#i ran out of creative juices like halfway in

[writethrough]

if you are taking billy hargrove requests can you do a billy x reader, where the reader has had a really bad day because people have been mean or like someones being sexist and then when they get home billy cheers them up.If not that's fine love you u <3

Still A Thing

(Billy Hargrove x Female Reader)

Warnings: Language, suggestive situation, Tommy being a dick

Word Count: 783

A/N: While technically my requests are still closed, I'm really glad you sent this in! I feel like I'm headed into a rut, but this helped get some creative juices flowing, so thank you!

I hope it's okay how I interpreted your request, and I hope you enjoy!

Billy looked away from the TV when the front door slammed, and you stormed right past him.

His brow furrowed. You didn’t get pissed often, but when you did, it was usually because of someone else’s ignorance.

It was a miracle you put up with Billy for all these years. You had told him trying went a long way with you. And he’d be damned if he stopped.

You’d already rid yourself of your jeans when he reached your bedroom.

“What happened?” Billy asked, leaning against the doorway.

You had your shirt halfway off when it got too tight, and you had to shimmy it the rest of the way. And with a frustrated huff, you whipped it onto the floor.

“Ran into Tommy 'Dickhead' Hagan.” You opened the drawer Billy was using and grabbed one of his shirts. “Haven’t been in Hawkins two fucking minutes, and I see the guy I wanna deck the most.”

You hadn’t noticed Billy walking toward you until he grabbed both of your hands, putting one on the back of his neck and the other on his belt loop. You automatically started playing with his curls and rubbing the denim between your fingers.

“What happened?” he asked again, much gentler, eyes patient.

You inhaled deeply, trying to keep yourself from losing it.

“Said he was surprised you and I were ‘still a thing.’ That he ‘figured you’d drop my ass after you got some ass.’” You really wished you were the type of person that would bitchslap an asshole.

To his credit, Billy didn’t react besides squeezing your shoulders. He was waiting for you to finish.

“And what did you say?”

You bit your lip, your words finally coming to you after your mind had gone fuzzy at Tommy’s comment.

“Told him a twenty-six-year-old should grow up and stop inviting high schoolers to keggers. And to stop having keggers,” you said.

Billy threw his head back with laughter, and you joined him, stepping forward so you could lean your forehead on his chest.

“You should’ve seen the look on his face when I said, ‘Hope you have the day you deserve.’” Your giggling only increased when Billy wrapped his arms around you and lifted you to the bed.

“Was he smart enough to get what you were saying?” Billy leaned over you, one arm supporting him over your head.

“Must be, ‘cause I thought I saw steam coming out his ears as I left,” you said, cupping his neck and running your thumb along his jaw.

He nudged your nose with his. “Good. Jackass deserved it.” He pulled back slightly so he could look you in the eyes. “M’proud of you. Standing up for yourself. Know it’s hard sometimes.”

You gave him a small smile. “Was standing up for you, too. You don’t deserve to be spoken about like that. Not after all the work you’ve done. All the ways you’ve grown.”

Your hand moved to caress his cheek, and he kissed your palm.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he mumbled, leaning into your touch.

“Couldn’t have stood up to Tommy without you,” you said.

Billy smiled. “Guess we’re pretty good for each other.”

“We’re great for each other.”

He hummed and situated himself so he laid on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Remember, we’re meeting everyone at Steve’s in two hours,” you said, drawing patterns on his back.

His grin pressed into your throat. “What are we gonna do with two hours?”

You rolled your eyes, a fond smile growing. “Less than two hours.”

He pulled back to look at you. “We’re the guests of honor. Just tell them we got in later than expected.”

You raised a brow at him. “After what happened at the store? I’m sure the whole town knows we’re here by now.”

He huffed, pushing his face back where it was, and mumbled, “Fucking Hawkins.”

You giggled and kissed his forehead, feeling him smile even though he wanted to pout.

“How about a half hour of this, then we get ready?” you asked.

He hummed. “We’ll see. Might take a nap.”

“A half-hour nap.”

He placed a finger on your lips. “Shh, I’m napping.”

You bit his finger lightly, and he scraped his teeth along your neck.

Your breath hitched, and he chuckled.

“Maybe I can do something else in that half hour,” he mused, kissing your jaw.

You let out a content sigh as he continued his path until he reached your lips.

Part of him hoped you would both run into Tommy again after this weekend. Billy would gladly show him how together you were once that ring was on your finger.

Taglist: @moonlightfountain, @steph-speaks, @bookshelf-dust

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on.

[sonicfanthenightfury5099]

Werewolf! Michael myers RZ Halloween NSFW Alphabet

Note: I wanted to do an NSFW Alphabet for the Werewolf Tall Mickey for a while now. This gif is giving me them Tall Myers vibes.

18+ Minors DNI

A = Aftercare (What they're like after sex?)

Panting like crazy, he's been through so much fucking he's panting like a dog who ran a long way. He starts to clean himself like a dog licking your juices off his balls, which leads him to clean your back, which you don't mind. He then asks if you want food, which you replied with a yes to that. Eating in bed with making sure you're doing well after the fucking he did to your body, He'll lift you up to take a hot shower before bed.

B = Bodypart (Their Favorite Bodypart of their body and also their Partner's)

The giant is a Werewolf. His arms had a lot of strength to them to decapitated a victim, and the jaws he has, he would be breaking bones and crushing wind pipes with his large fangs.

You and your small frame to him perfect to him. He loves your soft lips that are so comfortable against his. He melts when you try to reach his face to cress it

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

He has a breeding kink, and he's staying in deep till he fills you up real good.

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

He wants to see you in loose lingerie, which he will try carefully to take it off in a creative way every time. A way of teasing you till be gets down to the night of breeding sex

E = Experience (How experienced are they?)

He had none if you lived in a Sanatorium for 15 years, and you mostly did art in your room. You can only imagine it was when he got out he had seen Victims doing it, especially in his old abandoned house. He may have seen some videos online when you were at work.

F = Favorite position (This goes without saying)

Missionary, easy position to learn, and to see your face scrunched up in the amount of pleasure you're in. Cowgirl, you can ride and bounce on top while he watches you ride on his beast and play with yourself. Doggie Style, do I have to say why he loves this position? He'll put you into this position for a little rough fucking from behind. Mating Press, his breeding kink kicks in when he's ready to release his load into your warm womb. He'll stay in that position as a plug to keep his semen inside you.

G = Goofy (Are they more Serious in the moment, or are they humorous, ect?)

This time means I want to make you feel amazing in the moment, so he doesn't want the mode spoiled by something goofy during the act he'll become grouchy which will take forever to get him back in the mood.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the Carpet match the Drapes, ect?)

On top he has lovely long locks, he had grown out when he was in Smith's Grove with some stuble on his face, down below, it's a little forest, but a quick trim down there it looks better. When he goes wolf, looking a bit like an Old English SheepDog due to his long hair, and his abdomen is completely covered by his long wolf hair.

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

He's definitely wanting to give you a lot of kisses while praising your body during what he calls sometimes, "Breeding time," which is every time when you both have sex. Having him holding you in his arm in between rounds, he's careful not to be laying his whole body on you. Definitely saying sweet nothings in your ears during the round.

J = Jack/Jill off (Masturbation headcannon)

He doesn't do it often, but if that urge creeps on him, he's going to take care of it. He can turn you on by how he would show how he strokes, starts at the base of his shaft stopping halfway, then strokes fast at his tip. Making a wet sound from it, he will do that when he fingers you.

K = Kinks (One or more of their kinks)

Breeding, praising of any kind, Cockwarming, and size differents kink

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do )

This man wants to rut in the bedroom cause it's more comfortable for sexy time.

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

A touched starving man gets turned on by suggested touches on his body. He would be thinking about you with a heavy pregnant belly with swollen breasts for you and his pups that makes him go into breeding mode.

N = No (Something that they wouldn't do, turns offs)

Definitely, no mentioning Smith's Grove or Sister

Won't turn you into a Werewolf if you ask him. He loves you this way.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skills ect)

Definitely giving you some oral, eating you out like a straving beast. Michael definitely enjoys a good oral treatment on his disco stick (He'll pound you real good as a Thank you.)

69 is his favorite. He's eating you out while you're giving him head.

P = Pace (Are they Fast and Rough? Slow and Sensual? Ect.)

Does start slow before picking up the pace and going to pound town. He doesn't want to go too rough on you, but he can't help it. He loves you so much. He'll go soft the next round

Q = Quickies (Their opinions on Quickies rather than proper sex, how often, ect)

Depending on how he feels, he would not be interested one day. The next, he's got you bending over the couch or counter and give you one. He'll be giving you more when he is done hunting.

R = Risks (Are they game to experiment, do they take any risks, ect

Out of curiosity or just getting horny when out in the woods, he would want to go down on you in the woods. Like a wolf in the wild, he will do the dirty with you on a blanket (so your back isn't pricked by branches just so you're comfortable while in pleasure Town) He might want to fuck you when he's in his Werewolf forme, his huge dick on you looks like it can't fit in and would tear your holes into one big hole (and a trip to the ER)

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

Will go all night if he's back home early or he's having a day off, around 10 or 12 rounds, depending on how much energy he has that day. Morning sex is a big Yes for him.

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

You probably have a vibrator you have in your dresser that you would use before you met Michael. You take it out to use it when he's not home and needy of him. He finds it useless cause why would you use it if he can give you endless hours of pleasure from him.

U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease)

His form of teasing is showing you is the for mentioned of stroking his cock, and fingering while stroking his tip making a luded sound from it. Cockwarming is another form of teasing from him he'll be in you for a while till he's ready.

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

Loud Panting, grunts, and moans in his gruff voice, Hella hot.

W = Wildcard (Random Head cannons)

When you first met, Michael wasn't comfortable with you on seeing his face. He would wear his wore out mask or his Jack o lantern one. When is he ready for you to see his face he'll let you do the honor of taking off his mask.

Michael would, on occasion, pick wild flowers when he's out for you. He would come home with a big boutique of wild flowers he found in the woods.

He would make you a mask as another form of his love for you.

Michael may not look like it, but he deep down he wants to hear the sounds of little feet on the floor one day. He would wonder when the day will come you tell him that you want a baby.

X = X-ray (What's going on in their pants?)

Human: A good size, 7 inches with good girth

Werewolf: Hidden underneath his shaggy fur is a near 10 inches cock with big girth and knot (he won't put all of it in but started half before going in fully when you get used to his size)

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

His sex drive depends on his mood. He would be cranky one day the next day he's horny and uses his look when he wants to rut.

Z = Zzzz.. (..how quickly they fall asleep afterwards?)

After a shower and some leftovers, you cuddle up with your man clean clothes and dried you'll drift off to sleep. He'll follow suit when you're asleep and you're doing good after the pounding you got from him.

[traegorn]

I need to stop doing this to myself.

(A Rant Where Trae Has Written Too Many Books This Month)

So since most of you started following me because of Witchcraft or podcast stuff, I realize a lot of you don't know how much fiction writing I do.

Primarily what I've published are comics. The big one is UnCONventional (which ran from December of 2009 to December of 2019), but I also did a steampunk comic called The Chronicles of Crosarth (which I put on hiatus in like 2018 intending to come back to... but I haven't, and I make no guarantee that I will even though over 650 of the 800 planned pages are done). Crosarth is... fine? The art isn't great in either of these, but UnCONventional carries itself with the humor.

But that's all old stuff. You may be like "Trae, what have you been producing for the last four years," and the answer is "not a lot." I got major creative block with the pandemic. Peregrine Lake, the "Northwoods Gothic" comic I was supposed to launch in 2020 (which has some characters from UnCONventional in it) didn't materialize when I said it would. What storytelling energy I had went into Stormwood & Associates and The Meatgrinder (my two actual play podcasts), but that was it.

And then 2023 happened, and the juices started flowing again.

Peregrine Lake is moving forward -- but with me just doing the writing. My urge to draw has not returned, but my urge to write has. A friend of mine, Ethan Flanagan, is drawing it, and I've written the first year of comics. It likely won't launch any time soon (the artist I'm working with is busy as hell so we want to get a shit-ton of the comic done before we launch it -- we have like the first month and a half of the comic ready?). But yeah -- it's happening. I hoping for Spring, but we'll see.

The other thing though is that I've started writing, like, novels. I've always had like twenty ideas in my head, so I figured I'd give it a shot. I decided to start with the idea I cared the least about (in case I fucked it up): A queer urban fantasy story.

In the last month and a half I've written complete drafts of two different novels in this setting, and am halfway through another one... and have another one outlined.

I, uh, had some ideas.

If you're asking yourself "Hey Trae -- what the fuck? That's a lot" you need to know a few things that aren't obvious. At one point in college, in 72 hours, I produced over 40 pages of text between three research papers. All were for 300 level courses, and I may have disassociated while writing them because I frankly don't remember most of it. But, like, they were decent papers.

One of those papers is in Google Scholar.

Anyway, yeah. I haven't been sleeping great because I've been obsessively writing, but you might ask "Why didn't you just write one and get it ready to publish?" That's a great question. Because I wrote a book, and when I was 3/4 of the way through it I realized something very important: This book would make a great sequel to a book I haven't written. I've been writing book two in a series where I haven't written book one yet.

Well fuck.

So I finished that draft, and I went and wrote book one. Now that book? That book I'm getting ready to publish. I expect to have it out in January. Part of my editing process involves setting what I think is a completed, good, revised draft down for a couple of weeks and then returning to it with fresh eyes. We're in that waiting period right now.

But I still had a bunch of energy.

So the first thing I did was a revising draft on book two (the one I wrote first), but I finished that. And had more energy. And more stories in this setting kept popping up.

So I started a third book. And I'm halfway through the first draft of that book. But then I realized yesterday... shit, this isn't book three.

This is book four.

I need stuff to happen before we get to this story.

So now I've outlined the actual book three, and am working on literally both of these books at once (I'll take a break for Christmas and then go do a final edit on Book One).

And... I'm just like... why am I like this?

I need to stop myself for a few days and get more sleep.

[mrs-theirin]

Happier by Marshmello & Bastille? Any Dragon Age ship that inspires you? And do you mind if I ask - I'm newer on here - what kinds of ships do you write? Just girl x guy? Or do you do girl x girl and guy x guy, too? Sorry if this is a weird question.

Hey, thanks for another ask! To answer your question, I’ll write anything! My canon DA ships are Fem!Cousland/Alistair, Eden Hawke/Varric, Elias Hawke/Fenris, Fem!Lavellan/Josephine, and Iron Bull/Dorian, but I’m likely to write anything else if you had a request! No worries about asking, you’re all good!

pairing: Eden Hawke x Fenris

Happier - Marshmello ft Bastille

“Fenris, we can’t keep doing this. We argue and we never get anywhere.”

“If you would just listen-”

“I am listening! You’re not listening. This isn’t going to work. You and I just can’t happen.”

“You know what they did to me. You can’t expect me to let that go.”

Eden sighed. “I know, Fenris, believe me, I know. But you can’t expect this to go on.”

“You’re the one who decided to go through with this. I would’ve never thought about romancing a mage before.”

“This is the problem, Fenris! You don’t see me for who I am, you just see a mage. And you deserve better than a mage, as fucked up as that is.”

“A mage-”

“I know what he did to you! But I’m not Danarius. Anders is not Danarius.”

Fenris snarled at Anders’s name. “Anders taunts me.”

“He does, but are you saying you don’t do the same?”

“Surely you must see the danger in Anders having a demon inside of him?”

Eden threw her hands up, sighing. “We’re not talking about Anders, Fenris. We’re talking about us. You’re not happy with me, and I’m not happy with you. I want you to be happy. I owe that much to you.”

Fenris paused, taking a deep breath. “I never intended to hurt you, Hawke.”

“Nor I you. But we truly can’t keep doing this. It’s great material for Varric’s book, but it’s a little draining,” she joked.

Fenris let out a small chuckle. “Thank you, Hawke.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now go talk to Elias, he’s waiting outside the door.”

“Wha-” came Elias’s voice. “No I’m not!”

“Goodnight Fenris.”

“Goodnight Hawke. I wish you well.”

[joheunsaram]

To Make A Power Couple - 02 (knj)

Chapter 2 - Pizza and Life Chats

THIS IS A REPOST SINCE I LOST ACCESS TO MY OLD ACCOUNT. PLEASE FOLLOW THIS BLOG FOR UPDATES ON THIS SERIES.

previous | masterlist | next

Summary- Namjoon and Y/N go on their first date, and Namjoon is whipped.

word count- 5k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- pg13 for now

genre- series, fluff, eventual smut, strangers2lovers

warnings- mentions of hangovers and panic attacks, tooth-rottingly fluffy

a.n- okay here’s the second part! I wrote this up fairly quickly (don’t expect this to be the norm!). This part I wanted to kind of address the stress of overworking as a young adult (GUILTY 🙋🏻‍♀️) so sorry if it gets a little serious at parts. I also wanted to switch it up so it’s from Namjoon’s perspective. I hope you enjoy it. SOFT JOON BEING A BIG OLD SOFTY.

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​, @sassyuniversitytacopeanut

-

Namjoon woke up startled as his phone alarm rang. He was groggy and his splitting headache made him nauseous. “I’m never going to drink again”, he mumbled. He groaned as he got off the couch he had crashed on the night before, trying not to trip over Taehyung who seemed to be dozing happily on the floor as he made his way to his room. He hadn’t stayed at the dorms in a while, preferring the quiet solitary of his own apartment nowadays, and with his hangover in full swing he felt like he was walking through a stranger’s house.

Last month was hell. He had procrastinated on his songs and none of the vocal guides were even halfway done before the due date. Every time he tried to finish a song a new one would pop up in his head and he would start on that, leading to a hard drive full of files labelled “finish soon” and “draft”, and a notebook full of scratched out scribbles. It was like his brain had decided to abandon him, deciding it had had enough of his perpetual melancholy. He had felt drained and burnt out, a husk with no creative juices left. Luckily, Yoongi and a few of the producers had taken pity on his stressed out state and lent a hand so he had been able to finish the bare minimum three days ago - before the label pressured him further. He was never more grateful for a small break.

In all honesty, he needed a way to jumpstart his brain, and get out of the routine of home, practice, meetings, studio, home. Sometimes, he almost wished he didn’t have the success he had so he could go out and let loose a little - a club, a party, anything. But the last time he went somewhere like that he got swarmed and the police had to be involved. He couldn’t risk that, not after the trouble Big Hit went to threaten media outlets a year and a half ago, when he was caught with what they called a hickey, but was actually a stress rash.

As he brushed his teeth today, however, he smiled at the mirror. Last month may have been terrible, but last night was one of the best he’d had in the past year.

When he had heard Bang PD’s team talk about how they were attending the charity gala as he met them for notes on his songs, he was intrigued. He had read about this non-profit in the paper before. They seemed to be helping bridge the gap between people through communication and that spoke to him. So much so that he had scrolled through their website multiple times, reading testimonials and almost memorizing the mission statement. They wanted to help kids learn English for free so they could communicate globally. He really liked the idea. It was hard for him to learn the language as a kid and he knew that the only reason he became as fluent as he is from the tutors his parents paid for and his obsession with American television and music. Although he didn’t need the tutoring anymore, he did enjoy talking to the in-house tutor at the company, John, from time to time and improving his skills. The fact that this company wanted to add a John to every school in Korea starting from the rural areas, made Namjoon want to meet the man behind the movement. Little did he know, he’d be meeting the girl who’d shift his idea of the ideal.

He had never been more glad to have convinced his company to let him and the boys attend an event. He had initially suggested it as a way to break the mundane before their comeback practices started and network while supporting a cause he liked. Two days ago, he wouldn’t have guessed it would have been an actual fun night leading to him nursing a headache.

He spent the next hour reliving last night as he showered and caught up on the news. He also read the messages he sent last night over a hundred times and had butterflies each time. Wasn’t he too old for butterflies? He wanted to message you again but every time he tried, he ended up overthinking it. Everything sounded forced or cheesy, and it was worse than any writer’s block. He threw his phone on the bed in frustration watching it bounce and land on the floor, before he grabbed it and pocketed it. Hopping around to get rid of his nerves, he decided to take a break from rereading the thread he already had memorized and check in with everyone. If his hangover was this bad he couldn’t imagine theirs.

Making his way back to the living room he found Taehyung now sitting on the floor, sleep still very evident on his features as he yawned and groaned. On the couch next to him sat Yoongi, holding an iced americano and staring into space. The rest were missing but he could hear a blender annoyingly whizzing in the kitchen.

“How’re you guys feeling this morning?” He asked as he sat across from Yoongi.

“This is why I don’t drink. Why did no one stop me?” Taehyung whined as he rose from the floor to leave, massaging his head.

“We tried. You were very excited to try all the disgustingly sweet drinks the hot bartender was making for you.” Yoongi replied with a sigh. “How was your date, Namjoon? You glad I forced you to go to the bar to talk to her?” he snickered, sipping his coffee before exhaling loudly in contentment.

“Honestly, I owe you big time. She was… amazing. I don’t think I’ve talked to someone that comfortably in a while” Namjoon sighed wistfully.

“I’ll add cupid to my resume,” he deadpanned. “Is she tolerating you for another date?”

“Yeah. We’re getting dinner on Tuesday, but I want to message her now. Argh!” He ran his hands over his face in frustration. “What do I even say? ‘Hi I’m the guy who was too scared to kiss you all night so you had to do it for him, what’s your favourite colour?’” Namjoon was annoyed at himself. It’s bad enough that he was having writer’s block in his music, did he have to have it for something as simple as texting too? This was ridiculous!

“Or you could just ask her how’s her hangover today. Jeez! Do I have to draft each of your messages? Stop being a dumbass and text the person you like.” Yoongi scoffed, clearly over Namjoon’s sudden and uncharacteristic insecurities.

Namjoon gave a resigned sigh as he reached for his phone and wrote out exactly what Yoongi suggested. Hey, he was his hyung for a reason - he had a full 6 months of life experience on him.

Namjoon: Hey! Hope your hangover is not too bad today.

As soon as the message was sent, he started getting nervous. Tapping his foot incessantly while he stared at his phone, willing it to buzz, annoying Yoongi enough to leave him alone on the couch in the process.

Y/N: Hi to you too! I actually don’t get hangovers so I’m doing great lol. What about you?

Namjoon: What do you mean you don’t get hangovers?

Y/N: I don’t know. Can’t get dehydrated if you’re always dehydrated!

Namjoon: That… makes no sense. Do I need to start reminding you to drink water?

Y/N: Only if you’re better than this app on my phone…

Namjoon: I can guarantee you I’m better than any app on this planet.

Y/N: Wow. Big claims! We’ll have to put it to the test I suppose.

Y/N: You never told me how you’re feeling. Oh and how’s Taehyung? Is he okay?

Namjoon: He’s doing fine. Made a pact to never drink again and if i’m being honest, I’m going to join him. I am shocked that your head is not exploding as well.

The messages continued easily after that, filled with updates of each other’s activities, playful flirting and even photos of dinner. By the time Monday rolled around, you had been messaging each other constantly, with no end to the conversation in sight and the only long pauses being when you were both asleep or working. It seemed like you would never run out things to talk about. Namjoon hadn’t messaged someone this frequently since he got out of his last relationship. It felt nice to relay his mundane day to day events to someone and he found himself excited to hear about your mundane, like how you decided to mix two different types of bad coffee blends to make a shockingly worse one. He was surprised again at how fast he felt comfortable around you. It was even starting to scare him a little - he only knew you for three days and it felt like he had known you forever! What was this weird spell you had on him?

The conversation Monday, however, was fairly sparse, and Namjoon was eager to set up plans for the next day, so that night he decided to call you.

After the first three rings, he was overthinking his decision. Maybe it was too soon to call? Maybe you didn’t like talking on the phone? What if it went to voicemail? Would he have to leave a message? What would he say? His inner monologue was quickly halted at the sound of your voice.

“Hello, this is Y/N” you sounded distant, almost too formal. He felt nervous.

“Hi… uh… this is Namjoon. Is this a bad time?”

“Oh Namjoon! Sorry I didn’t check who called when I picked up!” Relief washed over him at the change of your tone. “Sorry one sec can you hold on.” he heard you say as your voice got mumbled. He waited while he heard you talk to someone about proposals and deadlines. Were you still at work? He checked his watch - it was 10 pm. He didn’t know whether to be impressed by your work ethic or worried that you were overworking.

“Hi sorry about that! How are you?” He relaxed at your airy tone and smiled.

“I’m good. Are you still at work?”

“Yeah it’s only like 7 so it’s no big deal. I usually leave around 8” Were you serious?

“Y/N… It’s 10:04…” He was shocked at how nonchalant you sounded, and suddenly he had his answer - he was worried, not impressed. He had known you for three days and already you were setting his caretaker alarm off. He wanted to scold you for being careless and overworking, like he’s used to doing for the boys, but he knew it was too soon. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling that way all of a sudden and tried to suppress his protective instincts.

“No it’s not! It’s…” He could hear your voice going further away as he imagined you moving the phone in front of you to check the time. “Oh shit you’re right. What the hell? Okay sorry I’m gonna put you on hold again.” Before he could say anything he heard your voice again, distant again but loud. “Oh my god. Guys, it’s 10pm. Go home! Why did nobody tell me? No it doesn’t matter we can do that tomorrow. Please go home. Pack up now! You too Siwon, don’t worry I’ll go home after I get off the phone. See you!” He smiled at the sternness of your tone - it reminded him of a teacher dismissing class.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize I overworked my team. Had to send the troops home” you laughed and Namjoon felt his heart flutter.

“I don’t wanna keep you from going home. I can call you back once you get there,” he offered. He felt bad that you were staying in an empty office on his account.

“Oh don’t worry about it. It was a lie to get Siwon off my back. I’m probably gonna be here till like 1 or something. I still have to get this done” you said matter-of-factly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He knew that tone fairly well, having used it multiple times himself when he locked himself in his studio, running on nothing but coffee and energy bars.

“Okay I know we’ve only just met and we have our first date tomorrow, but do you want some company?” He asked before he could stop himself. The line was silent for a bit, and he felt self conscious, scared that he had overstepped and driven you away. Before he could check his phone to see if you had hung up you spoke.

“It’d be pretty boring for you to watch me just type away. Are you sure? It’s pretty late.” He was sure his cheeks would hurt from how wide he smiled.

“It’s not a problem at all. I was going to work tonight too.” He wasn’t. “We can just work together. I’ll bring food. Did you eat yet?” his words tumbled over each other.

“How very college of you.” He could hear you giggling on the line. “Now that I think about it - I’m starving.”

“Okay text me the address, I’ll be there soon.”

He had never been this excited to pretend to work.

He spotted you as he walked through the doors of the 13th floor, pepperoni pizza in hand. You were sitting at a long desk near the middle of the room. He was surprised as he expected you in an office, but he found you typing away at your desktop. Your hair was tied up in a bun and you were dressed in an oversized beige t-shirt, eyebrows furrowed head bopping to the hip hop track playing through the speakers. You seemed to be in your own little world. He felt like he was spying on you as he leaned against the door watching but he also liked seeing how you acted when you thought no one was watching. He was about to announce his presence when the track changed to a Childish Gambino one and you whooped and started to rap along.

You were now fully head banging and rapping the verse at the top of your lungs. He would be impressed by your fairly good amateur skills if he didn’t find the entire scene so endearing. His heart was doing somersaults as he watched you now fully engrossed in the song, typing forgotten as you got up and started to pretend you were on stage, an imaginary mic in your hand asking haters if they “eatin’ though”. You looked so adorable that he couldn’t help but squeal a little “cute!”

That’s when you saw him, eyes wide. He felt a little bad when he saw how embarrassed you looked, immediately stopping and slapping a hand to your mouth before bursting out in nervous laughter. He could write a whole album with that laugh. Oh he was so whipped, he thought to himself as he made his way to you.

“You know you’re not half bad!” He exclaimed as he set the pizza on the table, pulling a chair next to yours and settling down.

“Do you think your fake compliments will save you from the fact that you were spying on me?” you asked, crossing your hands across your chest, pretending to scowl but failing to do so.

“First, real compliment. Second, would pizza save me?” He opened the box and proudly smiled, loving the way your eyes lit up as you reached for a slice.

“Yes it will!” you exclaimed as you took your first bite, lightly moaning at the taste. “But erase that memory from your brain please.”

“Nope. Never. It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I’m going to save it forever” he said as he also started on his slice. You pouted up at him, cheeks puffed and it took all the self-control he had to not kiss it off your face. He hadn’t felt this way in so long, it was like you were his first crush. Trying to control his pulse, he asked “What are you working on so late?”

“Oh I have a proposal due for a meeting tomorrow at noon and I’m only halfway through it,” you frowned wistfully at the screen as if willing it to type on its own.

“Can I help?” He asked, knowing fully well that he couldn’t. He just had an overwhelming urge to make that frown disappear.

“You being here is help enough,” you smiled sincerely as you looked at him and he felt his heart explode, a blush creeping on his cheeks as he smiled bashfully. “What are you working on?”

“I have a few songs I have to finish the lyrics for. Been procrastinating” he rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled out the notebook from his back pocket.

“Can I help?” you echoed his question to which he echoed your response grinning. He wasn’t lying though. Even though he had planned to not really work, as the night progressed he found the change from his usual writing spot inspiring. Sitting next to you, the sound of the keyboard clicking was soothing leading to words pouring out of him. He filled pages as he stole glances at you concentrating on your proposal, tongue peeking from between your lips, still bobbing to the music which was now playing from your airpods instead of the speakers. He smiled at the sight, before focusing on his notebook.

After about an hour or so of hard work, he finished three songs that he had allotted himself the whole week to do. This was the most productive hour he had all month. Antsy for a break, he looked over at you and found you staring at him, a hand under your chin. As he met your gaze you smiled.

“You’re really hot when you concentrate. Has anyone ever told you that?” you commented. He was taken aback by your remark, heart fluttering at your smirking face. Not missing his chance and spurred on by the comment, he scooted closer in one sweep till your knees touched and you were face to face.

“You’re one to talk. I couldn’t stop looking at you this past hour.” Gazing into your eyes, he was amused to see your smirk disappear as it was now your turn to be shocked. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind your ear letting his hand linger, enjoying the way you sighed as he did. “Can I make good on my promise now?” He whispered, his face centimeters away, looking at your lips. The way you bit your lower lip made him want to take you there and then. The desk looked big enough. Hell, even if it wasn’t he could make it work.

“Promise?” you whispered as he watched your eyes flutter to his lips.

“To kiss you first…” Too impatient to wait for your answer, he brought his lips to yours, relishing how soft they felt under his own. He was thrilled at you returning the kiss, deepening it as you grabbed the collar of his shirt to bring him closer just like you did after the party. He was beginning to think this was your signature move, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t immensely turn him on. He moved his hand cupping your face to rest on your neck and he could feel your heartbeat mimicking his. He put his other hand around your waist pulling you closer, wanting to be as close to you as he could get. He traced his tongue over your lips, his head cloudy with endorphins as you opened your mouth inviting him in. He had never tasted something so euphoric, his tongue exploring yours in a rush.

He could feel you pushing forward as he leaned back and allowed you to straddle his lap, your legs on either side of the chair. As soon as you were on his lap, he pulled you closer, both arms around on your hips, your chest flushed with his. He kissed the side of your mouth as he made his way down your jaw to your neck. You smelt like vanilla mixed with a fresh flower garden, and he was sure this smell was better than any drug in the world. He could hear your breathy moans as he sucked where your neck met your collarbone, licking to soothe it before moving further. He wanted to taste all of you. Your hands were in his hair and each tug made him groan into you, making him harder. He could kiss you like this forever. He wanted to save this moment so he could come back to it and relive it. He traced his hands up and down your sides, moving under your shirt but remaining on your waist, enjoying the feel of your soft skin.

“Namjoon… Namjoon… slow down” he heard you say breathlessly as he felt a slight push. He looked up at you, your eyes half lidded and lusty as you grabbed his face and brought it to yours. You were sending him mixed signals, but he didn’t care as long as he could keep kissing you.

“We have to slow down or I’m going to want to fuck you right here.” You whined as you both came back up for air, but you kissed him again nevertheless. Hearing you say that made him want to do anything in his power to make that happen.

“I don’t mind, baby,” he said against your lips, kissing you with urgency, biting your lower lip and pulling it gently to elicit another moan from you. To his disappointment, you seemed to have better self-control than him as you pushed him back, both of you panting as you struggled to catch your breath. He moved his hand back to your hips tracing little circles, feeling comforted by you smoothing his hair you had pulled earlier.

“There are cameras here. I’d rather not make a sex tape on our first date.” You giggled as you pointed to the black sphere in the corner of the room. He had never hated the obsession buildings had for security more, but the crudeness of your comment made him laugh. He had almost forgotten this was your first date, it felt like he had kissed you a thousand times before. You tasted like the relief of an awning in the middle of a summer downpour.

“I think we need to cool down,” you say as you climb off of his lap. “Let’s go.”

He followed you as you led him to the little kitchenette near the end of the room, unable to resist the urge to wrap his hands around your waist in a back hug. He knew he was being too clingy for a first date, but the way you giggled and put your hands over his gave him assurance.

“Lemonade, coke, or water,” you asked as you peered into the fridge.

“You.” He smirked kissing your neck, feeling bold off of the high from your makeout session.

“Joon!” you pretended to sound scandalized as you turned in his arms, smiling warmly. The nickname made his heart swell. It added a familiarity that he didn’t know he missed from you.

“You haven’t called me Joon before. I like it” he smiled as he pecked your lips.

“Hey! We are cooling down! No kissing! Now pick” you chided and Namjoon couldn’t help but wonder if you were this assertive in bed too, a million scenarios playing in his head. Okay, you were right, he needed to cool down.

“I’ll just have water, thanks,” he said as he grabbed the bottle you passed him, opening and gulping half of it. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was for something other than you. You both made your way to the tables, sitting across from each other.

“So did you finish your proposal?” He asked trying to cool himself but failing as he noticed you running the cold water bottle against your neck, the beads of condensation dripping on your shirt. He cleared his throat as he tried to focus his attention on your eyes, a mantra of stay focused playing in his head.

“Yes! Finally! It’s perfect.” you smiled proudly and somehow he felt a wave of pride too. “What about you? Made any progress?”

“Actually yes. I kind of finished my entire week’s writing in that one hour” he was still amazed by his own progress.

“Okay, Mr Overachiever” you joked and he chuckled.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything, but I don’t know your presence is kind of soothing. It helped me focus.” Watching your smile grow wide, he continued, “I’ve been having pretty severe burnout this past month and it has just been hard to put down my thoughts, even non-lyrical ones.” He fidgeted with the water bottle as he looked at it, avoiding eye contact.

He didn’t know why he was telling you this. He recalled when he told you about his struggles as a leader during your first conversation. Somehow being around you led him to vomit out his feelings. It was… unlike him. Namjoon was usually not this honest on dates, or relationships, as much as he would hate to admit it. That’s the reason he broke off his last one. He felt bad lying to her about a busy schedule when he just wanted to be alone. She would have understood, she was kind and thoughtful, but it just felt easier to lie and not put the effort in to explain his thoughts. Even when they broke up, he lied and told her that it was because he couldn’t handle being in a relationship at the moment, when in reality things had cooled off a while ago and he felt guilty as his feelings faded.

He felt your hand reach out and grab one of his, intertwining your fingers. He felt comforted by the gesture as you rubbed your thumb across him before you spoke two words that warmed his heart. “I understand.”

“You know it’s hard to work at full speed all the time. It’s okay to not be at a hundred all the time. The valleys feed the peaks” you continued. It was a simple remark, but it sounded surprisingly poetic to him. He hadn’t felt this understood outside of the boys for a long time. It was refreshing. It was terrifying. He resisted his natural urge to run and hide.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, needing to divert the attention away from his own vulnerabilities.

“Yeah. I had it pretty tough a couple of years ago. Too much pressure from myself, too many expectations. Led to too many vices and panic attacks” you shrugged as you continued and he squeezed your hand to comfort you. “It creeps up from time to time but my therapist and I have it handled” He looked at you in awe. You hadn’t given him a throwaway answer or switched the limelight back at him. You wasted no time in being as vulnerable as him, if not more. He knew at that moment that regardless of where this thing went, he wanted you to know you better.

“Thank you for being honest.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it gently. It was an intimate gesture but he wanted you to know how much he appreciated your words - how much he appreciated you - in that moment. You both sat in comfortable silence for a little while, playing with each other’s hands that were still intertwined, till one of you yawned loudly causing the other to giggle. With the weight of the conversation lifting, you both fell back into playful banter as you decided to pack up and call it a night.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” Namjoon asked, wanting to drag the night on longer despite it already being almost 2 am.

“Don’t judge me but I actually don’t know how to drive. I was just going to cab back.” he saw you giggle bashfully as you pulled your backpack over your shoulders.

“Oh, no judgment here! Me neither” he laughed. Why does everyone think it is such a big deal to not drive? It’s better for the environment! “Do you want to take one together? I don’t really want you to ride alone this late.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he didn’t come off as if he was trying to dictate what you did.

“I’d really like that,” you said as you walked towards the elevators. He held your hand as you both got on, liking the way you moved closer to him at that.

In the cab you both sat closer than necessary, his arm wrapped around you as you both made plans for your scheduled date later that day, trying not to doze off. When the cab stopped all too soon at your apartment, he kissed you gently as he told you how much he enjoyed your company.

That night laying in bed, his heart felt full as he read your goodnight message. He was sure of it now. He really wanted you in his life.

previous | masterlist | next

[rosy-cheekx]

Alone Again, Naturally

Three times Martin should have called for help.

(I twisted my ankle on Sunday and was bummed bc I missed my partner so…this happened…oops.)

-

1.

Martin’s phone was missing, though he was pretty sure he knew where it was. That thing, that wormy, writhing mass of a woman had it. Destroyed it. His only chance of rescue from this nightmare. Replaying the image of dropping the phone, abandoning it as he ran, would do him no good. His coworkers hadn’t noticed he was missing, or if they had noticed, they hadn’t stopped by. And they shouldn't, of course, it would only put them in danger. But still, it stung a bit, to know that he’d been gone for what, three days now? and no one cared.

He could become a statement from this, Martin realized, his death narrated in Jon’s smooth, clipped voice, and then they would finally learn what happened to that large, oafish researcher who was transferred to the archives with them and disappeared overnight.

Martin sighed through his nose noisily, as if he could expel the dark thoughts with the sound. “Christ, Blackwood. Getting awful morbid there.” Talking to himself had become a staple of his isolation. For one, it drowned out the ever-present knocking on the door and the squelching rustle of the worms. He honestly wasn’t sure whether the sounds were still real or if they had become such a constant that his brain just filled them in anyways.

His voice was the only other sound available to him with his computer not working and his phone gone. His clock radio had played static on every channel, and he had been grateful for the white noise at first. But the longer Martin left the radio on, the sound began to morph from the hissing of dead air to a choir, indecipherable and haunting. There were no words and yet he could understand the message: come home to us. We need you, we miss you, let us show you how much we love you. With us, you’ll never feel lonely again, we promise. Martin had come to, hand on the doorknob to his flat, radio in hand. After that, he had removed all the batteries from anything that could make noise. Since then, he could only trust his own voice; everything else was a trap.

The can opener, unfortunately, had been electric too. He had been so proud of his purchase, a real attempt at adult cooking. (He never seemed to use the manual ones and could never get the grip right.) With the power out, assumedly caused by Prentiss, he had to get creative when it came to “making dinner.” For Martin, this meant sawing open a tin can with a serrated knife, eating it with a fork, and praying no metal shavings were lurking in each mouthful. Tonight’s feast: another can of tinned green beans and the last can of pineapple. He didn’t even like green beans, why had he ever bought these?

Martin gritted himself against the awful sound of metal on metal as he cut into a tin of beans, hissing sharply through his teeth and letting his mind wander. Maybe he could strain the beans? Let them dry? It would probably be better than the wet and soggy mush he was bound to find. Maybe he could put some crackers on them for a crunch? Pretend it’s a bad soup? As he was finishing his indelicate surgery, Martin tipped the can into the sink a little, hoping to strain the bean juice and improve the meal even a little. As he removed the last of the lid, he saw it.

There, in the sink, wiggling its way out of the drain. Another worm. Martin shrieked and jumped back, dropping the can in the sink with a clatter. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and began to stuff them down the sink, plugging up the drain as best he could. For extra measure, he plugged the faucet as well, suddenly terrified of accidentally swallowing one in a glass of water. Once the adrenaline rush had passed, Martin felt it: a stinging in his palm. They must have jumped at him, must have bitten him. It would be over soon, he knew it. He would be like Prentiss, a mass of tiny bodies. He braced himself to feel something, but nothing changed. Martin frowned, chewing on his lip in confusion, and hazarded a glance down to his hand. There was no worm in his palm, nothing wriggling and biting deep into his muscle, just a slice along the flesh of his thumb, dripping blood from where he must have cut himself on the tin can.

Sheepishly, Martin rolled his eyes at his defeatism. Did it hurt like hell? Yes. But he wasn’t going to become a worm monster. Not today. Grabbing a few more sheets of paper towel, Martin hissed in pain as he pressed them to his wound, making his way shakily to the paltry first-aid kit he kept in his bathroom. He was clumsy in his wound care, only able to use one hand to open the kit and the individually wrapped plasters, while the other pooled blood in his palm uselessly. The antiseptic had stung like hell and the plaster was off-center, but eventually, the job was done. Martin had managed.

“See?” He asked himself softly. “All better. We didn’t want the green beans anyways.” Martin was alone, but he would be fine. He could take care of himself.

——

2.

Martin’s phone had become less and less useful since his time in the Archives. Sasha and Tim had been distant in the end, their group texts dwindling into occasional messages regarding whether not someone had contacted so-and-so regarding their statement. He and Jon had called and texted quite a bit, before the Unknowing, when Jon had been in China, America, and wherever else Gertrude’s breadcrumbs had led him. But since the explosion, their messages lay at a standstill, a “good luck! come home safe :)” still waiting to be sent to “Jonathan Sims--Boss.” He used to call his mother every week, but the outgoing calls had dwindled as she returned less and less of them, until he received an apologetic voicemail from Steady Waters Care Home a few months ago.

Now, the only messages he received were his work emails and an occasional text from Peter with a request or two regarding The Magnus Institute. Not even spam calls reached him anymore. That was all fine by Martin. He was busy running the institute; he didn’t have time for social calls, even if he wanted any, which he didn’t. Martin had taken to leaving his phone in his work office, knowing he wouldn’t need it outside the building anyways. It was becoming something like a desktop mouse to him in its versatility.

It was a Thursday, and it was late--Martin’s watch read 11:09. Thursdays were Martin’s days to deliver paperwork to the archives. He could only ever do it at night when he was sure Jon had either gone home (or was asleep at his desk at the very least). Peter Lukas had been working Martin to the bone with all the paperwork he would hand off with a wave of his hand and an “I’ll be back next week Martin. Please don’t call me,” and this week’s stack of statement requests, financial approvals, and quarterly reviews would fall to Martin instead. Who knew running a front for feeding an all-seeing eldritch deity would require so many business expenses?

Martin. Martin knew. He had reviewed and approved each and every one.

It was the week after Halloween, so the list of those eager to give a statement was longer than usual. Hellweek, Tim used to call it, a grin on his face as Jon would frown and shake his head. The stack of folders Martin carried in his arms eclipsed his eyesight as he carefully made his way down the hall, the Lonely silencing his footsteps and the shuffle of his clothing. The elevator was broken this week, thanks to a visit from one of the Fairchilds. Martin clumsily opened the door to the stairwell, turning to the side slightly to see the steps that descended into the basement he knew so well. Cautiously, he began his way down the stairs, arms clutching the stack of paperwork and binders tight to his chest. The basement was eerily silent; even Martin’s muted steps echoed in his ears.

The door to the Archives creaked slightly, and Martin realized his mistake: he hadn’t propped the door. The thin streak of light that painted his way down the steps thinned and faded in time with the slow squeak of the door. The click of the latch sealed his fate: Martin was in the dark. He didn’t mind the dark, in principle, though his new awareness of the Fears heightened his concern considerably. He stepped down slowly, feeling for the steps with his foot as he went.

Halfway down the stairs, Martin heard a soft flutter as a few papers shifted in his stack. He hoisted the pile and tried to readjust it as he stepped once more. The combination of the changes in the balance of the papers and his weight combined were too much for his brain to process at once and he overcompensated on his step, putting his weight down a little too early. Martin felt the rush of adrenaline as he tried to catch himself, hands clutching uselessly at the paperwork in his hands as if it could save him and he felt himself tumble to the ground. Falling sideways, he hit his shoulder hard on the steps, momentum carrying him down the remaining steps to the floor. The loose papers not held in binders and folders scattered in what Martin was sure was every direction.

Martin was frozen on the floor, pain pulsing through his shoulder. He sat up tentatively, patting himself down as he set down what remained of his stack of folders. He wasn’t bleeding, but his ears were ringing and his arm hurt like hell. Listening carefully for the sound of anyone reacting to his presence, he rotated his shoulders carefully, wincing as throbbing radiated up his arm. He must have dislocated it. Patting his legs down, Martin found his phone in his pocket. He must have forgotten to put it on the charger. He...he could call someone, should call someone. His shoulder was dislocated.

He could call Jon.

He pulled up his text messages, the cursor blinking back at him, blinding in the dark. Jon was surely awake, he knew that man’s sleep schedule was worse than his.

good luck! come home safe :)

safe :)

safe.

“Shit.”

He couldn’t call Jon. It would undo everything he and Peter were trying to build up. It was all for Jon anyways, to keep him safe, to keep them all safe. No. He had to do this alone. It was best that way.

Martin sat himself up carefully. He had taken enough first aid courses (rather, he had watched them for free on the internet) to know how to set it back in place and he knew it would not be pleasant. He drew his right knee up, and clumsily unknotted his tie, using it to secure his arm to his knee. Martin closed his eyes tight and leaned away from his knee, rotating his shoulder as he stretched away, wincing in anticipation until he felt the wet pop of his arm slotting back into place. Sparks shot through his vision, his only grounding point in the dark, and he huffed out a cross between a moan and a curse.

He carefully made a fist with his re-set hand, tensing the muscles in his arm. Determining it to be good enough, Martin felt his way to his feet and grabbed the wall to steady himself. He knew there was a light switch somewhere--ah.

The light clicked on and he winced at the sudden change, letting his eyes adjust behind the safety of his lashes. When he opened his eyes again, he surveyed the mess of his paperwork, gathering it methodically. It took him another half hour, back against Tim’s old desk, to resort his files before setting them in the file basket he had installed on the door to the Archivist’s office, the rest going on the desk of Jon himself. He would see them all in the morning. At least Jon was home, resting.

When Martin emerged from the Archives, he glanced down at his watch, wondering if it was too late to hail a cab. He frowned at his watch; the face was cracked, the hands stuck at 11:11. He must have cracked it in his fall. “Make a wish,” Martin mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. He was pretty sure his wishes were out of reach, hopeless. As long as he would be safe after all this, Martin could sacrifice a few wishes.

——

3.

Martin was on a walk. He had been doing that a lot, since his and Jon’s escape to Scotland. There was something comforting about the long stretches of rolling hills and rocky cliffsides, utterly devoid of menacing fear entities or bosses hellbent on destroying the world. Jon would come with him sometimes, especially in the early days when leaving each other’s presence was challenging to say the least, but Martin sometimes just needed the space. He loved Jon, he knew he did, and Jon did too, but sometimes the presence of another would build up and stifle him, an unbearable heat radiating off of Jon until Martin had to just go for a bit.

It was raining today, a bassy rhythm beating down on Martin’s umbrella as he walked a familiar cliffside path. He could see a rocky beach below him, waves made of roiling ink, more black than blue. The rain was comforting to him, distinguishing this ocean spread before him from the ocean of the Lonely and drowning out any thoughts that passed through Martin’s head. He stepped around a patch especially muddy gravel, glancing down and seeing a ghost of a reflection staring back at him.

Martin had been in a cold place today, withdrawn from the rest of the world. He had felt the fog blossoming over his mind and had known he needed to go for a bit, center himself, remind himself he was real. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither would his sense of self again, though he was making progress. Jon understood that sentiment, perhaps better than anyone else in the world, and had kissed him softly at the doorway, squeezing his hand in an unspoken promise. Martin tensed his own hand in a fist, still feeling the heat of Jon’s calloused palm under his, reveling in the idea that someone loved him the way Jon did, that someone loved him the way Jon did and that Martin loved Jon back. Martin felt his body solidifying under the rain, felt the wind buffet against him rather than pass through him.

Martin was thinking about going home when it happened.

Home, or Daisy’s safehouse, was a humble affair: reinforced windows, minimalist, a few guns hidden in the floorboards, lots of fresh fruits and vegetables from the village down the hill. It had been easy to reassign this place in Martin’s mind as home. He hadn’t felt at home since...well, definitely not since Prentiss. Maybe not before either.

The rain was letting up, and the brolly was forgotten in favor of letting the rain drop down into his hair, sopping his curls and plastering them to his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content to be in the rain. Things weren’t good, but they were the best they’d been in a while.

The next thing Martin knew he was on the ground, ankle twisted and both shins scraped, blood and dirt mingling on his legs. He tried to stand up and cried out as his ankle immediately gave way, the hope of putting weight on it dashed on the rocks of the beach far below him.

Martin Blackwood crawled to a tree, leaning his back against it, not minding the dirt that was sure to collect on his back and rump. He winced and massaged his ankle, already feeling it begin to swell under his fingertips. With his free hand, a silver scar shining between his forefinger and thumb, he reached for his phone from his jacket pocket, hands shaking as he clumsily dialed the only number in his list of favorites.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice was warm through the tinny speakers. “I hope you’re well.” It was carefully not a question, though Martin caught the notes of careful concern.

“Tch-” Martin sucked air through his teeth. “I fell, Jon. I twisted my ankle, I think? Can’t-ah-can’t walk.”

“Oh. Martin, dear,” Jon’s voice was softer, and Martin could practically see his love’s fingers, itching to do, to fix. “Do you need me to—I can come get you, if you like. I haven’t…I haven't looked. But I can, if you want me to.”

Martin smiled despite himself, hearing Jon’s cautious phrasing. “Please, yes. I’m pretty sure I’m near a picnic park, if you want to drive there and get me? Not sure this is a drivable trail.”

“Did you pass anyone?”

“…no?”

A pause. Martin heard static crackling through the phone. “No one will be there. I Know where you are, Martin. I’ll be there soon.”

Ten minutes and enough ice packs to ease the pain of a full rugby team later, Martin was laying in the back of Jon’s small car, heat blasting on him to dry his now-soaked clothing. There were perks to having an all-knowing partner, it turned out.

Later that evening, Martin was tucked into the couch, his head pleasantly nestled in cushions and his feet in Jon’s lap, who was carefully massaging his feet and ankles, probing for any long-term injuries with his Eyes. A mug of tea grasped between his hands, Martin sighed softly and felt warmth flood his face. He hadn’t been alone this time. He wouldn’t be alone ever again.

[liettethecuttlefish]

Day 16: Plesiosaur, I feel like I ran out of creativity juice halfway through this one but you can never go wrong with a starry sky

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 6:

You ran your hands through you hair, scratching angrily at your scalp in frustration. You were tired of school- tired of homework, and studying, and misery, but it never seemed to let up.

You blamed your quirk.

Yours was a creation quirk, and while at first that might seem impressive, to you the skill very quickly lost it’s shine. You could create gears, and screws, and any machine part you’d ever seen before just by manipulating the matter around you- but that was it. Just machine parts. You couldn’t create machines that already worked, only the parts necessary to build them. 

So, dealt the borderline useless hand you were, you decided to go to a university specializing in Support. You already knew you’d never be an active duty hero, but that was alright, you’d abandoned that dream long ago. Instead, you dedicated yourself to engineering and support courses, in hopes that one day you’d finally be able to build something of use with your machine parts. 

But as of now? That dream was not looking likely. 

This final project was eating you alive; it was your last year, and you were so close to the finish line, but you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what to do for this last project. 

The premise was simple - design a prototype gadget for an already active hero.

At least, it was supposed to be; but, no matter how many news reels you watched, or how many hero forums you scoured, you could not find a hero you felt inspired by. All of the top heroes were already so powerful and capable- what could someone like you even hope to design for them?

You huffed, even if the hero you picked would never see your design, you still wanted it to be good. It was your final project after all, and you didn’t come this far just to fail at the last second. 

You glanced at your clock - 9:37 PM.

You’d been sat at your desk all night, laptop open and pouring over the hero ranking list. There were lots of interesting heroes, but your current favorites were Froppy and Uravity. They weren’t the flashiest heroes, nor did they have the most powerful quirks, but they were resourceful and intelligent and exactly the type of hero you’d always wished you could be. 

You’d been watching clip after clip of the two of them, reading article after article, but you still couldn’t come up with a prototype idea. You were inspired by their heroic actions, their humble attitudes, and their interesting fighting styles, but none of that seemed to matter. Your creative juices just weren’t flowing. 

Oh well, you sighed. I still have a few months, might as well go to sleep before I stress myself out even more. 

You stood, packing your desk up, and looking under papers for your phone. You’d lost it sometime around 6:30, when you’d thrown it down carelessly in a fit of utter frustration. You hadn’t bothered to look for it since then. When you did find it, it was halfway under your bed, and you rolled your eyes at your own stupidity. You grabbed it, watching as the screen lit up. 

baku bitch boy - 2 new messages 

Huh? 

That’s weird. You thought. I really never thought he’d text me first or that he even wanted anything to do with me. 

Even so, you couldn’t help the small smile rolling across your lips as you checked the messages. 

You blinked, smile steadily growing wider. 

He sent those at 7:44. Apparently he’d gotten very used to your little routine of messaging him around 7. 

You couldn’t help the warmth in your cheeks, nor the way your stomach flipped- this was proof right? That he at least, at the very least, didn’t mind you talking to him. That he’d seek you out even if he pretended he was annoyed the entire time. 

You felt like a little girl again- suddenly giddy and warm all over at the thought of your soulmate. Bakugou certainly wasn’t what you expected, but with recent developments you were sure now. He wasn’t bad- not bad at all. 

His reply was near instantaneous, and that only made you warmer. Even if he was insulting you, Bakugou still asked you a question. A question that would prolong the conversation, and seemed to show genuine interest- well, maybe only if you squinted real hard, but still, this was progress. 

You damn near seized, a loud chortle escaping your mouth before you could clamp your hand over it. You threw yourself back on your bed, holding your phone high above your face, and blinking at the message in disbelief.

Oh- so he lead you along like that just to shut you down? He thought he was funny, did he? 

Well, alright, given a second thought, maybe he was. At least to you. You found it funny, found him funny, and were pleasantly surprised with the course of this conversation. Maybe even a little thrilled- but only if you let yourself feel that giddy. But you didn’t. Because you weren’t a child, and Bakugou was just your asshole soulmate. 

You felt like squealing, felt like jumping up and doing a spin. You couldn’t help it. He was just so cute. Sure, maybe he was still angry and entirely incapable of owning up to his feelings, sure, but so so cute. 

You shut you phone off, hands pressing against your warm cheeks. You couldn’t stop smiling. 

You thought Bakugou was adorable. Just the cutest little rabid dog ever, and you couldn’t wait to pick on him more. Even if he was more difficult than you imagined, he was still a lot more fun. 

Little wins, you supposed, little wins. 

You went to bed smiling, and when you woke up that next morning, you were still smiling. 

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

When I Was Older | Poe Dameron x Reader (Oneshot)

Words: 1584

A/N: How long has it been?! Tryna get back into writing again and decided to take a break from the series that I’m working on to do a quick oneshot. Figured it’d be easier to get the creative juices flowing if I browse through my Spotify playlist. Crazy how someone could be banging out a story every day for one whole month then take a break for a couple of months and feel like they haven’t written in forever.

-

The village was completely destroyed. The informant was missing, the others in your squadron confirmed that their body was not found among the fallen. Poe cursed, kicking a piece of debris before gripping at his curls in frustration. You grimaced, approaching one of the housing that remained standing. Being careful of the rubble, you stepped around and searched inside, hoping that there was a clue to the informant’s whereabouts, some sort of sign.

The house had a modest interior, but appeared well loved and well lived in. You could only imagine what it had been like for this family to be living about their lives until the First Order storms through their village.

You stooped down, gingerly picking up a doll of what looked to be a humanoid droid. It was still intact, save for the broken eye and crooked limbs, but fixable. Stepping closer to the broken stairs, you heard a faint sniffing.

“Hello?” you called out softly. There was scrambling across the floorboards above. “It’s safe now. You can come out.”

“(Y/n)?” Poe said, hearing your voice in the house.

“I think there’s someone in here,” you said, looking up the stairs.

Poe looked at the state of the stairs and shook his head. “It’s too dangerous to go up there…,” he muttered, walking towards it anyways. “Hello? We’re here to help.”

A small head poked through one of the broken floorboards. “Hey,” you said with a small smile, “Is it just you?”

The small head nodded with a sniff, brown eyes wide in fear and sadness.

“We’re gonna get you down there, okay, buddy?” Poe assured them. He took a tentative step up, minding the broken boards, then took another step.

Halfway up, he saw a young boy, possibly younger than twelve. He wore a loose dark gray shirt and shorts, dusty goggles resting on his short black hair. Poe reached his arms out towards him. The boy slowly made his way over to him and froze as the step under him creaked.

“It’s okay,” Poe said, “Move quickly. I’ll catch you, I promise.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath before rushing over, landing in Poe’s arms who rushed down the steps before they could cave in. Your arms shot out to steady him before he could fall back.

“You two okay?” you asked.

Poe nodded, lowering the boy onto his feet. He crouched in front of him and dusted off his hair. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Bokan,” he said quietly. “My family… they’re dead, aren’t they?”

You and Poe exchanged a look before turning back to Bokan. He just lowered his head and let out a soft whimper. “I saw everything,” he said, “But my aunt… I don’t know where she went.”

“Your aunt?” you asked.

“She said that she was going to meet someone outside of the village. I never saw her since.”

You sighed. “We’ll get you somewhere safe, Bokan, and we’ll help you find your aunt, too. Will you be okay with coming with us?”

He nodded, then spotted the doll in your hand. You handed it to him and he quickly pulled it to his chest. The two of you made your way to the squad to update them of the situation before getting ready to leave. You took Bokan into your X-Wing with just enough room to fit him with you. His eyes did light up as you buckled in with him in your lap. His hands reached out towards the console and steering controls before pulling away.

“When we’re safe at the base, maybe I can show you how it all works,” you offered.

“I’d like that,” he said.

The flight back to base was uneventful, but you did see Poe trying to do tricks with his X-Wings to cheer Bokan up, earning a laugh from him.

At the debriefing, Poe explained the situation and about Bokan. Leia sighed in frustration as more innocent lives were lost at the hands of the First Order but knew that there was some hope as the informant could possibly still be alive. She suggested being on a look out for any messages sent by her and to notify her immediately.

“And what of the kid?” another general asked.

“We’re taking him in until we find his aunt, of course,” Leia said firmly. “He’s safer with us than out there vulnerable or worse, taken by the FIrst Order to be trained as a stormtrooper.”

From then on, Bokan became part of the Resistance. Humans, aliens, and droids all looked after him, but he always asked when you or Poe were going to take him flying. With reconnaissance missions and looking for his aunt, there hadn’t been much time since you'd found him. The others at the base managed to occupy him, showing him around the place and teaching him things from how droids work to how to play sabacc. You did get a little worried when you heard how quick he was learning that game and warned the pilots to not let him play too much.

When you finally got a free day, you took Bokan to the hangar to check out the different ships. He ran up to your X-Wing and you had to help him up the ladder to the cockpit, placing your helmet onto his head. He grinned, gripping onto the steer controls and pretended to fly.

“I always wanted to fly something like this,” he said.

You moved onto the other ships, explaining the different models and the purposes for each one. The two of you stopped in front of a U-Wing and he smiled.

“I remember flying one of these when I was older,” he said, walking up to it.

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean when you flew in one of those when you were younger?”

Bokan shook his head, running his hand along the panels of the ship. “When I was older,” he repeated, “I was a pilot. I couldn’t become a fighter pilot, but managed to become a cargo pilot instead. I think I worked for bad people, but I wanted to do good stuff. When I died, I think I died knowing I did good, that I helped good people get rid of the bad people.”

“Huh.”

That night in bed, you thought a lot about what Bokan said. Was reincarnation real? You’ve heard about it in your travels, but you've never seen it before. The story behind reincarnation was that when a person dies, their energy becomes part of the Force and it never fades. Sometimes that energy goes into another being and those people would sometimes get flashes of their other life in a dream or if they felt like they did something before.

“I can tell you’re thinking hard about something,” Poe muttered in his sleepy state, eyes opened just a crack as he peered over at you.

“I took Bokan flying today,” you said quietly, “and when I was showing him the ships at the hangar, he said the weirdest things.”

“Like what?”

“Like… he said that he flew a cargo ship when he was older. That he was a pilot before and that… he said he died.”

Poe frowned, turning to his side and leaned up on his elbow. “What else did he say?”

“He said he used to work for bad people, but he helped good people get rid of them. I’m not sure where he was getting that stuff from. Maybe one of the pilots was telling him stories or something.” You sighed, knowing that none of them would ever put Bokan in danger, but that doesn’t mean that they were completely responsible when a child was involved.

Poe hummed, rubbing his hand on your arm as he thought. “There was this story that I had been told by my mom… about how the Rebellion destroyed the Death Star. She said, in order to destroy it, they needed to find its weakest point. In order to do that, they needed the plans to the Death Star. This was something that I’m surprised not many people talk about.”

“I heard a group of rebels stole the plans from the Empire,” you said.

“That’s right,” he said with a nod, sinking back down in his pillow, “but no one talks about who they were. In fact, they were ordered not to go after it because of the risk. Not all of them had originally been part of the Rebellion. One of them had actually been the daughter of the Death Star architect, or so my mom said. Another, a former Imperial cargo pilot. Mom told me that because of him, the Rebellion found out about the plans and the Death Star’s weakness in the first place. He gave them hope. With their last dying breath, they worked to send the plans to the Rebellion before the planet they were on were destroyed.”

“Are you saying that Bokan could be this former Imperial pilot?”

“It’s possible. Even if someone’s passed, they’re never truly gone.” He pulled out his mother’s ring and ran a thumb over it. “They would have loved to meet you.”

You scooted closer to Poe until your foreheads touched. “They will once we visit Yavin.”

“Yeah? You know my proposal is still pending…,” Poe trailed off as your eyes fluttered closed, “I can wait. No matter what happens, I believe we’ll be together. In this life and the next. I know we’ll find each other again. If the Force wills it...”

[joheun-saram]

To Make a Power Couple (knj) | 02

Chapter 2 - Pizza and Life Chats

previous  | masterlist | next

Summary- Namjoon and Y/N go on their first date, and Namjoon is whipped.

word count- 5k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- pg13 for now

genre- series, slow burn, fluff eventual smut, strangers2lovers

warnings- mentions of hangovers and panic attacks, tooth-rottingly fluffy

a.n- okay here’s the second part! I wrote this up fairly quickly (don’t expect this to be the norm!). This part I wanted to kind of address the stress of overworking as a young adult (GUILTY 🙋🏻‍♀️) so sorry if it gets a little serious at parts. I also wanted to switch it up so it’s from Namjoon’s perspective. I hope you enjoy it. SOFT JOON BEING A BIG OLD SOFTY.

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​, @sassyuniversitytacopeanut 

-

Namjoon woke up startled as his phone alarm rang. He was groggy and his splitting headache made him nauseous. “I’m never going to drink again”, he mumbled. He groaned as he got off the couch he had crashed on the night before, trying not to trip over Taehyung who seemed to be dozing happily on the floor as he made his way to his room. He hadn’t stayed at the dorms in a while, preferring the quiet solitary of his own apartment nowadays, and with his hangover in full swing he felt like he was walking through a stranger's house. 

Last month was hell. He had procrastinated on his songs and none of the vocal guides were even halfway done before the due date. Everytime he tried to finish a song a new one would pop up in his head and he would start on that, leading to a hard drive full of files labelled “finish soon” and “draft”, and a notebook full of scratched out scribbles. It was like his brain had decided to abandon him, deciding it had had enough of his perpetual melancholy. He had felt drained and burnt out, a husk with no creative juices left. Luckily, Yoongi and a few of the producers had taken pity on his stressed out state and lent a hand so he had been able to finish the bare minimum three days ago - before the label pressured him further. He was never more grateful for a small break.

In all honesty, he needed a way to jumpstart his brain, and get out of the routine of home, practice, meetings, studio, home. Sometimes, he almost wished he didn’t have the success he had so he could go out and let loose a little - a club, a party, anything. But the last time he went somewhere like that he got swarmed and the police had to be involved. He couldn’t risk that, not after the trouble Big Hit went to threaten media outlets a year and a half ago, when he was caught with what they called a hickey, but was actually a stress rash. 

As he brushed his teeth today, he smiled at the mirror. Last month may have been terrible, but last night was one of the best he’d had in the past year. 

When he had heard Bang PD’s team talk about how they were attending the charity gala as he met them for notes on his songs, he was intrigued. He had read about this non-profit in the paper before. They seemed to be helping bridge the gap between people through communication and that spoke to him. So much so that he had scrolled through their website multiple times, reading testimonials and almost memorizing the mission statement. They wanted to help kids learn English for free so they could communicate globally. He really liked the idea. It was hard for him to learn the language as a kid and he knew that the only reason he became as fluent as he is from the tutors his parents paid for and his obsession with American television and music. Although he doesn’t need the tutoring anymore, he does enjoy talking to the in-house tutor at the company, John, from time to time and improving his skills. The fact that this company wanted to add a John to every school in Korea starting from the rural areas, made Namjoon want to meet the man behind the movement. Little did he know, he’d be meeting the girl who’d shift his idea of the ideal.

He had never been more glad to have convinced his company to let him and the boys attend an event. He had initially suggested it as a way to break the mundane before their comeback practices started and network while supporting a cause he liked. Two days ago, he wouldn’t have guessed it would be an actual fun night leading to him nursing a headache.

He spent the next hour reliving last night as he showered and caught up on the news. He also read the messages he sent last night over a hundred times and had butterflies each time. Wasn’t he too old for butterflies? He wanted to message you again but everytime he tried, he ended up overthinking it. Everything sounded forced or cheesy, and it was worse than any writer’s block. He threw his phone on the bed in frustration watching it bounce and land on the floor, before he grabbed it and pocketed it. Hopping around to get rid of his nerves, he decided to take a break from rereading the thread he already had memorized and check in with everyone. If his hangover was this bad he can’t imagine theirs.

Making his way back to the living room he found Taehyung now sitting on the floor, sleep still very evident on his features as he yawned and groaned. On the couch next to him sat Yoongi, holding an iced americano and staring into space. The rest were missing but he could hear a blender annoyingly whizzing in the kitchen.

“How’re you guys feeling this morning?” He asked as he sat across from Yoongi.

“This is why I don’t drink. Why did no one stop me?” Taehyung whined as he rose from the floor to leave, massaging his head. 

“We tried. You were very excited to try all the disgustingly sweet drinks the hot bartender was making for you.” Yoongi replied with a sigh. “How was your date, Namjoon? You glad I forced you to go to the bar to talk to her?” he snickered, sipping his coffee before exhaling loudly in contentment.

“Honestly, I owe you big time. She was… amazing. I don’t think I’ve talked to someone that comfortably in a while” Namjoon sighed wistfully.

“I’ll add cupid to my resume,” he deadpanned. “Is she tolerating you for another date?”

“Yeah. We’re getting dinner on Tuesday, but I want to message her now. Argh!” He ran his hands over his face in frustration. “What do I even say? ‘Hi I’m the guy who was too scared to kiss you all night so you had to do it for him, what’s your favourite colour?’” Namjoon was annoyed at himself. It’s bad enough that he was having writer’s block in his music, did he have to have it for something as simple as texting too? This was ridiculous.

“Or you could just ask her how’s her hangover today. Jeez. Do I have to draft each of your messages? Stop being a dumbass and text the person you like.” Yoongi scoffed, clearly over Namjoon’s sudden and uncharacteristic insecurities.

Namjoon gave a resigned sigh as he reached for his phone and wrote out exactly what Yoongi suggested. Hey, he was his hyung for a reason - he had a full 6 months of life experience on him.

Namjoon: Hey! Hope your hangover is not too bad today.

As soon as the message was sent, he started getting nervous. Tapping his foot incessantly while staring at his phone, willing it to buzz, annoying Yoongi enough to leave him alone on the couch in the process.

Y/N: Hi to you too! I actually don’t get hangovers so I’m doing great lol. What about you?

Namjoon: What do you mean you don’t get hangovers?

Y/N: I don’t know. Can’t get dehydrated if you’re always dehydrated!

Namjoon: That… makes no sense. Do I need to start reminding you to drink water?

Y/N: Only if you’re better than this app on my phone…

Namjoon: I can guarantee you I’m better than any app on this planet.

Y/N: Wow. Big claims! We’ll have to put it to the test I suppose.

Y/N: You never told me how you’re feeling. Oh and how’s Taehyung? Is he okay?

Namjoon: He’s doing fine. Made a pact to never drink again and if i’m being honest, I’m going to join him. I am shocked that your head is not exploding as well.

The messages continued easily after that, filled with updates of each other’s activities, playful flirting and even photos of dinner. By the time Monday rolled around, you had been messaging each other constantly, with no end to the conversation in sight and the only long pauses being when you were both asleep or working. It seemed like you would never run out things to talk about. Namjoon hadn’t messaged someone this frequently since he got out of his last relationship. It felt nice to relay his mundane day to day events to someone and he found himself excited to hear about your mundane, like how you decided to mix two different types of bad coffee blends to make a shockingly worse one. He was surprised again at how fast he felt comfortable around you. It was even starting to scare him a little - he only knew you for three days and it felt like he had known you forever! What was this weird spell you had on him?

The conversation Monday, however, was fairly sparse, and Namjoon was eager to set up plans for the next day, so that night he decided to call you.

After the first three rings, he was overthinking his decision. Maybe it was too soon to call? Maybe you didn’t like talking on the phone? What if it went to voicemail? Would he have to leave a message? What would he say? His inner monologue was quickly halted at the sound of your voice.

“Hello, this is Y/N” you sounded distant, almost too formal. He felt nervous.

“Hi… uh... this is Namjoon. Is this a bad time?”

“Oh Namjoon! Sorry I didn’t check who called when I picked up!” Relief washed over him at the change of your tone. “Sorry one sec can you hold on.” he heard you say as your voice got mumbled. He waited while he heard you talk to someone about proposals and deadlines. Were you still at work? He checked his watch - it was 10 pm. He didn’t know whether to be impressed by your work ethic or worried that you were overworking.

“Hi sorry about that! How are you?” He relaxed at your airy tone and smiled.

“I’m good. Are you still at work?”

“Yeah it’s only like 7 so it’s no big deal. I usually leave around 8” Were you serious?

“Y/N… It’s 10:04…” He was shocked at how nonchalant you sounded, and suddenly he had his answer - he was worried, not impressed. He had known you for three days and already you were setting his caretaker alarm off. He wanted to scold you for being careless and overworking, like he’s used to doing for the boys, but he knew it was too soon. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling that way all of a sudden and tried to suppress his protective instincts.

“No it’s not! It’s…” He could hear your voice going further away as he imagined you moving the phone in front of you to check the time. “Oh shit you’re right. What the hell? Okay sorry I’m gonna put you on hold again.” Before he could say anything he heard your voice again, distant again but loud. “Oh my god. Guys, it’s 10pm. Go home! Why did nobody tell me? No it doesn’t matter we can do that tomorrow. Please go home. Pack up now! You too Siwon, don’t worry I’ll go home after I get off the phone. See you!” He smiled at the sternness of your tone - it reminded him of a teacher dismissing class.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize I overworked my team. Had to send the troops home” you laughed and Namjoon felt his heart flutter. 

“I don’t wanna keep you from going home. I can call you back once you get there” he offered. He felt bad that you were staying in an empty office on his account.

“Oh don’t worry about it. It was a lie to get Siwon off my back. I’m probably gonna be here till like 1 or something. I still have to get this done” you said matter-of-factly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He knew that tone fairly well, having used it multiple times himself when he locked himself in his studio, running on nothing but coffee and energy bars.

“Okay I know we’ve only just met and we have our first date tomorrow, but do you want some company?” He asked before he could stop himself. The line was silent for a bit, and he felt self conscious, scared that he had overstepped and driven you away. Before he could check his phone to see if you had hung up you spoke.

“It’d be pretty boring for you to watch me just type away. Are you sure? It’s pretty late.” He was sure his cheeks would hurt from how wide he smiled.

“It’s not a problem at all. I was going to work tonight too.” He wasn’t. “We can just work together. I’ll bring food. Did you eat yet?” his words tumbled over each other.

“How very college of you.” He could hear you giggling on the line. “Now that I think about it - I’m starving.”

“Okay text me the address, I’ll be there soon.”

He had never been this excited to pretend to work.

  ____________________________

He spotted you as he walked through the doors of the 13th floor, pepperoni pizza in hand. You were sitting at a long desk near the middle of the room. He was surprised as he expected you in an office, but he found you typing away at your desktop. Your hair was tied up in a bun and you were dressed in an oversized beige t-shirt, eyebrows furrowed head bopping to the hip hop track playing through the speakers. You seemed to be in your own little world. He felt like he was spying on you as he leaned against the door watching but he also liked seeing how you acted when you thought no one was watching. He was about to announce his presence when the track changed to a Childish Gambino one and you whooped and started to rap along.

You were now fully head banging and rapping the verse at the top of your lungs. He would be impressed by your fairly good amateur skills if he didn’t find the entire scene so endearing. His heart was doing somersaults as he watched you now fully engrossed in the song, typing forgotten as you got up and started to pretend you were on stage, an imaginary mic in your hand asking haters if they “eatin’ though”. You looked so adorable that he couldn’t help but squeal a little “cute!”

That’s when you saw him, eyes wide. He felt a little bad when he saw how embarrassed you looked, immediately stopping and slapping a hand to your mouth before bursting out in nervous laughter. He could write a whole album with that laugh. Oh he was so whipped, he thought to himself as he made his way to you.

“You know you’re not half bad!” He exclaimed as he set the pizza on the table, pulling a chair next to yours and settling down.

“Do you think your fake compliments will save you from the fact that you were spying on me?” you asked, crossing your hands across your chest, pretending to scowl but failing to.

“First, real compliment. Second, would pizza save me?” He opened the box and proudly smiled, loving the way your eyes lit up as you reached for a slice.

“Yes it will!” you exclaimed as you took your first bite, lightly moaning at the taste. “But erase that memory from your brain please.”

“Nope. Never. It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I’m going to save it forever” he said as he also started on his slice. You pouted up at him, cheeks puffed and it took all the self-control he had to not kiss it off your face. He hadn’t felt this way in so long, it was like you were his first crush. Trying to control his pulse, he asked “What are you working on so late?”

“Oh I have a proposal due for a meeting tomorrow at noon and I’m only halfway through it.” you frowned wistfully at the screen as if willing it to type on its own.

“Can I help?” He asked, knowing fully well that he couldn’t. He just had an overwhelming urge to make that frown disappear.

“You being here is help enough,” you smiled sincerely as you looked at him and he felt his heart explode, a blush creeping on his cheeks as he smiled bashfully. “What are you working on?”

“I have a few songs I have to finish the lyrics for. Been procrastinating” he rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled out the notebook from his back pocket.

“Can I help?” you echoed his question to which he echoed your response grinning. He wasn’t lying though. Even though he had planned to not really work, as the night progressed he found the change from his usual writing spot inspiring. Sitting next to you, the sound of the keyboard clicking was soothing leading to words pouring out of him. He filled pages as he stole glances at you concentrating on your proposal, tongue peeking from between your lips, still bobbing to the music which was now playing from your airpods instead of the speakers. He smiled at the sight, before focusing on his notebook.

After about an hour or so of hard work, he finished three songs that he had allotted himself the whole week to do. This was the most productive hour he had all month. Antsy for a break, he looked over at you and found you staring at him, a hand under your chin. As he met your gaze you smiled.

“You’re really hot when you concentrate. Has anyone ever told you that?” you commented. He was taken aback by your remark, heart fluttering at your smirking face. Not missing his chance and spurred on by the comment, he scooted closer in one sweep till your knees touched and you were face to face.

“You’re one to talk. I couldn’t stop looking at you this past hour.” Gazing into your eyes, he was amused to see your smirk disappear as it was now your turn to be shocked. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind your ear letting his hand linger, enjoying the way you sighed as he did. “Can I make good on my promise now?” He whispered, his face centimeters away, looking at your lips. The way you bit your lower lip made him want to take you there and then. The desk looked big enough. Hell, even if it wasn’t he could make it work.

“Promise?” you whispered as he watched your eyes flutter to his lips.

“To kiss you first...” Too impatient to wait for your answer, he brought his lips to yours, relishing how soft they felt under his own. He was thrilled at you returning the kiss, deepening it as you grabbed the collar of his shirt to bring him closer just like you did after the party. He was beginning to think this was your signature move, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t immensely turn him on. He moved his hand cupping your face to rest on your neck and he could feel your heartbeat mimicking his. He put his other hand around your waist pulling you closer, wanting to be as close to you as he could get. He traced his tongue over your lips, his head cloudy with endorphins as you opened your mouth inviting him in. He had never tasted something so euphoric, his tongue exploring yours in a rush.

He could feel you pushing forward as he leaned back and allowed you to straddle his lap, your legs on either side of the chair. As soon as you were on his lap, he pulled you closer, both arms around on your hips, your chest flushed with his. He kissed the side of your mouth as he made his way down your jaw to your neck. You smelt like vanilla mixed with a fresh flower garden, and he was sure this smell was better than any drug in the world. He could hear your breathy moans as he sucked where your neck met your collarbone, licking to soothe it before moving further. He wanted to taste all of you. Your hands were in his hair and each tug made him groan into you, making him harder. He could kiss you like this forever. He wanted to save this moment so he could come back to it and relive it. He traced his hands up and down your sides, moving under your shirt but remaining on your waist, enjoying the feel of your soft skin.

“Namjoon… Namjoon... slow down” he heard you say breathlessly as he felt a slight push. He looked up at you, your eyes half lidded and lusty as you grabbed his face and brought it to yours. You were sending him mixed signals, but he didn’t care as long as he could keep kissing you.

“We have to slow down or I’m going to want to fuck you right here.” You whined as you both came back up for air, but you kissed him again nevertheless. Hearing you say that made him want to do anything in his power to make that happen.

“I don’t mind, baby,” he said against your lips, kissing you with urgency, biting your lower lip and pulling it gently to elicit another moan from you. To his disappointment, you seemed to have better self-control than him as you pushed him back, both of you panting as you struggled to catch your breath. He moved his hand back to your hips tracing little circles, feeling comforted by you smoothing his hair you had pulled earlier.

“There are cameras here. I’d rather not make a sex tape on our first date.” You giggled as you pointed to the black sphere in the corner of the room. He had never hated the obsession buildings had for security more, but the crudeness of your comment made him laugh. He had almost forgotten this was your first date, it felt like he had kissed you a thousand times before. You tasted like the relief of an awning in the middle of a summer downpour.

“I think we need to cool down,” you say as you climb off of his lap. “Let’s go.”

He followed you as you led him to the little kitchenette near the end of the room, unable to resist the urge to wrap his hands around your waist in a back hug. He knew he was being too clingy for a first date, but the way you giggled and put your hands over his gave him assurance.

“Lemonade, coke, or water,” you asked as you peered into the fridge.

“You.” He smirked kissing your neck, feeling bold off of the high from your makeout session. 

“Joon!” you pretended to sound scandalized as you turned in his arms, smiling warmly. The nickname made his heart swell. It added a familiarity that he didn’t know he missed from you.

“You haven’t called me Joon before. I like it” he smiled as he pecked your lips.

“Hey! We are cooling down! No kissing! Now pick” you chided and Namjoon couldn’t help but wonder if you were this assertive in bed too, a million scenarios playing in his head. Okay, you were right, he needed to cool down.

“I’ll just have water, thanks,” he said as he grabbed the bottle you passed him, opening and gulping half of it. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was for something other than you. You both made your way to the tables, sitting across from each other.

“So did you finish your proposal?” He asked trying to cool himself but failing as he noticed you running the cold water bottle against your neck, the beads of condensation dripping on your shirt. He cleared his throat as he tried to focus his attention on your eyes, a mantra of stay focused playing in his head.

“Yes! Finally! It’s perfect.” you smiled proudly and somehow he felt a wave of pride too. “What about you? Made any progress?”

“Actually yes. I kind of finished my entire week’s writing in that one hour” he was still amazed by his own progress.

“Okay, Mr Overachiever” you joked and he chuckled.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything, but I don’t know your presence is kind of soothing. It helped me focus.” Watching your smile grow wide, he continued, “I’ve been having pretty severe burnout this past month and it has just been hard to put down my thoughts, even non-lyrical ones.” He fidgeted with the water bottle as he looked at it, avoiding eye contact.

He didn’t know why he was telling you this. He recalled when he told you about his struggles as a leader during your first conversation. Somehow being around you led him to vomit out his feelings. It was… unlike him. Namjoon was usually not this honest on dates, or relationships, as much as he would hate to admit it. That’s the reason he broke off his last one. He felt bad lying to her about a busy schedule when he just wanted to be alone. She would have understood, she was kind and thoughtful, but it just felt easier to lie and not put the effort in to explain his thoughts. Even when they broke up, he lied and told her that it was because he couldn’t handle being in a relationship at the moment, when in reality things had cooled off a while ago and he felt guilty as his feelings faded.

He felt your hand reach out and grab one of his, intertwining your fingers. He felt comforted by the gesture as you rubbed your thumb across him before you spoke two words that warmed his heart. “I understand.”

“You know it’s hard to work at full speed all the time. It’s okay to not be at a hundred all the time. The valleys feed the peaks” you continued. It was a simple remark, but it sounded surprisingly poetic to him. He hadn’t felt this understood outside of the boys for a long time. It was refreshing. It was terrifying. He resisted his natural urge to run and hide.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, needing to divert the attention away from his own vulnerabilities.

“Yeah. I had it pretty tough a couple of years ago. Too much pressure from myself, too many expectations. Led to too many vices and panic attacks” you shrugged as you continued and he squeezed your hand to comfort you. “It creeps up from time to time but my therapist and I have it handled” He looked at you in awe. You hadn’t given him a throwaway answer or switched the limelight back at him. You wasted no time in being as vulnerable as him, if not more. He knew at that moment that regardless of where this thing went, he wanted you to know you better.

“Thank you for being honest.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it gently. It was an intimate gesture but he wanted you to know how much he appreciated your words - how much he appreciated you - in that moment. You both sat in comfortable silence for a little while, playing with each other’s hands that were still intertwined, till one of you yawned loudly causing the other to giggle. With the weight of the conversation lifting, you both fell back into playful banter as you decided to pack up and call it a night.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” Namjoon asked, wanting to drag the night on longer despite it already being almost 2 am.

“Don’t judge me but I actually don’t know how to drive. I was just going to cab back.” he saw you giggle bashfully as you pulled your backpack over your shoulders.

“Oh, no judgment here! Me neither” he laughed. Why does everyone think it is such a big deal to not drive? It’s better for the environment! “Do you want to take one together? I don’t really want you to ride alone this late.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he didn’t come off as if he was trying to dictate what you did.

“I’d really like that,” you said as you walked towards the elevators. He held your hand as you both got on, liking the way you moved closer to him at that. 

In the cab you both sat closer than necessary, his arm wrapped around you as you both made plans for your scheduled date later that day, trying not to doze off. When the cab stopped all too soon at your apartment, he kissed you gently as he told you how much he enjoyed your company.

That night laying in bed, his heart felt full as he read your goodnight message. He was sure of it now. He really wanted you in his life.

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

previous | masterlist | next

[earmuffstar]

glazed eyes, empty hearts

ao3 link!! Summary: Remus lay on the carpet in the Commons, drinking something inedible and trying to figure out if he could saw off his hand. OR: Remus has ways of keeping himself from full lucidity. Janus has some things to say about it. Genre: canonverse angst Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders (platonic dukeceit/demus/intruceit) Words: 1589 Additional Tags/Warnings: Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Mentions of Dismemberment, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Swearing

Remus lay on the carpet in the Commons, drinking something inedible and trying to figure out if he could saw off his hand.

He’d have to clamp his right arm down—since his left arm was stronger—and on a table, probably, for the best angle. He’d use an electric saw, to keep himself from stopping halfway through from the pain. Maybe he’d even get away with it, too: right here on the living room table in the middle of Family Game Night, or whatever the Lights were doing, he wasn't paying attention. The others normally didn’t question what Remus did, whether a product of not wanting to look too closely or because they just didn’t care, he didn’t know. It came in handy at times like this—ha, handy, he should tell that to Pappy Patouille.

“Handy!” Remus screeched. The conversation stuttered like tripping over a stone, tumbling to the pavement, skittering off a cliff and ending up squished in half by a train on criss-crossed railway tracks before resuming its pace as normal.

Remus went back to pondering his drink, now half-empty. He kind of hoped it was alcohol, although even the more potent stuff didn’t do much for him anymore. Maybe bleach, then. He took a gulp. Snapped his fingers and malathion filled the rest of the concoction to the top. Downed the glass. It didn’t taste half bad—he almost wished it tasted worse—but it made his head spin and his thoughts appropriately fuzzy, which was all he needed.

Remus stood up, bracing himself against the armrest as the room wavered, legs quivering inappropriately under his weight. The room continued their conversation—he couldn’t make out the words, not like he wanted to, he was sure it was about Disney or some other unimportant shit—as he sunk out.

The corner of Thomas’ mind which embodied Dark Creativity, forbidden thoughts, the macabre, badness, demented reason, remained perpetually in disrepair. Remus tripped over shards of glass—broken Bud Light’s?—needles, plastic orange bottles, and crashed to his knees somewhere wet, cheek brushing against bones and plywood as his eyelids drooped shut.

~~~

Remus shifted as he came to: alive, in his room, with a mind far too alert and lucid. Had he messed up with whatever he’d drunk last night—accidentally used orange juice or some shit instead of malathion? Remus growled in frustration. The easiest methods of forced mental incoherence—starvation, lack of sleep, the like—always took the longest time to take effect. If he’d paid attention last night, he would have been able to perpetuate the misery longer without this unfortunate break. He’d have to resort to more drastic measures for instant relief.

At least the blackout was nice. He normally didn’t get such an easy reprieve. When nightmares didn’t torment his sleep, the knowledge of coherence and well-restedness it offered did.

Dark Imagination always exhaled cold, stinking of rot and filth, miasma and decay. His thoughts always amplified in his domain, spinning and twisting in a way that felt good—or rather, felt terrible, which was good. Remus sank his foot into the muck, his realm unnaturally still. His creations normally drew into hiding when he came here like this—they didn’t like to see him do this. Welp. Too bad for them.

Here was a total blank slate. He could do anything. Remus’ claws itched.

It sucked how much it hurt, was the thing. The pain was delicious, and he soaked it up, reveled in it like cloth soaking blood, he needed it—but it still hurt, at the very beginning, the moment when knife hit flesh. The physical pain always hurt like hell, but the greater the pain at the beginning the longer it would keep hurting, and if at least some part of him was hurting he didn’t have to hurt a different part again to balance out the hurt in his brain.

Remus heard the footsteps only after rivulets of blood ran down his fingers.

“Remus?” The voice came soft, low, with a hint of a hiss curling the edge of their words. Remus’ blood ran cold, drip, drip, dripping onto the ground, and he grinned a false smile as he turned around—pointless, Janus always saw through him, Janus was the one person who wouldn’t brush off his antics as his simply unfortunate nature.

“Hey, welcome, Janny-Jan! Just messing around, you know me.” Remus was still far too coherent for this, brain just as awake as it had been when he’d woken up feeling nothing unnatural in his system despite the pain. Remus summoned a bottle of arsenic, aiming to chug it, when his fingers grasped empty air. Janus held the bottle away from him with one of his extra hands.

“Give it back, Jan.”

“Remus, this isn’t healthy.”

Remus cackled. The notion of “healthy” deserved that much. “Does it look like I care? Give it back.”

Janus sighed, looking resigned, and Remus knew what was going to happen before it did. That didn’t mean he didn’t struggle as six arms wrapped around him, yanking him from his domain into Janus’ room. Janus deposited him on a bed, holding him down by his arms and ignoring Remus’ pleas with practiced care.

Gloved hands met his own, stopping him every time he tried to scratch his arms, eyes, limbs. Already Remus could feel the effects of Janus’ room sink into his body, denials becoming truths as they healed his wounds, and Remus detested the comfort even as he gave in to it. Janus sat down next to him as the fight bled out of him, its absence hurting somehow more than blood and guts spilling from his wounds.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Janus said quietly, no more to Remus than to the air, but he shrugged anyway. He’d tried for far too long to rationalize his actions, formulate some sort of reasoning, some story, some grand reason why. Eventually he stopped trying, because no amount of reasoning ever stopped him. He would either do something or he wouldn’t, and that was how it worked—whatever thought that had led him to that action could have been fleeting, could have been in response to the opposite inclination, could have been anything. He’d long since given up on trying to understand his mind.

Janus should stop worrying. It wasn’t like anything would kill him, anyway.

“Well!” Remus struggled to sit up. “This has been fun, but—”

“Remus, you can’t—”

“I’m perfectly fine now, so—”

“You’re not —”

“I can’t say it’s been lovely but I should be going, got places to be—”

Janus looked about to explode, or cry, and personally Remus thought the former would be much cooler, wondered how flesh would become explosive, charred, twisted, dead. “We have to talk about this, Remus! I can’t— I can’t let you continue like this.”

Something furious and burning licked through his spine. Remus went still—still like the night, still like corpses buried six feet under the winter chill, still like death. Janus’ expression quickly smoothed over, but Remus was pleased to read fear in the pinch of his brow. “What I do,” Remus hissed, “is not up to you. I am not your charity project, and I understand perfectly well what I’m doing. You don’t get to take this away from me.”

“Remus, you—” Janus’ breath hitched. Remus didn’t— couldn’t turn to look at his face. “You can’t possibly think this is a long-term solution to your problems! ‘Oh yes, continually hurting myself will make my life better, it won’t have any lasting effects on anyone at all—’”

“I don’t want to think !” Remus screamed. He would have glared at the yellow-clad side had exhaustion not burrowed into his bones. Or maybe that was just the blood loss, or the aftereffects of the alcohol. “I don’t want to feel better, I don’t want to feel normal, or healthy, I just want to— to be numb, to be—”

He’d grown too used to incoherence to be able to deal with reality without it. The fact that the poisons gave him an excuse for being a fuck up, and that he’d have no shield, no scapegoat, no backup if he was still a fuck-up while being fully coherent. He didn’t particularly want to stop, not anymore, not for all the effort it’d take with too little payoff—but Remus knew better than to talk about his self-destructive tendencies to Self-Preservation.

Remus turned his back on Janus, though he felt his gaze tracing his spine. He wondered how long Janus was going to sit here with him—Janus knew better than to leave Remus unattended in his room.

Janus stood up abruptly, drawing Remus’ eye. He grabbed Remus by the arm again, and, to Remus' surprise, he felt the vertigo-like falling sensation of sinking back into his own room. Janus released his grip, opened his mouth, closed it again without speaking, and suddenly Remus found arms around folded him in an embrace. “We will be talking about this again,” Janus murmured, before both him and his touch disappeared as quick as it had come. Silence resounded in his wake, and Remus realized he’d been given what he’d asked for—his freedom.

Remus summoned another bottle of arsenic and drained it, relishing the way it instantly weakened his limbs, confused his thoughts. He sunk back onto his bed of corpses and plywood, gaze falling limp over his realm, wind rustling over eyes that saw no sights and ears that heard no sound.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Dee Little Snake

Series Summary:  Janus uses age regression as a way to destress but has little control over it whenever he grows upset. Trying to keep a secret like that can be hard when you're only four years old, and thus family bonding ensues in a way nobody expected, least of all Deceit.

Chapter 2: Bottled Up

Chapter Summary:  Janus finally gets his best friend back.

Warnings: crying

Taglist (ask to be added) @a-different-s1de

It took Janus a few days to join the others at the breakfast table again, twisting his gloves behind his door in an uncharacteristically nervous way as he sucked in a breath. He didn't have anything on him to break this time, unless things somehow turned violent and his bones became a target. Shaking his head he threw his shoulders back and relaxed his face into a neutral expression. He and Patton were attempting to fix things, his relationship with Virgil was...smoothing, Logan had never really had a problem with him and Remus was well, Remus. So that just left Roman who needed to be tread especially carefully around. The odds were certainly in his favor should another altercation occur around one of the others.

But...he had cried. He had lost his cool over a seemingly insignificant item and had been so close to being small in front of one of the worst people to be small with, princely image smeared in his head with anger and petty malice reserved solely for him. He knew he had messed up, insulting Roman the way he did but his name was so much more to him than just something to call if you needed something. A name held so much weight with each and every individual who learned it and used it. A name held the entire history of the individual with it, and to have it said with such flippant mocking in a moment of such desperate trust that would change things for everyone- the implications of the act were clear. Roman hated him.

With good reason, he mused as he took another breath and opened the door, he had used him as a means to an end in his desperation to get Thomas to listen to his own self preservation. Roman had no reason to forgive him for what he had done and he didn't expect him to. He did, however, expect a bit more tact from the royal. Ignoring him and throwing insults was one thing. Blatantly destroying his things without a care was another.

Roman was sitting at the table already writing something or other in an old sketchbook, Patton frying up bacon with an endearing level of concentration at the stove. He grabbed a regular glass from the cabinet and filled it water, stomach flipping at the thought of anything else. Patton offered him a bright smile but didn't say anything; Janus didn't miss the way his eyes flicked worriedly over to Roman.

Thankfully the creative facet paid him no mind, Janus taking his seat a couple chairs away to avoid intruding and hoping he wasn't in anyone else's spot. Hearing shuffling from the doorway he turned and locked eyes with Virgil, who froze momentarily before giving him a tentative nod and walking into the kitchen. Thankfully the awkward air was somewhat saved as a plate of eggs and bacon and toast was pushed under his nose, muttering out a small "Thank you" before shoveling slightly overcooked scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"Thanks Pat." Virgil plopped down heavily beside him, taking the empty space between him and Roman, and he had only a moment to be confused and grateful before a familiar thermos was set down in front of him. Turning to Virgil with bacon still halfway to his mouth he smiled as the other shrugged and looked away. "Rem and I were able to fix it so- yeah."

Hope fluttered in his chest even as Virgil refused to look at him. He knew it was a lot to hope for, to ask for- but he couldn't help but think maybe this could be their clean slate. Maybe Virgil really would want to talk things over with him, fix things, and they could go back to how they used to be. He shook his head minutely as he put his fork back down. No, not how things used to be. He realized now their relationship had always been a bit rocky. Maybe this time...they could make things better.

He had just opened his mouth to thank him when Roman scoffed loudly, reaching forward. "I still don't understand why this is even such a big deal to you. Are these-"

He was cut off as his hand was halted with a vice grip from the anxious side, who sat still and quiet not looking at anyone. "Lay off Princey."

Roman tugged at his arm. "I just-"

Virgil's head snapped up, eyeshadow black as pitch but with a glare that could kill a man if they weren't imaginary. "Don't."

It felt as if everyone and everything in the mindscape was holding their breath as Virgil's voice, distorted as it was, rang out with a finality not even Patton dared question. Janus saw the fatherly side tense and turn, ready to dispell the situation if need be, spatula held out in front of him but whether it was to use as an a weapon or a shield Janus couldn't guess. He felt words stick in his own throat as he cursed himself for not being quicker to come up with some witty remark, dish out a glare, hell even sink out in a fit of dramatics as he was want to do. Instead he sat frozen, wide eyed and slightly hunched behind Virgil.

Anxiety protecting Self Preservation, now where was the irony?

Roman stilled and swallowed loudly, fear passing over his features before an angrier expression took over. Ripping his arm away he stood abruptly and scowled. "Great. You too? I thought you hated him!"

Before anyone could say anything he turned sharply and stalked off, his door slamming loud enough moments later to make all three of them jump. Virgil's arm was still in the same position, fingers tensed around an arm that had long gone before he flexed them with a wince and buried himself in his breakfast without another word.

"Awe, look at the little tongues!" The gentle coo brought Janus' attention to Patton who had placed the rest of breakfast on two other plates and was now looking at the thermos with adoration. "I'm glad you were able to have it fixed, kiddo!"

"I- Patton I'm older than you?" The irony definitely wasn't lost this time as Patton shrugged and settled down gesturing to a plate without looking at him.

"Logan, good morning! I made you a plate and there's some coffee left in the pot still!"

"Thank you, Patton." Logan glanced over briefly and nodded towards Virgil and Janus before pouring himself a mug and sitting down to eat, the silence a bit more comfortable with the still angry prince gone from the table.

Breakfast was a quiet affair however, conversation stopping and starting at awkward intervals. Janus noticed Virgil eating a lot slower than he would normally but nobody commented on it. He watched as Logan then Patton got up, washed their dishes and left the kitchen to go and do whatever they did during the day, leaving him and Virgil alone.

Taking a breath and shoving the last bit of bacon in his mouth Virgil stood up finally and swiped both their plates for the sink. Surprised Janus simply watched as he scrubbed them off and put them away, turning and nodding towards the thermos.

"Still like apple juice?"

"I- yessss?" Janus grimaced as a nervous hiss left his mouth but if Virgil noticed he didn't comment, unscrewing the cap of the newly fixed cup and filling it with the juice.

"Okay." Virgil slid the thermos over to him and sat down across from him with a sigh. "I'm the last side in the world who ever wants to say this, but we need to talk. We can do it here, or wherever but...yeah."

Janus nodded slowly and reached over to grip the thermos, happiness bubbling up briefly to see it fixed and functional and void of shards digging into his hands. "You'd be most comfortable in your room right?"

"This isn't about me so it doesn't matter." Janus snapped his head up and squinted at the anxious side. His eyeshadow was a shade darker than usual and his sleeves were twisted in his fingers almost painfully. Pursing his lips he nodded again.

"Why don't we go to my room then. No one goes in it anyway and I just recently cleaned so it would be a neat environment. Tidy space equals a tidy mind and all that."

"Right." Virgil huffed out a laugh as he stood up. "Now a good time?"

"Of course." Janus had a feeling what this would be about but it didnt make it any easier. He didn't particularly like discussing his regression. There wasn't anything wrong with doing it or why he did it; it was just something that happened and though he would be loathe to the idea of the others knowing he was far from ashamed of it. It was just....he and Virgil hadn't spoken- really spoken- in such a long time. He knew this would be a serious conversation, especially since the closer they got to his room the darker his eyeshadow was getting, but the determined set to his face told Janus he wasn't getting out of this. He'd be proud of his former friend if he didn't feel so much like puking.

Opening the door he gestured inside, Virgil immediately curling up in the comfortable desk chair while Janus sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. They didn't make eye contact for a minute, the tension in the room so tight he could barely breathe. And then Virgil took a steadying breath and the air became easier to suck in again, reminding Janus with a start just how much influence Virgil had to his surroundings. While he waited for the atmosphere to calm he took a swig of his juice, happiness bubbling up again as he realized how long it had been since he'd had it.

"Janus."

"Yes, Virgil?" He looked up to see the anxious side slightly more relaxed, legs curled underneath him with his hands resting on his knees. He looked tired though, slumped over with barely hidden bags under his eyeshadow. He had a feeling now was not the time to bring it up however worried the image made him.

"Have you- did you- damnit." Virgil ran a hand through his hair and took another breath. "You still regress. Which is fine! It's perfectly healthy and there's nothing wrong with it- but...has it been happening a lot? Without...without me there?"

He gripped his cup tighter and said nothing, watching with regret as Virgil's eyes widened.

"Janus...you weren't alone when it would happen right? Remus, or at least-"

"No. I was fine on my own for the most part. I simply locked my door."

"Locked your-! Janus you can't, okay. Okay, I- Janus I'm so sorry. We need...fuck okay." Virgil was sitting up straighter now, gripping his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the other so worked up other than when he had left after their final argument. Janus leaned forward and cleared his throat, holding out his hands which Virgil gratefully took in a steel grip.

"I know the way we left things was...less than ideal," he started, looking at Vjrgil directly to try and drive home his point. "But I feel like we're at a point now where we can try to see where things went wrong and fix it. My habit has nothing to do with it."

His fingers were gripped tighter as Virgil laughed. "Your habit? Is that what we call it now? Janus- I need to apologize-"

"You don't."

"Shut up asshole and let me be sentimental." Janus grinned and nodded for him to continue. "The way I acted- it wasn't okay. Neither was the way you acted but that's beside the point. I'm very willing, now that the anger's cooled off, to start fresh. It's something we should have done way before this and I'm sorry for being so stubborn but...I guess it doesn't matter now. I just-"

Distangling their fingers, Virgil gripped his chin gently and tilted his head up, making him look directly into pleading eyes. "I didn't think about how my leaving would impact our trust that badly. You had no one to take care of you, and when you're small you should never have to be left to your own devices. You trusted me all those years ago to be responsible for you and I've been...I've been failing you for years. And that isn't okay."

Tears pricked his eyes and he internally cursed himself for not being able to handle this conversation. It had been years since they had been this close, years since Virgil had looked at him with anything but disdain and borderline hatred; to have him this close now, watching him with such an open expression-

Arms were around him before he even registered Virgil had moved and that was the last straw. Choking off a sob Janus gripped the back of the other's hoodie and buried his face shamefully in his friend's shoulder, years of emotions pouring out in front of the person he expected to care the least. He felt himself being shifted so Virgil could sit beside him, thighs pressing together as he was rocked gently back and forth.

"Shhh, I know. I know, Janus and I'm so sorry. I promise we'll be okay. We're okay now, I'm not leaving again. Let it out it's okay, I still love you, it's going to be okay."

And if that last statement didn't just make him sob harder. His scales itched and his face was hot and he had probably ruined the patched jacket with all of his snot but Virgil loved him. It would be okay because he was holding him and rocking him and telling him everything would be fine. They were okay. Finally, after so long of wanting to talk but never knowing how, he had finally gotten his best friend back.

Neither of them had the will to let the other go for a very long time, but Janus found himself content, as his tears finally slowed and the gentle back rub tapered off, to just sit and be held and loved.

This work and others are also available on AO3!

Previous   Next

[jae-canikeepyou]

| hey m.v.p. | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: okay. this is not the first that i’ve written a scenario based on basketball, so i hope this can maybe(?) make your hearts giddy again? also! it’s really not proof read nor well written but please do enjoy reading! hehehe 🥰 ~j.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the continuous, long, ringing sound of the impact from the bouncing amber colored ball boasted its decibels at the outdoor mini court.

today was another date with your boyfriend; a varsity basketball player of the university. unlike most couples, girls would wait for their darlings to finish a game. for you however, would join him for a one-on-one match. serious or not he’d always let you play; not because he would go easy on you, but because you knew how to take on his challenge.

jaehyun called a timeout, noticing how heavy you exhaled and your lungs struggled to catch breath. he tossed you a bottle and you gladly took it to quench yourself. he watched you standing at the center of the mid-court, the sun’s rays acting like your glowing background, defining beauty and a heaven-sent figure he was blessed to have.

feeling squirmy and shy around you was something he couldn’t resist to feel out in the public. he was affectionate with skinship and you didn’t mind that at all.

“baby!” you jogged towards your boyfriend, helping him wipe the rolling beads of sweat by his temples and forehead. “teach me how to nail a through-the-leg shot.”

“why?” he interlocked his fingers behind you so you wouldn’t escape.

he copied and mimicked your whines because it was the nth time you have asked him, and he always refused to teach you. “but every time i do it i miss a shot-” your words close to inaudible but jaehyun understood what you meant and he pressed his lips. “-or i end up falling.” you shrugged.

“y/n. your form’s okay. it’s just your jump landing and timing.” he pinched your cheeks lightly. “i wanna teach you but i don’t want my baby to get hurt, so no.”

you took the towel that was placed on his head as he took the ball, feeling bummed that this time yet again he wouldn’t teach you. he gestured you to go to him and you obliged no matter how salty you slightly felt towards him.

a short break was enough for you both to continue with the sport. with all the small matches you’ve played against him, there was one thing you’ve always known: jaehyun was very competitive, so whatever ball game or any game you both played, he was always, always going to play it better. you loved how concentrated his eyes were, the tiny smirk when you were open, the deepening of his dimples once the ball went in the hoop, and the victorious stretch of his arms as he celebrated.

he dribbled the ball and you tried to steal it away from him, but given your smaller frame with his, he probably held himself back and went a little lenient to you. “there’s a game that mark taught me. it’s called h.o.r.s.e. we played it for at least thirty minutes. wanna give it a shot?” he stopped moving and spun the ball on his pointer finger.

“okay!” you cheered, making him smile wider at the willingness you showed. “how does it go?”

“i’ll do a move and you follow what i do, but you’ll gain a letter if you failed to shoot. the game ends when either of us reaches ‘e’.” he tossed the ball to you. “i’ll let you start.”

“hold on, i feel hot.” you dropped the ball to hold in between your feet, and removed the thin layer of jacket sticking to your skin. you wore a loose white crop top over the new sports bra you bought and grey sweatpants.

jaehyun averted his gaze although he blushed unnecessarily at your carefree action. he cleared his throat from thinking of unnecessary thoughts entering his brain. he tossed you the ball again and the game started with you doing a simple free throw; followed by his layups and double clutch. the punishment were always the same; buy food for the other. this time you didn’t want to lose and made sure you make the shot while he misses.

he began to smirk, something he’d usually do to signal you. the battle was on. there was no way he would lose this, so he went for a move that he knew you wouldn’t do. you guessed it, the through-the-leg shot. however he groaned right after he realised what he had done, and was too late when you got the ball in your palms.

you attempted the move and just when you thought you had it, the ball missed the ring and fell— so was the view before your eyes, you were falling too. the good thing was you managed to get on your toes, but collapsing on your knees afterwards.

“aww, that’s an ‘e’ for me.” you hissed and laid down on the ground, defeated again.

“it’s okay.” he helped you up and hugged, but you immediately pulled yourself away from him.

“tsk, you’re sticky.” you ran towards the bench, to no avail he picked you up and turned you non-stop. “put me down jae.”

jaehyun loved spoiling you the way he could get his chance upon, that included almost every little thing you did— from the pursed lips when you were feeling embarrassed to your breaking smile that sent his heart flying everywhere. however, he wasn’t the only one you sent his heart flying and bursting in the sky.

it was a given that in the campus, you weren’t part of the ‘visual spectrum’ the students have created, but it was your beautiful soul and kind-hearted personality that attracted them to you. and jaehyun was pulled to you like a magnet once his friends continuously nudged each other that one time at the locker hall. since then he was one of those secret admirers who skilfully and secretly left you letters after class, a carton of juice or milk in your bag, and offered you an umbrella on rainy days.

you didn’t like the attention, in all honesty you weren’t even craving for some. there were worries whether if you had done something wrong that caused them to talk about you all the time despite being a transfer student of the creative media department. so that one day when your friend invited you to watch a basketball match, it was when you saw jaehyun for the first time.

the team noticed your existence at one area of the blenchers. imagine the impact they gave when they all stared at you like meerkats and yet smiled like adorable quokkas. one certain quokka however got your attention, well not because he had dimples, but because he was hit in the face with a basketball.

let us all say you became friends and he invited you to be in his group project. great chemistry and ideals for each other. what made jaehyun fall for you even more was that, you played basketball, just like him.

the memory of that time was interrupted with jaehyun leaving you at the bench, off to somewhere the heavens knew where. as you waited, your eyes led to the ball, tempting you to try out the skill you’ve always failed at. this is the chance, you thought. dribbling the ball several times, your attempts to try it failed miserably again.

you stood right at the arc of the lines beneath your shoes. determination fired your eyes and felt like goku from the dragon ball animation. the repetitive sentence echoed your ears, telling yourself ‘you could do it’. however that was stopped when players you’ve never seen before circled around you, almost hovering your small frame.

“hey, mind if we.. teach you?” they offered, but their intentions were very transparent. and you should’ve worn your jacket.

“no thanks. i pretty much can handle it myself.” you picked the ball up and went back to the bench, only to be stopped halfway when one of them grabbed your wrists. “let go.”

a smug look on their faces had you stepping backwards. “little miss killjoy, we’re offering you help-”

“she’s already gotten help.” jaehyun soon came behind you and your back hit his chest.

“who the heck are you?” they asked as if putting up a front would scare him.

“i’m her boyfriend and i’d appreciate it if you lot stop staring at her like that.” he let you sit on the bench once they scurried off, placing his towel on your head that was large enough to reach your lap. “from now on you’re wearing my my jacket and don’t take it off.”

you gulped when he stared into your eyes, full of worry and as if he sent protective shields to wrap around you. “the weather’s getting hot jae, and do you want me to die out of so much heat?”

“it’s better than getting your skin so exposed like earlier. you know you attract guys in the way i can’t tolerate.”

ah this argument again. more fingers and toes were needed to count because this wasn’t the first time jaehyun has been protective of you; although you couldn’t really blame him as to the whole campus— maybe to the majority of your admirers, he did win your heart. it wasn’t that you hated that side of him, you couldn’t bring it up to tell him that it limits you to be free.

a sigh was heard from your lips, catching his attention and he knelt down to see you properly. “but i’m not hiding anything!” you whined, removing the towel and jacket all at the same time, jaehyun startled at your childish response.

he arched his brows like he had something up in his sleeves. “really? you’re not hiding anything?” his palms reached for the ends of your sweatpants. he pulled and rolled them up until the fabric reached your thighs.

“what are you- look jae i swear i’m not hiding-” you then hissed at the pain soon as the wind hit your wounded, scarred knees.

“well?” he asked, tearing off the plaster packaging with his teeth and cleaned the wounds on both. “you’re not good at hiding something like this though.”

a spread of heat and embarrassment crawled your cheeks. “how did you know?”

jaehyun let out a soft chuckle. “you’re easy to read, honey.” he planted a kiss on your forehead and sat beside you. “you should’ve told me you’re in pain- why are you staring at me like that?”

he saw how your eyes widened and they asked for a quick stare contest. he was definitely lured into you, and that wasn’t new to him. “what?” he questioned again.

“ugh no good. i can’t read you at all.” you defeatedly laid on the bags. “i was confused why you left so suddenly. i thought you felt guilty because i lost the game and that you bought us snacks. i didn’t know you went all the way to tend me.”

“at the beginning of our relationship i told you i’ll treat you like a princess.” he pulled you close to him. “so let me treat you like one.”

“i’m no damsel in distress.” you rolled your eyes, a faint smile curving by the corners of your lips.

“uh clearly you were? i saved your butt from those guys.”

“and you saved me again with this.” you pointed at the carefully-plastered knees of yours and nudged him. “m.v.p.”

jaehyun felt you kiss his cheek, stunned with the title you named him. “i call you all cute nicknames and that’s all i’m gonna get? and you know i’m already the m.v.p.” his bummed voice caused you to giggle.

“not in basketball.” you reasoned.

“you expect me to play ‘guess the word’ now? because y/n, i’m not in the mood for-”

“you’re my valiant prince. m. v. p.”

jaehyun now laid on your lap, covering his ears at sudden nickname; obviously was awestruck and have never blushed so hard in his entire life.

[yet-another-fan-girl9]

Time Loop (3)

Summary: Bucky gets trapped in a time loop where you, the girl he has been pining for, die every day.

Warnings: Blood, injuries, language

Word Count: 1134

~*~

Third Time’s the Charm

Bucky sat up in bed, his mind reeling from the events that happened just a minute ago. (Y/N) died again. Right in front of him. He formed fists with his hands, nails digging into his flesh one. His metal one was working again. Was his day reset? Did he have another chance to save (Y/N)?

He stumbled out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Yes. Voices, happy voiced, rang down the hallway. Bucky slowed down as he entered the kitchen.

“Hey, Buckaroo!” Sam yelled from the table. “Finally woke up, huh?”

Bucky didn’t respond this time. He was too busy watching (Y/N) flit around the stove.

Scott walked by with his delivery to the table. Then Clint began choking on his food.

“Slow down there, buddy,” Natasha chuckled, patting his back.

“Need strawberries?” Bucky walked to the fridge without waiting for an answer from the girl by the stove.

“That would be amazing.” (Y/N) paused her pancake flipping to smile at him. Bucky smiled back but the sudden vision of her falling limp to the ground caused the smile to vanish.

He went through the motions of cutting strawberries silently. He didn’t look at the table when Parker spilled his juice, but instead quickly turned and grabbed (Y/N)’s wrist before it could touch the hot pan.

“Careful there, doll.” He couldn’t resist putting on the charm.

“Awe, thanks Bucky,” she chuckled. “I swear I hurt myself whenever I cook.”

“I know.”

Soon enough he sat by her side eating pancakes in the empty room. Even on the third day, the pancakes were still delicious, but if this weird time loop continued, he would have to become creative.

“Are you ready for the mission today?” Bucky initiated the conversation. It wasn’t something he would usually do and (Y/N) quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged and messed with the bits of pancake on her plate. “Kinda pissed that we had to do it today but when duty calls…”

Bucky grunted in agreement and resumed his usual silence. He was planning the mission in his head. How to get everyone out without any confrontation.

“Alrighty,” (Y/N) sighed as she stood up and stretched. Her shirt rode up slightly and Bucky struggled to avert his eyes. “I’ll see you at the hanger at… noon thirty?”

“Yep,” Bucky agreed, popping the ‘p.’ “See ya at noon thirty.”

Waiting for twelve-thirty, Bucky used F.R.I.D.A.Y. and his computer to try to find the man from yesterday. Unfortunately, he still had no name and nothing useful came up for his searches of ‘evil blond men’ or ‘psychopathic guys Belarus.’ Once he finally gave up, he only had ten minutes to look through ‘my days are repeating’ and ‘living the same day over and over.’ The only things that came up were ways to spice up your daily schedule, fictional stories, and movie recommendations.

Bucky was silent on the flight, for the sake of his teammates, but spoke up once again before they entered the warehouse.

“Can you do a scan of the nearby area, Tony?”

The suit’s head cocked to the side but Tony’s voice replied, “Sure.” After a moment he reported, “Nothing. The surrounding area is clear.”

“Right…” Bucky thought for a moment. “I just have a bad feeling.”

The search for the safe went the same as yesterday/ the last time. He didn’t directly go to the south-west corner, but he and (Y/N) made it there quicker this time around. Again, Bucky pulled her out of the way of the second bullet and he couldn’t help but think that she fit perfectly in his arms.

“Let’s grab it and go.” Tony grabbed the items in the safe.

“Wait,” Bucky said as they started walking towards the front door. “Isn’t the jet just passed this wall? Do we have to walk all the way around?”

He knew he was sounding crazy. Nat and (Y/N)’s raised eyebrows said so. If he was able to see Tony’s face, the billionaire would probably have the same expression. He was a supersoldier for fuck’s sake! Thankfully, (Y/N) came to his rescue.

“Yeah,” she whined and turned to face Tony. “I don’t wanna walk.”

“What are you looking at me for?”

“Can’t you bust a hole in the wall?” Nat joined in.

“Fine,” Tony grumbled and turned his suit’s repulsors towards the wall to blast a hole big enough for everyone to get out easily.

They all piled into the jet, Tony still slightly miffed, although it was only because Bucky who had the idea. (Y/N) collapsed on to the seat next to Bucky. She released a sigh and smiled at him.

“Thanks for saving us a walk.”

“Yeah,” he couldn’t tell her the real reason he didn’t want to be in the open. “Just wanted to get back as soon as possible.”

The quinjet left the ground and the platinum-haired man in the woods. Still, just like last time, Bucky felt uneasy. Was it just paranoia? He doubted that he wouldn’t feel comfortable until he woke up on Sunday.

They were about halfway home when things went south. Bucky and (Y/N) were relaxing next to each other while they listened to her music. The quinjet shook harshly and they looked at each other as if to ask ‘did you feel that’. It was too rough to be turbulence and the sudden feeling of the jet dropping confirmed the supersoldier’s fears.

“We have a problem,” Nat said from the front. Her voice didn’t reveal how big the problem was.

“What is it?” Tony equipped his helmet to converse with F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Everything is shutting down. Nothing I’m doing is working.” The quinjet shuddered again and this time the lights flickered as it dropped.

“What can we do?” (Y/N) asked. Bucky took her hand to comfort her, but it was also to comfort himself.

“Nothing,” Tony grunted and removed his helmet. “Maybe we can jump out. I can carry us down. I’ve done it before.”

“The door won’t open. Even if we could get out, we’d be in the middle of the goddamned Atlantic.” Nat’s hands still flew over the console, trying to slow their descent.

“Oh, my God,” (Y/N)’s voice came out uncharacteristically small and shaky. “We’re going to die. We’re gonna fucking die.”

Bucky hugged her to his chest. He could fix this next time. Would there be a next time? He had never died before. Was he going to wake up?

He had to tell her how he felt.

Before it was too late.

~*~

Bucky woke up with a small crick in his neck and the feeling of cold water in his bones.

[bubmyg]

twice bitten - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: vampire!yoongi, again...so much fluff, blood mention, told mostly from yoongi’s pov, non-chronological and a part of my vampire yoongi drabble series (listed as “midnight angels” on my masterlist!)

word count: 2,455

summary: the one where yoongi, the two hundred year old vampire, thinks of using a bat as a defensive mechanism before anything else or where yoongi is really creative with names. 

One foot on the first stair and Yoongi hesitated, gaze flitting back to the glinting object propped up meticulously behind the giant banner and various figurines littering his desk space. Another rustle beyond the flimsy door at the top of the staircase and his hesitation became action, rushed footsteps carrying him back into the depth of his basement to retrieve the metal bat. 

He was delicate with it at first, turning the barrel in massive palms a few times, pink lips fished as he considered the worn logo on the fattest part of the bat, a company that hadn’t been in business for decades. With a huff, he squared his shoulders, settling the bat over one side of his body as he began to take the stairs two creaking ascends at a time. 

The groan of the door as he peeled it open left the deserted house in an eerie silence, all aside from the refrigerator humming in the kitchen down the hall. Sun spots peaked out from where his blackout curtains didn’t cover, particles of dust flicking through the rays but otherwise, there was no movement except for the gentle rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest as he garnered enough courage to place both feet on the ground level of his house. 

He tried to appear nonchalant even though there was, again, no one around to observe his jumpy actions, bat bumping against his thigh as he strolled down the hall for the kitchen. The pockets of sun made him shiver, but it wasn’t enough to hinder his ability to make it into the kitchen, a room enclosed in the middle of the house, especially not when he flattened the bat to the countertop and pulled something akin to a juice box of blood from within the whirring appliance. He took a delicate sip, lips rested on the edge of the bent straw as his eyes surveyed over into the next set of halls and rooms, again, finding nothing. 

The house was void of what he’d heard in the basement, sounds of the wind curling dead leaves into the brick and glass outside sure, but nothing like the strange crackling rustles he’d heard, something similar to when it stormed and the oak tree in the backyard landscaping craned enough to brush it’s limbs over the bedroom window. 

Yoongi had called for them to be trimmed after the third night of having to calm you down when you woke in a tremor, clinging to him like a wet leaf as the branches cackled outside. 

He finished off the box with a loud slurping noise and puffed cheeks, quickly depositing the trash before daring to curl around the countertop without quick reach to his bat. He relaxed instead when he spotted some tufts of fabric draped over one of the reclining chairs in the adjacent sitting room. Couples costumes for the Halloween party you were going to attend later, jerseys you’d spent hours customizing in typical Space Jam fashion, complete with a headband of grey, fuzzy bunny ears to sit through the stark black of Yoongi’s head. A tiny smile graced his lips as his index finger trailed over the painted lettering on the back, your voice ringing in his head with the threat of wearing a collection of cotton balls on his ass as a tail if he so much as poked you while you were trying to complete the costumes. 

His fingernail had so much as scraped over the paint, making a visible noise, when something, the sound, occurred, louder than before and complete with a soft thump just beside the towering front door of the house. 

Yoongi nearly dove headfirst into the cut edge of the marble countertop to retrieve the bat, barely feeling the nerve endings in his legs as he slunk forward, ignoring the nausea that erupted in his stomach as the sunlight peeking out from the tiny, stained glass windows on either side of door curled goosebumps into his bare arms. 

Shaking fingers fiddled at the lock, managing to fumble it open and the door in the same moment, forcing him to stumble over the lip of the front door. A deep, onset shiver ran through his entire being as the sun fully touched him now but he ignored it, head whipping to the sound of the rustling as it continued. 

A massive holly bush just to the left of the tiny front porch shook violently, its leaves repeatedly scratching into the window just beyond it but periodically tilting so much that the weight of two or three branches catapulted into the glass like snapping a rubber band into a solid surface. Yoongi frowned, catching a stabilizing hand on the railing as socked feet brushed against the mulch, carrying him toward the bush. 

The closer he got, the less it shook, until finally when he was crouched next to it, it ceased any movement, not so much as breathing even as the wind continued to whirl dying blades of grass in the front yard. He swallowed the string of bile rising upward into his throat, making the sting of hunger that struck suddenly ten times worse, as he reached crooked knuckles of his free hand to push aside some of the branches to peer inside. 

Yoongi felt it before he heard it, the swat of something sharp but fuzzy on the end against his hand, but it was the heard part that had him stumbling backward onto his ass, one, loud, continuous mrow! jumping through the spaces in the bush. 

Two, beaded yellow eyes seemed to laugh at his fallen figure, head quirking to the side before another, softer bleat of greeting poured from the bush, followed by the graceful hop of a tiny black kitten into Yoongi’s lap. 

His mouth had barely parted to question the animal that couldn’t answer him anyway when there was another, more distinct meow, deeper and a bit crackly. The kitten already perched on the apex of his knee turned at the sound too, just in time for its counterpart of the orange tabby variety to join it between the part of Yoongi’s splayed out legs. 

They each stared at him, as if anticipating his response, and when neither got one, the black one began to rub it’s cheek against the denim of Yoongi’s jeans while the orange one swiped an indifferent paw over the long fur coating it’s tiny face. 

“It was you two making all that noise?” He chastised weakly, and suddenly he felt overwhelming embarrassed about the bat now rolled up against the side of the front porch. Now he understood the strange hunger in his throat, one not quite the same as what he felt toward you but different, attuned to the different taste that was animal blood, but it was easier to fight when he hadn’t tasted animal in centuries. 

And when they began to search for his hands, meeting him halfway by nudging their tiny heads into the clammy palms he stretched for them. 

The kittens came with Yoongi as he stood, mewls of protest as they were lifted into the air in separate hands as he began to take shaky steps back for the house. He addressed the black one first as he pulled them against his chest, the one who’d ceased making noises of protest first. 

“Not a word about this.”

Yoongi barely blinked at the business logo plastered to the glass of the front door to your building, the only thing reminding him that this was the Bureau of Vampiric Affairs being the small keypad that required him to flash a specially acquired ID card shoved in the front of his wallet. He gripped the over the shoulder bag slung so it was centered to his stomach as he pressed the plastic into the chip reader, foot tapping both in wait and with the exhaustion still bubbling in his being from being in the sun too much, body not recovered from the afternoon excursion let alone from his car ride over and walk through the city to get to your office. 

His usual formality with the front receptionist was forgotten when the door finally allowed him entrance, turning curtly on his heel down the long, carpeted hallway that contained your office. The door was shut and he forgot to knock but he was thankful that you were munching on an apple with your phone in your palm when he stumbled inside, both items you dropped in favor of startling toward him. 

“Yoongi,” You scolded, moving to reach for him first but trading for yanking your curtains shut first, the human layer first and then the blackout layer second you had for client appointments. Then your hands were on his cheeks, stern in tugging upward on the black mask that covered the bottom half of his face to assure as little skin as possible was susceptible to sunlight. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t think we can go out tonight,” Yoongi mumbled, muffled in the fabric, “I, uh, don’t feel too great.”

“No kidding, you’re outside during peak sunlight hours,” You kept a hand curled around his elbow as you reached behind him to drag a chair over, weakly pushing until he collapsed into it. “Answer my initial question.”

“I needed to come into town to get food.”

Your features scrunched at the center of your face, hip falling against the outer edge of your desk. “Food? You just went to the bank the other day. You’re not supposed to feed for another—” You glanced at the smart watch on your wrist, “—twelve days—”

“Not for me.”

You stared at each other for several passing seconds, ones that had a smile creeping onto Yoongi’s features underneath his mask, one that only grew when you, in a higher pitch, inquired, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

His fingers fumbled for the zipper on his bag, gradual in drawing open the zipper until one, then two, fuzzy heads appeared, meows full force at both light and the new figure in front of them. You were cooing over his explanation, shooting up off the side of your desk to reach inside to gather both of them into your grasp. “These little girls were causing a ruckus out front earlier,” He reached to scratch behind the orange one’s ears while blinking innocently at you, “They don’t like any of your human food and I certainly can’t feed them yours. We’re we going to go to the market next but...they wanted to come visit you.”

“Oh yeah, did they?” There was still a root of concern at your core but you softened at the way Yoongi was fondly assessing the two kittens in your grasp, entirely gentle in the way he let them rub up against his fingers. “So does this mean we’re keeping them?”

You could only see in the way Yoongi’s cheeks jumped that his mouth was fishing open and closed, and you reached to touch his wrist when he was finally, bashfully, shrugging, “I mean...I thought maybe. We don’t have any neighbors so I bet someone just dropped them off and it’s about to get cold and they’re a little skinny so I’m sure no one has been taking proper care of them anyway and—”

His rambles died off when your lips gently touched his cheek, careful in passing the kittens back to him. “Sounds like we definitely need to keep them,” You smiled, warm all over when dark brown eyes flicked to yours amongst another chaotic round of protesting mewls as they were plopped unceremoniously into his lap. “Take the girls home. I’ll get food and some other things for them after work.”

Yoongi’s gloved hands enveloped yours, nudging his fabric covered nose to your cheek. “Don’t you want to hear their names?”

“Oh?” You crouched in front of the kittens to sate their cries with ear scratches, “Tell me.”

He lifted the orange one first, gentle in working her back into the bag at his tummy. “Abra—” He said shortly, nodding, “Or just Abby.”

The black one came with slightly more protest, trying to dig her claws into his thigh to stay rooted where she was receiving pets but she settled once nestled next to her friend again, “And Cadabra—” He was beaming behind his mask again, shown in the way the bridge of his nose and the corners of his eyes crinkles, “Or Caddy.”

Your forever rooted concern washed away for a second as you leaned forward to hook a finger into the top of his mask, tugging it down to plant your lips on his for a chaste moment, trailing those affections back up his warmed cheeks as you secured his mask back to its original position, speaking to his wide, shiny eyes that inspected you, shellshocked. 

“They’re perfect.”

Also…

You tripped through the front door with the weight of the plastic bags in your hands, bags filled with beds (yes, multiple), toys, and three different varieties of hard and soft foods, ones they could eat now as kittens and ones labeled for young cats, all of which you were sure Yoongi had consulted on his office computer after you’d sent him home. You tossed them all in a sad heap next to the tiny end table as you began to work your shoes off your heels. Furrowed eyebrows paired with your loud call into the house, “Hey, Yoongi?”

He heard you first try this time, an echo down the open door to the staircase of his study and you heard the tell tale signs of his ascend now that the sun had began to curl beyond the treeline, “Yes? What’s wrong?”

You waited until you could see Yoongi’s face, something that peered at you from the top stair of the basement with an expectant eyebrow and two tiny kittens on either side of the front pocket of his hoodie. 

“Why is there a baseball bat in the landscaping?”

Yoongi blanched, not budging from his position. “Uh—”

“Open your mouth for me.”

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

He begrudgingly complied, fangs sliding out from his gums and he glared at your as his cheeks flared a deep set pink. 

You beamed nonetheless, pointing to your mouth where something similar would be if you were of the same, immortal variety. 

“You do know you’re a vampire, right?”

Yoongi plucked the kittens from his pocket, settling them onto the floor to let them scamper off into the house before taking a few, semi-threatening steps toward you with a playful smirk wrinkled to the dimples in his cheeks. 

“I do. Do you need a reminder?”

[butgilinsky]

reality // bh

warning; pure fluff

summary; y/n, a writer, stresses herself to the point of tears throughout the night when she tries to reach a deadline 

she sat behind all of the people and cameras, alongside his publicist and his agent. they both assured her that the interview wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, and that he’d be finished in no time. 

she had the best time she could, laughing along with his publicist when he’d do something stupid, and laughing at his publicist when she would worry about him slipping up. 

there was a time in the interview process where he almost let something slip until he made eye contact with his publicist who sent him straight daggers, scaring him slightly. 

“i don’t think i’m supposed to talk about that, given the look i’m getting right now.” joe let out a slight laugh, thankful that he wasn’t the one getting the death stare from across the room. 

the process went on, one interviewer leaving the room while another would enter and ask almost all of the same questions as the last. 

she found a chair towards the back of the room, leaning her head on the wall beside her as she felt herself doze off slightly. 

she was woken up from her slight nap when her phone buzzed in her pocket. she mumbled a soft ‘shit’ when she saw her editor calling, excusing herself before answering the call. 

“hello?” she was hoping this was not a bad phone call, and she wouldn’t have to change her plans for the day. 

“y/n, i need another chapter, and i need it soon. we have to get the ball rolling on this project and i know that if you write a few more opening chapters, you’ll kick into high gear as usual. the book doesn’t have a date right now, so you have some time, but i need you to jumpstart the process and try to get your creative juices flowing.” she rolled her eyes at his cheesy statements that were an effort to urge her but calm her simultaneously.

she finished their conversation, assuring him that she would get him another chapter by the end of the week, and it was already wednesday. 

she walked back into the room when the call had ended, and approached ben’s publicist. 

“hey, i have to go home. my editor needs me to do some stuff today and i can’t really postpone it.” the girl across from her shot her a sympathetic look, knowing that the young girl did not want to go home to do work. 

“i’ll let him know.” the girl nodded and thanked her before glancing at her boyfriend one last time before exiting the room. 

when she got home she locked herself in her office and started to get as much inspiration as possible, writing at lightning speed but having to start over and rewrite a few times. she used the backspace button almost as much as every other key on the keyboard in front of her. 

a few hours later and she had loud music playing, trying to strike something within her. her hair had moved from a very straight, composed look to a messy bun atop of her head. her contacts had been replaced with thin silver frames and her outfit had changed from a nice pair of jeans and a cute blouse to one of ben’s old band t shirts and a pair of black ankle socks. 

she turned the music down a few notches when an idea popped into her head and she started typing quickly, only for the door to her office to be thrown open. 

she looked up at her boyfriend who was running a hang through his hair as his worried expression flipped to a relieved one. 

“hi love.” he said softly, smiling at the sight of her shirt. 

“hi.” she smiled at him before typing again. her eyes flicked up to his every once in a while, especially when he moved to sit across the desk from her. 

“what’s going on?” he asked, worrying slightly when he realized she wasn’t in the same mood that she was at the start of the day. he knew how much she hated changing planes at the last minute.

she mumbled something before shaking her head quickly, something she did to rid her of too many thoughts. 

“too loud.” she mumbled, slightly tugging at her hair. 

“maybe you should take a break love. you’ve been at it for almost ten hours.” he looked at the clock on her desk, knowing damn well that she’s been in this room since she got home, apart from her changing her clothes and making cups of coffee. 

“how do you know i’ve been at it the entire time i’ve been home?” she challenged, knowing he was right but finding some hope behind the statement. 

“love.” he looked at her with raised eyebrows, making her laugh softly. “i’ve known you for five years. i know you’ve only left this room to piss and make more coffee.” he looked at the cup on her desk, trying to gage how much she had left. “how many of these have you had?” she shrugged softly, trying to do quick math in her head. 

“dunno, like a pot and a half.” she shrugged her shoulders, seeing him not react much since she’s gone through much more than that in one night before. 

“not bad, but you should probably slow down since you’re due for a headache in about-” he looked down at his phone and tried to work out all the attributes in his head. “thirty two minutes.” he smiled up at the girl who rolled her eyes. 

“i’ve had one for about an hour now, but nice try jones.” she squinted softly as she reread a few lines before her current point. 

“how about i bring you some aspirin, you can write for the rest of the hour and then we can go upstairs and get ready for bed.” he prayed that the girl would say yes and go to bed with him, slightly hoping that her tiredness was equivalent to his. 

and against her better judgement, she does agree. she takes the two white pills that he brings back to her and writes for the remainder of the hour, not being able to write for one extra minute as theres a knock at the door at the last minute of the hour. 

she went upstairs with him and allowed herself to try to relax as she took a shower with her beloved boyfriend, muttering a few ‘thank you’s when he began to rub knots out of her shoulders as the hot water ran over her face. 

she climbed into bed, feeling exhausted as ever and getting comfortable within seconds. the boy beside her did his best to stay up long enough to make sure she fell asleep, but ultimately failed. she slept for about two hours before waking up and not being able to fall back asleep. the thoughts in her head becoming too loud for her to sleep, which created a need to turn the thoughts into a story. 

she crawled out of bed, successfully not waking ben up as she snuck out and hurried downstairs. she made another pot of coffee and finished about five full pages, and a cup of coffee before ben wandered into the office. 

he was rubbing his eyes and letting out a heavy sigh at the sight of his girlfriend back in her office chair, eyes glued to her computer screen. 

“you’re going to go blind staring at that thing for so long.” he plopped himself down on the couch that she had set up for when she needed a new seating arrangement. 

“i’m already halfway there, might as well go out with a bang.” she shrugged softly as she watched the boy she loved try to shift his weight around the slightly uncomfortable couch. 

“you’re not going to sleep well on that thing.” she remarked, making him grunt softly. 

“i’m not going to sleep well up there without you either so, lesser of two evils i suppose.” he tried to fall back asleep, but ultimately failed and sat up straight in frustration. 

“why’d you become a writer?” he asked his favorite question to ask in this scenario. when her thoughts just got too loud and he needed to hear her voice as much as she needed to focus on something other than a deadline for more than ten seconds. 

she cracked a smile at the question, seeing another step develop in their nighttime routine. 

“my dad always called my a daydreamer. said i spent too much time imagining things when there was a whole world in front of me where i could’ve made something happen if i wanted it bad enough. and although there were things i wanted, there was no want stronger than to just sit outside somewhere by myself and make up a whole life for myself in my head. i used to think that my life was so shitty because i had thought of such better ones in my head. i started writing my thoughts down when they got too loud to stay in my head. they’d overpower everything around them and push themselves to the front of my mind until i let them out in some way. i started writing little spiels about things that came to life in my mind, and eventually making new realities was my job.” she knew he knew the speech. she had given it to him many times, and he had been there through a part of it.

“you’re absolutely breathtaking.” she smiled at the comment, feeling herself blush and goosebumps rising on her legs and arms as she watched the boy across the room. 

she sighed to herself and shut her computer off, leaving the cup of coffee on the desk as she walked over to ben and straddled his lap, wrapping herself around his torso. she dug her face into his neck and felt herself relax as everything just spilled out of her. 

unwarranted tears started to spill and her stomach caved in as she choked out a soft sob. ben leaned back on the couch, running his hands up the back of her shirt to rub small shaped onto her skin. 

he started to hum softly, knowing that it was better to let her let it out rather than try to soothe her or try to stop something that she needed to release. 

he hummed a few different songs that he could think of before he felt her episode come to an end as she sniffled one last time and pulled back from his neck to rub her nose with her shirt. 

“hi angel.” he smiled as he ran his thumbs underneath her eyes, trying his best to wipe the wetness away from her skin. 

“can we go to bed?” he laughed softly when she smiled at him, pressing his lips to her forehead and nodding. 

“of course we can, love.” he pressed his lips to hers before securing his grip on the bottom of her thighs and standing up from the couch. 

she clung to ben as he shut every light off and closed every door before walking up the stairs and into their bedroom. he laid the girl on the bed before excusing himself shortly and returning with two glasses of water and another pair of aspirin with a soft smile. 

he set a glass of water and the aspirin next to her, knowing that she’d take them when she needed them, which was right now. all that releasing of her emotions resulted in a slight headache. 

she thanked him over and over again for various things, which he deemed unnecessary. “i’d do anything to see you smile for one single second. i love you with everything in me, and i thank you for allowing me to witness you in all of your forms.” she felt her heart melt at the endearing words from her boyfriend that she didn’t think she’d ever get used to. 

she knew that when she fell asleep, that her life was indeed not shitty, and no matter how many false realities her fingers created with a keyboard, not a single one of them would trump the reality she had with ben.