#id like to add fluff onto that list but really am i even good at that?

[crazywolf828]

I know I complain about this every time I get to this point... But fuck I really gotta stop making fics have fight scenes. They are literally the worst thing and I hate writing them. Too many limbs. Too much movement.

[mrpenguinpants]

Exuse me but do you have any info on how to start a blog for writing? I just made an account but I really do enjoy writing for others (commission money would also be nice) but I have no idea how to get others to read what I put out? How do I even set up a functional blog?

Hey anon!

Honestly, I am the last person you should ask because my own blog is a total mess but I'll do my best haha. But I do want to say that I'm so happy that you've decided to start writing! I'm sorry that this is super delayed and if you already made one I would love to be mutuals with you!

---

TLDR:

Functioning blog

Make sure you verify your email and that your posts appear in tags before you start writing.

Make a masterlist and a pinned post with all your request rules. Future self will thank you.

If you write or read smut. Please put your age or if you're 18+ in your bio.

Credit the artists you use if you plan to make banners.

Writing blog

Limit the requests you take.

Tag correctly.

Put a read more if you feel your posts are long.

Personally, I use kofi for commissions but it's up to you.

Formatting is important.

Please, if you feel there is a glitch with your blog (you don't appear in tags anywhere, no one can see your blog, etc). CONTACT SUPPORT

You can make side blogs for all your reblogs/likes if you don't like clutter

New Account Issues

So you probably already noticed or know this info already but just in case, if your blog is new, your post won't appear in tags. This is because tumblr needs to verify you aren't a bot. Make sure you verify your email before anything and do some human activity (likes, reblogs, posts). When I made my second account, it took a day before I started appearing.

First Priorities - Functioning blog

1. Please. Make a masterlist and a pinned post describing all your rules for requesting. Especially the masterlist. Your future self will thank you.

2. My pinned post is long and gross so don't use it as a template but sectioning off your content (masterlist, taglist, etc) into separate posts that you can link onto your pinned post. But keep your request rules and whether your requests are open on your pinned post.

3. I'm not calling anyone out here since I don't mind it, but sometimes people won't read your pinned post or double-check if your requests are open. If you want to, in your bio, write if requests are open or not.

4. If you write or read smut, please put your age or if you're 18+ in your bio or pinned post. A lot of smut blogs will block you if you're a minor or if they think you're a minor.

5. If you plan to use banners (character portraits) in your writing. Please credit the artist. I use official genshin art because I'm lazy but please link to the artist's account/pixiv ID/or at least mention their name if you can't find either.

What now? - Starting a writing blog

1. Please. Limit the requests you take at a time. Whether you really enjoy writing or you can write really fast, please put a limit on it. You will hit burnout or get overwhelmed fast.

2. Tag correctly. This mostly applies to smut content but keep it in the smut category. Don't put it in the fluff tag or at least put a read more.

3. If your posts are long please put a "read more" tag. It helps for mobile users since scrolling can be a pain. There's no real word check but if you feel it's long, it's probably long.

4. Since you're interested in commissions, the easiest way is to set up a kofi and all your commission rules there. I usually do $1 = 100 words but stylize it to whatever your preferences are.

5. Formatting is kind of a big one that I don't see a lot of people talk about. The usual template is:

Title

Anon ask

Authors note - if you want to

Masterlist

Taglist - this can also be put at the bottom of your fic

Banner

Writing

6. I've been seeing this a lot lately, but with your tag list. Sometimes you won't be able to tag people. This is usually because either 1. their blog is new or 2. tumblr machine broke. Ask them to contact support to see if their account can be mentioned. If that doesn't work, contact support yourself.

7. This is a big one because I went through it and I don't want you to experience it. At some point, if your posts don't appear in tags for whatever reason. And I'm saying at all, nothing works. You just don't appear the second you post. CONTACT SUPPORT. For me, it was a glitch on tumblr and they got my blog back but I still lost months. I'm still pissed about it.

8. I made a side account for reblogs and replying to others because I hate cluttering my main with them. You don't have to do this but it's a way for me to try and keep everything clean.

Social Interaction - Gettings others to read your work

1. There's no good or real way to get people to read what you put out, they are only going to read it if they want to and that's fine. I know that's obvious but it's something to know.

2. You can make separate accounts on other writing platforms, I know a lot of AOE and Twitter have links to their tumblr.

3. Tumblr has an algorithm so your posts will appear in the tags you add to your posts. Your post might sometimes disappear from tags after a while but don't worry. That's because tumblr has to filter a lot of users. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean another can't either.

4. Don't be afraid to make mutuals with other writing blogs. Heck, I'll be your mutual right now. At the end of the day, we're all people.

5. Write what you want to write, when you want to write it. Don't make it feel like a chore for yourself, that you need to write every day to beat that algorithm.

6. Don't be discouraged if it seems that you aren't getting attention, and that's totally fine by the way to feel like that.

7. Personally, I think brainrot is the best way to get some type of interaction. Just spit some ideas out but leave the option for others to add to it. That's how I've met most of my mutuals/anons.

8. I'm actually kind of surprised that not many tumblr's do this but I always reply to reblog comments or stuff written in the tags. You can filter your activity settings so it's easier to see everyone's replies and just talk. You'd be surprised by how many people get back to you.

---

Just keep writing and doing what you like. I'm still learning tumblr myself so if anyone has anything to add, please feel free to. Goodluck anon! I hope to be able to call you by a name later.

[nose-bandaid]

그해 그 달 그날  (that year, that month, that day)

i Need a yanan fluff please! how about fluffy/angst one of him being really tired because hes recently just rejoined the group but loving being back and just needing some comfort and cuddles 🙁🙁

Yanan x (Gender Neutral) Reader fluff (with some angst) | 2.1k words

synopsis: yanan has finally returned to his group for promotions — and he’s elated, the happiest he’s ever been — yet he feels so tired. so, so tired. and so he comes to you for some comfort, and maybe some cuddles and sweet reassurances along the way.

a/n: hi yanon anon !! i hope that i got what you were going for with your prompt! i really like writing this i didn’t know how much i needed this yanan comfort + fluff until i finished it. i hope you enjoy reading it! :)

=====

You were just finishing up some of the last chores on your to-do list when your phone rang from the other side of the room. Skipping over the objects littered all over the floor (it’s funny how in order to clean, you sometimes had to make a mess first), you glanced at the screen and titled your head a little out of confusion when the caller ID read Yanannie. Not that it was unusual for your boyfriend to contact you throughout the day — you guys would text each other whenever you had the time to — but he rarely called unless it was something serious. He’d already established the fact that he preferred texting over calling, so a hint of worry laced your voice when you picked up.

“Hello?”

Yanan didn’t hesitate to get straight to the point. “Are you free tonight?”

“Huh? Yeah, why?”

There was some distant chatter on his side of the line and it sounded like he was trying to move away from it. “Can I come over? At like 7?”

“Sure,” The conversation stalled for a moment before you spoke again. “Is everything alright?”

Just like last time, he answered without missing a beat. “Yeah, I just want to come over.”

“Okay… Then I’ll see you at 7. I love you.”

You heard him mutter a soft “I love you” back before the mumbling near him grew louder and he quickly hung up, leaving you all alone.

You reasoned that the conversation was so awkward and rushed because he was busy — the group was in the middle of their promotions after all. But despite his words, all that call told you was that everything was in fact, not alright. The clock on your wall told you that you still had a couple hours to get all your work done and you sped through the tasks as fast as you could. 

By the time it was 6:00 (5:56 if you wanted to be really exact) everything was complete and you scrolled through your phone in search of a recipe you could follow. You weren’t the most amazing cook out there, but you could definitely make a few basic dishes, and hopefully, you’ll be able to make some sort of comfort food for him. Your eyes caught a familiar name and you looked through the recipe. If you recalled correctly, he really liked that dish, and the process didn’t seem to be that difficult either.

And so, you got up from the warmth of the blanket you had wrapped around you and headed to the kitchen to chop up the ingredients. Not too long after you began doing so, you heard the door knock and you panicked. Yanan wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour, and you were definitely nowhere near finishing the dish. You abandoned your little workstation and made your way to the door, in which you opened to come face to face with your boyfriend. 

Though the man in front of you looked nothing like the Yanan you were used to seeing. 

The last time you got to meet with him in person was about a week ago, when you joined his group for a company dinner. Back then, he seemed perfectly fine, laughing along with the others, looking absolutely stunning in the outfit he had on. But now, even the hat he had on refused to hide the messy strands of hair poking in all sorts of directions, and his posture was hunched, as if the weight of his backpack was far more than he could handle. He had his cute round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, but that didn’t hide the dark bags underneath his eyes, which lacked the mischievous glint he usually had when he was with you.

“Yanan… You look like a mess.” You pointed out meekly, as if he hadn’t realized that himself.

He let out a small pitiful laugh and took off his hat to run a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I do, don’t I?”

You stepped back to allow him into your house and waited for him to take off his coat and set his bag down before engulfing him into a warm hug. The two of you stayed like that for a while, until you spoke up. “I was going to make you some food, but you came a little earlier than expected so I’ve just barely started.”

“Let’s just order takeout, don’t worry about cooking.” He muttered tiredly into the crook of your neck, his lips cold from the weather outside. “And I’m sorry, I know I came earlier than I said I would, I just really wanted to see you.”

You chuckled as you pulled apart, leaving a hand resting on his chest. “And I’ve missed you too. How about you take a shower while I’ll prepare some things to help you calm down?” You suggested.

He nodded silently and disappeared to your room. He’d stayed over enough times for you to have some of his spare clothes tucked in your closet, in case of any impromptu visits, like right now. As you heard the shower start to run, you returned to your kitchen and packed away all the ingredients you had prepared — you could always just use those later in some other dish — and then picked up your phone to dial his favourite Chinese restaurant. It was a small shop near your house that you first visited together a year ago and it quickly became a hidden treasure to Yanan. He loved the fact that it was always bustling with locals who respected his privacy and had some of the best food that reminded him of home. The owner laughed when she recognized your voice and order.

“I have some extra desserts that I don’t think we’ll be selling tonight, I’ll add them in there for Yanan. I know he likes them.” She added sweetly. She was like any generic auntie down the street, always taking care of the people she met, but you loved for that and smiled through the receiver. 

“Sure, that sounds great. Thank you so much”

You spent the next few minutes cozy-ing up the couch a little bit, grabbing a blanket from your room, and preparing a laptop so that you could watch the latest episodes of your favourite drama that aired a few days ago. You were in the midst of grabbing yourself a glass of water when Yanan walked out of the bathroom, towel resting on his matted wet hair as he dried himself off.

“Feeling any better?” You asked gently and he made his way over to the couch to join you under the blanket.

“A little, yeah.” He replied, nestling into the comfort of the cushions.

“I ordered the food, it should be here in about half an hour,” You continued. “And we’ve got some episodes we gotta catch up on so we can watch those while we wait.”

He simply nodded at your words, humming just the slightest bit. His eyes were glazed over as he stared at your finger hovering over the laptop. You pursed your lips at his reaction and drew back into yourself, daring to ask him the question that’s been on your mind since he called you. 

“Yanan… are you sure everything’s alright?”

He sighed and rubbed his face, you could practically feel the fatigue radiating off of him. Before he answered, he snuggled closer into your body. “Everything is alright, like I’m finally back with the boys and we’re all together again and promotions are going well, so how can things not be alright? Everything’s perfect…” His voice trailed off and he averted his gaze from yours.

“And yet I find it so hard to wake up everyday, I’m just so tired. I love doing this, I love seeing the fans and going to practice and sharing our new songs, but I’m so tired that I’m starting to get sick of this. Sure, everyone else is tired too, I know they are, but no one else seems to have it as bad as I am… I don’t know if I’m fit for being an idol anymore.” He paused again, and then added quietly.

“I don’t want to have to leave again, I want to keep on going.”

At a loss for what to say, you simply kissed him on the forehead and pulled him closer. “It’s okay to be tired, you know that right? That doesn’t make you any less of an idol, or a person, even. You wanna talk more about anything?”

For the next while, you listened to him talk about the good and the bad of his return, commenting here and there to reassure his thoughts. The toll, not just physical, but emotional as well, his recent return had on him was evident and your heart clenched at his tired state. 

The food came not much later and you spent the time eating as if you were in another world. Worries were pushed aside as you told each other silly stories and jokes about your friends, and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw his mood lift and his eyes sparkle once again. Even if it was just a little bit. You loved all sides of Yanan, but this was by far your favourite, and you wanted to keep him in this happy mood for as long as you possibly could.

One episode of your drama and many mouthfuls of the delicious food later, you found the two of you settling on the comfy couch once again. He rested his head on your lap, body stretched across the length of the couch and dangling on the other end a little bit. His hair had finally dried off and now its platinum strands were fluffy, enticing you to to run a hand through them. You giggled when they flopped back onto his forehead and continued doing so lovingly.

“Sorry to come over all of a sudden and be all needy.” He apologized. “I didn’t even ask how your day was.”

You shook your head in disagreement. “There is absolutely no reason for you to be sorry about something like this. I understand you’re tired, and like I said, it’s okay to be tired, you’re only human, Yanan. If you’re concerned about my day, it was fine, nothing special honestly, but today is all about you, okay?”

He let you gently pinch his cheek to make your point.

You pulled back the sleeve of your sweater to reveal the simple string bracelet that wrapped around your wrist over and over again. “You remember that day?” 

He smirked softly. “How could I forget?” He pulled up his own sleeve to reveal a matching bracelet in a different colour. “I asked the stylists to incorporate it into my outfit today so I could wear it on the stage and think of you.”

“You’re so cute.” You smiled. “Do you remember what we promised each other on that day?”

There was a short moment of silence as he recalled his memories. “That we wouldn’t give up?”

“That we wouldn’t give up.” You echoed. “No matter how hard it got, we’ll push through it.”

Life sucked at times. You both knew that. And sometimes it just sucked so bad and you aren’t able to do much about it. Especially with your busy schedules, moreso his busy schedule, seeing each other was difficult and chances to comfort each other physically was scarce. You could understand how the recent events would’ve affected him.

“You’re really strong, you know that?” You added in a whisper, and he sighed.

“I do… I’m just not feeling it today.”

“And that’s fine, it’ll come back to you soon.”

He nodded at your words. “Can I spend the night?” He then asked softly.

“Of course,” You answered, you were still playing with his hair, although your actions were a little more absentminded now. “You know you’re always welcomed here.”

“Mm, I wasn’t planning on sleeping over, but I’ve never felt this relaxed in so long.” He apologized anyways, as he stretched in your lap, looking almost like a cat with his long body, and his eyes stared up into yours. “I love you.”

You just smiled back, and it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep on your lap, eyelids fluttering every so often as he entered a deep slumber. Eventually your legs began to feel a little numb from the weight of his body on yours, but you didn’t do anything about it. Not when he was finally able to rest for the first time in a while. Soon enough, you also fell asleep on the couch, not in the very best position, admittedly, though that was a problem to deal with in the morning. Things like that could wait.

So yeah, life did suck at times. But if you had each other by your sides, you both knew you could get through it. And that “getting through it” could also mean taking a break, taking a moment to recollect yourself, before continuing that long run ahead of you.

And it’s okay if you need to take a break.

[chaoticneutralwriter]

Deleted Scene; Off-Chance Meeting

What if Jimin met....Jimin?

guardian demon!Jimin x reader

genre: fluff, romance, angst, comedy, supernatural

word count: 4.2k

Related works: See masterlist under guardian demon!Jimin

A/n: So this was like....a half developed scene that I was going to put in for Interlude: Second Best buuuuut I didn’t want to make the chapter too long because the main focus was guardian demon!Jimin’s POV from the events in the previous chapter. However! It’s been mentioned as a ‘what-if’ so I completed it as a fun deleted scene. Hope you like it and hope yall are doing okay! take care, be safe and I’ll hopefully see you soon again for another update, this time with story progression LOL

BTW! Thanks for the 1,026 follows!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖💖💖💖

Tag List: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatinagirl @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct

Jimin’s game plan to blend in is quite simple because it really only consists of one step; grab a staff member so that he can duplicate the lanyard ID they have. Even though he promised to not use his powers to you for the most part, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t found ways to work around it. He easily locks onto a target — a male staff exiting the artist room to step out into the hallway Jimin’s in, presumably on a short break as he strides down to stop by a vending machine. The male staff has his head down, eyes glued to his phone for a while until finally, he takes a quick glance up to view the selection of snacks before ducking his head again, clearly in no rush at all.

Jimin’s lips quirk and he makes quick work at slipping closer, steps light and so undetectable that he may as well be a ghost rather than a demon. At the last minute, Jimin cloaks himself, sneaking up on the unsuspecting male just as he reaches into his back pocket to grab some change. The demon’s touch feels nothing more than a draft, fingers barely caressing the back of the colourful lanyard hanging around his neck but it’s all he needs. The male staff carries on, punching in the numbers and watches as the bag of chips falls into the slot below. Taking it, he walks away, none the wiser.

Jimin pays no mind to him anymore, focused on slipping the thin silver chain necklace out from under his shirt and with a soft blow of his breath, the silver chain morphs into the lanyard, a perfect copy. Normally, he would do without a need for something tangible to cast the illusion but this way, he wouldn’t have to use too much magic to keep it up — a weight to the illusion is more believable than simply thin air.

Satisfied, he lets the cloaking spell disperse, rolling his neck a little at the relief that he can finally walk around more freely without the worry of hiding or arousing suspicions.

“Now… where to go?” He mumbles quietly to himself, eyes darting before deciding that he should scope out the way to the area under the stage. Just as he rounds the corner though—

“Woah!”

Jimin’s fast reflexes has him jerking back in time before he collides into the other body. With a step back, his eyes immediately catch sight of the sparkly jacket and they widen almost simultaneously in realization.

Face to face with him was none other than his own mirror, Park Jimin of BTS, only he has honey blond hair and a glowing complexion.

“Ah, I’m really sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” His eyes are a little wide, stormy grey contacts shining as he apologizes.

For a moment, he’s frozen, stuck rigid in place with shock and split second panic before realizing that he has the safety of his mouth mask and drawn up hood to protect his identity of being the idol’s face stealer. Also the fact that the idol has yet to pass out from shock at seeing his own clone or give any sort of huge reaction was a good indicator.

“A-Ah….” The demon’s voice catches in his throat, and he awkwardly coughs, embarrassed as he ducks his head and mutters gruffly in Korean, “No, it’s my mistake.”

The singer smiles amicably, teeth showing and gaze so warm and so friendly that the demon almost has trouble meeting it.

“Hey now, don’t worry! It’s nothing serious.” There’s a pause, a slight tilt of his honey blond head before those artificial stormy grey irises blink, brows furrowing. The demon starts to actually sweat, eyes refusing to meet as he unconsciously begins to lean back to put space in between. But there’s no escaping the curious gaze of the twenty-four year old singer. “Ah, I— I don’t mean to sound rude or offensive but…. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before?”

Oh shit, shit, shit, shit…

He swears his plan would’ve been completely foolproof if he hadn’t ran into the very person he’s going around parading as. The chances of the demon running into said idol was 1 in 200 and yet it’s as if fate had cursed him with the unwanted luck a fan could only dream of having. But there’s no time to curse heaven and fuck all because his mind begins to race with possibilities of escaping this situation. Maybe he could get away with enthralling the idol for a quick second, trick him into thinking this is all some sort of hallucination from being overworked and then when he’s all good and spaced out, the demon can make his escape. His fingers just about twitches when the singer’s eyes widen and his mouth opens, face alight with an epiphany.

“Are you perhaps new?”

….What?

A beat unknowingly passes between them, with the demon blinking owlishly at the young man, completely gripped in disbelief and the singer staring back expectantly.


“Am I mistaken…?”

The hesitancy creeping into that question snaps the demon from his stupor and he finally blurts out, “No, I’m new.”

Relief washes over the idol’s handsome face (he’s never gonna get over how fucking trippy this is to watch), shoulders visibly losing some tension and the singer even places a hand over his chest.

“Ah, that would’ve been really bad — I usually am able to recognize everyone on the team.” His eyes creases again from the smile forming on his face. “Why haven’t we met yet, um….?”

“Ju—“ The demon stumbles on his words, thinking at the last second that your impromptu Korean name you had given him when he met Jaehee sounded too similar to the idol’s so his mind jumps to the next one he remembers off the top of his head. “— yeon….Kang Juyeon. This is my first day.”

Jimin the idol makes a noise of understanding, presumably taking his sloppy introduction as nerves in good strides. He inclines his head graciously in an almost small bow that catches the demon off-guard. “It’s nice to officially meet you Juyeon-ssi. I look forward to working with you.”

He bows robotically in return.

“Are you on break right now?” The young singer asks innocently.

“…Yes…” The answer comes out unsure, like he’s testing the waters and seeing where this could possibly lead — hopefully with the idol leaving him be and carrying on back to the artist room, surely much too busy to entertain a seemingly nervous new recruit. To his surprise though, the demon is proven wrong.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I must be taking up your time. Have you gotten anything to drink or eat yet?”

“Well, no but—“

The idol’s mouth gapes open almost immediately, “Would you like to head over to the catering room now? We can grab something.”

The demon is baffled, to say the least; so taken aback by Jimin’s friendly disposition to someone who he only just met that even though he really shouldn’t be overstaying his welcome like this, a part of him would actually feel guilty for turning down the offer. He’s so glad he’s wearing a mask right now because then the idol wouldn’t have to see the borderline crazed smile slowly stretching over the demon’s lips, the disbelief too strong.

But looking at the original owner of the face he wore, seeing it completely reflect a drastically different personality than his own invokes something in him; a morbid curiosity taking hold and stoking the fire to a long buried question —

Who is Park Jimin?

Beyond the worldwide renown Korean idol and a pretty face with killer vocals and dancing, the demon knows very little about who this person is, this person whom you adore so much. What is it that drew you to him specifically amongst the other members. He highly doubts its looks alone (you’re definitely not the shallow type), or maybe even the amount of talent because from what he gathered, all the members were pretty much on par with each other in all departments.

So what made Jimin special?

He really shouldn’t follow this rabbit down the hole, but he’s a demon by nature and impulsivity is practically his middle name. Without another second thought, he agrees with a nod of his head, “Okay.”

Curiosity really should be a sin.

He gets a blinding smile in response, eyes disappearing and pearly teeth on display (he spies the slight crooked front tooth that somehow only seems to add to the singer’s charm rather than a flaw). They walk off towards the room that acts as a communal dining area for the staff and artists themselves, the large selection of hot foods lined up like a buffet self-serve while there are tables available for anyone who wants to sit down for their meal. There’s only a few staff members gathered there, each preoccupied with their phones or simply grabbing a quick bite to eat before rushing back to where they’re needed.

The singer walks in and of the few people that are hanging around, he inclines his head in greeting to them. The demon has no choice but to follow in order to not draw suspicions (even though he gets a few raised eyebrows from wearing a full hood and mask but is ultimately brushed off).

“There’s a lot of choices here so please help yourself. Don’t be shy.” Jimin gestures, grabbing a plate and going for one of the rolls of kimbap. Though the demon has no intention of eating anything — for obvious reasons, he still makes the effort to thoughtlessly pick out random food items to place on his plate for the sake of keeping up the facade. He gets as far as two scoops of sweet and sour pork before the young idol turns to him and his eyes dart to his modest portion.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?”

“Uh…Yes?”

That immediately draws out a noise of disapproval, handsome face pinching along to match the tone. “Ah, Juyeon-ssi; you need to eat to keep up your strength. You can’t hold back on something as important as that.” Before any words of protest can be formed, a kimbap roll is placed on the empty space of the demon’s plate.

And then another.

And then a spring roll.

And then a hefty scoop of black bean noodles and some rice.

It goes on until his plate is adequately full, the idol satisfied as they migrate over to an empty table. The demon takes a seat and he feels his lips quirk as he observes the fact that Jimin’s own plate only consisted of two kimbap rolls and a few pieces of fruit he’s currently nibbling on. The stark contrast and adamancy is already so telling of his character, sans personal dietary considerations.

“Has the job been hard so far?” The singer asks casually.

“Not particularly….”

“Ah, that’s good to hear. Have people been nice to you?”

“Uh…Yeah, I guess.”

He gets a nod of approval, and the demon vaguely likens the feeling of a mother asking their child if their first day of school went well (or if he’s being generous, an older brother). It’s strange experiencing something so familial yet coming from the idol, it all seems so natural as if they’ve known each other for years and not just in the span of less than an hour.

It’s quite the culture shock — something he admittedly doesn’t have a good grasp on and it’s that curiosity to know that has him daringly (or perhaps, no doubt to his colleagues, foolishly) diving deeper. The wooden chopsticks in his hand push around the food on his plate meaninglessly, a gesture meant to disguise the hidden agenda he has; dissecting the idol and seeing what makes him tick.

His lips instinctively quirk under his mask but he makes sure that it doesn’t translate in his gaze as his eyes focus on the idol.

“I’m sure your job is much more tiring.” He says, taking on a tentative tone, implicating for an open ended discussion.

The singer takes a pause, eyes wandering in thought before he sucks in a breath after some serious considerations, “I don’t really think my job is any harder than some of the other staff here…” He stops, as if collecting his thoughts again and then continues, “I think it’s thanks to everyone’s efforts that the members and I are able to do these show successfully and safely. If I were to really break things down…. I really only do a small part.”

“But there’s no point to a show if there’s no performers.”

There’s a hum in reply to his statement but after the idol swallows the strawberry he’s popped into his mouth, he says, “I can see how you would say that, but I think more importantly, there’s no point to a show without the fans.”

The demon doesn’t miss the gentle affection that slips through — that quiet, soft whisper that carries the words near the end, giving way to something much deeper. It’s something he’s seen before, reflected in himself, and it’s whenever his thoughts wander to you.

Fondness.

His chest gives a twinge at the memory, jaw clenching a little as if to physically repress the feelings that begin to stir.

“You don’t even know the fans….” It comes out more as a low murmur to himself, but the contempt underlying his tone seeps through all the same. It’s just…. How could the idol possibly share the same sentiment he has with you, someone who he’s actually spent time with and come to know all the little quirks to — what makes you happy, sad, laugh, the way you laugh, the little noises you make when you eat something you love, see you at your highest and lowest points, with a group of people (not even a single person) who he’s had less than ten seconds worth of interactions?

It’s far too superficial, too scripted and said too many times with no real meaning. He wants to scoff at how impractical it is.

“Maybe so, but it goes beyond that.” The familiar sound of the idol’s lilt halts the demon’s thoughts quite suddenly, still in that soft spoken way but there’s something else with it. A sureness — steady and unwavering, and just the barest hints of….passive-aggressiveness?

That gets a quirk in the eyebrow; so this kitten does have claws after all.

“There are times where I wonder why there are so many people who like us and support us the way they do.” The singer continues seriously, already getting lost in deep thought. “Probably because we work hard, but who doesn’t work hard? Others make good music and do their best too so why us? We try our best to communicate to our fans but everyone does too…..These sorts of things are something I often think about.”

A pause, as if to find the right words, “But whenever I read the fan’s letters or things they post on SNS to us, saying how much we’ve helped them with our songs when they’re going through a hard time, it makes me realize that we’re not so different. We all have flaws and maybe it’s because we’re not perfect that they like us. Starting off with nothing and then little by little, seeing more people coming to support us…. They’re the ones who put us on the stage, so I— We cherish them a lot. They give us energy and comfort us, and we do the same back, like a deep connection, an understanding.”

The young singer stops in pushing around the remaining strawberry on his plate, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips, like he’s recalling a particularly pleasant memory. “So we want to give back by making good music and showing them our best. Ah, reminds of something really cool Namjoon-hyung said.” He takes the time to tilt his head, “He said how even if it’s just one person he could help, he’ll continue to keep trying. That really touched me, so even if we might not know them personally, they’re the ones who motivate us and makes all of this worth it.”

Once he finishes, the demon is left a little more than bewildered, overwhelmed in fact that all he could do was blink. Granted, it was a lot to take in, never having expected such an arduous confession but what’s even more baffling to him is the conviction the singer had saying all of it, so earnest in his words. Now, he’s no lie detector per se, but as a demon, he does have a more innate ability to pick up on cues and inflections that would give a person away, revealing their true nature. He’s used to it after all.

And then along comes Park Jimin.

This twenty-four some odd year old idol, thrusted into the cut-throat world that is the entertainment industry, young and bright-eyed, armed with nothing but potential, a good work ethic and a dream, yet comes out on the other side, a little bruised and scathed but otherwise, un-jaded; that young and bright-eyed innocence not diminished, instead it matured into something more resilient.

He can probably count on his finger how many people he can actually say that about. Hell, the only closest people that would qualify would be saints, and even that is debatable.

It’s....irritating because he’s faced with the fact that as much as he had wanted to dislike this person, he’s proven that he can’t.

A rush of air leaves his nose and he has to contain a rueful smile. “You’re a very admirable person Park Jimin-ssi. Not that many people keep to their beliefs so strongly like that.”

He gets a bashful giggle in return, light and melodic.

“Aish, what are you saying? I’m not all that impressive….I think I still have a lot to learn.” The singer almost whines from behind the back of his hand covering the open mouth smile he has. Once he calms, it softens. “All I really want is for the fans to remember BTS for our sincerity. I just hope that I’ve been able to help convey that so far.”

The demon lets out a breathy chuckle, finally getting up from his seat. He gazes down at this young man who’s face reflects his own yet wears it in such an entirely different way — glowing with a passion and radiance that is warm, sincere, kind, compassionate and loving.

Perhaps the way it’s meant to be worn.

And it’s with a bittersweet reluctance that the demon places a hand on the singer’s shoulder, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze. “Keep doing what you’re doing and never lose sight of yourself. As long as you remember what you’re doing this for, the sincerity of your members and you will be conveyed.”

Stormy grey eyes widen a fraction, a little confused as they blink up at him, clearly not expecting such encouragements (honestly, he didn’t expect this either yet here he is).

“Wh— Um, I—…” The idol reaches a hand up to comb through his meticulously styled hair, tousling a few loose strands as slowly, the apples of his cheeks begin to dust in a pink hue and dark eyes can’t help but watch on in amusement. As if sensing the focus shifting to his quickly reddening face however, the young man lets out a sputter and lightly smacks the demon’s forearm, refusing to meet his gaze. “Ahh Juyeon-ssi! What’s with you saying that all of a sudden to me? You sound as if you’re way older than me when we’re probably friends in age!”

Friends…

“What makes you think that?”

“W-Well… I don’t know how to explain it but…. I feel a sense of familiarity with you when we met. Like, a vibe….” The sentence pewters out into a shy mumble, the tips of his ears matching his cheeks now before comically, grey orbs whip up, suddenly concerned. “Unless you’re not….?”

The snort that leaves the demon’s mouth is quickly covered by clearing his throat but he’s sure the restrained mirth still reaches his eyes as he assures, “No, we’re friends.”

He’s met with a brilliant grin, full of teeth and a twinkle in his gaze. “Oh thank goodness. I would’ve died on the spot out of embarrassment.”

He refrains from rolling his eyes if only to dismiss the overly-dramatic relief that overcame the poor young man. But regardless, it’s his cue to go — he's starting to feel a little too perturbed being near someone so good-natured. With a final pat to his shoulder, the demon begins to depart.

“It was nice talking to you Park Jimin-ssi but you’ll have to excuse me, I have to get going now.”

“O-Oh? Is it really that time? If that’s the case— Ya! Kang Juyeon-ssi! Did you even touch your food? You—!”

“Jimin-hyung!”

“Oh?” Jimin’s attention whips to the new voice that called him from the still full plate of food left on the table. His eyes immediately meet doe-eyed ones, usually dark as coal but are currently a more lighter coffee colour, bringing out more of the brown that’s hidden in its depths thanks to the contacts. The youngest member approaches him with long strides, the sequins on his own stage outfit glitter with each step.

“This is where you were? Should’ve told me you were hungry, we could’ve gone to snack together.”

“Ah, no I was just talking with Juyeon-ssi.”

“Juyeon? Who’s that?”

“Kang Juyeon; that person who was just leaving, you must’ve seen him on your way in.”

But that only gets a head tilt from Jungkook, who swivels his head back towards the entrance, “He doesn’t sound familiar and I didn’t see anyone leaving.”

“….Huh?” Equally confused, Jimin swerves around the tall form of Jungkook to get a look however, to his surprise, he doesn’t see anyone. Glancing around lets him know that at most, there was only three other people in the room, excluding him and Jungkook but they were all immersed on the couch in the far corner, away from the entryway. Does Juyeon walk that fast?  “Aye, quit messing with me. He had on a face mask, around my height? With his hoodie pulled up; probably the only one here who does too.”

Jungkook shakes his head, genuinely clueless on who Jimin could possibly be referring to. “No, I swear I haven’t seen anyone around like that.”

The furrow in Jimin’s brows deepen, mouth falling open in disbelief. The scrunched up, troubled expression the older member makes was too good to pass up on teasing so Jungkook can’t help but to lean close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“What? Were you speaking to a ghost this entire time hyung?”

“Aish! Don’t say that! That actually gave me chills!” Jimin scowls, smacking the youngest repeatedly on the arm and causing Jungkook to cackle and skip away from the assault.

“Anyways, Namjoon-hyung wants to go over the script again so I went to go find you.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s go then.”

Brushing down his jacket, Jimin gets up, taking both plates with him, discarding his own empty one while Jungkook gleefully takes the one Juyeon hadn’t touched. The two head out and begin to make their way back to the artist dressing room, with Jungkook talking around mouthfuls of food about what Jimin had apparently missed while he was away but all Jimin could think about was his meeting with Juyeon.

There’s no way he could’ve imagined it all in his head — he’s too young to be going senile. Plus, it felt too real for it to be some overworked hallucination (besides, he doesn’t feel that jet lagged). So there’s a perfectly, logical explanation for it. Yeah, he just…walks really fast.

“Jimin-hyung is here!” Jungkook calls out to the rest of the members. He gets a myriad of boisterous responses and greetings. The sound makes him inadvertently grin.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming. I didn’t think you would miss me that badly; I was gone for ten minutes.”

Thoughts of his mysterious friend are pushed away for some other time but the wise words he’s been given remain at the forefront of Jimin’s mind. Perhaps the next time he runs into Juyeon, he’ll treat him to a drink or two during the celebratory dinners — get to know him better.

He’s not sure what it is about Juyeon that makes him want to befriend him so intently, like there’s something about him….

Something that’s a little melancholy….and maybe, he dare say, a little lonely.

But to the singer’s dismay, he never really did see him again.

[melikeylikeyjimin]

Noir || Three

(I don’t own this gif)

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Mafia AU! Sugar Daddy AU! Jungkook X Reader, fluff, angst.

Warnings: none

A/N: Here is the third chapter of Noir! I hope you enjoy this chapter and forgive me for not getting it out on time like I hoped to! If you’d like to be tagged whenever I post a new chapter of Noir, please DM me, leave a comment on this post, or send an ask and I’ll add you to the list!

Tag list: @another-star-you-fade-away @yeontanie21 @moniebuns

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

“Excuse me but you are not going out looking like that!” Nicci screamed.

“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”

“You cannot go out to a club in jeans and a t-shirt!” I sighed as Nicci ranted on and on about how I should wear a tight short dress and have a fun time drinking and getting laid, but honestly, that was not the lifestyle I was looking for.

I huffed and sat down on the bed next to Nicci, “You know that I’m not comfortable wearing those kinds of things, Nicci.”

“I do, but you should forget about looking good and just have a good time!”

“I will have a good time in my jeans and a t-shirt.”

“Please, at least try on the dress I brought over?”

I looked at her eyes as she pouted and finally gave in. “Fine, I’ll entertain you.”

“Yes! You’ll look like a snack, I know you will!”

I rolled my eyes and walked into the bathroom with the velvet blue dress. I closed the door and stripped down my clothes. I zipped the dress down and stepped in it while holding onto the counter as I was 99% sure I would trip otherwise. With both legs on the ground, I shimmied my way into the dress pulling it over my chest and putting my arms in the straps.

Already the dress was holding onto my curves. I hold my hair up and opened the door, turning my back to Nicci giving her the signal to zip it up. She zips it up and I let my hair fall back over my shoulders.

I turn to face her and she immediately squeals, “Oh my god, I knew it would look incredible on you!”

“It’s tight.”

“Well duh, how else are you supposed to show off what you got if it’s not tight?” I wrinkled my nose and looked at my appearance. It did look good but I didn’t know how comfortable I felt wearing it. I ran my hand over my bare arms in reassurance.

“Fine.”

“What?” Nicci asked.

“I’ll wear it.”

“Bold of you to assume you had a choice either way!” I glared at her as she cackled and moved to my closet. “Let me find the perfect shoes for you.” I let her do her thing and she came back with strappy open-toe heels.

“These.” I didn’t say anything as it’s not like I really had a choice in what she wanted.

“Will you do my makeup for me?”

“Of course I will. I’ll make sure you’re the prettiest girl in that whole damn club.”

  “I don’t necessarily want all that attention though…”

“Oh shush. Then if not that, I’ll make sure Dylan is drooling over you.” I raised an eyebrow at her comment, not sure why she wanted to make Dylan “drool” all over me, but I kept quiet.

I closed my eyes and let Nicci work her magic with makeup. I was a mere novice at it and only knew the basics, I would look like a raccoon if I tried to do eyeshadow.

Once I opened my eyes, I saw that Nicci had decided on a light brown gradient around my eyes that melted into a darker brown. The middle of my lids were covered in a gold layer and my under eyes were lined with the same brown shades. The eyeliner was simple and thin as to not overdo the look.

“I figured you can do your mascara on your own, as that’s all that’s left for you to do.” I nodded as I kept looking in the mirror, not able to believe that someone had this much skill in makeup.

I grabbed the tube of mascara and began brushing it through my lashes, making sure that they were long and voluminous. Once I had finished, I looked in the mirror and saw that everything looked perfect. I smiled at my reflection one last time before wandering out into the living room where Nicci was waiting.

“Good?” I simply asked her.

She glanced over me and smiled, “Perfect! You’re definitely going to have men pooling at your ankles!”

I chucked while shaking my head. “When is Dylan supposed to get here?” I changed the subject.

“I don’t know, but he better hurry his ass up. He said he was going to be here at 9 and it’s 9:05!”

“It’s just five minutes, Nicci…”

“Five minutes that he has wasted!”

After a few more minutes of waiting the doorbell rang and Nicci got up and swung the door open, revealing Dylan. “Where do you think you’ve been? I’ll have you know that you are ten whole minutes late! Ten!”

Dylan rolled his eyes and pushed past her so he was inside, “Yeah, yeah, at least I’m here, right?” Nicci grumbled as he mostly ignored her.

“Where’s Y/n is she ready?”

“She’s right in front of you, dumbass!”

“What? No, she isn-Y/N?!” Dylan’s voice raised as he glanced me over.

He turned to Nicci, “This is not our y/n, where’s y/n?”

“It really is me, Dylan.” I finally said.

His jaw dropped as he kept looking at me. “I-I well, you look...good…?”

“Good? Just good?! She’s a goddess, and I can tell you think the same just by how you’re drooling over her!” Nicci yelled.

I smiled shyly, knowing Dylan wasn’t used to seeing me dressed up. “Did you order the Uber?”

“Yeah…” Dylan said still spaced out.

I nodded, “Let’s go then.”

Standing outside the club and waiting to get inside, all of us huffed. “This wouldn’t have happened if you were on time!” Nicci raged.

“There was traffic, okay?!” Dylan shouted back.

I sighed, “Now is not the time you guys!”

They both went silent and ignored each other. After a few minutes we were at the front of the line and we showed our ID’s to get in. We walked into the club, the loud music and flashing light flooding our senses.

Dylan walked closer to me and leaned down to my ear, ”Did you really have to wear something so short?”

I went to reply to him, but Nicci was already ushering us further into the nightclub. We found an empty booth and we all sat down. “I’ll go get us drinks!” She rushed off leaving just Dylan and me.

“Why are you concerned over my dress? It’s not that short…” I told him.

“It is short! I would know because I’m a guy!”

I pouted, “But it looks good.”

He visibly swallowed, “It does make you look good, but then other guys will look at you.”

“Other guys don’t matter. I only care about myself.”

“I know that you’re wearing it for yourself, and I support you wearing whatever you want, without shaming, but it brings lots of unwanted attention to you as well. I’m just worried…”

I grinned, “You’re so cute. I’ll be fine. If anything happens, like always, I’ll tell you okay?”

He sighed and finally agreed, “As long as you’re careful.” I nodded. Nicci came rushing back with our drinks setting the glass of whiskey in front of Dylan and the cocktail in front of me. She sipped on her margarita and with one go, downed it.

“Hurry up, y/n! Let’s go dance!”

I nodded and drank down my daiquiri as best as I could. I got up and followed her to the dance floor, waving at Dylan one last time. She led me to the middle as we were pushed up against many other sweaty bodies.

We began moving with the music and we both got lost to the beat with the alcohol running through our veins. “I’m going to get another drink, do you want one?” She shouted. I nodded and she left me on my own in the middle of the dance floor. I continued to dance, not minding anyone else around me as I waited for her to come back with our drink.

Luckily, no one bothered me in the time it took for Nicci to bring the drinks. She handed me the drink, one that I didn’t recognize. “What’s this?”

“Something to help you loosen up even more!” I looked quizzically at it. I took a small sip of it and felt it burn on its way down. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but I could tell it was hard liquor. I downed it and we both continued to dance.

Time seemed to slow around me as we both enjoyed our time. I could feel the alcohol taking its toll on my body. I had a rather low tolerance, so I knew if I had more than another drink or two, I would be drunk. “I’m tired, my feet hurt! Let’s go take a break!” I told Nicci. She nodded as we both made our way back to Dylan. He was on his second glass of whiskey. We both huffed as we sat down on either side of Dylan.

“Tired?” He asked. We both nodded. He handed both of us some water which we both gladly took.

He looked over at me, “Y/n, are you drunk?”

I shook my head, “No, I only had two drinks.”

“But your face is a bit red.”

“I’m okay. I don’t know what was in the second drink, but it was hard.”

“What did you give her, Nicci?”

“It was just some vodka so she could loosen up some more.”

Dylan nodded. “You should take a break, so you don’t get too drunk.”

“But I want another drink.”

Dylan looked at me and bit his lip, “I don’t know…”

“Oh let her have another drink, she’s an adult for god's sake. I’ll get you another drink, wait here.” Dylan was about to protest, but Nicci was gone.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yup, I’m as good as could be.”

“Okay, if you say so. I trust you.” I laid my head against Dylan’s shoulder as I waited for Nicci to get back with my drink. He gently brought his hand up and fixed a few stray strands of hair for me. I felt a little tired from the alcohol in my system, but I didn’t want to sleep anytime soon.

“Are you sleepy?”

“A little…”

“You can take a nap if you want, I’m not going anywhere.”

I shook my head, “No, I want to have more fun. Not to mention, you should have some fun too.”

He laughed, “I am having fun. I have plenty of fun drinking and watching the two of you have fun. Plus I’m the guy so I should watch over your guy’s drinks and belongings.”

I was about to talk but Nicci came rushing in with the same drink that I had last time. I knew I probably should take it slow, but tonight was supposed to be fun. I took it from her and quickly downed it. I almost spit fire from the burn it left in my chest.

“Jeez, don’t down it!” Nicci said.

I shrugged. “Ready to go back out there?”

She nodded.

We both returned to the dance floor and continued dancing. After a bit, I could tell I was a bit drunk. “I’m going to go get some water,” I told her. Nicci nodded and continued to dance.

I pushed my way through the crowd, stumbling a bit on my way. I made my way to the crowded bar and ordered a water. I stood there while I waited until I felt eyes on me. I turned and looked over to see a man across the bar.

He looked young. He was dressed nice and his hair was parted down the middle. His dark hair and dark eyes were almost matching. I met his eyes and he stared right back into mine. I quickly looked away feeling a bit embarrassed for staring. He was definitely good looking.

“May I ask what someone as beautiful as you are doing here by yourself?” I jumped feeling the voice next to me. I looked over to see the same man from across the bar.

”O-Oh, I’m not alone, I came with my friends.”

He smiled, “I’m glad you have company.”

I wasn’t really sure what to say. I looked back up at him, and I could feel my vision swirl. I saw him frown as I felt my eyes start to glaze over.

“Are you okay, miss?” I opened my mouth to answer but I felt too tired to even get any words out.

Within a few more seconds I felt my eyes close and my body slump against someone else's. And just like that, I was out, ignoring all the other voices around me.

NEXT PROJECTED UPDATE: 05/17/19

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: Not much. Just characters coming together.

Warnings: Representation of anxiety, curse word(s).

Word count: Sometimes I feel like my mind teases me irrespective of the setting around us. It’d be like, oh you’re sitting in your office, too bad if we had a new fic idea, right? riiiight? *deep inhale*

MASTERLIST in bio, my love

CHAPTER 1: The End

Everything moves in slow motion. The water coming down the silver faucet. The gasp escaping your lungs. The whimper being born in the heart of your heated throat. The water dripping down your nose into the spotless white sink. Your hands running across your face mixing the tears with the tap water over your skin. Everything moves at a snail’s pace. Everything except your heartbeat and your shallow breaths. One, you start counting, trying to trick your brain into taking in one long gulp of air while your moist eyes close themselves for the fear of losing your balance. Two. Your trembling hands grab the edges of the ceramic sink to ground you. Three. You bend your knees and get close to the outer space shade of black tiles beneath your grey block heels.

Four. You start to whisper to yourself. It's okay. You're okay. Remember. Just try to remember. Five. Your eyes open and look at the objects around you to recount them inside your head. Faucet. Hand towel. Mirror. Hand dryer. Purse. Phone. Six. You get up and pick the hand towel from the pile neatly stacked beside the sink to pat your face dry, pressuring your shaking fingers hard into the fabric pressing onto your skin. Seven. You whisper the list you just made out loud to your reflection in the mirror. Eight. You clench and unclench your hands, repeating the ritual till you can no longer feel the shiver as evidently as before. Nine. You pick up your brown-rimmed glasses and put them on, adjusting them over the bridge of your nose using the help of your reflection. Ten. You straighten your back and square up your shoulders, smoothening the rebellious hair strands over your head back till the bun. Breathe. Tugging your royal blue blouse to get rid of the wrinkles, you swipe off some invisible dust bunnies away from the fabric before picking your grey purse. Your eyes lock for a moment with your reflection's, creating a minuscule swerve of a latent pain rising somewhere behind those pupils. And just at the speed at which they met, they look away from the mirror to walk towards the door. The click of the washroom door alerts your body and you move out into the gallery of this glass building, mingling into the crowd going about their daily lives. Everyone who walks by is in suits. Monotones. Nothing lighter than a plain white, nothing darker than an abyss black and nothing more colourful than the stainless steel grey. The walls wear the same shades as the concrete they were made with. The massive beams running to the top at the entrance add a bright hue of white to the structure. The reception desk right by the wall whose corner you came out of is decorated in black. You almost feel out of place in your blue before your mind realises that you actually are. "Miss Kira?" The receptionist with fiery ombre soft curls running till her shoulder calls out to you as you approach her, "Miss Donatella will see you now." You try to pass her a smile but hurt your muscles in the process. Taking the yellow guest ID you follow the receptionist's instructions to go the twentieth floor. Between the ground level and floor twenty, half a minute of silence is a rare opportunistic gift that your mind takes to breathe away the episode in the washroom before the ding echoes around the elevator covered in mirrors on all sides. You step inside the destined floor and just one thought crosses your mind. Why am I still surprised? The walls here are the same as any other part of the building. Concrete. Naked. Dull? And where there aren't any walls, there is glass frosted to a level desired by someone who wants to keep their private sections of the offices private indeed. The absence of any footfall in this part of the building makes the clack of your heels louder than supposed to be. The corridor seems deserted and you really cannot tell if any human is breathing on the other side of that glass. It feels like an eternal walk through a cement maze till you finally spot the glass door marked Conference Hall C and turn the handle. A blonde, pale woman- paler than what you're accustomed to seeing usually- sits behind a grey table huge enough to accommodate a buffet for a family of twelve. She smiles at you and asks you to come in. Now that is a surprise. Not the smile. Not the setting. The fact that she is wearing beige in the world of grayscale is what shocks you a little. "You must be Kira..." a raspy voice greets you from her raspberry painted lips before turning towards the file to look for the last name. "Just Kira, please," you respond, stopping by the lone chair that stands on your end next to the table in this hall, "and you must be Miss Donatella." She nods and passes just a hint of a smile before requesting you to sit down. The air around her smells of lavenders. You don't like lavenders; not recently. Maybe it's this premeditated thought that sets a tiny itch in your nose as you sit down. Donatella opens a white file with your name on it. "So," she begins as she shifts in her comfortable black swivel chair and you know she's crossing her legs under that table, "Miss Kira, you have an impressive resume." You try to smile better this time. You are forced to. This woman practically holds the cards to some very important, life-changing events in your life right this moment in this room. "I have to say," Donatella raises her brows in a little grim speculation while eyeing the contents of the file, "it is so impressive that you should not be applying for the post of an assistant." Pressing the pulsation in your lips you take in a lungful. "My academic qualifications are elements of education that I deemed necessary on my way, Miss Donatella, if their degree of complexity is your concern. Now, as far as my application for the portfolio of an assistant goes, I'd say my qualifications along with my extracurriculars are actually one good example of me being able to handle multitasking, work decently under pressure and get the results on time." You can see Donatella's lips curve up a little before she plants her fingers over her lips, trying to cover whatever positive emotion she is feeling while her other hand sifts through the pages scrutinize your life as seen on those pieces of paper. "It says here you worked at Rein Industries for six months," Donatella bends her voice in a question. "That was a mandatory internship I did during my college course," you reply, feeling your ears heat up. You do not realise when you left thumb starts to move along the right wrist, trying to feel the bone beneath your skin. "They didn't present you with an offer?" "They did. I had to decline for some personal reasons." "Must be some reason," Donatella quips, her hand resting on her chin while her mix of grey and honey eyes look right at you, "because you do not have any work experience for an entire year after that. Which...was last year." The movement of your thumb does not stop. The smile plastered on your lips stretches a little as you look down at your hands for a second before meeting her calculating gaze. "I, unfortunately, had some health issues last year. Hence, the little gap in my resume. If I had joined any company at that point of time I'm sure you understand how that would have affected not only mine but the company's performance as well." "Why Sun Corp?" Donatella does not even wait for you to breathe out the last word when the question drops on you and you realise your fingers digging into the skin of your palms right on time. "It's hardly been a year and Sun Corp has been expanding throughout the country with its extended subsidiaries. That's unlike any private corporation I have seen." "And this is what attracted you?" You can almost hear Donatella's scoff. "I wasn't finished yet, Miss Donatella," you mention before continuing, not waiting for her brows to retain their composure, "Sun Corp has been working within third world countries just like ours and unlike any other multinational company, which basically want a monopoly with a huge profit margin, it has been working on the grass root level with a comparatively low but evidently stable profit index. And the reason this corporation has been having one successful industrial arm after another is that someone in here knows exactly what the population needs in our country." You pause for a moment to let the air around you ease the heat flurrying through your body. Donatella takes that one moment to glance at her phone, moving it little to make it light up. "Now unlike other companies who are content in fulfilling the bare minimum required of their corporate social responsibility and hiring agencies to research on how to market their product to the general public, Sun Corp's management has been using its resources on actually finding the necessity and working on building the bridges hereafter...with the people who actually are in need of those bridges." The silence that follows is satisfactory for one side and shifty for the other. "All you have given me till now is pretty much a really generic reason though I must say you seem to have done some homework, if not all," Donatella is quick to remark before scribbling something down on your file. "Twelve per cent." "Excuse me?" You inhale before repeating the figure. "Twelve per cent. That was the increase in the yield of crops when my family took up Sun Farms' aid. I'm sure it does not seem like much to someone who doesn't have a background in agriculture but it helped pay for my sibling's tuition so there's that. Now, this is the twelve per cent that I know. I haven't included the percentage of sales that increased by word of mouth publicity after that. And considering how environmentally conscious and cautious my family is about the chemicals going into their crops, I can assure you the word-of-mouth thing was huge." The image of your grandfather going on about the better health of the mustard growing in the vast field brings the first genuine smile on your face today. But Donatella, on the other hand, seems unphased. The silver watch on her wrist peeks from inside her cuffs- reflecting the soft golden lights of the room right into your eyes- when she sits up and close to the table, throwing a quick look at her phone. Her elbows barely rest on the table; as if she's preventing herself from being at ease. "And that is the only reason you are here. Out of a sense of-" she raises her hands a little with a light shrug- "gratitude. Is that so?" "I am here because this company seems to have farsightedness, Miss Donatella. Not regarding what it needs to do to stay in the game but regarding what the people would want now and in the near future. And I feel that it forces you to believe in some kind of a direct or indirect moral compass that comes with the corporation's work," you are quick to answer. Donatella's chuckle is like the one that comes out of actors portraying the Victorian era aristocracy to show the restraint the women would be put through even when having fun. Why it reminds you of those actors is something you find both amusing and confusing in that instant. "Moral compass." Donatella's mutter is more for herself than for you, spewing the words out in mockery. "I have to say, sweetheart," she shakes her head while her brows try to imitate an emotion of sympathy, "this was good. Really good. The first such answer I have heard but, really? Are you sure?" Now you are really confused. "I beg your pardon ma'am?" You try not let the pricks of fear show over your face, your thumb digging into your wrist for some reason unknown to your consciousness. Donatella intwines her fingers together as her honey and grey fixate on you. "How many interviews do you think I've taken for this position? Hm? Ten thousand applications came in for just this post. The post of being the assistant to the company's founder. Out of those ten thousand, two hundred people were shortlisted for the interview. And even in those two hundred candidates was barely a person who actually wanted to apply for the post." You feel the space between your brows get heavier with every passing second. "If they didn't want the post then why did they apply?" "For the same reason you did, young lady. They all want to get close to the man himself," she declares before muttering, "Cheapskates." "Excuse me?" You can almost see her roll her eyes at you. "Oh don't give me that look," she huffs tiringly with a wave of her hand, "a pretty girl like you giving up all of this hard work of so many degrees just so you can satiate your desire to meet him. Some of you even have the audacity to think of getting into his pants. Take my advice and get out of here. Girls like you have a better chance of stalking him on the internet than getting to even kiss the floor Mr Odinson walks on." The next few seconds are filled with the ticking of the watch on Donatella's wrist. The ringing in your ears is mind-numbing for the first ten seconds before it transforms into something else. An ember of rage lights up somewhere inside you, heating up a spot right in the centre of your chest. Your thumb rubs the back of your palm through the silence before coming to an abrupt stop with the one long breath you take in. "I am flattered Miss Donatella, that you think I'm pretty," you begin, with just a hint of a smile this time, "And also surprised, because you are being so straightforward with...what you think about me." You abruptly push your chair forward to keep your arms on the table, openly offending Donatella, who gasps at your guts to do so. "But it does make me wonder that almost all one hundred and ninety-nine people might actually be having evidence to get you fired before you leave this company, ma'am." Donatella blinks, faster than she'd supposed to, as her one leg that had so comfortably been resting on the other goes down. "Ex-" "You should be more wary of...people who want to get into his pants, that's what you said, right? Be wary of such people discreetly taking pictures of your boss while you make deals with his rivals behind his back, Donatella. Because I can assure that these people have a drive more intense than the number of zeros you were offered on your paychecks to leave Sun Corp." The stoic and cold demeanour she had been maintaining till now starts to crumble bit by bit. "Don't make accusations you cannot prove, Kira," she nearly hisses. "Don't make judgments you cannot justify, Donatella," you softly throw the words her way. "And I'm not making this up, something which was just proved from your facial expressions. The entire Instagram has proof of your meeting with some private military corp that's been trying to find a way to enter the country through some other businesses." The fear in Donatella's distant gaze is hard to miss. But you barely feel any empathy for her. Picking up your purse from the floor you begin to get up but pause. "Oh and one more thing, Donatella DeMorgeaux Bellasario-" you tap your finger on the smooth steel table surface- "your boss hates it when anyone addresses him as Odinson. At least his assistant should be aware of that," you enunciate before getting up, looking at that lingering rage in your reflection in the mirror covering the wall next to you before going for the door you entered from. "How do you know all this? What are you, some kind of a-" "No, I'm not a spy Donatella," you spew at her from the door, irritation brewing up over your features, never looking back at the woman, "just like you said, I did my homework." "Bitch," you mutter under your breath before exiting the room. Donatella sits there, her hands covering the creeping disbelief over her face. Behind the mirror, you had caught your reflection in, a pair of emerald eyes glisten in the filtered light entering the darkness they are engulfed in. Having seen the entire thing unfold in front of them, they turn towards a camera resting in a corner of the dark space near the ceiling, a smirk glimmering through those green eyes showered in the soft foreign golden light. "Be careful, Balder," the man in the black suit warns the blonde guy with a soft face, "you so much as put a scratch on anything in this house, I'll make you pay it from your pocket." The blonde looks at the man in command. Balder cannot help but feel both scared and excited to look at him, his dark skin reflecting the blue sky outside with such flawlessness. As if that wasn't enough, the weight in the British voice is enough to make any manly man weak in his knees. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Balder apologises softly before carefully planting the miniature camera behind the book stack, his pale nimble fingers working carefully with the rosewood he had drilled to make way for the device. The man in the suit walks around the tiny studio apartment space, taking in the citrus smell of a body spray that was used in this space this morning. The bedroom is a five-step walk from the main door that opens into the living room-cum-open kitchen-cum-study. A violet coloured quilt lies on the bed in a mess, half-covering a Bulbasaur plushie. His long gloved fingers trace the edge of the headboard to collect the dust over the latex for examination. "José," he speaks without looking away from the dust bunnies over his fingertips, "put one on the headboard too." "Yes sir," comes another voice as a tall dusky man dressed in a cleaner's uniform walks into the bedroom space. The huge, calculated steps walk back into the living room, hands resting inside his pant pockets. "All the cameras and listening devices are in position, sir," the olive-skinned woman sitting on the carpeted floor with a laptop in her hand declares as she types away some codes on her screen, "we're going live in three, two, one." A press of a button later, the screen floods with Balder and José's faces- adjusting the cameras- along with the man's back to the one device planted above the apartment door. "Good work, Torra," the man announces, "now route that feed to my account and remove the access from yours and anyone else's. Make it a level seven clearance feed." "Ooh! They must someone really important we're spying on. Yes, sir," woman quips happily before typing in a serial number and pressing enter, allowing the screen to show the rerouting before going blank. "Mission accomplished." Within the next five minutes, the apartment sees the two men and woman trickle out of its space as if they were never there. The man in the suit takes one last look around before he eyes land on the nine figures resting on the side table near the door. The nine protagonists of One Piece sit there facing the kitchen opposite to where they stand. The man looks at them all in some deep thought, his honey eyes lingering for some time on one figure before moving over to the next, before he takes one hand out of his pocket and moves the figure of the woman with long black hair to face his direction. Content with his work, he walks out of the apartment, allowing the silence before his arrival to take back its place as gracefully as he had. The walk back to your place is heavy and slow. The noise from the passing subway train behind you does not help the piercing pain going in and out of your throbbing head. Picking up a sandwich and fresh juice from the local deli you stop by the twenty-four seven store to grab a bottle of Jägermeister. It is only when you've reached the front of your building do you take an effort to conceal the liquor bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag inside your purse. The walls might only have ears, but the old women living around your place had heightened senses when it came to young single people living in their vicinity. Your building's elevator feels like a good change from the mirrored one you had been trapped in on your way in and out of the building today. The chime is welcomed too as you step out on your floor, your keys ready to open the door and lock yourself in your comfort zone. Your neighbour- a young man a year or two older than you- tries to wave your way and before he can even blurt out your name, you have bolted the door and thrown the keys into their designated bowl on the side table. Keeping your purse down on the carpet gently, you take in one long breath. "Breathe," you whisper to yourself. "Just breathe. Forget everything else. Right now, just breathe. Please." Your eyes take in the familiar soft space. The kitchen, The Tempest lying on the two-person dining table, your quilt still the same mess you had left in the morning. The oil painting of a sunflower hanging on the wall you are leaning over, your One Piece figures sitting right next to you on the table. Luffy, Brook, Zoro, Franky, Nami, Chopper, Sanji and Robin. A blank minute passes as you stand there, frozen in time, looking at the figures in a confused daze. And then something dawns on you. Your hand, with a life of its own, moves to turn Robin towards the direction she usually faces before coming back to your side. A cold prickle passes through your spine as your eyes go about the familiar space with a scrutinizing gaze shrouding the fear behind those eyes. Someone was here, your mind sets off all the alarms in one go. And this time, when it actually seems appropriate to feel the panic erode you, you stand there breathing normally. No shivers. No sweats. The vibration and loud chime of your phone makes you jump where you stand eventually. Your fingers take out the device from your pant pockets to click it open. Another chime comes. A message from your bank stating the recent deposit that had been made into your account. Another message congratulating you on getting the position of Assistant to the founder and head of Sun Corp, requesting you to join the post tomorrow. Donatella clicks her phone close and places a grey file on an oakwood desk before walking out of the lavish office space and into a room with a fire pit separating the space into a lounge area and a living room with its length. The clack of her pencil heels stops as her eyes catch the figure standing by the glass wall that opens to the view of the city beneath and mountains beyond them. "I have narrowed down some candidates to come as my replacement," she speaks in the direction of the figure, never bothering to close the distance between them, "but I still need to go through another batch tomorrow." The figure stands there. Still. Like an old tree. Donatella can feel a tiny chill rise up somewhere inside her, which she tried to suppress as she shifts her eyes away, her hands coming together in front of her while her shoulders move a little to shake away a lingering stiffness. "Burn them." A soft voice- like a warm brandy laced with honey going down your throat, heating it up in ways unknown- commands the room. "I'm sorry?" Donatella fears her ears didn't catch that right. The figure's shoulders finally shift a little but the pale arms exposed through folded up black sleeves do not move away, the hands resting inside the pant pockets. "I said burn them," the voice says again. "Why?" "Because none of those letters spells out Kira." An arrow seems to have pierced Donatella's chest as her eyes go wide before her entire body tries to find its composure. The fact that the figure doesn't move still amplifies the fear crawling over her skin. "I-I think-" "Pack your things and never show your face within a hundred meters of my empire. You're fired." The voice never rises. Not once. The delicate smoothness lingers throughout the words even when the threat is delivered. Donatella brings her rage over features, about to spit some words into the ice-like air surrounding her. "Before you say something you'll regret I suggest you look at the table in front of you, Donatella." And she does. All the heavy rage folded in her wrinkles disappearing within a flash, replaced by nothing but mortal fear as the photographs on table show her meeting with an unknown man before displaying her in a compromising position in high-resolution grayscale. "Mr Odinson, I-" The head turns a little in her direction, making her cracked voice stop at once. Even with a distance of at least twenty feet between them, she can see the green embers burn from where they stand. And before she knows it, her lungs are trying to find air to breathe. "I'm sorry Mr Loki, sir," are her last words before she hurriedly walks out of the space that has been chilled to the core by that one traumatising side glare. It's done. The man in the black suit closes his phone and walks across the length of the dark room that has nothing in the name of lights except for the endless skylight revealing the infinite stars above him and the twelve screens lit up on the wall he is walking towards. Grabbing the top of the swivel chair, he sits down before pulling up two screens on the monitors in front of him. His hand goes in the pocket of his jacket to take out two marbles with hues of orange, golden, fiery red and black trapped in them, seemingly similar to a pair of golden eyes. And like a ritual known to his hands, he starts moving them around in his fingers while his eyes are fixated on the two figures on those separate screens, considerably apart, sitting inside the space of their homes, eyeing the alcohol bottles sitting next to them. One of them shifts their gaze away to look at the phone in their hand before closing it and moving out of the camera's view. A chime comes on this side. The man takes out his phone to see the message displayed on the screen. Thank you, Heimdall. He looks back at the screen and clicks a key on the keyboard to reveal Loki's figure laying down on the bed. The other screen shows you under your quilt, your back halfway down the bed and halfway supported by the soft headboard, looking at the Jager bottle resting by your bedside before you turn off the lights and take off your glasses, throwing them in the little space between the empty pillow next to your head and the headboard. Heimdall watches neither of the figures closes their eyes, just lying in there on their beds in the dead of the night, waiting for some distant memory to either kill them with dried out tear ducts or tire them enough to put them to sleep.

(I don’t know where I thought I’d be going with this but it’s here.)

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(tags are open. Lemme know how you found this chapter and if you’d like to read more of this AU)