your head, taking in your scent.

You had your face securely settled into his broad chest. His large heart beating and rumbling through your skull. It was relaxing.

Nobu liked feeling your smaller heart as well. He's such a big guy that, it didn't matter how big you were, he was bigger and absolutely loved it.

You were mostly asleep as you intook a large breath before sighing contentedly. You were barely able to get out a mumbled, "Knuddelbär," before completely passing out.

Nobu was officially awake, his face red as hell, and his mouth stretched into a massive smile as always. He sighed lightly into your scalp as he squeezed his eyes closed.

His arms wrapped around you a little tighter as it always did. His lips barely forming a kiss to place on your head.

Nobu knew he wouldn't be able to sleep for awhile. He just loved it too much.

Kozume Kenma

You played game with Kenma all the time. And he loved it. His absolute favorite thing is when you get angry and start angrily yelling.

You'd always revert to Filipino when you'd get angry. Kenma didn't like seeing you irritated or angry per se. But he did love see you get angry at video games. Of course he wanted to be happy and live happily and comfortably, but he always at the very least, cracked a smile when you'd start angrily yelling about who knows what when something happens in a game.

Like right now. There was a level you both were trying to get through. Kenna kept getting a little behind because he wanted all the extra stuff in the level. You on the other hand were trying to keep the bad guys off his back.

It was always in the same spot. Seven tries now, where you had died and had to restart the level. You were so angry that you kept making smaller and more ridiculous mistakes as you both went on.

Well you had a enough. It started out with gritted teeth mumbles as you about broke your controller from the grip you had on it.

Kenma told you to wait for him but that just angered you more. You wanted to get through this level. Honestly it wasn't even that. You wanted to destroy that mini boss.

The idea consumed your entire being. It needed to be destroyed or you wouldn't be able to sleep or rest.

So you charged forward and were taking it on on your own and, well, you were obliterated, once again.

Your hands shook as you death-grip clenched the controller. Your entire figure was shaking with rage. You were going to explode in three.......two.........one........

Now you were angrily yelling at the game and controller in Filipino. Kenma just sat there, too. Oh-so-calmly was he, with is controller in hand. His back slumped with terri ke posture as his lips lifted ever so slightly into a smile. He tried to hide it, he really did.

Kenma knew all too well what it was like to be in this situation. He had raged on camera definitely more than once for this very same reason.

But he just couldn't help it. You were all worked up and angrily pointing your finger at the screen after you had just as angrily thrown your controller on the couch.

Kenma stood up and very silently pinned your arms against your sides. He looked you straight in the eye for a moment. He liked to see you get angry, but he also knew when you should calm down and relax.

"Puddin'," he said very calmly and quietly. You stopped, smoke practically spewing from your ears. He simply wrapped his arms around you, still holding your arms down. You slowly lifted your arms as much as you could, and hugged him back.

He very lightly kissed you on your cheek before starting to rock you both back and forth. Nothing was said; nothing needed to be said.

Kuroo Tetsurou

Tetsu loved hearing you speak Spanish. He loved learning about the difference in the Spanish spoken in Spain, Mexico, Argentina, Peru, and all the others.

You knew so much about the history of the language and how the culture in each country would change that slang so much. He loved when you would go on long tangents about it.

Tetsu especially loved when you sang in Spanish. His absolute favorite thing is when he get home from work absolutely exhausted and he hears you singing away as you're cleaning, making dinner, in the tub, or whatever it is that you're doing.

For example, on this particular evening, you were taking a much needed soak in the tub. Lovely smelling soaps and a couple of candles to give a nice dim light for a nice calm vibe.

Bubbles tickled your chin as you sang away. The noise echoing slightly against the walls around you. It didn't matter whether you had a magnificent voice, an average one, or a terrible one. You were just enjoying the moment.

You heard the front door handle jangle and knew Tetsu was home. You continued to sing as you heard the door open and close. The shuffle of him replacing his shoes with house slippers skitter down the hall to you.

You hear him coming closer, dropping his suitcase and then haphazardly throwing his suit jacket, more than likely on the back of the couch.

You continued to sing as his steps got closer. Then you heard a shuffle at the doorway. You opened your eyes and looked. There stood Kuroo Tetsurou, his black button up shirt stressed across his chest, his tie dangling around his neck.

He stood against the door frame, eyes closed as he listened to you. His eyes looked tired, the same as his small smile.

You continued to sing. You sang and sang until the end of the song. At the end, Tetsu smiled so happily. He opened his hazel/yellow eye to look at you. His smile quirked into a smirk as he took some tired and lazy steps towards you.

He sat himself on the edge of the tub. "Mmmmmm, my Spanish Siren. Trying to sing me a song to pull me under the depths to have her way with me, then leave my carcass for the sharks." He snorted a little at the end as he gave slow loving strokes to your cheek.

You hmmed in satisfaction before oh so calmly saying," Like this?" With that you grabbed his arm and caught him by surprise, making it easy to tug him into the full tub, water splashing out onto the tiled floors. His loud, raucous laughter as well as yours rang throughout your home.

Hanamaki Takahiro

You are his baby, his sweetheart, his lovely. Hiro loved you so much. Everything about you just amazed him. One of the many things that just amazed him, was how you sounded speaking Italian.

The first time he heard you, he was blown away. Your voice was so sexy, not that it wasn't when you spoke Japanese. There was just something about it though that he found incredible.

Hiro would urge you constantly to speak in Italian and even teach him a little. You spoke it so much that he, naturally, picked things up.

He always tells you that him speaking Italian just did not have the same ring to it as you.

"Kah-"

"Kah-"

"Mirrah-"

"Mirrah-"

"Day-"

"Day-"

"Laetto."

"Raetto."

"See, you've almost got it. Camera de letto. Try again." You say. Hiro had been wanting to learn how to say bedroom in Italian. He was having some troubles but he was surprisingly good with learning it though.

He sighed in slight defeat. "I just can't do it like you do, la mia gioia." He loved referring to you as is 'joy' but in Italian.

"Please, just one more time," you encourage him.

"I think i need a little incentive, la mia gioia," he looked at you with a small sly smirk.

You sigh before turning to him, "Quindi vuoi incentivi? Che ne dici se smetto di aiutarti?" (So you want incentives? How about if I stop helping you?)

"Oh, you sound so sexy," you cut him off with a loud laugh.

Im sorry it took so long to get this out! I've been feeling a little better and have been having actual ambition to write and wanted to do my best! Thank you as always for sending in an ask!!

@kneecapstealingalien @multifandombrainrot @vaniatslover @popcorntime-doodles @i-need-coffee-now-pls @jiheonity @shadowsbutdead @goshikisimp @anothershadeofpink @mestayanon @ghostexhibit @smallmangi @thatfunnysprout @backalley-astrologer @itsallgonnabokayihope @g00s3 @boreateo @weareallhumans123 @lil-mellow-bunbun @strawberrymakki @beelziee @mehreenackerman @taiyahhh @sakusasgerm @cr4z3d-cl0wn @detective-lazy @mainnews32 @turtletris2tumble @oshun22 @syirahtorizawa @wouldsimply31 @sadisticbelle @queenkaye33 @h3nta1t0ast3r

[hurricanery]

If You Went Away - pt. 5

A/N: I am SO SORRY for posting this so late yikesss. I was struggling with writer’s block so much yesterday, but here’s part 5! I don’t know how I feel about this to be honest, and I’m definitely going to need to post something fluffy next, as a refresher. Previous parts here:

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4

Thank you for reading and sending feedback and prompts! I have some other prompts in my inbox that I definitely want to work on next so thanks for sending stuff!! <3

_______

(present day)

“Alright, Scout,” Link declares as they approach the glass-encased rows of ice cream in the relatively empty shop. “What flavor are you having?”

Scout stands on his tiptoes, peering at the many options in front of him. He bounces excitedly when his gaze lands on something that piques his interest. “Rainbow! I want the rainbow ice cream! With sprinkles!”

Link laughs, and then turns his attention to the young girl working behind the counter. “Okay, we’ll have a small cup of rainbow with sprinkles, I’ll have the….” he trails off, glancing above at their specialized menu items, browsing the different sundae options. “I’ll try the brownie sundae,” he smiles, satisfied with his pick.

Link turns around then, glancing at Amelia, who seems weirdly distracted. He clears his throat and waits for her to snap out of whatever thought spiral she’s in. Her eyes widen momentarily before she looks at him.

“Amelia what are you getting?”

“Um, ya know, I don’t really want anything-”

“Mom you have to!” Scout whines, looking at her like she’s lost her mind.

Amelia holds back a laugh at her son’s facial expression, stepping forward to rest her hands on his shoulders. “You’re right, you’re right,” she mumbles, glancing quickly at the menu. She goes with the first thing she reads on the board. “I’ll have the chocolate moose tracks,” she smiles at the worker.

They pay and get their ice cream and Scout immediately dives in once it’s handed to him.

“Hold on, bud,” Link laughs. “Let’s find a table to sit down at.”

Scout leads them to a table in the corner, a booth. And Link slides in across from him. Amelia stands, hesitating only for a moment before picking a side. She eventually settles next to Scout, smiling tightly at Link across from them.

Scout uses his good hand to attempt spooning some of his ice cream and both parents watch curiously as he struggles to keep the paper cup from sliding away from him as he does so.

“Kind of hard with one hand, huh?” Link laughs.

“Here,” Amelia reaches forward, holding the cup in place on the table so that Scout can get a good spoonful. “How about I hold it while you eat?”

Scout nods, devouring a bite of rainbow ice cream that quickly turns his mouth a shade of blue. Amelia laughs at the mess of blue forming around his mouth.

“I’ll get some napkins.” Link swallows a bite of his own ice cream before standing up.

“Mom?” Scout wonders, mouth full.

“Hm?” She looks down at him, amused.

“How you gonna eat yours if you’re holding mine?” He looks at her in question. “Yours is gonna melt.”

“Scout’s not wrong about that,” Link exclaims as he re-joins them at the booth. He raises his eyebrows at Amelia.

Amelia grimaces, looking down at the cup of ice cream she’d ordered. “Don’t worry about me, Scout,” she mutters, reaching for one of the napkins Link had brought over and beginning to wipe some of the ice cream from Scout’s face. Scout pulls away from her impatiently and Amelia sighs as he goes in for more ice cream. She goes back to holding his cup in place.

“Here, I’ll hold it. So you can eat yours.” Link reaches forward, attempting to replace Amelia’s hand with his own.

Amelia pulls away quickly when Link’s hand brushes against hers. She leans back against her seat, defeated.

“I….ordered the wrong thing,” she mutters, glancing at Link. “It’s fine though, really.”

Link frowns, leaning forward to examine her untouched cup of ice cream.

“Oh,” Link raises his eyebrows. “There’s peanuts on there.”

Amelia nods absentmindedly as she watches Scout continue to make a mess of his face.

“You don’t like peanuts,” Link states his realization. And Amelia ignores the warmth that spreads through her at the fact that Link remembers that.

“Yeah, my fault though. I wasn’t paying attention to what I ordered.” She mutters, biting her lip.

“Switch with me,” Link offers, sliding his own cup towards her.

Amelia frowns. “What?”

“Switch with me. I really only had like two or three bites of mine….”

Scout looks between his parents curiously, holding his gaze on Amelia and the odd look on her face.

“Mommy switch,” Scout repeats his Dad’s intentions. “Hurry before it melts!!”

Amelia laughs at her son’s preoccupation with the idea of melting ice cream. She can’t help but reach forward again to wipe Scout’s face before the mess threatens to drip down his chin and then all over his shirt.

Link sighs noticeably and Amelia glances across the booth at him.

“Well,” Link announces. “I’m just going to eat your ice cream, then.” He looks pointedly at Amelia, speaking matter-of-factly. Scout giggles as he watches his Dad snatch the untouched ice cream from in front of his Mom.

Amelia lets him take it, watching amusedly as Link over-exaggerates his first bite of mostly peanuts.

“And now my ice cream is just going to sit here,” Link mutters around a mouthful. “Unless you eat it, of course.”

Amelia grins, despite herself. Hesitating briefly, before finally deciding to reach forward for Link’s ice cream.

She doesn’t know where the vulnerability comes from. But she feels strangely shy as she takes her first bite of his brownie sundae. Scout giggles excitedly at the switch up and Amelia relaxes at the sound of it.

“How was the rainbow with sprinkles, Scout?” Amelia smiles at his almost empty cup. “Worth it?”

“Mhm,” Scout smiles, revealing a row of blue-stained baby teeth.

“You handled everything today like a champ,” Link chimes in, nodding towards the sling on Scout’s arm. “How does the arm feel?”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Scout responds simply, taking his last bite of ice cream.

“That’s impressive, bud,” Link smiles. “You are the bravest kid I know.”

Scout beams at him. But then the smile turns into a yawn.

“It’s been a long day, huh?” Link watches Scout blink tiredly. “Should we head home?” He mutters to Amelia.

Amelia nods, beginning to clean up some of the mess on the table before they exit the booth.

_______

“Okay his teeth are brushed and he’s finally in bed,” Amelia exhales as she enters the kitchen, smiling absentmindedly to herself.

Her smile fades quickly as she takes in Link’s rigid demeanor, where he stands with his back to her, putting away the last of the dishes.

Amelia shuffles hesitantly behind him, reaching into the cupboard for the chamomile tea she’s been looking forward to after a stressful day. She can feel Link turn towards her, feel his eyes bore into her as she prepares her tea. She tries to fight off her impending anxiety at the intensity of a stare she has yet to acknowledge.

Until he clears his throat.

And Amelia wants to jump out of her skin.

The packet of tea drops from her hands and she breathes out.

“Did you want a cup?” She tries.

Link shakes his head.

“Amelia, I think we should talk.”

She turns the kettle on.

“You know…” She mutters, wringing her hands together nervously. “It’s been a crazy day. I….I’m just so tired, maybe it’s not the best time to-”

“Amelia, you can’t keep avoiding it!” He interrupts harshly and Amelia sucks in a breath, turning fully to face him.

She opens her mouth like she’s going to speak, but no words come out. Her teeth clamp together audibly as she offers a blank stare.

“When were you planning on having this conversation, then?” He questions, impatience evident from the frustrating silence on Amelia’s end.

“I don’t know,” she says simply. “I….today was….I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t have time to think it through…” She stutters through the sentence. “And, and last night? I...just don’t know I-”

“Well I think I’ve been patient enough,” he interrupts her again, stepping forward slightly, causing Amelia to retreat.

Amelia nods quickly, blinking as she takes that in. Because yes. He’s been extremely patient. And she’s been extremely unfair.

“You have.” She agrees quietly, barely.

Link just stares at her in question.

“You’re right, you have.” She repeats, this time more clear.

“Well then, talk to me.”

Amelia takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before she speaks.

“I should apologize….for last night,” she laughs bitterly, shoulders raising in discomfort. “I shouldn’t have….” She trails off again, trying to think of the best way to describe her actions. “I shouldn't have thrown myself at you like that.”

Link sighs. And Amelia keeps going.

“And then I….didn’t mean to, I don’t know….freak out after?” Her inflection raises a little bit at the end like she’s unsure. “Anyway, I’m sorry-”

“I’m not asking for an apology, Amelia.”

And now Amelia grows even more perplexed, eyebrows pulling together as she tries to determine his aim here, then.

“I don’t understand-”

“I’m looking for an explanation!” His voice is strained again. “I’m looking for a reason!” His tone grows louder with each point he makes. “I’m looking for us to….for us to figure out what the hell we’re doing!”

He settles a bit after that, but Amelia watches as the exasperated flush takes over his face and neck.

“You’re giving me whiplash, Amelia…” He mutters, quieter this time. “One second you want me gone, you even tell me to go. And then? You turn around and hold that against me? And you’re right! You can’t just throw yourself at me and then act like nothing happened! I just….can’t keep up with you, so please,” he begs, voice reflecting concern. “Please figure out what you want.”

“I know!” She raises her voice defensively. She folds her arms across her chest like she’s self-guarding, helpless tears threatening her eyes. “I know. I don’t know why-”

“Mommy?”

Both Link and Amelia turn around in shock as Scout makes his appearance. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen anxiously, looking between the pair.

“What’s wrong?” Scout mutters sleepily.

Amelia drops her arms, falling out of her defensive stance. She wipes under her eyes before she steps forward towards Scout. “Nothing baby, everything’s fine. Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

“Wait, no,” Link interrupts, also stepping forward. “I’ll take him back up.” He looks purposefully at Amelia. “You stay right here. I’ll be back.”

Amelia retreats, stepping back against the kitchen counter in defeat. She attempts a light-hearted smile when Scout looks back at her, hoping an encouraging head nod is evidence enough that everything is okay. Scout looks away from her. And then they disappear up the stairs.

_______

It’s taking Link a suspiciously long time to return back to the kitchen, and Amelia grows more and more impatient.

She decides there’s probably better use of her time than to stand here desperately, biting her nails.

She climbs the stairs curiously, slowly, following the sound of Link’s voice. She pauses in the doorway to Scout’s bedroom, resting her head against the frame of the slightly open door. She doesn’t make her appearance known. She just listens silently.

“Okay, bud?” She hears Link explain. “I don’t want you to worry. Nothing’s wrong….we’re just….a little stressed from your fall earlier.”

“But I’m not hurt anymore. So don’t be mad.” Scout whispers back in a pleading tone and Amelia’s eyes sting with guilt.

“Right,” Link agrees. “No one’s mad. And you’re not hurt. Because you were brave. The bravest 5-year-old I know.”

“I am?”

“For sure!” Link exclaims, overly cheerful. “You must get it from your Mom.”

Amelia can hear Scout’s giggle at the way Link tends to oversell his excitement.

“Your Mom was a very brave 5-year-old, too.”

“Why was she brave?”

Amelia gasps quietly from the hallway, cursing herself when she realizes the otherwise quiet of the room. She peers up to watch Link turn his head only slightly in her direction, aware of her presence.

“She just was.” Link says simply, shrugging along with his words. “But it’s time for you to go to sleep, okay?”

“Mkay.”

Amelia turns on her heels, heading quickly down the hallway towards their bedroom. She sits on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands together as she listens for Link to approach.

From her line of vision, she watches his feet as he enters the room. And then she feels him sit down on the bed next to her.

They sit side by side.

“You were a brave kid, too.” Amelia says, voice raspy as she turns her head to the side to look up at Link. She frowns a little bit, puzzled. It’s not like she ever had to take on a cancer diagnosis during childhood. “Don’t give me all the credit.”

Link nods, holding eye contact.

“Amelia, I think….” He gathers his thoughts, exhaling and looking up at the ceiling. “No, I know….that I don’t want to do to Scout, what my parents did to me.”

Amelia stares at him as his eyes scan the ceiling. She nods in understanding.

“You know I even tried to parent-trap them once, did I ever tell you that?” He laughs a little bit, breathlessly.

Amelia nods. And smiles tightly. “You did tell me that.” Her voice sounds weak.

“And I also know, that….that people always leave, right?” He turns to her again, resuming eye contact. And he watches as Amelia registers his words. Her words. Words she could have said herself. “Everyone always leaves, right?”

She frowns at the sudden accuracy of it all.

“And in some ways….you push people away….before they can hurt you, right?”

She doesn’t say anything. He’s reading her like a book and ultimately it stuns her.

“Well,” he lets out a breath, hands dropping forward to rest against his knees. “I’m going to do everything to prove the opposite to you….if that’s okay.”

Amelia exhales a shaky breath. And suddenly it’s her turn to look at the ceiling. She averts her eyes as she takes in his sentiment.

“Okay,” is all she can manage to mutter.

“Okay,” Link repeats, peering at Amelia as she tries to suppress a yawn. “Crazy 24-hours, huh?”

Amelia swallows her yawn, blushing despite herself. Still not able to refrain from cringing at the previous night’s events.

“What do you say we just go to bed?” Link offers.

Amelia looks at him, tiredly. Apologetically.

“Sleep on it?” He continues. He knocks his knee into hers playfully, raising his eyebrows at her.

Amelia hesitates only slightly, looking down between them, before nodding to herself and to him. “Sleep on it,” she agrees.

//

[damedamedame]

akane aoi + reader | say what ?

| description ! | your current relationship with akane gets a little out of hand (which may or may not be good?) (yes, there’s a question mark).

prev | next

You flip to a page, one to a theory about a mysterious creature who could control the time around the halls of Kamome Gakuen by their own hands and by their own choice. There’s even a sketch of what it could be... and it looked nothing like the boy standing in front of you now. Your finger points to a space, wordlessly wanting him to sign it if your pleading face was anything to go by.

Akane stares at you blankly, then to the picture book in your hands. The expression on his face screams confusion because of your actions but you were insistent.

Being an enthusiast for all sorts of supernaturals and apparitions that had crossed your path (which may or may not have led to various dangerous incidents), you stood your ground as firmly as you possibly could.

Even if you wanted to melt at the sight of this new Akane Aoi.

Fuck it, you probably already melted when he saved you mere minutes ago.

Sucking in a deep breath, you continued to ask another question, briefly ignoring the fact that Akane didn’t bother to sign. Maybe he had no pen?? What kind of apparition has a pen in his pocket?? Wait would they--

“C-Can you help me investigate more s-supernaturals?”

‘OH NO.’ You looked at the ground as if it was the one who was making your cheeks redden to the max. ‘I STUTTERED TOO MUCH DHBFSH--’

“Interesting offer but….” Your head shot up to meet his smile, it didn’t meet his eyes but it made you look like a tomato nonetheless. A shudder goes down your spine at the way he stares right through you. “I don’t think I can handle another second seeing any one of them.”

…?

“W-WHY?? SUPERNATURALS ARE AMAZING CREATURES !!” You cry out, unable to hold back.

“Wha…? What makes you say that?”

There’s a hint of a spark happening between you two, one filled with tension and the start of a very very long argument between the justification of supernaturals.

Not that you intended to speak up and start a fight about it, you had only wanted to bring up a few points. Which he had a rebuttal for every time. Perhaps this is why you liked this smartass, but never did you think that you would be on the opposing side of the debate.

���Aoi-kun, I’m pretty sure not all of them are bad..!”

“You might want to see a certain seventh somewhere--.”

“YOU KNOW THE SEVENTH MYSTERY ???”

Secretly, your foot hurt like actual hell, having been pushed to the ground rather harshly after almost being struck by a truck. But how could you let this chance pass by? You were finally talking to the boy you simped for and you have the chance to meet more supernaturals and apparitions!

Granted, you almost died and you were both arguing about the goodness of supernaturals and apparitions, BUT STILL—!!

“I don’t think he appreciates seeing someone limp into his stall.”

Akane motions over to your foot. The foot that you were trying so desperately to hide but alas, the awkwardness stood out.

“Um… I-I’ll go to the clinic then! After that, you can take me to see Hanako-san…!”

Two steps forward and you were already wobbling. You were determined to get to the clinic without any hesitation if it meant finding out more of these supernaturals that always invaded your mind, if you weren’t already thinking about Akane.

Being the gentleman that he was forced to be by one strict Teru Minamoto, he had, as much as he didn’t want to offer because he was salty, offered you a, “Do you want me to take you to clinic?” which you may have replied with a small nod, the flush on your cheeks rising significantly so.

Significantly so may have been a slight understatement.

Your cheeks—no, your entire face raged with a pink blush once Akane put his hand on yours, telling you to lean on him if your legs hurt too much. The way he held your hand calmly without hesitation made it seem like he experienced this sort of thing before. Or maybe he spent his time eagerly researching this for Aoi’s sake. ‘Okay, yeah, it’s definitely the second one.’ You sink your head low in dismay.

Thankfully, the clinic wasn’t too far off since the incident took place right at the exit of the school. Making quick work into getting to the clinic, also avoiding the people who looked at you two quietly bickering about another something related to your slowly developing debate about supernaturals and all that. Or perhaps they looked at you two and wondered why two simps were spending time with each other. What if they thought you were dating him (finally) and Akane had given up on Aoi--

You scoff, immediately letting the fleeting thought away. Akane raised an eyebrow at your action but you simply looked away, not acknowledging the other thoughts that crowded your mind.

“Can you open the door while—”

“Yeah, I think I can just…”

After a few minutes of trying to open the door leading to the clinic, and failing miserably, your prayers have finally been answered. By a fellow Student Council Member.

“Oh! (L/N)-san!” This girl is… the ‘Secretary’ of the Student Council, if the messy black hair, the dark red ribbon hanging loosely around the back, and the round glasses framing her small face was any indication. “What happened?”

“I tripped and fell on the sidewalk.” You explain, not delving into any of details because even if the guy you just had to like out of everyone else (seriously, why couldn’t you have liked Minamoto-senpai instead? It’d probably be so much easier) had a bunch of hatred for the ones you absolutely adored (and you still didn’t get why he hated all of them instead of merely hating the ones who pushed Aoi), you still didn’t want to cause any trouble for him.

The ‘Secretary’ looks at you two for a bit, a small knowing smirk gracing her lips, which she tried to hide with her hand but failed, and walked away. She also mentioned something about the ‘President’ dropping off some paperwork on his desk. You don’t know why Akane’s expression turned into a disgusted one but you didn’t want to pry on that.

Oh nono, you wanted to pry about something else.

Right after sitting down on the bed after the nurse had told you to do so, you began swinging your legs out of nervousness. And you regretted that a second later because the pain finally settled in. Akane had thrown an ‘are-you-kidding-me?’ look at you and you replied by rolling your eyes into oblivion. Not wanting the silence between you two to thicken (or maybe you should, you were literally on the verge of kicking your crush when he mentioned how annoying your beloved Mokke were), you somehow managed strike up a conversation.

“Say… what happened to that truck a while ago?” Gold star for not stuttering over there, champ.

Akane turns to look at you, lips screwed tight and eyes wide. Had he not noticed it? How his supernatural suit and tie and honestly aesthetically pleasing outfit went away and changed back to his normal uniform? How the truck had crashed into a pole instead of you? Considering the amount of shock graced his features, it’s safe to assume that you were correct. Seriously though, how could he not have noticed?

‘Maybehewasfocusingonyou—SHUT UP’

He’s silent, not willing to admit that he did not, in fact, notice the truck nor his outfit changing. You hear him mumble a few words under his breath, definitely not missing the ‘That bastard might actually kill me this time’ or the ‘If Ao-chan ever finds about this…’ but he stops when the doctor of the school clinic came in.

“So, (L/N)-san, what do we have here this time?” The doctor, Nito-san, asks for the third time this week (or was it the fourth…?). He kind of looked frustrated with you, which you brushed off with an awkward chuckle. You could have sworn you heard Akane stifle a laugh. “Did you fall from the stairs again?”

“Not today, haha…” ‘CNDSJFNDSFOSID’ You fumed, hands clenching into fists. Now you heard Akane actually having to hide his laughter, which resulted in you having to cover your face with your hands.

Oh, why did you have to come in like this Nito-san??? WHY???

As if God Himself heard you, you were blessed when Teru Minamoto poked his head in from outside the room’s door. Funnily enough, he did not have his usual smile and ^^ on his face. He just looked lowkey pissed, which was a first for you and for people inside the clinic.

“Aoi-kun, why don’t we have a chat outside?”

You glanced at Akane in concern, and your choice was right, he should be of concern right now. He looked like a man about to be executed.

“Y-Yeah…”

At this point, you might as well plan his funeral. Yes, Aoi is going to have to give a speech about him or he would haunt the school. ‘Wait isn’t he already haunting the school—’ You thought as Akane was pretty much dragged outside by Teru. ‘Oh, I didn’t get to ask him about Hanako-san!’ You frowned, slapping yourself on the face. Although, you probably shouldn’t be focusing on that as of now, since Nito-san looks... positively furious.

| end notes ! | i’m so sorry for the long wait !! and i’m really sorry if the update wasn’t as good as you’d thought it would be,, not that it was alr good to begin with :’>

taglist: @astrxrism​ @sparkleswritings​ @closetweebsmh​ 

[queenxxxsupreme]

Aight hear me out: 27) a kiss on the elbow. But for the dad!witchers with their kiddos? Like they're learning to walk or goofing off or learning to ride a horse and fall off? And it's dad to the rescue to make them feel better? or just Geralt if all three are too much for a drabble? You give us so much wholesome goodness in the dad!Witcher au and I just LOVE it. 💖💖

BABE you’re brilliant

Send in an ask with a number from this kiss prompt list!

Lambert 

“Daddy! Look!” Eva giggled excitedly. 

She was just learning to ride a horse on her own and you couldn’t be more proud of her. She was a quick learner, which was good because she had her father’s patience. 

“Good job, love!” You cheered from outside of the fence, clapping your hands softly. 

“Keep focused on where you want to go, Eva.” Lambert coached. He stood inside the fence but next to you, leaning against the wood. “And keep those shoulders back.”

“I’ve got it handled, daddy.” Eva rolled her eyes. 

“You’re slouching, kid. Sit up straighter.”

“Lambert, give her a break.” You placed your hand on his arm. “She’s doing well.”

“If she doesn’t learn the correct way now, she’ll learn the wrong way. My girl’s not gonna be one of those shitty riders.”

You smiled a little at him but shook your head. 

You weren’t too sure what happened while your focus was on your husband. One second, Eva was doing fine as she moved around the opposite side of the enclosure. The next, there was a shrill scream and a cry.

Lambert was sprinting across the enclosure to Eva, who was now on the ground. She sat up and clutched her elbow, crying out in pain.

You didn’t bother to go around and open the gate. You jumped the fence and raced to her side. 

“Is she okay?” You asked, kneeling down on the other side of your daughter.

Lambert was on the side of the elbow she was holding. 

“It hurts!” Tears trailed down her cheeks. 

“You didn’t break it, sweetheart.” Lambert assured her, rubbing her back. He hadn’t heard anything crack when she landed. His brows were drawn together in concern and fear even though he knew she was okay.

“But it hurts, daddy!”

“I’m sure it does, love, but you just jammed it really good.” Lambert brought her arm up and kissed her elbow. “There. Is that better?”

“No!” She leaned towards him, stuffing her face into his chest.

You rubbed her leg before looking back to the horse that had thrown her off. 

“Get her into the house.” You told Lambert, standing to your feet. “I’ll put Champion in the barn.”

Lambert nodded his head and easily picked the eight year old up. 

“You did good.” He quietly told her. “Even the best get thrown off sometimes. You should see how much Champ throws me.”

“That’s cause you deserve it, daddy.” Eva giggled. 

“Don’t make me drop you, kid.”

Geralt

“Geralt!” You called his name from the house, your tone frantic.

The witcher was crossing the yard in a matter of seconds, reaching the door just moments after you disappeared back into the house.

His heart raced and worry filled his blood. Had something happened to his son?

“Y/N! What-,”

“Shh!” You quickly hushed him, holding your hand up in his direction. Then you pointed across the room to Bram. 

The nine month old was holding on to a stool for support, looking around the room curiously. He had started to pull himself to his feet a while ago, but he had yet to try to walk. 

Bram’s eyes landed on Geralt and he giggled. 

The witcher smiled, a warmth spreading through his chest, and moved closer to his son. He knelt down a few feet away and motioned for Bram to come to him.

Bram cooed and then squealed, reaching one arm out for Geralt.

“Come on, love.” He gently encouraged, heart beating quick with excitement. 

Bram took a few steps around the stool and looked back to what he leaned against for support. He babbled something incoherent and took that one little step away from the stool.

Geralt had never felt so excited, so happy, so proud. His son, the son he never imagined he’d get, took his first steps towards him. 

You watched with bated breath, tears nearly coming to your eyes.

“That’s it, Bram.” Geralt fought the urge to pick up the baby and instead, continued to try to coax him into taking another step. 

Bram wobbled a little and Geralt flinched as if to get him. But then he took a few more steps. These ones were more rushed because he was starting to lose what little balance he had.

He fell into Geralt’s hands and the witcher caught him, pulling him in for a hug.

You moved to Geralt’s side as he stood up, brushing your hand over Bram’s back and kissing him. 

“He did so good.” You smiled proudly. 

Bram began to whine because he wanted down, so Geralt placed him back on the floor. This time, Geralt held on to his little hands and helped him to walk. Bram let go of Geralt’s fingers, he was a brave little baby, and started to take steps away from his father. 

He took a step that happened to be too wide and before either of you could react, Bram fell back, catching his elbow on the wooden floor. 

He began to cry immediately and Geralt was there to get him before you could. He picked your son up and held him close to his chest. 

“It’s okay, love. It’s okay.” He hushed Bram, rubbing his back. Bram made grabby hands at you, so Geralt had no choice but to give him up. 

“My poor baby.” You cooed, gently bouncing up and down. 

Geralt rubbed Bram’s elbow, feeling useless that he couldn’t make his baby feel better. He leaned down and kissed Bram’s elbow, which confused the baby. He looked at Geralt, little brows knit together and cheeks damp from tears. And then he burst out into laughter. 

Geralt smiled and kissed his elbow again. 

“He’ll be okay.” The witcher stated, though he was saying it mostly for himself. He needed reassurance that the little bump on the elbow wouldn’t harm his son.

“He will.” You nodded, smiling at both of them.

Eskel

“Daddy! Daddy!” Nadia squealed as she ran through the house. You were about to open your mouth to tell her to slow down when your husband spoke up.

“Nadia, what have I told you about running in the house?” Eskel scolded, looking up from the book he was reading.

“Daddy! Bleater is after me!” Nadia ran through the kitchen. A few heartbeats later, the goat was trotting through the kitchen.

“I told you bringing Lil Bleater into the house would be troublesome.” Eskel stood up and moved into the kitchen to see how dinner was coming along. You insisted on making the soup yourself and declined his offer to help.

“Yes, but it’s awfully cold outside during the nights. And her joints get stiff when she’s too cold.” You turned your head to look at him. 

“You just wanted her inside to wear Nadia out for bed.” Eskel placed a hand on the small of your back and kissed your cheek.

“It would be lovely if she went to be at a decent time.” You sighed a little. 

There was a sudden thunk in the other room and Eskel was gone from the kitchen. 

By the time you got to the living room, he was holding a crying Nadia in his lap on the floor. Lil Bleater curiously sniffed Nadia’s leg, wanting to know that the little girl would be okay. 

“What happened?” You asked, moving to them.

“Hit my elbow on the door.” Nadia whimpered, her bottom lip sticking out. Eskel rubbed her elbow and kissed her head.

“Maybe now you’ll stop running through the house.”

“Kiss it better, daddy.” Nadia stuck her elbow in Eskel’s face, nearly catching him in the nose. 

He pressed a kiss to her elbow. 

“Does it feel better now?”

“Yes.” Nadia smiled a little, sniffling and wiping her cheeks. 

She wiggled and writhed until Eskel let her go. Then she was running through the house again, Lil Bleater following close behind. 

Eskel sighed as he stood up. 

“She’s as stubborn as her father.” You told him, smiling softly. 

“What? I’m not stubborn.” He couldn’t hide the grin on his lips from you.

“Sure you aren’t.”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @MishaFaye  @whitewolfandthefox @ayamenimthiriel @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @wolfyland07  @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @romancebibliophilia @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @crazybutconfidentaf @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural  @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @thefirelordm @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @badassspaceprincess @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @runawayolives @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an–actual–human–disaster

[mcytrabbithole]

The Crash (Prologue Pt.1)

The beginning of a multi-chapter fic that I’m writing! This involves members of Hermitcraft and the Dream SMP and the chaos that follows when they end up thrown into a new situation together!

I will put all my notes about each chapter up here along with any warnings that I feel the need to write up here. 

Warning: Temporary blindness, our Hermits being in some pain

Word Count: 1802

It started out like any other day on the Hermitcraft server. People were building, playing Decked Out, working on gathering more mycelium for the resistance, just enjoying themselves. Well...most of them were enjoying themselves

Xisuma was currently making his way through the shopping district, walking around, trying to figure out what in the name of the Nether was making everything feel so...off. He had checked the coding of the server about five times, nothing was miscoded or anything like that. Though Xisuma could feel that something was wrong, being an admin made him more connected to the server than anyone else on the server. It was like he could feel the change, but couldn’t figure out where it was.

He hadn’t planned on talking to anyone about it, hoping that he’d be able to resolve it on his own, but he sees a message pop up on the chat through his helmet. 

Grian has experienced kinetic energy

rendog: You okay?

Grian: I wasn’t even flying??? I was just standing around. I don’t know what just happened 

Xisuma frowned as he looked at the messages. That meant something was wrong with the server. He uses his helmet to look at what had happened to Grian and grumbled a bit, that was definitely not supposed to happen. Grian had just been working on sorting through some chests so he could prepare stuff for The Barge and then boom, dead. 

Xisuma: That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ll see if I can figure out what caused it. 

Xisuma finds himself a place to sit down, sitting down on the little porch of the Stat Poker game building as he begins to work his way through the code for what felt like the millionth time. As he looked through it, he swears he sees something out of the corner of his eye, but he chalks it up to just being stressed out from trying to figure out what was causing the problem. 

After a while of scrolling through the code and rewatching the video of Grian’s mystery death, he hears some rockets go off and then the sound of someone landing in front of him. Xisuma moves the chat to the side and sees that Keralis is the one in front of him, wearing his construction outfit and seeming like he was looking for something. 

Though once Keralis sees Xisuma, he grins,” Shiswam! Just the bee that I wanted to see!” Xisuma wasn’t wearing his bee outfit, but he appreciated the pun none the less. “Hey Keralis, what’s up?” Xisuma figured that Keralis coming to find him could mean any number of things. Though he had a feeling that this was about a glitch or something similar. 

“I seem to have ran into a problem at my base and was wondering if maybe you could come help me? I can’t figure out what’s causing it.” Keralis had been trying for over two hours to get this sorter at his base working, he had double checked and yet it still wasn’t working right. “What seems to be the problem?” Xisuma asks this, already pulling up what he could about  Keralis’ base. “I’ve been working on a sorter and I know I’ve got the redstone right, but no matter what I do, it won’t sort.” Keralis may or may not have thrown his construction hat a view times while he was trying to work on it. 

“Do you think it might be a weird piston?” Xisuma asks this as he looks over it, searching through until he found the sorter in question. Everything looked like it was right, the code looked right, the sorter in general looked right. He frowns as he looks it over,” This is weird...everything looks right, even the code looks right...and it just won’t sort?” One is an accident, twice is a coincidence. If one more weird thing happens, then he’ll know that this isn’t just a weird server day. 

As if the universe was listening to Xisuma’s thoughts, a wave of pain shot through him, like he had been stabbed with a sword that had been enchanted to the nether and back. It was only pain in his head, but he found himself grasping onto his helmet for dear life. He hadn’t been in pain like this in a long time. “Shiswam, is something wrong?” Keralis noticed that pain right away, Xisuma never grabbed onto his helmet like that unless he was getting one of the migraines that he rarely got. Those migraines only ever came around on the days where something had gone really wrong and he had spent nether knows how long messing with the code to get it fixed. 

“M-my head.” Xisuma manages to speak, keeping his eyes shut. This was somehow worse than every one of those god awful migraines combined. “Is it one of your migraines? Do you need to get the helmet off?” Keralis takes a careful step forward, not wanting to get too close to his friend incase he needed space. Xisuma shakes his head, he wasn’t taking his helmet off unless he had to. “I just need to let it pass.” Xisuma takes a deep breath, hoping that it would stop. 

And it did stop...but when it did, he opened his eyes...and there was nothing there, it was void, endless nothing, a black empty void. For the first time since he was a child, Xisuma felt nothing but pure fear. “Keralis?” He asks this, his voice shaking like a leaf. “I’m right here, Shiswam.” Keralis’ voice was right in front of him, speaking softly. “I-I can’t see.” Xisuma had known Keralis for long enough that he allowed himself to let the fear show a bit more than what he would've normally shown. “It’ll be alright, Shiswam, I’m sure it’s just the server throwing a bit of a fit.” Keralis was trying to keep calm, but the worry he felt for his friend was worry that made his heart hurt. 

The blindness didn’t stop, but what happened soon after was further proof that things were going very wrong. Keralis had taken a seat next to Xisuma, trying to help him ground himself and not getting lost to the panic he felt...when Keralis got the hit of pain just like Xisuma had earlier. Little did the two know, that at that moment, all across the server, hermits were getting flashes of pain like none of them had felt before, none of them got it as bad as Xisuma did, but it still hurt like all hell. 

Keralis had sucked in a sharp breath, gripping onto the porch for dear life. This wasn’t good. If this was anywhere near the pain that Xisuma had felt, then Xisuma handled it like a champ. “Keralis? What’s wrong?” Xisuma heard that breath, that wasn’t a good sign. He couldn’t see the code, he couldn’t see anything, he hated this so much. “My head.” Keralis says this as he takes his construction helmet off yet again, holding it in his hands and just squeezing it that way he wouldn’t be pulling at his hair.

“It’s happening to you too?” Xisuma hated this. He felt helpless, like he couldn’t do anything to help his friend. “It should pass, give it a few minutes...let’s just hope it doesn’t blind you like it did me.” Xisuma manages to find Keralis’ shoulder and give it a squeeze, hoping that it would stop faster for Keralis than it stopped for him. Keralis closed his eyes, hoping that if he closed  them then it might stop a bit faster.

As they waited for Keralis’ pain to vanish, all around the server, people found themselves in similar positions. False had been in the Nether, helping Stress with setting up her path to the Nether Hub, when the pain had hit them both and sent them both crashing to the floor, hitting some minecarts in the process. Wels had been nearby, doing some work on his portal when he had heard the loud crash of the minecarts, so he decided to go check and see what caused it. 

Wels had seen the girls on the ground and gone running to them, hoping that he might be able to help, but only for the pain to hit him at that very moment...and sending him crashing into a minecart head first. Not his best moment, but at least he had his helmet to protect him. The sound of him crashing into the minecart didn’t help the pain in their heads, if anything it made everything all the worse, especially for Wels since his helmet hit the cart and the cart practically slammed the helmet back at his head, which hurt a lot more than 

In a similar turn of events, Grian, Impulse, and Etho were all in the Mycelium Resistance base, working away on actually getting the base looking like a proper base. The other resistance members were out doing things like getting materials, checking their shops, that sort of a thing. 

First it was Impulse, who was sorting shulkers at the new meeting table, who just grabbed the nearest chair and sat down cause he knees nearly gave out from the pain. Then it was Etho, who had been writing down the amount of mycelium that they had gathered up and doing a tiny bit of math as he tried to figure out how many mycelium they could make in an hour. He had been standing by the mycelium generator, when he felt the pain hit him, causing him to drop his book as he leaned against the wall to try and keep himself steady. Finally, it was Grian, who was working on the walls of the base. He had seen Etho and Impulse sit down and had been a bit confused, then the wave hit him and he almost fainted from the pain as he sat down against the stone wall. All the three could do was look at one another, unable to speak from the pain. 

The pain spread through the server like wildfire...and soon enough the pain had gripped onto every member of the server. As people all around the server began to hit the ground, gasping for breath as they tried to figure out what was happening, they felt the change in the air, felt the change in what felt like the very core of their codes. As they all shut their eyes, hoping that the pain would stop, they felt it, things had just changed, yet they couldn’t seem to open their eyes to see what had happened. 

Suddenly, the pain stopped, and their eyes shot open. What they saw was that they were all now in an open field in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere...and they weren’t the only ones there. 

[lycorogue]

Perfect Doesn’t Need to be Perfect: Chapter 5

Yeah, bit of a heads up, this chapter got away from me and became way more angsty than I intended. 0_0 I'm gonna try to bring this story back to fluffiness in the next chapter. Sorry about that.

In the original story (as you're well aware because I'm sure you've listen to me and read Twelve Days of Chatmas already), this chapter only had a small Ladybug cameo. Which means I more-or-less had free rein on this... probably why the angst was able to creep in. >3< (Can't leave me (creatively) alone for 2 minutes; I swear)

Also, I had no clue what to do with the akuma, so I made some weird Scrooge/Grinch/Hulk hybrid thing. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

**Contains Spoilers for Taurus Pixie’s story Twelve Days of Chatmas**

Summary: Chat Noir has run into a long streak of poor luck, all in an attempt to give Ladybug the perfect Christmas gift. Little does he know, his first try was already perfect in Ladybug’s eyes. Now it’s her turn to try to navigate around Chat Noir’s failed attempts in her own pursuit to find something equally fantastic for him. **A Switched-POV Unofficial Companion Story to Twelve Days of Chatmas by @thetauruspixie​​**

Rating: General Audience

Chapter Word Count: 1683

Story Total Word Count: 37,973

Status: chapter 5 of 12; complete

**For reals, if you haven’t read Twelve Days of Chatmas yet, read that first so my story doesn’t spoil anything for you. It’s cool. This story will still be here when you get back. ;) **

See below for chapter 5, or find this story over on AO3, on FFN, or on DA.

CHAPTER 5:

It was an exhausting day. It was a draining day. It was one of the worst days of Marinette's life. She was curled up in a ball on her bed, hugging her pillow to her chest as she stared at her corkboard of Adrien pictures. Tears stung her eyes and a hot knot grew in her chest.

“Marinette?” Tikki drifted to her bearer. “Are you okay?”

“Who were they for?” Marinette choked down a sob.

“They?”

“The rings!” She squeezed her eyes shut and curled tighter around her pillow.

The day had started off typical enough. Marinette woke up late for school after a long night of figuring out her gift for Chat Noir. She was reprimanded by both her mother for sleeping in and Miss Bustier for sneaking into class after the tardy bell. She dealt with the normal harassment from Chloe and irritation over her classmates and teachers blindly listening to Lila's lies; everyone but Adrien, of course. Sweet, loyal, handsome, brilliant Adrien.

Marinette had spent so much of that week wondering what to do as a gift for Chat Noir, she didn't realize how little time she had left to pick out Adrien's gift. He was simple though, she had an entire trunk filled with gifts for him. She just needed to sort out which one she wanted to give him this year. It helped get her through the day to imagine the beaming smile on Adrien's face as he opened up her present. He may just fall in love with her then and there if she picked out the perfect one to give him next week. She fantasized about that during her walk home and through her homework, which, arguably, took longer to accomplish due to said daydreaming.

With her daily duties taken care of, she knelt by her trunk, opened it up, started pulling out various sweaters and hats and mittens, and then her phone buzzed. An akuma was attacking the west end of Paris. Grumbling about the interruption, Marinette quickly transformed and headed towards the Champs-Élysées.

She heard the screaming first, and then had to quickly dodge a car flung through the air. Adjusting her trajectory, Ladybug swung so she was on a roof behind the akumatized villain. It was a hulking man nearly four meters tall. He was covered head to toe in green fur, and his upper body was built like a barrel of muscle. Shreds of a Victorian-era caroling costume hung off his shoulders and his pants were ripped where his legs clearly grew upon getting his powers.

“No Christmas!” the villain yelled as he stripped lights from a nearby storefront, and used them as a whip to lasso a decorated tree. With a big yank, he pulled the spruce from the ground, and he hurled it towards a crowd of shoppers trying to escape.

Ladybug sprung into action and lassoed the tree herself, swinging it away from the civilians and into a brick wall.

“Ladybug!” A chorus of people cheered as they pointed towards her. She quickly swung down to the sidewalk and shooed them away.

The green monster roared at her, picked up a plastic Santa statue, and hurled it at Ladybug. She easily blocked it with her yo-yo, then skirted behind the villain again. Sliding between his massive legs, she effortlessly tangled the villain up in her yo-yo and hurled him into an empty store. Slamming the door shut, she blocked it with one of the uprooted trees.

“Hopefully that will slow you down for a minute.” She looked up and down the street for more shoppers evacuating. There was chaos. The streets were already flooded with Parisians out shopping for Christmas, but hoards of tourists were there too. It would certainly be a hard battle to keep everyone safe while the villain raged in such a crowded location. “Where are you, Chat Noir?”

She checked her yo-yo, and once again there weren't any messages. She also didn't see him on her map. He wasn't powered up yet. She'd have to do the evacuation on her own. Sprinting up and down the street, she checked each storefront to make sure they were empty. Behind her, she heard the akuma roar again as he burst through the door.

That didn't last nearly as long as I would have hoped. Ladybug silently cursed. She glanced past her shoulder and saw the monster again tearing lights off the storefronts and destroying every last Christmas decoration. He barely moved from the empty store he had crashed out of. This could work, Ladybug thought. If he's that distracted by all the decorations, he might stay up where it's evacuated. I just need to watch for- She ducked under another Christmas tree aimlessly thrown down the street.

She checked the next half-dozen stores from each side of the street. They were either already clear or the last citizens were just leaving as she reached them.

Then she saw him.

Ladybug had caught up with the tail end of the escaping mob, and they stampeded past a blonde boy coming out of a jewelry store. As the crowd cleared the storefront, the boy was on his hands and knees, and looking quite distraught. Ladybug instantly recognized the swoop of his blonde locks, the slight rosy blush on his milky cheeks, and the blue knitted scarf wrapped around his neck.

“A-Adrien?” Ladybug swung across the street and landed beside him. She quickly glanced back to see how far away the villain was. They were safe, but she wasn't sure for how long. “A-are you alright?”

“L-Ladybug?” Adrien jumped a little as he noticed her beside him.

“Are you hurt?” He had been nearly trampled by that crowd, and he was on the ground now. She quickly circled him as she scanned for any injuries. Her cheeks warmed as she grew nervous that she wasn't able to protect him, and now he was hurt, and he'd hate her forever, and never consider her a hero again, and she'd forever lose her chance with him – not like she had a chance with him as Ladybug anyway since he could never know who she was, but-

“N-no, I'm fine.”

She let out a long sigh and rested a hand on her chest to try to will her heart to calm down. “What are you doing here? You need to find somewhere safe right away. There's an akuma on the loose!”

“I-” His eyes dropped to his closed left hand, and then to the sidewalk.

Ladybug's gaze followed Adrien's. There were four golden rings scattered on the ground in front of him. One had an emerald with three rubies in a tiny triangle on either side. Another had small diamonds encrusting one side, and onyx on the other in an almost yin-yang pattern where they met at the middle. A third had grains of garnet and emerald embedded in the band in an alternating pattern with obsidian in between each gemstone. The fourth ring had garnet and onyx lining the golden band in an almost ladybug-like pattern. The thought made her blush a little as she quickly scooped them up and passed them over to Adrien.

He opened his hand to accept the rings, and the one he was already holding had a large princess-cut ruby in the center, surrounded by a frame of emeralds. It must have been unbelievably expensive, and it almost looked like an engagement ring. Ladybug's cheeks burned a bit hotter, and her eyes stung slightly.

“What pretty rings.” She forced a small smile as she swallowed down the knot in her throat. I wish they were for me. She choked down another sob and forced her smile to grow as she handed the other four rings over. This person must be very important to him to spend so much.

“Oh...” Adrien let the word hang in the thick air between them. “Yeah...” He wouldn't look her in the eyes as he pulled the hand filled with rings close to his chest.

“Anyway!” Ladybug refocused. It didn't matter who those rings were for. What mattered was that there was a rampaging akuma just up the street, and Adrien was still in danger. “You need to get somewhere safe. Chat Noir and I will handle this.”

“Yeah.” Adrien shifted awkwardly to his feet as he put the rings and their respective boxes back into the bag from the jeweler.

Giving Adrien one last smile, she sprinted towards the villain; hoping her love would be alright, and that Chat Noir would show up to help soon.

Her partner did indeed show up just as she reached the rampaging akuma, and they were able to stop him not long after. It was a hard battle though; both her and Chat Noir either dodged a lot of heavy things hurled at them, or were tossed around themselves. The suit protected Ladybug from injury, but it was still exhausting work. It didn't help that Chat Noir still didn't seem himself, but Ladybug had her own problems. She just didn't have the energy to try to talk to him about the birds from the night before, or the hens the day before that. They barely had the time left in their transformations anyway, so they had a halfhearted fist bump and went their separate ways.

The second Ladybug got home she dropped onto her bed in a flop, and grabbed hold of her pillow to muffle her sobs as her superhero costume vanished.

“Marinette? Are you okay?” Tikki, weak but still filled with concern, drifted closer to her bearer.

Above Marinette the sky darkened, and below her the gifts to Adrien were forgotten across her floor. It wouldn't matter anyway. Nothing she'd give him could possibly turn his eye away from a woman he cared for so deeply he bought her five gorgeous and expensive looking rings.

Marinette cried herself to sleep, and dreamt of standing outside a cathedral during Adrien's wedding to a mysterious faceless woman.

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