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marsophilia · 3 years

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OF WAR AND FATE — chapter one

<- masterlist ->

pairing :: royalty!seonghwa x reader

word count :: 1.9k

warnings :: blood

The border forest was a peaceful place. Especially if one decided to live there. In a small cottage, away from war and surrounded by peaceful sounds of animals and the nearby river. The cottage that found its place in the middle of the forest was simple. It was wooden with a few windows, garden with lots of herbs next to it. It had a homey feel to it - one that would certainly draw people in.

That’s how Hongjoong liked it.

The solitude of it won him over the most. Especially since he built the cottage by himself. And even though he proudly says how much he enjoys the solitude, he’s also the one that proudly enjoys the company of his cat.

Having all the time to himself, Hongjoong liked to use it up whenever he could which resulted in his scattered sleep schedule. Meaning one day he would sleep from noon until the evening and spend the night doing god knows what, or other days he would fall asleep around early evening and sleep in until noon. He had to catch up with sleep somehow.

But never in his right mind was he expecting that during one of his sleepless nights would two figures barge in, one on the verge of passing out while the other was choking on their own tears. And indeed, this was the place that Seonghwa led you to while losing consciousness more and more. “Please… Please help!” Your voice cracked and as if on cue, Seonghwa’s legs finally gave up as the man toppled over on the floor.

It didn’t take long for recognition to spark in Hongjoong’s eyes, both when seeing his friend and you - and he knew who you were. From Seonghwa’s stories and also as the heir of the other kingdom. Shuffling over, he watched you fall down to your knees next to your lover again, not hesitating to drop on the other side of his body. “Shit- What the hell happened?” He questioned, looking at you for answers while trying to get his friend up to transfer him to somewhere he could help him.

You looked down in guilt again, frantically wiping your tears away as you got up to help him pick Seonghwa up. “It’s my fault- Somehow, someone followed me into the woods.” You both successfully got Seonghwa up, holding him under his arms around the waist while Hongjoong instructed you where you were going.

“I was so stupid, how did i get so careless! And they probably watched us for a while, waiting for the perfect opportunity to take one single shot! God!” Tears welled up in your eyes again as the two of you placed Seonghwa on the table in a room to the side. “I doubt it was your fault. But I’ll ask you to wait outside for now.” Your gaze snapped up to meet Hongjoong who was still very much a stranger to you.

He couldn’t be serious, right?

“W-what?” You were in disbelief. There was no way you’re leaving Seonghwa’s side while he was in the condition that he was in. “I need space and concentration if you want me to patch him up. You can crash on the couch, there’s food in the kitchen and if you need comfort, feel free to cuddle Pearl. Oh, yeah- I’m Hongjoong.” He introduced himself with a small smile. “Y/n…” You responded and all he did was send you a sympathetic nod. “I know.”

You didn’t stay after that, walking out of the room and shutting the door behind yourself. ‘I know.’ What was that supposed to mean? You guessed he was a friend of Seonghwa so that immediately made him trust him just a little bit. Maybe Seonghwa told him about you? Yeah, that was most likely the case.

Oh, God… What did you do?

Seonghwa was hurt with an arrow impaling him because of you! This was exactly what you tried to avoid so how did it even happen?! Knees buckled beneath you as the fear finally started kicking in. Threading your fingers through your hair, gripping at the roots. You were on the verge of hyperventilating. Whoever shot Seonghwa was sent by someone. No way did they decide to shoot the prince just like that.

Oh no… Did that mean your parents knew?! When you go back you’ll never see the light of day again. They’ll most likely end up holding you under a lock and key for the rest of your life. And that means- no more seeing Seonghwa. No- he was your place of peace, where you could go and just be in his presence to feel instant comfort. He felt like a bigger home than your family who was always distant from each other.

Being snapped away from your overthinking by a meow, your eyes snapped downwards until they fell on a small ball of fur wrapped around your leg. Confusion clouded your eyes until Hongjoong’s words finally made sense to you. “Ah… You must be Pearl, hm?” Mumbling out, you leaned down to pick up the animal in your arms. It surprisingly calmed you down just a little bit.

Moving the both of you towards the sofa that was nearby, you finally let your legs give up as you collapse back on the sofa. The exhaustion started hitting you just now. It was a long night and it felt like a nightmare rather than a dream, like usual.

You curled up on the couch, Pearl snuggling into your stomach for warmth. Your hand instinctively rested on the cat’s head, scratching the animal behind her ears. “Pearl, I have no idea what to do…” You mumbled out, a yawn breaking out in the middle of your sentence. Never mind the overthinking your brain was still thinking about the whole situation, it didn’t take you long to pass out from the exhaustion while hoping that Seonghwa was in good hands with Hongjoong. Hopefully, you didn’t make another mistake.

It wasn’t until the morning with sun barging through the windows onto your face - you woke up. It was hard to adjust your eyes to the bright light and the exhaustion you felt last night was still there. Pearl was long gone, probably already scurried off as soon as you fell asleep and your hands stilled. Her needs were fulfilled.

But after you turned on your back to stretch out your limbs, your eyes fell on a figure sitting by your legs fast asleep. You were unsure if you ever sat up as fast as you did at that moment, your eyes doubling in size. Because in front of you was sitting no one else but Park fucking Seonghwa.

His upper body was patched up and wrapped with a big bandage, his arms crossed over his chest as he slept leaned against the back lean of the small couch. Why was he here? Why wasn’t he resting? Wasn’t he in pain? Where was Hongjoong?

“I can hear you thinking…” A tired voice mumbled out as one of Seonghwa’s eyes popped open to look at you. Almost instantly, you reached out to cup his cheeks while your eyes pooled with tears. From your mouth fell numerous apologies for how sorry you were and how you never wanted to bring him in danger. It really didn’t take long for your tears to start rolling down your cheeks.

“Baby please stop crying,” Seonghwa mumbled, doing his best to wipe your tears away before reaching out to wrap his hands around you while snuggling his face in the crook of your neck. You could hear him wince and that only made worry grow in your stomach even more. “How come you’re here-? Why aren’t you resting in that bed Hongjoong put you in last night? You should be sleeping and recovering…”

He turned his head to look at you while still resting it on your shoulder before giving you a small smile, “I woke up around 5 in the morning and couldn’t sleep without knowing where you were.” Seonghwa slowly explained while your mouth hung open, “So I managed to nag Hongjoong into helping me come here- it took a lot of convincing.”

You sniffled your tears away before wrapping your arms around him, careful enough so you wouldn’t hurt him. “Hwa… I was so scared.” You confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I mean you got fucking got shot- and by someone from my kingdom nonetheless!”

Your cheek was pressed against the top of his head while you tried to hold in a choked sob, "Seonghwa… What if my parents know? What if someone saw us or followed us and informed them?" He could hear the worry in your voice and he already knew you overthought everything that happened yesterday.

"Y/n-" You cut him off while pushing yourself back so you could look him in the eyes, "No Seonghwa! What if they go after you again!? They'll probably put me under a lock once I get back and I wouldn't be surprised if they searched the woods for you! And i-" this time, a sob did end up cutting you off, desperately wiping at your cheeks.

Seonghwa could feel his heart breaking for you after seeing you in this state. And for the second time that morning, he pulled you in for a hug. He let you cry it out, rubbing your back gently. He knew the sooner you let everything out, the sooner you would calm down.

He also wasn't sure what words would even manage to console you.

He was scared, just as much as you were. There was a chance that he won't be able to see you anymore after you get back to your home. And just that thought brought him more pain than he could even start to imagine.

After a few minutes, your cries finally started lessening into soft sniffles. You felt pathetic. That was the best way to describe how you were feeling at the moment. Pathetic, scared and all you could do was cry.

Not even a moment later, the sound of doors being opened echoed around the small house, a smiling Hongjoong reentering his home. "Good news, I got what I needed for your woun-" cutting himself off, he looked over the scene he walked in on. More specifically, Seonghwa with a deep frown covering his handsome face and you crying into his shoulder.

"A-ah!" He almost stumbled over his feet, before making a bee-line towards one of the rooms at the back of his house. You didn't know what was hiding back there, "Right! Privacy-"

You couldn't help but chuckle at Seonghwa's friend, moving to wipe the tears from your eyes. "He seems nice… How did you two even meet?"

It took one chuckle from you to make Seonghwa break into a soft smile, "That's… a long story. For another time." He mumbled before leaning forwards to place a soft kiss against your hairline. He knew that everything would come crashing down soon enough so… for now, he wanted to use up all of these small moments with you.

Sighing, he turned his head to connect your eyes, "We'll need to talk about what to do now regarding… everything." Hearing the anguish in his voice, you slowly nodded before he cut off your thoughts, "But not for now- not today. Just one more day? Let's just have one more normal day and deal with everything tomorrow?"

"Alright… we can do that." You nodded your head, biting the inside of your cheek. Because as much as you didn't want you, you knew the two of you will have to face your problems one of these days. But… just one more day of peace and quiet.

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dc41896 · 3 years

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Goodnight and Go

Something quick I thought of inspired by “goodnight no’ go” by Ariana Grande. Hope you guys like it☺️!

Pairing: handyman!Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: Mentions of drinking, brief mention of an injury/blood, fluff💕!

Tell me why you gotta look at me that way

You know what it does to me

So baby, what you tryna say?

Lately, all I want is you on top of me

You know where your hands should be

So baby, won't you come show me?

Chris: You have enough water right? And food in case the storm gets too bad?

Y/N: Yes dad I have everything I need lol

Chris: Smh the thanks I get for caring😤

Y/N: Aww you really do love me🥰!

Chris: ....go to bed Y/N lol

Y/N: What about you? If you need anything I can share

Y/N: You don’t have any jobs tonight right?

Chris: I’m fine, but thanks for the offer😊 and just one. It shouldn’t take long though

Chris: Aww is someone worried about me??😏

Y/N: 🙄 No...I just didn’t want you to be out in the middle of all the snow and get stuck somewhere then I’m left trying to dig you out

Chris: That sounds like you were worried 😉

Y/N: 😑 I’m going to bed now, goodnight sir lol

Chris: Lol goodnight. I’ll check on you tomorrow💙

Reading the message one last time before tucking your phone under your pillow, you softly smile imagining the way his pink lips were probably curled into a smirk with his teasing and little jokes. And how his voice tended to drop a couple steps above a whisper whenever he told you goodnight, leaving you flustered with tingles spreading over your body.

Oh, why'd you have to be so cute?

It's impossible to ignore you,

Why must you make me laugh so much?

It's bad enough we get along so well

Things had been this way for a while now. Specifically since college.

Although you knew each other in high school, due to him and your older brother being best friends, it wasn’t until college that you both started this unspoken “flirtationship”. You could go back and forth all day, but still neither of you would make the first move. Lately though, you could feel yourself inching closer and closer to finally taking that risk.

However, the thought of you two just being something fun to him and nothing more quickly halted your progress making your stomach queasy. You knew he wasn’t a player and had seen up close how sweet and caring he was, not wanting to hurt anyone, but still what if he didn’t want anything serious right now or to be tied down?

Before your anxious thoughts could take over, you force your eyes shut burying your face into your pillow with a sigh, letting the howling wind brushing against your window drift you off to sleep.

One of these days

You'll miss your train and come stay with me

(It's always say goodnight and go)

We'll have drinks and talk about things

And any excuse to stay awake with you

And you'd sleep here, I'd sleep there

But then the heating may be down again

(At my convenience)

We'd be good, we'd be great together

Knees up to your chest and comforter pulled as close as possible to your chin, your shivers make it impossible to go back to sleep. You could’ve sworn you turned the heater on before getting in bed, and even double checked.

So why did it feel like you were trapped in a meat locker?

Padding across the cold carpeted floor with your purple comforter tightly wrapped around your body, you find your thermostat indeed set to 75 and heat, but the temperature inside reading 57 degrees.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you say to yourself pressing the arrows up and down to see if anything would happen. Unfortunately, it remained unmoved showing you that your thermostat was definitely broken.

Rushing back to your bed before your feet could freeze anymore, you recover your phone from its hiding place quickly pressing Chris’ number.

“Yea?,” he asks, voice laced with sleep making you feel guilty for waking him.

“Oh, uh sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. Everything alright?”

“Um well my thermostat is broken and it’s freezing. But if you can’t make it till the morning-,”

“No I’ll be over in a few, just sit tight,” he yawns. You can hear the phone shift against his ear as he moves about collecting his things.

“You sure? It’s one a.m. and I know you’re probably tired.”

“Y/N it’s fine, plus you just live down the hall it’s nothing for me to come by and look,” he chuckles.

“Alright see you in a few.”

Within the next minute, he was at your door in his navy blue sweatpants and plain grey long sleeve shirt that seemingly clung to every muscle of his arms and chest with his toolbox in hand. If it wasn’t for the unbearable cold and your involuntary shivering, the sight would’ve had more of an effect of you than it currently did.

“Well, good news is that it’s an easy fix,” he speaks placing the wires back inside before screwing the cover back on the thermostat. “Bad news is I need to get the piece you need from the store which won’t be open until the morning. That is if they can with all the snow.”

“So basically I’m stuck being a popsicle for the night.”

“If you want to stay, yea. Or you can stay at my place. Unless you’re not comfortable with that then I completely understand.”

“Chris I’ve known you forever, and honestly would choose you to share a room with over my own brother,” you answer quickly getting your phone and keys before putting on your slides.

“Really?,” he asks amused.

“Yea. I know you won’t try to stick anything in my ear or mess with me somehow while I’m sleeping. Unless you’re now thinking of doing said things, which in that case I have no problem sleeping in my car.”

“Wouldn’t even dream of it sweetheart.” His deep chuckle as he wraps an arm around your shoulders rubbing up and down your arm trying to warm you bring back those familiar tingles as he leads you down the quiet hall to his apartment.

Entering the familiar space, you instantly sigh as your body begins to thaw in the warmth of his apartment. His body leaving your side to grab the couple throw blankets he had draped over his couch brings a sudden chill, making you hope he’d come back soon.

Wrapping both blankets around you, his arms bring you into his broad chest as close as possible tightly, but comfortably, trapping you in a hug.

“Better?,” he asks, head resting on top of yours while his large palm moves back and forth on your back.

“Mhm, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Standing there breathing in his faint woodsy scent still lingering after being worn all day, it’s the most comfortable you’ve been all night.

Well, looking past the current ache in your legs beginning to set in that is.

“Chris?”

“Hmm?”

“Although this is nice, my legs are starting to go numb,” you softly giggle watching as he pulled away with light red cheeks.

“Oh right, sorry. Um you can take the bed, I’ll stay out here,” he answers moving towards his couch.

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, just come on we can share. It’s not like we haven’t before.”

“That was an accident though, and on your part,” he smirks.

“No, it was actually you who ended up in the wrong room. Figures you don’t remember correctly since you were a bit under the influence,” you smirk back making him shake his head.

In truth, both of you were a bit drunk. Not enough to completely forget the entire night, but enough that any and everything was hilariously funny and sentences were a little difficult to get out clearly. What started with the two of you trying to watch a movie in your brother’s guest bedroom, turned into both of you knocking out in the middle of your conversation having not even pressed play.

A couple hours passed before his blue eyes peaked through his lids. He couldn’t stop the sleepy smile that crept on his lips noting how yours lied pouted against the pillow and nostrils would occasionally flare in the most adorable way from your breathing. He didn’t mean to stare, but how you could look so perfect while sleeping just made him want to hold you closer.

“Now that I think about it, all this isn’t some plan to get me in bed is it?,” he jokes sliding into his king sized bed at the same time as you.

“Wow, you caught me. I messed up my own thermostat nearly giving myself hypothermia just so I could get to you and these striped sheets. Gee, you’re better than Sherlock Holmes,” you retort sarcastically as his head falls back in laughter. Gathering your half of the sheets around you, you lie on the blue pillow gazing at Chris fluffing his before lying down as well.

“You still have it.”

“Have what?”

Taking his hand in yours, his eyebrow rises and heartbeat quickens watching you extend his arm to trace over the discolored scar still near the fold of his arm.

You could vividly remember that night as if it happened minutes ago. Him attempting a keg stand with your brother holding his legs while cheering him on, along with everyone else watching, before ultimately falling awkwardly. Somehow his arm hit the nozzle leaving a gash that oozed blood, and you trying your best to dress his wound using tape and bunches of toilet tissue in the host’s bathroom.

“Oh that,” he smiles as your thumb continues to graze over the spot. “It’s my little reminder.”

“To make sure your spotter has a good grip next time?,” you ask making him chuckle.

“That...and other stuff. Like how it’s nice to have someone there for you.”

Feeling him shift closer to you, you look up to meet his eyes gazing at you in a way you’d never experienced from him before. The usual softness was there, but as his lips curled into that adorable, heart melting tired smile, admiration seemed to be there as well. Something similar to watching the sunset and the sky transition from blue to the lightest shades of pink and purple.

“And that not all dumb decisions end in disaster,” he adds in a husky whisper.

Know you're thinking' 'bout it, baby, just one kiss

While you're lookin' at 'em, baby, read my lips

“It would’ve been nice for you to realize that before we had to play ER,” you whisper back.

“Then what would’ve been the fun in that?,” he smirks. “Plus deep down, I think you like always being there with the bandaid for us...or one of us at least.”

You’re not really sure which one of you leans in first, but soon your lips are connected moving in perfect sync. His thumb runs back and forth against your cheek bone as you cling to his shirt closing the remaining gap between you. Finally pausing for air, you stay close lifting your finger to trace his now swollen lips.

“There might be a teeny, tiny possibility you’re right,” you smile before feeling his lips on yours again.

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for, or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

#chrisxblackreader #chrisxwoc #chrisxreader #chris evans

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jmnjmnjmn · 3 years

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Celebrity crush | part 2 | JK x Reader x RM mini series

Pairing: Namjoon x Celebrity!Reader x Jungkook

Key words: christmas, celebrity crush, singer, idol.

Warnings: drinking, swearing, jealousy, slight panic attack

Word count: around 9,000

Writing this was something... There will be a part 3, there simply has to be... Please let me know if you would like me to write to endings - one for each ship. It is a lot of work, but I am battling with myself about doing it anyway hehe.

For a better read play yourselves those songs:

When I Fell In Love: this song is a loose translation of When I Fall In Love by Primary

Not Bothered: heavily inspired by It’s Okay If You Forget Me by Astrid S, but I imagine it sounding more positive and upbeat like Thank U, Next by Ariana Grande

Private lounge song: Spoil My Night by Post Malone

Inspo board

Masterlist

Namjoon exhaled deeply as the song blasting through his earbuds came to an abrupt end. He locked his phone and wrapped the cable around it before throwing it into the depths of his black backpack beneath his feet. He was in a car with Hoseok, driving home from a recording session.

“What is it?” He asked, glancing towards him. Namjoon looked at him cluelessly as the sound of his friend’s voice brought him back to earth.

“Huh?”

“You sighed so deeply.” He explained. “Something happened?” Namjoon smiled lightly and shook his head.

“No, it’s just- (Y/N) released a new song.” They both chuckled at the effect this girl had on him. “But- I mean- it’s a very dramatic one.” Namjoon added quickly as if he was justifying himself. “It talks very bluntly about ending a long term relationship and being more than okay with it.” Hoseok nodded with a suggestive grin. “It actually made me a little sad, but also… It got me thinking that…” Namjoon gave himself a couple of extra seconds before telling him what really was on his mind the whole time he was listening to (Y/N)’s new song. “She’s probably single right now.”

“Gosh, this is just too funny.” Hoseok shook his head, stopping at a red light. “You should ask Jungkook to give you her number.” Namjoon felt his cheeks going red almost instantly at the thought.

“No…” He murmured looking down at his lap. “Should I?”

“Yes!” Hoseok exclaimed. “It’s right there. Try or you’ll regret it.”

“Okay.” He nodded, trying to encourage himself. “I’ll ask Jungkook when we get home-”

“No, ask him right now!” Hoseok cut him off. “You’ll chicken out when we’re home.” He urged him, knowing Namjoon well enough to be sure that that’s exactly what would happen if he didn’t act right away. “Do it.” Namjoon took his phone out of his backpack and weighed it in his hand for a moment before unlocking it. He tapped on the KakaoTalk icon and drafted a long message to his group’s maknae. “Wait, what are you- just ask him! You don’t have to write an essay about why you want it. It’s not like he doesn’t know.” Hoseok laughed as he glanced at Namjoon��s screen where he already managed to type up a three paragraph text.

“Okay, okay.” Namjoon sighed, deleting the entirety of the message and replacing it with a greeting and a simple question. His stomach raised to his throat when he finally pressed the ‘sent’ arrow. As the lights changed from red to green Namjoon’s phone buzzed in his hand. “He sent it.” Hoseok smiled, patting his shoulder.

“You see? Wasn’t that hard.” Namjoon felt his head beginning to hurt as he realised what was supposed to come next.

“But… What do I write to her now?” He asked, totally clueless.

In the meantime Jungkook was sitting on the couch in the BTS dorm trying to put a finger on how he was feeling and why. Namjoon just texted him asking for (Y/N) number and he sent it to him without hesitation, but as he did it he felt something. A bitter fiery feeling inside his chest that he couldn’t describe any other way. Before he could stop himself he already typed and sent another message to his group’s leader.

“Why though?” Namjoon viewed the message instantly and replied within seconds. “I want to congratulate her on the new single” Jungkook cocked his eyebrow, reading the words on the screen.

He quickly typed (Y/N)’s name into YouTube and opened the most recent video. Nodding he carefully eyed the dance choreography and couldn’t help himself reminiscing the time they danced together. He opened KakaoTalk again, but instead of answering Namjoon he scrolled down his chat list stopping at (Y/N)’s and his selfie she still had set up as her profile picture. Involuntarily he smiled to himself as he started typing.

“You have been chosen!” Taehyung’s loud cheers echoed down the empty hallways of the BigHit headquarters as he shook on Jungkook’s shoulder.

Seven of the boys were on their way to dance practice when their manager called them into his office for a quick chat. It ended up as more of an announcement than a conversation since all of them were in deep shock after hearing what he had to say.

“I just received a very interesting call.” Their manager started with a mischievous look on his face. “It was from overseas.” He continued with the same tone, wanting to keep them in suspense. “A proposition of collaboration with Jungkook from a very popular artist.” The boys looked at each other with cluelessness in their eyes. “It was (Y/N)’s manager.” He finally stated, not being able to withhold the information for any longer. Jungkook widened his eyes at him. “She’s going to be putting out a Christmas single this year and wants it to be in collaboration with you.”

“Stop.” Jungkook told his friend off with a smile plastered on his face.

“It’s true you’re the one.” Hoseok chimed in. “She practiced with you, she asked for your number and now she wants you for the Christmas single.” He counted all their joint activities on his fingers.

“Such a popular guy. Jungkook’s in demand.” The group chattered teasingly.

“How do you do this, huh?” Taehyung asked, throwing his arm around Jungkook. His sweet smile quickly turned into a cheeky grin as he ruffled his hair. “You were just your charming self?” Jungkook laughed with the rest of the guys, as he felt his cheeks become hotter, minute by minute.

“I mean we talked. Once or twice.” He said, trying to sound nonchalant. Jimin raised his eyebrows at him.

“Once or twice?” Jungkook’s cheeks were visibly red by now.

“Twice.” He admitted happily. “Once in March and then she messaged me on my birthday, but I told you about that.” Jimin eyed his friends face with extreme interest.

“What did you talk about?” He pressed as they walked into the practice room.

“Well, first I congratulated her on the success of Not Bothered in March and we talked a bit and then she just wished me a happy birthday last week.”

“Gosh, I’m so jealous.” Namjoon whined, bending down to tie his shoes. He was the one that got the boys into (Y/N)’s music - or more accurately forced them to listen to it long enough they began to share his love for it as well. He was happy for Jungkook’s success, but he couldn’t help himself and felt a little bitter. “I mean a single with her is one thing, but birthday wishes..." He shook his head. ”That’s another level of familiarity."

“Your birthday’s in four days. Maybe she’ll message you too.” Seokjin joked, patting him on his shoulder comfortingly at which Namjoon chuckled.

“Doubtful.”

“Jungkook, ask (Y/N) to wish Namjoon a happy birthday.” Hoseok proposed with a laugh. “It would make his life.”

Tired after hours of going over different dance routines Jungkook lied down on the floor of the practice room panting. He brushed his hair back from his face. The hard feeling of the boards under his back got him thinking about the time he was teaching (Y/N) Boy With Luv choreography on the very same dance floor.

“Jungkook, your phone is buzzing.” Jimin called walking up to him with his phone in hand. He thanked him, grabbing the device. As his eyes met the bright screen he choked on his own tongue, earning a laugh from his friend. “Are you okay?” He asked, hitting his back with an open palm to help him catch his breath again.

“It’s (Y/N).” He finally croaked out. Jimin widened his eyes and squatted next to him.

“Guys, (Y/N) just messaged Jungkook.” He called out with excitement. “What did she say?” He urged him, looking over his shoulder onto his screen.

“Heard you said yes to my Christmas project.” Jungkook read aloud. “We’ll probably record in November. Can’t wait. Pink heart emoji.” With each word he read the boys made more and more comments regarding how lucky he was, how talented, how cool the whole experience was going to be and how happy they were for him. Even Namjoon, though still a little heart broken over (Y/N)’s choice, patted his shoulder with a sincere smile on his face. After a moment of staring at his telephone screen with disbelief Jungkook looked up to his hyungs from the ground. “What should I write back?”

From that moment on Jungkook and (Y/N) have been talking more frequently. It started quite professionally with her sending over information about the Christmas single and various samples of music and vocals. Within days though their conversations turned into long strings of messages with more of a personal note attached to them. Oftentimes when the members asked him what he was grinning about when staring down at his phone he would answer with a shrug, but after one more press he’d come clean, gloating about how funny or smart (Y/N) and showing them her messages.

“Saw you got nominated for BMA’s” Jungkook waited for the three moving dots to disappear before typing in an answer. Another bubble appeared on the screen and he smiled reading the simple message. “Congrats 💗”

“Thank you!! You too” (Y/N) immediately viewed his text. After less than two seconds another bubble from her came up on the bottom of Jungkook’s screen.

“💗” He smiled looking at the emoji she used with him so often. “We should meet when we’re all there. A little integration before we record next month 🎅” The smile on the boys face grew wider.

“Totally” He typed in quickly and chuckled at the answer she gave him.

“I’ll make sure my people set it up with your people 😉” He shook his head. She sounded so ridiculously famous.

“Can’t wait 😁” He typed back before locking his phone and reaching his hands up to touch his warmed up cheeks.

The black SUV slowly made its way down one of Los Angeles’s freeways. It was nearing two o’clock in the morning when it crossed the gates of a private estate in which (Y/N)’s house was located.

“Woah, this is crazy. Like from the movies.” The boys of BTS chattered between each other as they looked out the shaded windows of the car.

There were mansions left and right, long drive ways and high gates protecting whoever lived behind them. The car stopped and the driver rolled down his window. He said something to an intercom outside and the metal gate in front of the hood opened up, slowly revealing an insanely big house with a driveway the size of a whole parking lot, crowded with expensive vehicles. As the boys spilled out of the car a man dressed in all black approached their head staff member who just got out of the front seat. They chatted for a brief moment before he walked up to them rubbing his hands.

“You’re on your own now. We’ll head back to the hotel and pick you up when you call.” He explained with a thin smile. “Her security says she’s been informed of your arrival and that you should just go inside.” The boys looked at each other a little worried. Suddenly everything seemed so real and serious. “Go on. Have fun.” He encouraged them before getting back inside the company car.

“Ah, I’m nervous.” Jungkook sighed as the seven of them walked towards the front door of the house.

“Let’s be cool guys.” Namjoon said more to himself than his members. Inside he was trembling, but he desperately wanted to appear calm and collected in front of his celebrity crush. He took a deep breath before speaking up again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It’s like an american movie.” Hoseok chuckled when another man dressed in black jeans and a t-shirt of the same colour opened the door for them.

All of their jaws dropped when they entered the house. The walls seemed to go up for an endless amount of space until they reached the ceiling. The hardwood floors were so shiny they wondered whether they should take their shoes off on entering.

“Where do we-” Jimin started, but lost his train of thought somewhere in the middle of the question.

“Let’s just… Follow the music?” Namjoon asked unsure. The rest of the group nodded in agreement, but before they took more than two steps forward a small figure appeared in one of the doorways of the fourier. She smiled brightly as she walked towards them dressed in her signature look, oversized dress and thigh high booties.

“Hi.” (Y/N) dragged the word as she made her way to the group of boys. “It’s so great to see you, you.” She grinned opening her arms out towards Jungkook. Namjoon felt his heart break into pieces as he saw the shine in her eyes when she looked at the youngest of them. “Hi. I’m so happy you’re all here. Hi.” She kept repeating as she greeted the rest of the boys with hugs as well.

“Your home is beautiful.” Namjoon jumped in with a praising tone.

“Thank you.” She said, bringing both her hands to her chest. “I literally got here like fifteen minutes before you guys. The traffic- the whole event- well, it was hectic to say the least.” She stumbled on her words with a chuckle as she led them down a beautifully decorated hallway. “Some people are already here.” She explained gesturing to the open living and dining space where about thirty or forty people were hanging out in small groups. “It’s more of a low key kind of thing. It’s no concert afterparty.” She giggled, referencing the last party they attended together. She finally stopped in an area with a huge kitchen with white cabinetry and marble countertops and turned to face them, a sweet smile on her face. “I hope it’s okay with you.” They all energetically nodded and chimed some words of agreement making (Y/N)’s smile even wider. “Well, make yourselves at home. There’s drink here and the food’s there. I have to go be with my girls right now, but let’s definitely catch up later.” She let her gaze rest on Jungkook for a particularly long while as she was speaking earning a nervous smile from him. After exchanging see-you-later’s she joined a group of girls on the outside terrace grabbing herself a glass of chilled champagne on the way.

For the next hour or so the boys mostly stuck to themselves. They chatted with some dancers, some music producers, some people of whose professions they never heard of before.

“I’m kind of tired.” Taehyung told Jungkook and Namjoon as the clock hit three o’clock. They went to get drinks from the kitchen as the rest of the boys stayed outside by the pool. “Maybe we should go-” His proposition of leaving was cut off by some person’s loud shout.

“Yes! We wanna hear you sing!” A girl in a branded tracksuit exclaimed as (Y/N) laughed uncontrollably, sitting beside her on the big white couch. “Where’s the remote?” The girl dug up a TV remote from under the coffee table in front of her and turned the device on. After a couple of seconds she connected her phone to it and everyone gathered inside saw her look up ‘karaoke’ on YouTube.

“Oh my god, no.” (Y/N) chuckled covering her face.

“Come on, (Y/N). You promised you’ll sing.” Her friend begged jokingly until she finally looked up at her.

“Okay.” She sighed. She got up looking around the room at all the familiar faces when her gaze stopped at the boy standing by the kitchen island. “Taehyung, want a repeat of last time?” Suddenly everyone was looking at Taehyung, standing with his friends and a glass of red wine in his hand. He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. “You pick the song?” (Y/N) proposed with a cheeky smile.

“Okay.” He finally answered and set his glass down on the kitchen counter to go join her in the living area. (Y/N) took out two hand mics from the cupboard under the TV set and handed him one.

“So, what will it be?” She looked at him sweetly.

Taehyung ended up choosing Ariana Grande’s No Tears Left To Cry. Their performance turned out flawless which got everyone pumped up and set the tone for the rest of the night. After the two handed their mics to the next tipsy person wanting to sing their heart out (Y/N) grabbed Taehyung’s wrist and pulled him to the side.

“I really enjoy singing with you.” She looked up at him. “I think we have great musical chemistry.”

“Me too.” He nodded as they walked towards the two guys he earlier left in the kitchen.

“Boys!” (Y/N) called out as she skipped over to them. “I realised I never gave you the tour of the place. You want to go see my studio?” Namjoon quickly swallowed his drink to explain her proposition to Jungkook and Taehyung, but it wasn’t necessary as they immediately agreed and nodded energetically. “Great, follow me.”

She walked them around a house with a drink in her hand telling them about the renovations she had to do in particular rooms. After about five or ten minutes of that they finally got to the studio she earlier mentioned. The space was big, combined of multiple rooms. One a recording booth with plush couches, another a writing room with expensive guitars on the walls, another a fully equipped dance studio and so on.

“And here is where we’ll be recording next month with JK.” She pointed to an empty side of the recording booth. “The equipment is being delivered.” She explained with a chuckle as the three seemed to look a little surprised.

“I can’t wait.” Jungkook smiled at her and she averted her eyes to the floor before continuing with the tour.

“And here is-”

“Your dance studio.” Jungkook interrupted her at which she looked up at him with a smile.

“Yeah.”

“I recognise it from the photos.” They stood there for a moment just smiling at each other, before Taehyung chimed in.

“Photos?” He asked walking into the middle of the squicky clean dance floor.

“I sent him pictures from here once or twice.” (Y/N) explained and Taehyung hummed in understanding for which Namjoon was deeply thankful, because it masked the heavy sigh that just escaped his lips. “We should dance something.” (Y/N) suddenly proposed with excitement in her voice.

“You and me.” Jungkook exclaimed, matching her tone. The alcohol made the nervous feeling rising up in his chest disappear. “Boy With Luv.” (Y/N) laughed running towards a computer in the corner of the room to turn on the music.

“I hope I remember the moves.” She took positions with Jungkook by her side in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors as the music started to play. They barely got through the first verse when (Y/N) stopped. “I can’t dance in these shoes.” She laughed, taking off her high heeled boots and quickly meeting Jungkook in the next move of the routine.

Taehyung chuckled and clapped his hands, sitting on the ground in front of them, watching the performance when Namjoon leaned on the wall behind them, looking sadly at the scene unfolding before him. After the song ended the three of them started freestyling to (Y/N)’s spring single Not Bothered.

“I don't feel sorry for myself or care if you're holdin’ somebody else. No, I’m not bothered. Ain’t bothered.” Taehyung pulled Namjoon in to join them and even though he wasn’t really feeling it he decided to try and pull himself out of this slump. “I don't feel empty now that you're gone. Doesn’t mean you didn't mean nothing at all, but I won’t get jealous if you’re happy. No, I won’t. I’m not bothered. No, I ain't bothered." Somehow Jungkook knew the entire choreography to the song and joined (Y/N) in singing the lyrics of the song. “From everything to nothing at all. From every day to never at all. But I’m fine. I’m not bothered.” As the speakers went silent the four broke into laughter intermittened with slight panting from the sudden movements.

“What’s the story behind this one?” Namjoon asked as (Y/N) passed them a bottle of Fiji water each from the glass fridge by the wall. The atmosphere seemed to have shifted as soon as he asked the question, but it was too late to take it back. She took a big sip of her drink before answering with her signature sweet smile.

“It’s pretty self explanatory.” She chuckled finally.

“But did it really happen?” He pressed before he could stop himself and she exhaled a weak laugh as she looked him in the eye.

“I wouldn’t be calling out such specific events if they didn’t happen.” She explained as she stretched her arms over her head. Namjoon nodded, knowing that one more question would probably be considered as crossing the line so he decided upon a compliment.

“It’s really good.”

“Thanks. I like it too.” (Y/N) took another sip of her water before nodding to herself. “It’s my own little self love anthem,”

“AH!” Namjoon exclaimed, dropping an eggshell into the pan for the third time this morning.

“Jeez, what is it with you?” Yoongi looked up from his phone at him. Namjoon just sighed, leaving his question unanswered.

The truth was he was too ashamed to tell anybody why he was so on edge lately. He dug out the shell from the pan and stirred his eggs furiously as he started thinking about it again, ‘it’ meaning Jungkook and (Y/N). Yesterday morning he left for a three day stay in the States to record his Christmas single with her and it drove Namjoon insane. He imagined them having a blast singing the song and shooting the music video together, laughing about how stupid he is for liking (Y/N) when she’s so obviously into the youngest member.

“She chose him.” He repeated in his head. “She chose him. Get over it, Joon.” He scraped the burned eggs from the pan onto a clean plate and stomped over to the kitchen table where Yoongi was sitting. “No wonder. He’s a better dancer and singer. He’s closer to her in age, he’s more confident.” He started spiraling into a pit of despair when Yoongi spoke up again.

“You’re taller though.” He said without even looking up at Namjoon from his phone.

“What?” He asked in shock. “Was I- did I say all that out loud?” He stammered in embarrassment. Yoongi just hummed as a response and Namjoon felt his face burning up. That’s it for keeping his jealousy a secret. “Can you not tell Jungkook about this?” Yoongi exhaled loudly, shaking his head.

“Wasn’t going to.”

“Thanks.” Namjoon answered, looking down at his failed attempt of scrambled eggs on the plate before him.

“But you should.” His friend added out of the blue. Namjoon looked at him with his eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“What?”

“It’s obviously eating you up from inside that he’s spending time with (Y/N).” He explained, still scrolling through something on his phone. “You should talk to him about it or stop it altogether." Namjoon put down his fork with a sigh.

“How am I supposed to stop them?” He asked, hoping Yoongi had some brilliant idea ready for him.

“Not them, idiot.” He scolded him. He locked his phone and stuffed it in his jeans pocket as he stood up from the table. “Stop yourself from thinking about it. Make yourself get over it or something.”

“Oh.” Namjoon looked back down from his friend onto his plate. Though the sight of its contents deeply disgusted him he decided upon forcing himself to eat at least a bite or two. The jealousy that started raging in him as soon as Jungkook left for America made him unable to eat so when he finally felt hungry he wanted to stuff himself with something healthy. Hence the eggs.

“Honestly, Namjoon.” Yoongi’s voice was serious, almost as if he was warning him. “You have to do something about it. You’ll regret it if you won’t.”

As his friend closed his bedroom door behind him he left Namjoon all alone in the common space of the BTS dorm. He exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders relax and his arms fall down to his sides. (Y/N) seemed to have taken a sincere liking towards Jungkook and he couldn’t do anything about it. Not now at least. Now it was too late. He stirred his eggs lazily, feeling more hopeless than ever.

“Woah! I love it!” He heard Taehyung and Jimin chatter in the next room. “Send it to the group chat.” One of them exclaimed and within a second Namjoon’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and opened the message in the BTS group chat.

“A little teaser of the Christmas single.” The text beneath a video file forwarded by Jimin read. Namjoon pressed the white triangle in the middle of it and instantly regretted his decision.

“When did I fall in love with you? When did I start opening up?” Jungkook’s flawless vocals filled his ears as he watched him sing, standing in the middle of (Y/N)’s home studio’s recording booth. “Without hiding, without me knowing when I fell in love. When I fell in love.”

“It’s supposed to be a Christmas single, not a Valentine's one.” He scoffed to himself, knowing that getting over his infatuation with (Y/N) was going to be a harder task than he initially thought.

“She’s going to start posting the official teasers next week, the lyric video will come out on the first and the music video on the fifth of December.” Jungkook babbled with excitement.

The seven of them were having dinner at the BigHit office as they were busy with preparing for their group’s winter comeback. Their youngest member has just yesterday come back from his trip visiting (Y/N) in her Los Angeles home where most of the recording for her Christmas single took place and was now telling his friends about every little detail of the whole experience.

“I can’t wait for the release of the video.” He smiled brightly as the rest of the boys congratulated him once again on getting such a great opportunity. Namjoon just hummed in agreement with them, because he couldn’t trust himself to sound sincere if he decided to speak up as well. “Also she’s going to be in Tokyo in mid December.” Namjoon knew (Y/N) was going to be in Asia next month for the four-week-long promotional tour of her new album, but still his ears perked up at the statement. “And she invited me to join her during the live show to perform When I Fell In Love. Our PD says I should do it.” He felt his spirit getting crushed as Jungkook finished his sentence and the rest of the group erupted in words of surprise and praise directed at the maknae.

Looking up from his plate Namjoon noticed Yoongi giving him a meaningful glare. He quickly averted his gaze as he felt his head getting hot at the memory of the conversation they had not so long ago. Yoongi couldn’t take looking at his friend in that state any longer and decided to take the matter into his own hands.

“Ah, Namjoon’s handling this so well. Isn't he?” He asked nonachalantly. Namjoon looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, you always had such a huge crush on (Y/N) and wanted to work with her so badly.” Hoseok quickly joined in.

“If I were you I would be fuming with jealousy." Yoongi added, playing his part perfectly.

“It must be so hard for you, hyung.” Taehyung jumped in, patting Namjoon on his shoulder to comfort him.

“I’m fine.” He answered half-heartedly. The simple phrase proved to be enough for the five of his friends, but in one of their minds doubts started growing.

Jungkook looked at his group's leader, his friend of so many years, with a puzzled expression. He was so focused on making a good impression on (Y/N), so nervous when they were together that he totally forgot about the fact that it was Namjoon’s idea to go to her concert in the first place. He wondered if he really meant what he just said, if he really was ‘fine’. After all (Y/N) was just his celebrity crush. Everyone has one. He didn’t really know her, at least not like Jungkook did. They talked and connected, it was different with her for him he thought. They spent an awful lot of time together when he came over to shoot and record with her for her Christmas single. The romantic nature of the music video and the lyrics made it even more clear for him that he in fact had feelings for her. It also ensured him that she felt something towards him too.

Jungkook breathed in sharply and took another bite of his meal trying to not overthink the situation. The possibility of both him and Namjoon liking the same girl made him uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to suppress his feelings because of that. He wasn’t a type to give up that easily.

(Y/N) sat in her dressing room looking in the mirror, watching herself become more and more perfect by the minute as her beauty team rushed around her, putting in her hair, finishing up her makeup.

“Three minutes.” Someone one the other side of the door called out.

For today's performance she was wearing the same outfit she had on in New York and Toronto, the same one she was going to wear in London and Moscow as well - a floor length, skin tight, white dress with long sleeves and a slit down the side. It was the look from the cover of her newest album, the one she was promoting with the four-week and five-shows-long tour.

“Two minutes.” Her new hair extensions were falling down her shoulders in long, lashcious cascades a couple of shades lighter than her natural colour.

“One.” (Y/N) tilted her head making them catch light and shine in the reflection.

“Show time.” She stood up from her chair and walked out the door onto the backstage where she had to greet several people she never met before and thank them for coming to her show. In those moments she really wondered why she didn’t become an actress, faking smiles and deep interest in total strangers was practically second nature to her at this point.

After that little show was over she walked down the dimly lit hallway to meet with her friends and dancers hanging out in the private lounge. As she opened the door she noticed one person she wasn’t expecting to see.

“Jungkook?” She asked, eyeing the boy. He was dressed in black from head to toe, his dark hair styled to fall neatly over his forehead. He already met everyone present in the room when visiting her in Los Angeles to record the Christmas single. “How did you get in here?” He reached to the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a lineard with a plastic badge attached to it.

“I have uh- special pass.” (Y/N) smiled, opening her arms as she approached him. Jungkook mirrored her movements and they greeted each other with a hug and kiss on the cheek as they always did. “How are you?” He asked, letting go. (Y/N) looked around her friends' faces with a slight frown.

“Honestly, I’m a little nervous tonight.” She confessed, biting her lip and instantly scolding herself in her mind for it. She was wearing matte lipstick and didn’t want to go through another makeup touchup before the concert.

“Why? It’s going to be great. What is it? You’ll be fine.” They all spoke silmunaniously and she just chuckled, looking down to her feet.

She couldn’t tell them, or at least not all of them. Some of the people surrounding her right now - her closest friends, her dancers - knew why she felt the way she felt today, but some would be shocked if she revealed the whole story to them since she successfully kept it secret for so long. As she lifted her head back up she put on another one of those fake smiles and reassured everyone it must be just regular stage-fright, but in reality she was just profoundly sad.

Today was her ex-boyfriend’s birthday and although in just two months it would be a year since their break up she couldn’t stop herself and went to stalk his Instagram and Twitter profiles earlier in the day to see how he’s been celebrating. The fact that he wasn’t much of a public person and used his social media accounts mostly for liking others' posts made it so much harder for (Y/N) not to blow up when she noticed the black and white picture on his timeline.

“Spending my day with my boo 💑 ilysm” She shook her head at the memory of the simple caption underneath a picture of two people kissing in some restaurant’s booth. She hated herself for letting it influence her so strongly. She felt angry. She felt sad. She felt jealous, not necessarily of him, not really. At this point she was jealous of everyone who had a partner, everyone who could post pictures of them online without millions of hate comments appearing within seconds of posting it or without it hindering their public image, everyone who had the ability to call out ‘honey, I’m home’ when entering their house without lying.

(Y/N) sighed deeply trying to relieve some of the tension still pent up in her body despite being on stage for the past forty minutes. Having the setlist memorised she knew what song came next. The lights went dark for a moment before all the screens behind her back depicted falling snowflakes and snippets of the music video for When I Fell In Love. The audience cheered in excitement as (Y/N) took her position in the middle of the stage under the blinding spotlight and started singing the first verse.

“You and I. Did someone stop the time? ‘Cause it feels like I’m a child and you’re the presents underneath, underneath the Christmas tree.” Jungkook stood backstage, gripping his microphone tightly afraid it might slip through his sweaty fingers. He tapped his foot on the floor waiting for a sign from the sound guy to walk out on stage and join (Y/N) in the chorus. “Don’t know when, but at some point everything changed for me with you and I don’t know when looking at each other became this little habit of ours.” He felt a pat on his shoulder signaling it’s Jungkook’s queue. He breathed out and brought the microphone to his lips as he walked out on stage.

“When did I fall in love with you? When did I start opening up?” (Y/N) outstretched her hand towards him and he took it. “Without hiding, without me knowing when I fell in love. When I fell in love.” The two of them sang, still mirroring the scene from the music video streaming on the big screens behind them where they played two people realising they were in love on Christmas day.

A couple of songs later (Y/N) walked off stage for a sip of water before the encore. Her beauty team gathered around her tweaking individual hairs and straightening up her dress. The crowd outside roared as the first notes of Not Bothered played, the last number of the night.

“Fighting, (Y/N)!” She turned around, searching for the source of the encouraging words. After a couple of seconds of looking around she noticed Jungkook standing with a couple of people whose faces she didn’t recognise. He had both of his hands up with his thumbs and index fingers crossed, making two tiny hearts. (Y/N) smiled weakly at the sight and nodded his way. She was feeling everything but ready to perform this particular song, but still walked out in a confident strut, surrounded by her dancers.

“I’m sorry I need a moment. (Y/N) breathed out as she walked to her dressing room, her beauty team and assistant right behind her. “Alone.” She added and closed the door behind herself. She leaned on it and slid down to the ground with a muffled sob. After singing that song she felt far from Not Bothered. She hugged her legs to her chest, digging her nails into the soft material of her dress, trying to calm her breath down, but she couldn’t. She raised herself up and paced back and forth around the small room, covering her trembling lips with the palm of her hand. After some time she stopped, looking at herself in the mirror. “Stop it, stop it.” She whispered, shooting an angry glare at the reflection. She wiped her cheeks with her hands and breathed in shakily, walking to the door to let her team in. “I’ll be fine.” She stated at the sight of their worried faces. “I just need a makeup touch up.”

“It’s official.” The sweet voice echoed through Namjoon’s ears. He looked up from his laptop in search of its source which he immediately noticed. “I’ll see ya’ll at Coachella.” Jungkook smiled fondly, looking down at his phone. “It’s official. I’ll see ya’ll at Coachella.” The voice said once again. The maknae tapped his phone’s screen twice, undoubtedly liking a video (Y/N) just posted on one of her social media accounts.

Before he could give it another thought Namjoon was already typing (Y/N)’s name into his computer’s search engine. He glanced over a couple of articles and pressed on the link taking him to her official site.

“Delight World Tour” He read a title written in a thick font of the colour of baby pink. Mindlessly he scrolled down already scanning his screen in search of his city’s name. “Seoul, South Korea - 16th of June - Seoul Olympic Stadium.”

*click*

Namjoon’s head snapped back towards Jungkook. He stood by the living room window with his arm outstretched in front of him to take a selfie. He quickly brought the phone back down and started typing.

“Hyung, how do you say- how do you change the word ‘delight’ into a verb in English?” He asked looking up at him. Namjoon froze in place, wondering why Jungkook was asking about that particular word. He didn’t have to wonder for long. “I want to message (Y/N) about Coachella. You know she’s like a headliner or something? So far I wrote: How delightful. Is that okay? I wanted to do like a little word play with her album’s name since-” Namjoon slapped his laptop shut.

“Delightful is not a verb. It’s an adjective.” He cut him off. “And yes, it’s fine.” He added standing up from the couch and storming away to his room.

He threw his computer on the bed and shut the door behind himself with a loud thud. Right as he did that he sighed and quickly opened the door back up. Walking back to the living room he noticed confused Jungkook standing where he left him, looking down at his phone.

“I’m sorry.” Namjoon mumbled, scratching his forehead. This, though definitely late, was a perfect time to come clean to Jungkook and tell him how he really felt about whatever it was that was between him and (Y/N), but he opted for an excuse instead. “I’m just tired.” Jungkook muttered some words of understanding, but Namjoon couldn’t really hear much sincerity in them. All he could think about was his jealousy. “Are you going to be seeing (Y/N) when she comes to Seoul?” He asked, trying to sound as casual as he could.

“Ah, she 's coming? When?” Namjoon had to use all his willpower not to roll his eyes at the boy.

“Yeah, in June. For the Delight tour.” Jungkook opened his eyes wider in realisation. He quickly unlocked his phone and started typing again.

“I guess I could ask her about it while I’m at it.” He said with his eyes glued to the tiny screen before him.

“While you’re at it…” Namjoon muttered under his breath and Jungkook hummed in question. “Don’t you think it’s a little too early for that?” He asked, hoping to plant a seed of uncertainty in his friend's mind.

“No, the sooner the better.” He chimed and looked at his group’s leader with a smile. “She says we should totally meet up.” Namjoon’s plan not only didn’t work, it totally backfired on him. He nodded and went back to his room, quietly locking the door this time.

The boys sat in one of those monthly meetings where their manager went over the whole schedule set for them for the next four weeks. Halfway through the hour-long sit down they were already feeling a little bit overwhelmed by the amount of appearances and live shows they have to do only the following week.

“And going into the second week of June, on sixteenth Jungkook’s attending Delight-” Namjoon involuntarily slapped both his hands on his thighs in sudden shock. “Namjoon?” The manager asked.

“Yeah- no- sorry, I- could- is- is Jungkook going alone?” He finally stuttered out. As he received an affirmative answer he opened his mouth again. “I- could- could I go as well?” He asked, feeling the blood rush to his face. The manager stalled for a moment before he finally let out a simple ‘yes’.

“JK and RM.” Jungkook chimed, raising his hand in a high five motion towards his friend as if they just landed a good deal together.

On the day of the concert both Namjoon and Jungkook woke up with big smiles on their faces. They both hummed to themselves while washing their teeth, their feet felt light walking on the ground and went through their day feeling somewhere close to invincible. It was almost funny. Especially, because the reason behind their positive attitude was also the same and that was (Y/N).

“You think she’ll have time for us before the show?” Namjoon asked, checking the time on his phone for the millionth time since they got in the company car.

“Ah, for sure. Last time we hung out in the private lounge for almost an hour with the dancers.” He answered nonchalantly. Namjoon looked out the window of the car at the long line of fans in front of the venue. He unconsciously sighed which didn’t go unnoticed by his friend sitting beside him in the backseat. “Just be cool.” Jungkook stated, glancing his way.

The youngest member of BTS walked the backstage like it was his own concert. He greeted people that worked the show, some dancers and some staff, he grabbed himself a bottle of water from a stand in the corridor. Namjoon just walked behind him, hoping his nervousness will magically evaporate once he sees (Y/N).

“JK!” Someone called as they passed by a half open double door. Jungkook stopped in his tracks and peaked his head inside the room.

“Hey!” He exclaimed and walked inside.

Namjoon took a breath before entering the room, unsure what he’ll be met with inside. When he crossed the doorway he noticed Jungkook side-hugging some guy in a baby pink sweatsuit with the name ‘Johnny’ embroidered over his heart.

“This is my friend from my group, RM.” Namjoon stepped forward ready to give the guy a hand shake, but he went in for the hug and kiss combo.

While his hyung was dealing with Johnny, (Y/N)’s close friend and one of her main dancers, Jungkook greeted other staff already gathered in the private lounge. He didn’t have time to introduce him to them though, because the star of the night, one and only (Y/N), showed up right after them.

“Hey!” She called out, dragging the last letter of the word.

She was dressed in the same outfit the rest of the dance crew was wearing, only she had her own name embroidered on the front of the baby pink sweatshirt. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders in light waves that reached over her waist.

“The tag goes with your outfit.” She joked flicking the baby pink ‘VIP’ tag Jungkook had pinned to his shirt. He chuckled and she opened her arms to properly greet him with a hug, that in Namjoon’s mind lasted a tad bit too long. As they finally let go of each other (Y/N) turned to Namjoon with a smile just as sweet and sincere as the one she granted Jungkook with. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Namjoon answered smoothly, mentally high-fiving himself for coming up with that.

“Are you performing in this?” Jungkook asked, pulling on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, making Namjoon wonder if they ever partook in any more skinship than the hugs (Y/N) gave him.

“No.” (Y/N) chuckled, waving him off. They seemed to be so comfortable with each other, so innocent and cute.

“This is just for the backstage, silly.” Johnny explained and reached for (Y/N)’s pant leg. “It’s tear-off. Look.” He pulled on the material undoing a couple of the top buttons and almost giving both Jungkook and Namjoon heartattacks as a bit of (Y/N)’s upper thigh was revealed.

“Johnny!” She scolded him, slapping his hand away and pinning the pant leg closed again. “I’ve got like twenty minutes to spare before I have to go get changed into my real outfit-” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and shot Johnny a serious glare. “-and the same goes for the dance crew.” Johnny just chuckled.

The four made their way to the couches located in the center of the lounge and sat down for some conversation and chilling before the big show.

“How’s Korea treating you?” Namjoon asked as they made themselves comfortable on opposite couches.

“Honestly, it’s been lovely so far.” Johnny answered with a dreamy look in his eyes.

“I agree. Both this time and last time... It was great.” (Y/N) added. “I wish we had more time to explore though.” Johnny hummed in agreement. “Like, for example last year the only time I spent not working and properly taking in the city was when I went out with you guys.”

“Ah, we should do that again then.” (Y/N) giggled sweetly at his blunt proposition.

“(Y/N), 5 minutes.” Her assistant said popping inside the lounge quickly.

“Already? Damn.” She answered in confusion. “Time passes fast in good company.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Johnny answered her, even though she was looking towards Jungkook and Namjoon who sat on a couch opposite from the one they were sitting on.

“Go get ready, Johnny.” She shut him down with a smile as the four of them chuckled at his comment. “Cheer for me.” (Y/N) said sweetly to the two boys as she stood up.

“Of course!” “Fighting!” They said silmutaniously, bringing a wider smile to her face.

“What time is it?” Jungkook asked. With his feet up on the table and a bowl of some candy by his side he looked like he was just hanging out in his own living room when in fact he was a ‘VIP’ guest on the backstage of (Y/N)’s Seoul live show. “What time is it?” He repeated his question as Namjoon was too engulfed in watching (Y/N) perform one of her sexier songs on the big screen in front of them to hear him the first time.

“It’s-” Namjoon looked at his phone screen.”A little after eleven.”

“Before I walk off this stage I would like to take a moment and thank some people.” (Y/N)’s voice echoed from the stage and through the speakers in the lounge. She had both her hands on her chest right now in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you to all of you that came out tonight. This show is for you and you only.”The gathered crowd started whistling and cheering loudly. “Thank you to all the dancers and the musicians that are on this stage tonight. This concert would be nothing without you.” She gestured around the stage behind her. “And one more to all of the people working their asses off behind this stage. A round of applause for them. Thank you guys. Thank you so much.” She started clapping together with her fans. “Thank you, all of you.” She turned to the audience again. “I love you so much. I love you. Thank you.” The audience was shouting and applauding loudly as (Y/N) raised the mic back up to her lips. “This song is for all the girls and boys who just got out of relationships and need some good lovin’. Come on!” She exclaimed right before the first notes of Not Bothered started playing.

Tonight (Y/N) was looking to get drunk, in a respectable kind of way a famous person can get drunk and not lose their reputation. She walked into the club reserved for her concert afterparty somewhere in downtown Seoul in an intimidating formation - with her dance crew besties to both her sides. Her white sneakers shined in the UV lights of the venue contrasting perfectly with the black branded sweatshirt dress she was wearing.

“Six bottles of champagne, please.” She said to the waiter as they walked to the private lounge reserved just for them. It was a spacious room with a black leather couch shaped like the letter ‘U’ and a heavy marble table in the middle. Above the back of the couch hung a big TV screen and across was a venetian mirror, making it so her and her friends could watch the dancing crowd while remaining invisible.

As the night progressed (Y/N)’s friends, dancers, staff, ‘VIP’ guests came and went from the private room while she stayed seated at the bottom of the ‘U’ shaped couch downing drink by drink.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” She murmured more to herself than anybody else as she stood up and walked out the soundproof door. “Sorry.” She mumbled, squeezing through the corridor full of people to make her way to one of the club’s the bathrooms.

“(Y/N).” She heard her name being called by a familiar voice. Looking over her shoulder she noticed Jungkook and Namjoon standing awkwardly with drinks in their hands. Right as she looked into the first boy’s eyes an idea popped into her head.

“Hey, come with me.” She said, walking up to them. “You won’t be needing this.” She took the plastic cups out of their hands and set them on the nearby table. “Come on.” She grabbed Jungkook’s hand. “Don’t get lost.” She warned them and Jungkook grabbed Namjoon’s wrist as (Y/N) pulled him through the swarm of people.

In this weird snake-like formation they got to the top floor of the club where they could let go of each other and walk normally.

“This way.” She said chuckling and almost skipping as she led the two clueless boys to her private lounge. “Welcome to my little kingdom.” She said pushing the heavy door open and revealing a practically empty lounge. “Let’s drink together.” She plopped down on the couch. “Come on.” She encouraged the two as they shyly walked inside and took seats next to her.

It didn’t take much longer for (Y/N) to convince Namjoon and Jungkook to get pissed drunk with her. They started with ordering three half liter bottles of different flavoured soju, then came the bulgogi with tons of side dishes. After that they drank a whole bottle of pink champagne and ordered another serving of japchae, jajangmyeon and pepperoni pizza.

“I want to sing.” (Y/N) suddenly stated, her mouth full of delicious korean food she never ate before.

She stood up from the table and started meddling with the TV on the wall. After a couple of seconds of wrestling she had the remote in her hand. She sat on the counter of the table, her legs resting on the seat of the couch, eyes glued to the bright screen. She opened the YouTube app and typed in the title of one of her current favourite songs. As the music started playing slipped her sneakers off, still sitting on the table, body moving to the smooth beat.

“I don't have much to say, I'll be out front.” Jungkook pointed his arms towards (Y/N) and she stood up from the couch. “Won't you come spoil my night?” He joined in, standing up from his seat. “Feelings come into play-” She started walking towards the empty end of the ‘U’ shaped couch. “-and I'm thinkin' this happens every time.” She jumped down, joining the maknae in a purposeless dance, not caring that her white socks will turn black from the dirty dark carpeting by the end of the song.

They sang, danced, jumped around, twirled under each other’s arms, ran out of breath and laughed throughout the rest of the song. Tired from the sudden performance Jungkook fell back down on the couch, resting his head on the high headboard. (Y/N) slapped his shoulder so he moved to make space for her to sit next to him, Namjoon sitting across from them.

Jungkook took notice of how close she was right at that moment. Their thighs touched, her shoulder brushed against his as she leaned over the table to get her drink. He looked down at the bare skin of her legs, then his gaze travelled up over the black crewneck to her neck and finally her lips.

“Is that lip gloss?” His lips moved before he could stop himself.

(Y/N) turned her face towards him, her long hair extensions slipped over her shoulder.

“What?” As she looked at him with utter confusion he thanked all gods as he realised he spoke in Korean.

“We should order some more pork!” He exclaimed, still in Korean and looked at Namjoon for translation.

“Uh- he wants to eat pork.” The older boy said eying his junior with suspicion. Did his ears fool him or did he just hear Jungkook ask (Y/N) about her lip gloss?

“Isn’t this pork?” She asked, gesturing with her drink to one of the dishes on the table.

“Ah, yes.” Jungkook chuckled nervously and ran his hand through his hair. “Silly me.” He grabbed his chopsticks and took a big bite of the remaining bulgogi.

Jungkook excused himself to the bathroom with a promise of bringing up at least one bottle of soju on his way back. Feeling his stomach turn from overeating and blurting out stupid comments he walked out onto the corridor and down the stairs to the bar.

Namjoon looked at (Y/N) from across the table. She rested her head in her hands, her eyelids fluttered open and closed slowly as if she was trying not to fall asleep. She looked stunning to him.

“(Y/N)...” He muttered, not entirely sure where this sentence would take him.

“RM.” She whispered back, batting her eyelashes and finally opening her eyes up to look straight at him. “What?” She leaned her head to one side.

“Go out with me.” He simply asked.

It wasn’t that alcohol gave him enough courage to actually say those words it was more that it made him care little enough to try and risk the possibility of getting rejected by his ultimate celebrity crush.

“Like on a date?” She asked unsure of what he meant.

Realising he had to explain himself to her suddenly brought him back to reality. What was he thinking? Asking her out? Asking her out?!

“No, like for dinner. T-to hang out.” He babbled scratching his head.

“Oh.” (Y/N) leaned back onto the headboard behind her. “Okay, sure.” The sweetness of her voice gave Namjoon enough of a nudge to look up at her again. “But I only have time in the late evening, like really late, ‘cause we’re doing some- I have a photoshoot for- and a- ah, whatever.” The amount of alcohol she consumed made it hard for her to form a proper sentence without going off topic. “I have work all day. I can see you in the evening.” Namjoon nodded with a faint smile making its way to his lips. “I’ll text you.” His agreeing answer was drowned by Jungkook’s loud exclamation as he stumbled back through the door.

“Look what I got!” He called with a laugh, raising up two bottles of cherry flavoured soju.

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

A/N: words cannot described how entertained I was when I was writing this...

Warning: suggestive themes

Word count: 1888

(click here to see more of Osamu’s bento)

(taglist in the notes, please go to the link in my bio or send me an ask to be added to the bento taglist uwu)

Previously...

You were so determined to tell him everything as it was, but you immediately didn’t have the heart to do it when you were met with his round eyes fixed on you.

You had it coming…

“Yeah,” you said, “we are going through this real big project right now and everyone is on edge.”

He took your hand and pressed it against his cheek. You smiled as he leaned into your touch, caressing his jaw with your thumb. He was lucky that he’s cute, you thought to yourself, silently deciding that maybe you would try to be a little bit more openminded the next time he turned your lunch into a meme canvas.

“Then I should try to bring you some excitement with your bento then! Something that both taste good and can motivate you visually!”

You might have deliberately left out that the true reason to your exasperation was the fact that your brain was squeezed dry after playing a game of edible pictionary under Osamu’s drive, but you didn’t exactly lied about anything either. There was really a big project your department was undergoing and it was pushing everyone’s mental well-being to the edge. Your friend, the one who sat at the cubicle opposite to yours, nearly had a meltdown in the office the other day because the drafts of a powerpoint was printed in greyscale instead of in colour. The head of the department, a middle aged man who looked like a round department store mascot and never raises his voice, was heard sobbing in his office after getting off a conference call with the management board. Needless to say, you had been walking on eggshells in every waking minute and you felt like you had aged by years just from theses few days.

The only bit of joy you had in the office was the short 30 minutes you were mercifully given each day to fuel your body with food so you could continue to be tortured by work. Osamu kept his promise with changing up what was in your bento every single day with no repeats. Making count of what you had seen in your bento had become part of your daily routine. You had gotten several different pepes, a few cat memes and some very ambiguous looking faces (most of which you assumed to be him). You were hesitant to accept his new hobby of using your lunch as a creative outlet but now you appreciate it to no end.

Slamming the door shut, you placed your palm flat on the wall and sighed as the soreness in all the muscles you did not know was in your body started getting worse and worse.

God could give you 48 hours in a day and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m home...” you muttered, kicking your shoes to the side as you limped into the living room.

Osamu appeared from the doorway and took your bag from your hand. You groaned at the weight that was finally off of your shoulder, rolling your neck to feel each joint cracking. He caught you in his arms swiftly when you latched onto him, putting all your weight on him as you allow your tired legs the rest they needed.

“Urgh...” your voice came out as an inaudible noise as you groaned into his chest, rubbing your face against the fabric of his shirt. He let your bag fell onto the ground with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around you as he felt you sinking deeper into his embrace, “if it goes on like this I’m not going to live to see tomorrow’s sunrise..."

You whined as he rubbed soothing circles on your back, the warmth reaching from his palm to your body. You felt your limbs slowly reviving under his touch, his hand trailing from your back to your shoulder blades then down your spine again. You could feel the rumbling from his chest as he spoke, his voice low by your ear and his breath ticking your neck, “Do you need me to give you some motivation?”

A sound that resembled a choked moan slipped from your lips when his hand pressed down at a particularly stiff spot on your back, “Please do.”

The corner of his lips curled up at your breathy reply. Brushing your hair away with his finger, he dipped down to the sensitive skin of your exposed neck.

“Can you make nanban chicken for tomorrow’s bento?”

He froze in place at your request. Ah, you had taken his suggestion towards a completely different direction. He thought that he sounded pretty sexy when he was whispering in your ear but perhaps the suggestive tone lacing his words went lost in your tired brain.

He bite back the sigh that was threatening to leak out, “Of course.”

Osamu didn’t try to initiate anything again the next couple of days, mostly because you came back looking like your soul had flown away from your body every single night that he felt bad for even thinking about doing anything that might tire you out even more. Was it bad that the thought of not being able to do anything actually made him even needier? Perhaps. But it had been a while and quite a while since you had done anything intimate and being a normal young man with normal needs, he felt like the even the slightest bit of skinship he could get from you was setting off something indescribable in him.

Like right now, on the long weekend that he had been looking forward to every day for the past week, he swore he would combust if you shifted around next to him for just one more time on your couch that felt particularly crowded today.

You smelt so nice, he silently thought to himself as he buried his nose in your hair, and your skin was so warm. Your body fit against his perfectly, each sharp corner and soft bump molded together like the world created you two to fit with each other like this.

This was good, and all he needed was a slight push...

His arm around your waist tightened and his hand started wandering to the side of your thigh, "You know, it’s been a while since we... you know...”

He tried his hardest to not press against you when you pushed your hips back as you turned around to face him, “Hm?”

“And I miss you...” his voice was dripping with honey as his lips ghosted over where your ear connected to your neck.

You grinned, feeling the way he got more and more handsy all over you, “Is that so?”

Osamu felt his chest swelling when you didn’t push him away, “Uhm.”

Your hand was on his toned chest as you slowly sat up and he couldn’t help but let out a heavy breath in anticipation when you inched towards him.

He nearly lost balance and fell off the couch when the doorbell rang.

He wanted to scream when you perked up, snapping towards the door in excitement, “Oh it must be my parcel!”

A million different curses in all the languages he didn’t know he knew ran through his head as you leaped out of his arms, leaving his hand hanging in the air as you hopped over to the door.

His eyes followed your frame like a puppy who got kicked to the side as you, not sparing him a glance, happily walked into your room with the card box in your hand.

Running his hand down his face, he let out a muffled groan as his plan was spoiled. Throwing his head back in frustration, he felt the dread building up inside of him when he felt the familiar stuffiness in his pants.

Oh. Oh hello.

Not that you were aware, but he had gotten rather familiar with the shower and its temperature settings the past week and as he once again shivered under the cold water that rained on his head like a waterfall, he contemplated the possibility of being drowned in a cold shower.

Your hand was shaking as you moved the mouse so that the arrow on the screen hovered over the send button.

Was this all? Was there anything you needed to add? You paused, your mind in a state of blank before your finger bounced against the key. You stared while the page buffered, before it returned to your mailbox.

You blinked, processing this sudden overwhelming feeling that was the fact that there was nothing you needed to do anymore.

It’s over. The earlier hollowness caught up to you in the form of thundering joy and trumpets going off in your head. You finished up everything.

You could not help the little squeal that you let out as you stretched your arms wide, rolling your shoulders bac to reward them for carrying you through. Clasping your hand together, you almost felt like humming when you saw that it was just in time for lunch.

You could not be in a better mood. Your work was done and you managed to get it cleared out before lunch. How long had it been since you last had the leisure to really savour your food instead of gulping it down to squeeze out more time?

You paused when you opened the lid of the bento, tilting your head to the side as you took in the very oddly shaped onigiri that was sitting in the center.

Hm- oh? Oh.

You scrambled to shut the box up with flailing hands when you realised what it actually was, looking around in panic to check if anyone had seen what was inside just then.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

What was he thinking? Your chest was pounding and your face was steaming with embarrassment at the very visual representation of the last thing that was safe for being shown in the office. How the hell would he think that this was a good idea?

Sliding your lower body off your chair, you carefully lifted up the corner of the lid so that you could peak inside to confirm your suspicion.

For fuck sake.

You attracted the bewildered gaze of a few concerned colleagues when you flopped down onto your desk, hiding your burning face on the cold surface to calm down your mind that was going haywire from what you have noticed in addition to the what you had figured out earlier.

That dummy did not model it after his own...

You were not sure if you wanted to be angry or amused when Osamu gingerly, but also a bit anticipatingly poked his head out from the doorway to observe you from afar when you came home that night.

All that was left was for him to have a tall to wag behind him when he stared at you with his round eyes like he wanted to say something but was also too scared to bring it up.

“Samu.”

He immediately stood up straight, “Yes?”

“I’ll give you 10 seconds to explain yourself.”

He blinked, his eyes skittering around the room before focusing back on you, “Was it not obvious enough?”

You found yourself unable to question his logic. Palming yourself, you did not know if laughing was the right reaction when he snuck up next to you and very awkwardly pulled you closer to him before resting his chin on your shoulder, looking up at you with a look that he deemed to be extremely irresistable.

Fine, he looked kind of cute.

You wanted to smack him when he very eagerly latched onto you when you turned to face him, his hands being everything but well-behaved as he leaned over to kiss you square on the lips.

His eyes widened when you put your hand on his face right when he was almost touching you.

“Should I worry about you doing that again?”

He shook his head frantically, looking at you from behind his bangs with a pleading look.

You laughed, before moving your hand away and let him close the distance between your lips.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu imagine #miya osamu imagines

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cruecifymesixx · 4 years

Text

Love and Leather /part eighty four/

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Enjoy!

Warnings: language, semi fluff, angst

Taglist: @brideofdraculana, @miserablecunt , @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @anntheboneless, @justjodeye, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @hi-my-name-is-riley, @extremesadnerding, @awkwrdcait, @countrygirlswonderland, @thatbandchick39 @awesomealmostdopestudent, @oskea93, @tashy-bear, @krazykatkay456, @terror-triplet, @shouttatthedevill @beachystars, @rodriguez025, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @s-outhie, @anxious-diabetic, @awkwardblackgirls, @rockersbox, @shamelessobsessions, @jerseytaint, @lilytalebi, @criminalyetminimal, @motley-queen, @trapt-in-a-dream, @broke-n-bitchy @thanks2pete, @lovesick-heart0, @keepcalm-and-beyou, @miriampraez, @teenwolflover28, @lilyhw1, @motherloovebone, @random-internet-user-4471, @falcon-arrows, @talranocchia2001, @waywardprincess666, , @iluvmesomemarvelndc, @zoenicoles, @vamprlestat, @supersoldierballerina, @primal-screamer @electradestiny, @marshbev, @n0-sh0rtage-0f-faults, @cruebaby, @ggorehorror, @valentines-in-london, @nassauartist @cmft-jr-winchester, @bokkie92, @notworthyofyou1120 @xrosegoldwolfx, @lauravic, @mgkobsessed, @chaoticvybe, @kellysimagines @thoughtsoftheantagonist @marvelismylifffe, @sleepyjunhong @meetthesixxter @sparxx27 @gingerspicetalks @kaitieskidmore1 @unknownoblivion @nevergoodenuffbutokaaayyy @sublimeprincesswasteland @kylieinwonderland @haileynicoleseavey17 @lavendersoundbarrier @youretheonlyonewhomakesme, @xxisxxisxxis, @dogmom2014, @cruesixxlover1991, @xpoisonousrosesx, , @m0rnlngstar, @love-struck-aries, @findingmyths, @i-want-to-shoot-myself, @arianareirg, @fentitrbl, @motleycrueprincess, @redlipscrystalskies14, @samanthadegaro @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @thechangingme, @patheticgay69, @idkmanhereisshitilike, @makaelahdelvalle

“You said you got rid of it?! Why do you still have her number, Nikki? Am I just a fucking joke to you?! I am coming here to talk to her-“ I shouted, pointing my finger at our therapist as I burrowed holes into green hues, “-because you wanted to work on things! This was your idea and yet you are still doing the same crap I don’t want you doing!”

We were currently standing in the middle of the therapy office, nose to nose as our chests heaved in anger. Nikki's cheeks were red, matching mine as his jaw was clenched and my fists were balled tight at my sides. The thunder claps were barely audible outside over our yelling match.

"It's nothing! It's just a god damn phone number, Vanity! You are blowing this all out of proportion like fucking always! She is just a friend!" Nikki raises his voice, his breath hot as I shook my head and smirked in his face.

"Oh bullshit Nikki! I wasn't born yesterday. She's a pretty blonde with fake tits and she has bad intentions, why can't you just see that and say sorry?! She knows about me and knows about Arianna!"

Nikki groaned, rubbing his face "Jesus, Van. You don't know her like I do! Donna isn't like that! We're just friends and it isn't romantic or sexual! You don't need to be insecure over it."

"Insecure?" A confused expression riddled my face as I stared at him, "Are you even listening to yourself? Maybe I wouldn't be insecure if you didn't talk to other women Nikki."

"Vanity! I'm not talking to her like you think I am!! Jesus Christ!" I took a step back when Nikki threw the plastic water bottle in his hands down at the floor, "Just fucking trust me for once and believe me when I say nothing is going on!"

I turned my cheek, glancing out the window at the rain droplets hitting the glass as the fog was rolling in. I sat back down in the chair, resting fist against my cheek as I glared at the clock. I-I just don't understand why he would lie, say he threw it away and then have it again. If he didn't want to do this he should just say so and save us the fucking trouble.

"Vanity?" I glanced at Crystal, "Did you hear me?"

"No, sorry." I mumbled crossing my leg over my knee and sitting up straight.

"I think you two should consider seeing other people for the time being. I thought you two were making progress, it's like you two took five steps back from where we were getting. Now, I'm not talking about moving out and finding someone to marry. Just some dates, see all the options that are out there." Crystal suggested as I shook my head bitterly, "Can you two do that? We'll try this approach and if it becomes to much of a problem the we'll try something else, alright?"

I saw Nikki shrug out of the corner of my eye, "Yeah, sure. I can do that." I rolled my eyes and roughly pulled a string off my jeans, "I'll be seeing Donna Friday evening anyways."

My eyes darted to him as I quickly got up and grabbed my purse and walked out of the office, "Van-" I heard them both yell for me as I slammed the door shut. I stormed out of the office and onto the front steps before I started walking to the car, being absolutely drenched by the pouring rain.

How can Nikki tell me it's harmless and it's nothing and then turn around and say he's going out with her? That doesn't make any sense to me. Why would he suggest going to therapy if he was just going to talk to another women behind my back again? I wiped my eyes, rain and tears mixing as they dripped off my chin. My teeth were chattering and my finger tips were turning numb from the cold as I dug the car keys out of my purse, hearing Nikki yell for me as well as boot prints splashing in puddles.

"Look, I'm sorry that I just said it like that back there. But I think it might be good if we did take a break." Nikki spoke, attempting to catch his breath as I glared at him and got in the car, turning it on and immediately cranking up the heater, "I love you but fuck, we ain't getting anywhere with the therapy Vanity."

I shook my head, staring out the window before I started to drive us home "Glad you already decided this for us Nikki. How long have you been talking to her?"

Nikki sighed, "Just a week or two. I ran into her. Our publicists office is in the same building as her managers office. It's not serious Van, I swear. I haven't done anything with her either, it's just been phone calls here and there and she asked if i wanted to go to dinner with her Friday, and I said yes."

I sighed as I reached for one of his cigarettes in the cup holder, it was a New Years resolution to quit but I think this was a reasonable reason to have one, "You should've just been honest with me."

"So you could be pissed even more-"

"No, Nikki! Out of fucking respect." I snapped quickly, "You could have told me so I wouldn't have been blind sided in there. I feel like a damn idiot." I wiped hot tears and rain droplets of my cheeks, feeling Nikki's hand rest on my knee before squeezing it lightly, "Please don't touch me right now." I shoved it off of my body as I gripped the steering wheel after.

"Vanity, I'm sorry. I really am. I just didn't know how to tell you. But, I think we should consider using the therapists advice and and trying it out. That's all."

I ended up tuning him out. I didn't understand how Nikki could be so, so calm and collected about this. If it was the other way around and I wanted to see another man he would absolutely go berserk. But that's not the case because I don't, I just want him.

*Friday Evening*

~Nikki's POV~

I could feel Vanity's eyes drilling holes into the back of my head as I checked my hair in the accent mirror we had on the living room wall. I smirked at myself before my eyes met hers, "Yes?"

I turned around to look at her, seeing her curled up on the couch with a blanket and Anarchy by her side, "Nothing, you look nice."

"You think so? Thanks Van." I smiled at her as she started glaring before turning her attention back to the tv, eyebrows pulled together tight and her jaw clenched, more than likely teeth grinding against teeth, "What's the problem princess?" I attempted to bite back a laugh as she ripped the blanket off of her and got up.

"What do you think the problem is, Nikki?" She questioned, as she rolled her eyes and walked to the kitchen.

"Uh...is Mother Nature visiting this week?" I smirked as I glanced over, seeing her at the island opening a bottle of wine.

"The therapist is stupid and you know it. What kind of sane therapist suggest to go see other people where one half of the couple is a cheater? It's bull Nikki." She stated, stormy eyes staring deep as she brought the wine glass to her lips.

"To see if we should be together, Vanity. You heard her the other day. I think it's good for us ya know? We never have time away from one another and it's smothering-" I watched as her eyebrows raised, "T-that's not what I meant Van. That isn't-" I closed my eyes when she slammed the fridge door close.

"Ari, say bye to daddy." Van spoke softly as Arianna came bolting into the kitchen with Anarchy.

"I'll be back later sweet pea." I smiled as I picked her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek, "You be good and don't have too much fun without me."

Arianna pressed her little hands against my cheeks and smushed them together, "You have to be good too!" I chuckled and nodded, "Pinky!"

"Yes Arianna, I promise I'll be good if you'll be good. And if you are good, maybe we can take your bike out to the park and ride around a bit tomorrow. Sound like a deal?" I held my pinky out for her as she wrapped hers around mine.

"Deal!"

I smiled brightly, "That's my girl!" I gave her another quick kiss on the cheek before putting her down as she went over to the couch and stole Vans spot. I grabbed my jacket and went over to the table near the door to grab my keys and the flowers for Donna, "Hey, where's those sunflowers at?"

"They're in the dining room? You didn't have to get them for me but they are really pretty.." Van pointed as I glanced over at the dining table and seeing them arranged in a crystal vase.

"Uh-" I let out an awkward laugh, "Those were for Donna..."

I saw her expression change, the faint smile being replaced with a frown, "But they're sunflowers..."

I fidgeted with the key ring around my finger, "Donna likes them too...but uh, you can keep them. I can just stop at the store to get roses or something. I'm already running a bit late.." I mumbled, glancing down at my watch and then back at her, "So I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be here and I hope you have fun." Van spoke with a defeated sigh as she turned her back towards me. I watched for a moment as she went to go sit with Arianna and cuddle under the blanket. I shook it off before I walked out the front door.

*Nikki's Date*

What a fucking babe.

Nikki smirked, sauntering over to the table as he saw Donna, a tight red dress and sleek blonde hair resting on her shoulders in loose curls. She takes a sip out of a glass half full of club soda and a lime wedge. Her eyes light up when they find Nikki, "Hey! You look handsome!" Her voice was cheerful as she stood up and they gave one another a quick hug.

"Thank you, you look amazing. These are for you.." he holds out a bouquet of red roses, "I'm sorry if I'm a little late, traffic was kinda bad getting over here." He sits down, declining when the waiter offers a glass of wine and opts for water instead.

"It's okay. I was enjoying the free bread. It's good." Donna chuckles nervously a bit, "I hope this is okay for you? I'm sure you're use to five star dining and what not."

Nikki brushes it off, "Oh, it's not a problem-" He smiles at her, "I actually take the family here a lot."

"Oh? Well I guess you should have picked then. That's so sweet of you to take Arianna to fancy places like this. She must be really well behaved."

Nikki nodded reaching for a bread roll out of the basket, "Yeah she is. Sometimes she’s a brat and has the temper of her mom and I. So...it's fun."

"But I bet it's fun to have a little break from watching her right? I know my friends and they sometimes have issues with the co-parenting." Donna expressed as her eyes stayed glued to the menu, searching for her dinner as dessert sat in front of her.

"Yeah, well...we live like roommates kinda and Arianna is like a mutual pet-" Nikki laughs, "But it works out fine at the end of the day."

"Oh! I didn't know you too lived with each other. I shouldn't have assumed but how you were explaining it...but it sounds like a good system you have."

Nikki cleared his throat and took a sip, thinking how he wants that glass of wine after all, "Yeah, sorry. I should have been more clear. I bought the house for Vanity years ago and it's in both of our names."

Donna smiled at him, "It's okay. Whatever is best for Arianna, right?"

"Exactly, how's Rhyan? Is he feeling better yet?" Nikki questioned. He was glad he found someone that had a kid and could understand the responsibilities that come with being a parent, that he could get advice from if he ever didn't know what to do.

"He's starting to. Took him to the urgent care the other day and they gave him some antibiotics. I hope by Monday he can go back to school, I don't want him to miss too much. But enough about the kids, how was your week?"

Nikki let out a long breath, "It was tiring, meetings and phone calls nonstop. The album comes out next month so now we're working on merchandising and how we want it to look. Tommy's...girlfriend is helping." He rolls his eyes and Donna laughs, "What?" He smiled.

"I can't wait to here it. I'm super excited from what you've been telling me. You made that last part sound like it's a nails on a chalk board for you. Not a fan of her?" Donna questioned as she leaned closer a bit.

"It's definitely different. Doesn't sound like the usual Mötley but that's a good thing." He looks at her, "She's just- we don't get along but she's Arianna's godmother so I have to play nice."

"You'll give me a signed copy right?" She jokes, "That's too bad, I bet it puts a rift between you and Tommy and Vanity."

He nodded, "Sometimes it does but she's pregnant now so she hasn't been that much of a bother." He smiles at her and gently reaches across to touch her hand "You'll get it hot off the press and signed by all of us, I promise." Donna blushes a bit when he winks at her and she gives his hand a light squeeze.

They order dinner and some wine, chit chatting about anything and everything. Donna laughs at some of his corny jokes and Nikki's completely mesmerized by how down to earth she actually is despite being an actress and model. She enjoyed being outdoors and hiking, he could rarely get Vanity to break a sweat outside of the bedroom without complaining. She liked volunteering in her free time when she wasn't being super mom and a baywatch babe. Donna was impressed with how many articulate thoughts and ideas Nikki actually had. He wasn't like the dumb basketball stars or other musicians she had met. She swooned hearing him talk about his passions of music and song writing and even at the vulnerability about how his childhood wasn't so great and his sobriety. She heard many, many stories about him and clearly most of that was just gossip she had figured.

After dinner, Nikki paid even though Donna argued that they could at least split it evenly, they were walking through a near by park before going their seperate ways. It was only a bit chilly as sparkling lights were wrapped around the stumps of oak trees and some light music was playing from a street performer. They both had small cups of hot chocolate in their hands as they walked side by side.

"Thank you for tonight Nikki and for the roses. I've had a lot of fun tonight. Who knew rockstars could be so chivalrous and kind?" Donna laughs a bit as she nudges his shoulder.

"Who knew actresses couldn't be snobs?" He let's his free hand brush against hers, "But you're welcome Donna, thank you for wanting to go out with me. I wanna do this again if you do?"

Donna nodded as they came back to the entrance as their cars were parked across the street, "I'd like to do this again too Nikki." She smiles up at him taking the extra step and holds his hand gently, feeling how warm his palm was and the roughness from playing his instrument.

"I'll call you okay?" Nikki smiled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek before leaning down and kissing her on the lips softly. He pulls away after a moment seeing her bright blue eyes shining and her cheeks a crimson shade, "Goodnight."

*Nikki's POV*

I sat in the car, a permanent smile on my face. I think that's one of the best dates I've ever been on. I got a whiff of Donnas perfume on my jacket, it smelt like tulips and fresh linen. I sighed deeply before getting out of the car and locking up. I headed to the front door and walked in, being met by loud music and Arianna yelling.

What. The. Fuck.

I walked into the living room seeing Arianna jumping up and down and attempting to sing along to a Backstreet Boy music video, "Arianna? What the hell are you doing up? You're suppose to be in bed." I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned it off "Van!?!" I flipped open the pizza box, seeing a few remnants of left over crust and a carton of melted ice cream as well.

"Daddy! I missed you! Ca-can you spin me around!? Please?!" Arianna was jittery beyond belief as I then saw two empty cans of Mountain Dew on the living room floor.

"No, Arianna it's time for bed. It was time for bed-" I looked at the clock "-three hours ago." I quickly picked her up as I turned around to see Vanity, my eyes narrowing at that arrogant smirk she had plastered on her lips.

"What the hell Vanity? It's almost midnight and she's doped up on sugar." I glared at her as I started taking her upstairs to her room.

"Well, we were having fun and we lost track of time. It's the weekend Nikki, she's fine. Can you relax? She’s stayed up later than this before." I rolled my eyes as Arianna nodded at me.

I sighed, "Fine, at least you had fun. Did you save me ice cream?" I asked Ari as I took her to the bathroom and started wiping dried chocolate and Cheeto dust from her lips and cheek.

"Mommy and I ate it! She said you had dessert and wouldn't want any!" Arianna giggled like a maniac, "I'm not sleepy." I watched as she rubbed her eyes.

"Something tells me otherwise. Come on. Let's go get PJs on." I helped her down as we walked to her bedroom, "Any cookies left at least? You know daddy has a sweet tooth."

"Mommy ate the last of them. She wouldn't share with me." Ari mumbled as she got in bed and grabbed her stuffed monkey. Anarchy then jumped on her bed and laid by her feet. I smiled at her and patted her head, "And Ana had cookies too. Her poop was funny!"

I hushed her, "Okay, okay. It's time for bed. I love you." I kissed the top of her head, "Sweet dreams princess." She told me goodnight as I left her bedroom quietly closing her door shut. I headed downstairs seeing Van cleaning up the mess, "What the fuck, Vanity?"

She looked at me, "Huh?"

"Huh?" I copied as I rolled my eyes "Don't act fucking stupid. She never eats this much junk food so what gives? Is this because I went on a date?" I questioned as she laughed and tossed the garbage in the trash.

"Oh please-" she rolled her eyes at me, "We eat healthy all week Nikki so why not splurge on junk food?" She questioned as she fixed the decorative pillows and folded the blanket before draping it over the back of the couch.

"And you ate all of it? Aren't you trying to diet?" I questioned as I saw an eyebrow raise in surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry I'm not playboy bunny skinny or baywatch actress skinny." She glares at me, "...and it's a high calorie diet!"

I scoffed, "Unbelievable...I fucking knew it. At least I can give a decent god damn time!"

"You just made a subtle comment about my weight so of course I'm gonna be upset! And good, I'm glad you had a wonderful time."

I laughed as I knew she was lying straight through her teeth, "Yeah, I'm sure you're really glad Vanity."

Van shrugged, "No, really Nikki. I'm happy you had a good time with her. Me and Arianna had a good time too. We painted our toes and took Anarchy for a walk. Oh! And we made the living room into a fort."

I exhaled slowly as I sat down on the couch, I glanced at her seeing her smile as she played her facade well, "Fine, I'm glad you and Ari had a good time too."

"So...where'd you guys go?" Van questioned as I looked at her, "C'mon tell me. I asked so I want to know." She says down beside me, resting her elbow against the back of the couch and putting her chin in her palm.

"Well...we went to that restaurant we always go to with Ari...the one down by the pier.." I glanced over at her, eyes narrowing as she nodded, "And then we went for a walk at that park with the duck pond."

"Sounds like fun. What did you two talk about?"

I laughed, "Vanity, relax. We just talked about normal first date topics but it was nice going there and not having to beg someone to eat something."

"What do you mean? Arianna has a good appetite. A lot better than most six year olds." Vanity stated as she flipped on the tv and searched for something to watch.

"Not the kid I gotta force to eat something other than chicken strips and fries."

"Why are you trying to start shit right now?" Vanity side eyed me, the jaw muscle twitching as she scooted away from me.

"I'm not trying to start anything princess. It was just nice to not a waste a breath on deaf ears." I chuckled a bit as I kicked off my boots and perched my feet up on the coffee table.

"It's cause you take us there all the time." She mumbled, "We never go anywhere else. I've already tried almost everything on the menu."

"That's not true. We went somewhere new a few weeks ago and you still ordered a damn chicken strip basket. Why can't you just eat like an adult?"

"Jesus Christ Nikki, I'm not gonna argue about my eating habits because it's pointless." I stared as she stood up and tossed the remote near me, "I don't want you to see her again."

I looked past her and kept my eyes glued on the TV, "We decided to try it and take the therapists advice, Van."

"No, you decided it for us. I didn't have a say in that conversation Nikki." Van spoke quietly, but I knew how upset she was getting by the way her voice trembled.

"...And I said, in front of you, I would be up for trying. Because what if-Van what if we're not meant to be like we think we are?" I looked at her, sighing and leaning my head back against the couch as I saw tears in her eyes.

"How can you even say that-"

"Because look at us Vanity!! Look at how much fighting we've been doing! All the snide comments and glares! We're just fucking hurting one another!"

I closed my eyes, hearing her sniffle a bit "If this was gonna be the end result then what was the point of New York and begging me to come home? I coulda just stayed there. I didn't want to come back home just to see you going out with someone else. I don't want to do this Nikki. I don't want anyone else."

Van wiped her eyes when I looked at her, her eyes an almost honey color as they always were whenever she cried, "You really don't want anyone else? Or to even attempt to see someone?" I smiled just a little when she shook her head.

"No, Nik. I don't want anyone else. I just want you." She shook her head in frustration and looked at me, "But do you? Do you want me? Can you picture your future with out me?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Of course I couldn't see a future without her. The idea of her not in it scared the fuck out of me. She's my whole life, world and everything in between. No one else could ever deal or stick around with me like the way she could. But at the same time, is our future just going to be fighting to the point where we don't even love each other anymore? That we just stick together for Arianna? That we begin to resent and hate one another?

"Just...whatever Nikki." Van frowned and wiped her cheek when I took to long to give her an answer, "Goodnight and I'm glad you had a good time with her. I'm sorry you had to come home to a mess." She mumbled, her tone riddled with disappointment and hurt as she wrapped herself in a hug and turned her back towards me. I watched her as she went all the way up the stairs before turning around the corner.

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dontasktheradiodemon · 3 years

Text

Move In?

Oh, let's just summarize this one with a quote:

Sir Pentious:

"I know we said we would slow things down, and I agree we should, but you spend almost every night here, and you have no other place to call home....So, I was thinking, why not call _here_ home? Here, with me." He glanced quickly at Alastor from the corner of his eye before staring even more adamantly off to the side.

Alastor:

Alastor’s eyes widened in shock. His heart stopped. And a little voice in the back of his head whispered, *run.*

Alastor

Guess who repaired an organ and was incredibly smug about it.

A professional could probably have done it faster—and with less duct tape—and Alastor was lucky the damage hadn't been worse. He'd needed Telly to show him the basics—and go to him for repairs whenever he found a pipe too damaged—and he'd spent half his free time for the past few weeks either sneaking into other organs to see how they were put together or burying his nose in organ repair manuals—but he'd gotten it done.

A few last details needed fixing, sure—but more importantly, they'd reached the moment Alastor had been anticipating for weeks: it was ready for Telly to take it for a test run.

He *hadn't* anticipated what watching Telly play would do to his heart.

Sir Pentious

And oh did Telly play. His fingers flew over the manuals, pulling stops, pressing keys, his tail taking care of the the pedals-- luckily, there were only three, he'd gotten it down to that few.

He lost himself to the music, the sheer joy of being able to play again overcame him, and he didn't stop, not for a good while. But when the final note rang and held, his smile was wide enough to split his face. He stood, spinning to give a deep bow to his audience of one-- though he _could_ hear the Eggs clamoring outside the locked bridge doors in joy.

"What a wonderful job you did, my hart! It's sounding flawless, perfect! Oh, I am so very, very happy!!" He slithered over and took Alastor's hands, kissing the back of each.

Alastor

So often the past few months, he’d found himself thinking, *god, the last time I did this was fifty-four years ago.* But it had never pierced quite as deeply as this time, like an arrow lodged in his lungs. Standing just behind Sir Pentious as he played, bent over his shoulder, watching his fingers glide gracefully over the keyboard, listening to the pipe organ thunder around them... He’d been here before. It had been beautiful then. It was beautiful now. It made him ache.

When Telly bowed, Alastor’s invisible audience applauded him, a thousand hands clapping, and he smiled so wide it hurt. “What a show! Absolutely stupendous! Goodness me, I think I felt half of Hell trembling under that barrage. You’d drown out all the trumpets of Heaven, my darling—and sound twice as divine doing it!”

Sir Pentious

If his smile could widen any further, it would at the praise Alastor lavished on him. He leaned down to kiss him, briefly, before pulling back and bringing him closer to the organ.

"Now I can show you a favorite feature of mine!" He said, smile turning oh so devious. "WATCH AND BEHOLD, BECAUSE, MY HART, THIS ORGAN....CAN PLAY ITSELF!"

With a cackle, he flipped a switch on the side and the keys began to press on their own, playing a familiar melody-- the Phantom of the Opera.

"I added that in the early 1990s when the musical was getting very big!" He set his hands on his hips and grinned-- look at him, so smug.

Alastor

Alastor laughed in amazement. “Phantom doesn’t even sound this good in the theater!” He leaned against Telly. “Truth to tell, I figured out during repairs that this thing knew how to play itself—had to check out what some of the thingamabobs and thingamajigs were doing—but it really is something to see in action!” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the music, and it still felt like an intimate whisper.

Sir Pentious

"Still impressive, yes!!" He laughed, turning to place his hand on Alastor's waist, his other taking Alastor's hand, in a classic dancing stance.

"Shall we, darling?" He prompted, smirking.

Alastor

His heart skipped a beat painfully. Listening to Sir Pentious play the organ on his ship, and then sweeping him into a dance? *God, the last time I did this was...*

“Of course!” He squeezed Telly’s hand and slid in close, shadows sliding in with him; the lighting went dark and strange as Alastor shifted the world, just a little bit, to let Telly dance.

And as they started dancing, he sang along to the organ, at the top of his lungs, in no way Broadway-worthy: “*In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came! That voice which calls to me and speaks my name—!*”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed as they started to dance, twirling around the bridge, his tail sliding effortlessly across the ground. Once the song got to the Phantom's part, Telly began to sing again-- not the best, but certainly far from the worse, he could at least hit most of the notes.

"_Sing once again with me! Our strange duet! My power over you, grows stronger yet!_"

Alastor

Wasn’t that the truth? *Sing once again with me...*

He made it into the duet as far as “*Your spirit and my voice, in one—*” before he abruptly stopped singing, half laughing as he blurted out, “Oh no! I took the part with the high notes! I have to sing the ending, what have I done!”

Sir Pentious

"_My spirit and your voice, in one--_" Telly stopped short too, laughing with Alastor. "Yes, you've done it to yourself! How tragic!"

He snickered, before trying to pick up again. "_And in this labyrinth, where night is blind!_"

Alastor

“*The Phaaantom of the Op*—pfff, please Phantom, have mercy! I’m no Angel of Music, they wouldn’t let me in the pearly gates!”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed, keeping their dance going at least. "Oh, come now, maybe not an Angel of Music, but certainly a Demon of Music! So sing for me, my Demon of Music! Sing!!"

Alastor

“*He’s theee-he-here—*” he was almost laughing too hard to sing, “*—the Phaaantom of the O-operaaa...*” DEEP breath!

Sir Pentious

"Sing for me!" Telly commanded spinning out to be able to twirl Alastor-- not making the singing any easier, not at ALL.

Alastor

He stumbled in the twirl, steadied himself, and then did his best to hit Christine’s high note.

It came out as an unholy screech of pure distorted static. He only lasted a couple of notes before his “voice” broke and he collapsed against Sir Pentious’s shoulder in helpless cackles that sounded as much like feedback as like laughter. He made a second attempt so brief it sounded more like a lone beep before laughing even harder.

Sir Pentious

And that broke Telly as well. He tried his best to hold Alastor up, but his own laughing soon brought them both down. He wheezed for breath, holding Alastor close.

Alastor

He clung to Sir Pentious, fingers digging into his jacket, laughing so hard his stomach hurt and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

And suddenly he felt something in his chest crack, and his throat abruptly closed. He kept clinging, his shoulders trembling, face hidden.

Sir Pentious

Telly was wheezing so hard he didn't even notice the change. He slowly began to wind down, one of his hands idly rubbing Alastor's back.

"That was hilarious, dear, I've never heard a screech quite like that!" Another few chuckles.

Alastor

“Well—sound like that—blast most microphones, you know.” His voice was tense and tight. Sound normal, please sound normal.

Sir Pentious

That was not a normal post-laughing-fit voice. And that got Telly concerned.

"Alastor? Are you all right?" He asked, his hand now more purposefully rubbing Alastor's back, trying to sooth him. "Is something wrong?"

Alastor

“Fine! Fine, I’m fine.” He nodded against Telly’s shoulder. “Just, must have—hard on my throat. That’s all.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, darling." He wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. "Do you want me to make you some tea to soothe it? Or I could send the Eggs to get some lozenges?"

Alastor

“No no, it’s okay. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, alright." He frowned as he rubbed Alastor's back, pressing his cheek against the side of his head.

After about a minute, he asked, "Are you sure?"

Alastor

He held on a little tighter. It took several seconds for him to reply. “I missed doing this with you.”

He knew he was talking to the wrong Sir Pentious. But he had to say it anyway.

Sir Pentious

Oh. _Oh._ Telly understood then, what was happening. His tail pulled up, coiling around Alastor's legs, and his arms just held him tighter, pressing his cheek harder to the side of his head. He didn't know what to say to that, but he could at least hold Alastor through it.

Alastor

“Sorry.” His voice was almost a whisper. Just give him a moment, he’d be fine.

Sir Pentious

"It's fine. Take your time, I'm here." He whispered back, nuzzling against him.

Alastor

It was another minute or two; but then, finally, he took a deep breath and said in something close to his normal voice, “Oh, how embarrassing! Excuse me.” He pulled back, faking a normal smile. “So sorry! It’s just... Something in the atmosphere, I suppose.”

Sir Pentious

Telly cupped his face, stroking his thumb along his cheek. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"_Alastor._ It's all right, truly, it is. You don't need to apologize." And another kiss, this time to the other cheek.

Alastor

That made it frustratingly hard to keep faking a normal smile! He could feel it wavering at the corners. He just nodded in agreement, sure, if Telly says so.

Sir Pentious

Telly started stroking his cheek with his thumb. Hm, what to do to cheer up your Radio Demon when he was feeling down? Oh, mayhaps a song. Telly pressed their foreheads together and smiled, as he began to sing, softly.

“_Grey skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face._”

Alastor

A lump formed in his throat. Oh no. His heart was full of love and his eyes were full of tears. Time to hide his face again, there he goes.

Sir Pentious

It took some careful maneuvering, but Telly got himself _and_ Alastor back up and standing, all so he could sway gently with him. He continued to sing, his tailtip tapping against Alastor's leg.

"_Brush off the clouds and cheer up, put on a happy face. Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy, it’s not your style, you’ll look so good that you’ll be glad, you decided to smile!_”

Alastor

That’s it, Telly’s figured out all his weaknesses. Alastor hummed and sway along. More static than usual still laced his humming.

Sir Pentious

"_Pick out a pleasant outlook, stick out that noble chin!_” He pulled back, revealing Alastor's face, and tapped a finger under his chin. “_Wipe off that ‘full of doubt’ look, slap on a happy grin! And spread sunshine all over the place, just put on a happy face!_”

He took Alastor's hands, doing a little side to side shimmy, before attempting to twirl him.

Alastor

He almost tried to hide again—but then the chin tap, and he choked out a laugh instead. He was sure his eyes were still a little watery as Telly twirled him, but when he came back in he pressed his forehead to Telly’s, once more properly grinning.

“This is what it was like when—he and I first kissed. He’d just played his organ for me for the first time, and then somehow we ended up dancing and making fools of ourselves and laughing, and...” He sighed. He doubted Telly wanted to hear about Alastor’s ex—his oh-so-successful ex who’d conquered half the States—but Alastor owed Telly at least that much information. Especially if he was going to be pathetic and burst into tears over it.

Sir Pentious

Telly held him close, forehead pressed against his. “Yes, I assumed something along those lines. I….have to admit that it feels _strange_, slithering in the same tracks without knowing it. I….hrm. I’m not sure how I feel about it, to be frank. I don’t…..want to be just a replacement, you know.”

His own happy face was falling. “I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me important things and here I am making it about me, I shouldn’t–- please, continue.”

Alastor

“It’s fine. You’ve got a right to have those worries. I don’t want you to be just a replacement, either. And I never want you to *feel* like a replacement. Never.” He held Telly’s cheeks. “It’d be a bald-faced lie if I said I *didn’t* end up here because—because I want the things in you that I know are the same as the things I wanted in him. Is that *replacement,* or is it knowing that I’ve got an extremely specific type? I’m still working out the nuances myself. I—“ huff, “—I wasn’t exactly planning on this.”

Sir Pentious

Whatever else, it did feel good and reassuring to hear that, out loud. His arms wrapped around Alastor and squeezed him briefly.

“I feel like it’s more the second. It’s not like you sought me out _specifically_ to date me to replace him. No one plans these sort of things, certainly. I mean, _I_ never thought I’d be with a Radio Demon in this way, or even _friends_, honestly. Not after what happened between me and Leclerq.”

Alastor

“And I did tell you—if a more successful snake slithered up and asked me to join his enterprise, I’d want to stay here. That’s still true.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ve always wondered about that bit, though—how am *I* the only Radio Demon with any taste at all? It seems impossible.”

Sir Pentious

"You did, and you cannot know how much that relieved me to hear." He smiled and cupped his cheek again, leaning in to give him a kiss. "As for the other bit, well, I don’t know. Perhaps you’re the outlier!”

Alastor

Kiss! “Aren’t I the lucky one, then!”

Sir Pentious

"You are! Just to think, so many snakes and radios are missing out on this." He laughed and returned the kiss. Now that cheering up was done, he coiled and sat, pulling Alastor into his 'lap'.

"You know, I've been thinking about something for a bit now...."

Alastor

“How tragic for them,” Alastor said, sighing lightly; but he couldn’t help but think about just how much his alternates would disagree. Well, lucky them, being unattached. At least he could make the most of his attachment.

He settled onto Telly’s coils, giving him his full attention. “What’s that?”

Sir Pentious

"I've been thinking about, well-- you've got your toiletries here, you've got a robe, you've been stealing my shirts to use as underwear, don't think I haven't noticed, and--" He paused and looked away, giving a little shrug.

Alastor

Alastor’s eyes widened in shock. His heart stopped. And a little voice in the back of his head whispered, *run.*

He’d been thinking about this for a while, too. Hell, he’d been thinking about a lot of things—what he wanted their wedding to be like (obnoxiously ostentatious and broadcast on every station in Hell), what he’d do if Telly offered to hire him as a full-time henchman (give the hotel his two weeks’ notice and duel Vaggie for full custody of the blog). But his thoughts had been *fantasies.* Had he expected them to happen? This soon?

This was so fast. They’d known each other less than four months, been together less than two. And God, yes, Alastor felt like he’d do anything for Telly, but how much of that was real? (How much was Telly really a replacement after all?)

He’d known Telly for days before feeling like this. He’d known his own Sir Pentious for fifteen years.

It felt wrong. It was so fast.

*Run.*

No, not yet. He swallowed hard. “I... really?”

Sir Pentious

Well, he didn't immediately leap off of Telly's coils and disappear into a portal, so that was at least a good-ish sign. His tongue flicked and stayed out a moment too long before retracting, a sure sign of a stressed snake.

"Yes, really. I just....I want you here, with me, but I also just want you to have a place to call yours. Somewhere for you to go to at the end of the day, that you're happy to go to." Another long flick.

"I understand if you need time to think about it-- I've had time to think, too, and you deserve that-- and even if you don't want to accept, you're always welcome here. And if you want to accept sometime in the future, the invitation is there...." He was still not looking at him, and his tongue now stayed out. Stressed snake is stressed.

Alastor

Telly looked so nervous. Alastor had to look away.

It made perfectly good sense. He couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t have any official place—beds in places no one would find or places he was charitably permitted to shack up from time to time, his possessions stored in hidden rooms or concealed in a separate plane of existence entirely. He slept here, showered here, cooked here, ate here, made love here. He was practically living here already.

He mentally recoiled at the realization.

*Run.*

“That’s...” He laughed wheezily. “I... haven’t lived with anyone since I died. Few years with Rosie, I suppose, but... I was just a guest, not...” He was so tired of being a guest. He was so tired of being the visitor, the one who had to say *hello* and stand and wait in the lobby while everyone else walked around like they owned the place because they *did.* He was so tired of being in places where everything he saw was *someone else’s things.* Even in the spaces he’d claimed for himself, he could see his own trinkets sitting discordantly atop tables and cabinets that didn’t belong to him.

But he was less tired of being a guest than he was afraid of being a prisoner.

*Run.* “I have to think about it.”

Sir Pentious

"Of course, of course, yes. Think about it, that would be good-- t-that's what I said, after all! Hah....." He fidgeted there, the arms still wrapped around Alastor feeling odd now-- not unwelcome but just _odd_. He resisted the urge to pull them back completely, he didn't want to make it seem like it was a _bad_ thing, what Alastor had said.

But he had to ask. "Did you want me to....leave you alone? To think? Or....did you want to go somewhere to think? It's okay if you do, you know. I....hn, you don't have to stay if you need some space. I'd rather you take space when you need it."

Alastor

Telly knew him *too* well. “Space would be nice,” he said, with a voice a little too reminiscent of somebody carsick on a long drive declaring that pulling over at the next exit would be just a swell idea. He got to his feet, pulling out of Telly’s arms.

And immediately missed Telly’s touch. Oh, Alastor had it bad, didn’t he? (As if he didn’t already know that.) He reached down to grab Telly’s hands again.“I’m—not sure what to say.” Another nervous laugh. “I mean I’m *really* not sure—but—thank you. Whether or not I... Thank you.” But he couldn’t stand this much longer.

Sir Pentious

Telly squeezed Alastor's hands when they took his own, and finally looked at him-- and oh, he _look_ so nervous. And Telly's heart clenched. He wanted to pull him back down, kiss him silly, and then tell him to just forget everything. But he couldn't. This was important.

Instead, he simply pulled Alastor's hands closer, kissed the back of one, and then let go. He had to trust that he would come back-- he _did_ trust that, even if the small voice in the back of his head that sounded like George told him otherwise.

"I'll be here, when you're finished." He gave him a smile, though it wasn't a happy one. "You always know where to find me, my hart."

Alastor

Alastor was already smiling, of course. His wasn’t happy either. “And you always know how to call me, *mon roi.*”

He left without destroying everything, without burning all his bridges, without lying about what he felt. He left still shakily smiling. He was proud of himself for that.

(A small cruel scared part of him wished he’d destroyed everything. Then, at least, he wouldn’t still have to make a decision.)

#usedhearts #chat log #((get an rp partner who reads your fics and goes 'i will use this info to construct a scenario designed to cause maximum emotional damage'))

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hatsukeii · 4 years

Note

can i request a tsukishima scenario? When he is feeling sad so his fem! S/o pampers him with kisses in his face and hands, and maybe cuddles 🥺🥺

*cough angst with fluff ending *cough

I have to make it up to you guys for the last Tsukki angst right?

Before slamming another multitude of depressing scenarios but don’t worry about that for now.

lol I genuinely love this prompt so much though, tysm anon!

Always, I’ll care//Tsukishima x Reader

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: Mild swearing, mentions of divorce, mentions of anorexia, ✨cyberbullying✨

Summary: Tsukishima’s been out of it for week but you can’t seem to pinpoint why, until he finally reaches out.

Yeah, you were absolutely certain that something was up with Kei at this point. There was, without a doubt, something that had been bothering him terribly. Whatever this thing was, it was draining him of his usual spirit. The usual glint of mischief that sparkled in his eyes has been gone for weeks, now replaced by a dull golden. He hasn’t bantered with any of his teammates throughout the last few practices, he hasn’t made an extra effort to make you feel short, nor has he reached out to anyone at all. His sharp tongue was gone, along with his usual tendencies to taunt other students. You haven’t been able to reach him in what felt like forever. He hasn’t replied to any of your texts, hasn’t walked you home at all, nor has he invited you over for your study dates. This felt weird. This didn’t feel right at all. This wasn’t the Kei you were used to, but at the same time you had no idea what you could do to make him feel better. He was too closed off for his own good, keeping everything to himself and letting his worries eat him up from the inside.

You heaved a heavy sigh, shoving your books into your locker. He had ignored your text again. This was the seventh one in a row that he had left on seen. Everyone who knew him was worried, especially you and Yamaguchi. He refused to tell even Yamaguchi what was up with him these days.You two had all the reasons in the world to be extra wary of his mental state. “(Y/N), you don’t think he’s okay either, do you?” The freckled boy mumbled next to you, grabbing his notes from the locker next to yours. “No, he’s definitely not okay. Constantly having his headphones on is never a good sign. The last time he was like that was when his parents got divorced.” You slammed your locker door shut as hard as you can, earning quite a few glares from other students that were startled by the noise. “Jesus, I haven’t been able to reach him for weeks. What the hell happened?” You pressed your forehead to the locker door, squeezing your eyes shut. “He’s been out of it at practice too. Tsukki almost never misses his blocks against anyone, but he’s been doing terribly in practice. Coach Ukai had to put him on the bench last week. What’s up with him?” Yamaguchi recalled, shaking his head a bit. “Hell, as if I’d know. I’ve been trying to check up on him for weeks, but he’s left all of my texts on read.” You removed your head from the metal door, before heading to class, where you had to deal with a dead silent, gloomy, angsty Tsukishima for about an hour, before school ended.

You were curled up on your bed, a million thoughts rampaging through your mind, every single one of them being about Kei. It’s been half an hour since school ended. You walked home with Yamaguchi. Tsukishima was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had abandoned you two and left on his own. No, scratch that, he probably did leave alone. Was he doing okay? What happened to him? Did he fail a test or something? Oh no, did his parents get back together again? Even worse, did he get invited to his dad’s wedding with his new wife? Or maybe he was just fed up with you? Wait, what did you do? Did you piss him off? Oh god, it must’ve been the time where you forgot to bring him that strawberry shortcake you promised to make him. Or was it that time you were late for your date and he almost didn’t make it in time for the premiere of that new Jurassic Park movie? Your train of thoughts was rudely interrupted by the ringing of your phone. You lazily slapped a hand across your nightstand, grabbing your phone from the charger and pulling it towards you. Your eyes widened at the contact that was shown on the screen. You sat up at an inhumanly speed, accepting the call as you brought your phone to your ear. “Kei?” “(Y/N), can you- can you come over? Please- please come over.” He was audibly sobbing, tiny sniffs making their way into his sentences. “Oh-oh god, yeah, of course, I’ll be there in five, stay put, don’t worry.” You changed into a random pair of sweats, and took off to Tsukishima’s house, grabbing a bunch of candy and some shortcake on the way, just to make him feel a bit better.

You slowly creaked open the door to his room, taking a peek. The blond haired boy was sitting in front of his laptop, a hand over his mouth as tears slowly dropped onto the keys. His eyes were bloodshot, presumably from all the crying. His phone was in his other hand, the knuckles of his fingers white from gripping the piece of technology so tight. Your heart clenched at the sight. It was as if an entire army fired arrows at your heart simultaneously, and all the arrows managed to pierce through that pulsing lump of muscle. The boy, that you cared for so dearly, was breaking down, and no one knew except for you. “Kei....” You opened the door a bit more, lightly treading on the wooden floor of his room as you approached the taller male. “Am I worthless?” The blond whimpered out, his eyes never leaving the screen. Your gaze landed onto the computer screen. You gave out an audible growl after reading what was shown on the monitor.

From: Unknown

To: Tsukishima Kei

Dear Tsukishima,

I hope you know that you’re the reason your parents got divorced, you little shit. I wish for no one to ever love you. Everyone that dates you should only date you out of pity. You’re worthless. No one truly cares about you. You could kill yourself and no one would notice, you anorexic blond bitch. Stay your ass scrawny while everyone buffs up xx

Sincerely, Your dad- oh wait you wish, he probably can’t even remember who you are

Your face darkened at the disgusting email that was sent to your boyfriend. How dare someone say such hurtful things to him. Tsukishima sighed, his head hanging low. “You can’t even answer it. I already know I’m worthless, I don’t need you to rub it in either. I thought you could help.” Your head snapped towards the blond, misbelief and rage shining through the look you gave him. “Kei, how long have you been receiving emails like this? Why didn’t you tell me-” “Just answer me first.” You were taken aback by his tone. It was hurt, definitely, but almost in a hopeless way. You brought your hand up to cup his tear stained cheek, drying it with your thumb as your other hand went up to ruffle his hair. “How could you ever be worthless? Even if everyone else thought you were worthless, I’d still think you’re the most precious thing in the world, and you better not let anyone tell you otherwise.” Tsukishima let out a strained sob, nuzzling his face into your warm hand, before taking a deep breath. “This person, whoever it is, they’ve been sending me these emails for a few weeks. At first, they weren’t that bad, but then it started to get personal. They attacked my family situation, my relationship, and my body.” Your nose scrunched up in disgust. “What kind of sick freak attacks someone’s family situation?” The blond shakily sighed. “Apparently this person.” You shook your head, shoving your face into your hand. “We all know they got divorced because your mom caught him cheating. It’s clearly not your fault. You dad was in the wrong and you know it.” He sulked a bit, before continuing. “Well they’ve also been calling me anorexic for weeks.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at this new information. Never in a million years did you think Kei would think so heavily of his own body image. He always struck you as a carefree, unbothered person. Who would’ve known he was so insecure underneath it all? “Kei, why didn’t you tell me about all this?” “I didn’t want you to worry. I thought I could deal with this on my own, but then they started bringing up by dad and me looking anorexic. Apparently I’m too skinny for anyone to appreciate. No one wants an anorexic person. I’m not even anorexic but I’m getting offended by this. I can’t help being lanky you know.” You heaved a dry chuckle. “Seriously? Body image issues? Tsukishima god damn Kei look at yourself and tell me you have a terrible body. Do it.” He was visibly shocked, looking down at himself. “Exactly. You can’t.” Your hand went down to grab his, pulling him on his feet. You pulled his sleeve up, giving his shoulder a tiny peck. “Look at you. You’re built like a whole ass Greek God. You’re like lowkey ripped, how in hell’s name did you manage to believe in that asshole’s emails?” Next, you led his hand to your face, giving each finger a kiss. “Somehow your fingers are still intact for me to hold, even after winning so many sets with your insane blocks.” You let go of his hand, slowly trailing your fingers along his face. “Your eyes are deadass the most perfect thing. I don’t think I can enjoy the sun anymore, your eyes are enough for me to get mesmerised in.” You pulled his face down, giving both his eyelids a tender peck. You squeezed his cheeks, before squishing them between your palms. “You may be lanky and muscular, but your cheeks are still as squishy as ever. I love squishing them so much, they’re like a baby’s cheeks.” With that, you gave both his cheeks a peck, before finally moving to his forehead, giving it a gentle kiss. “Right here, is where the magic is put to work. Everything you’ve been through, learned, felt, all stored right here. Your mind is quite the battlefield, constantly giving you conflicting thoughts about yourself. You’re still dealing with everything that’s been thrown on you. From your parent’s divorce, to your brother’s lie, to the shitty emails. But that mind of yours, also managed to find a way to block THE Ushijima Wakatoshi. It’s aced so many exams for you, it’s helped you get to me, and it’s helped you make up those snarky one liners that you love to use so much. I know what I say might not make any significant difference, but I just want to let you know how I feel. I think you’re a complete badass, a hotshot middle blocker, and one of the hottest people I’ve landed my eyes on. So many people care about you, so please never render yourself worthless. Please.” At this point, Tsukishima had stopped crying, now looking at you with wide eyes. “How could your words ever be insignificant to me?” His arms were instantly wrapped around you, pushing you into his chest. It was dead silent in the room. You could hear his heartbeat in your ear. “Thank you... so, so much.” His voice cracked a bit as he whispered. You moved your head up, giving him a soft, but passionate kiss, keeping your forehead in contact with his. “You don’t have to thank me, I was only stating the truth. Plus, you better report that asshole to the school, they’re gonna get what they deserve when the teachers find out who it is.” He pulled away, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. “Why do you care so much anyways? You sent me like seven texts in a row at school. You should be pissed at me or something. I did leave you on read for weeks after all.” You laughed heartily, before drawing circles on his hand with your thumb.

“Always, I’ll care, dumbass.”

Is this fluffy enough for you guys? Probably not considering it’s still like part angst lmao but idc have fun reading it the angst will be back in a bit my dudes and I’m about to make Tsukishima suffer again I’m sorry I love him too but like I crave angst xx

Tags:

@izzyphantomgamer @sunshines-and-tatertots @tiger1719 @artsamber @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @for-ests @fluffy-bokuto @bokutokoutarou @just-another-bored-writer @macaronnv @kaylacinderella @random-fandomlover

If you wanna be tagged just comment or pm bc I don’t know that many people on tumblr yet:)

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu tsukki #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu requests #hq #hq x reader #hq scenario #hq headcanons #hq tsukki #hq request #tsukki #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima scenario #yamaguchi tadashi #angst with a happy ending #I'm sorry lol Tsukishima deserves so much better on my account but like angst is my specialty

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hansoulo · 4 years

Text

ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves) - pt. 4

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

Warnings: cursing, canon-typical violence and blood, grief, angst, death, y’all know the drill (there’s some descriptions of gore this time! if you watch narcos i don’t think you’ll be fazed by it but just a heads up. also talks about kidnapping and implied trauma. take care babes)

Word Count: 1.2k bc i needed the suspense soz

A/N: *throws this at you and runs away*

masterlist playlist

You were cold. That was all you could remember. Things returned slowly, falling in and out of your memory like specters. A hand over your mouth. Concrete. A flickering light bulb and a sicario - who couldn’t have been very smart because if he was he’d have realized that you didn’t know anything. Okay, maybe that was a stretch. You knew a little, courtesy of Horacio. Too much, probably. Enough to make yourself a target, anyways. Damn this. Damn you.

The sound of gunshots was enough to wake you from your daze and you vaguely register the taste of blood in your mouth. You force your eyes open, tensing your hands that lay tied behind you to get the feeling to return. The room was bare, faintly lit by the weak light of the early morning, and you felt your shoulders pressed up against plaster. Oh. You were on the floor.

This was much less professional than the last time you were kidnapped. Of course, then you were only bait. A pretty face with a ring on your left hand and the last name of a man they knew they wanted dead. Well, they got that soon enough.

You could be bait this time, too, for a different man. Apparently, you had a type.

---------

Shouting. Running. Slamming doors. Horacio’s yelling something in Spanish. Something about sicarios and traps and hostages and- You. His…. friend? Neighbor? Unpaid babysitter, who also knew how he took his coffee? (Scalding hot with tons of sugar, in the white mug with the chipped lip that was always in the top left cabinet.)

They used zip-ties on your wrists. You kinda want to laugh. Shoulders tight from being pulled behind you for so long, you shift your weight until pinpricks erupt across your numb legs. You should probably call out to him or something, to speed the process along, but your throat is burning something awful so you just let your head fall back and listen to the sound of tactical boots.

Three.

A round of gunfire, shot quick from the hip of a stranger you can’t imagine makes for very good company. You can hear bodies fall, but you know it’s not him. He wouldn’t go down that easy.

Two.

“Dónde está ella?”

“Mi coronel, aquí.” A muffled curse. The cock of a gun. Then, the door is pushed open with a loud creak of its rusted hinges.

One.

He’s on you like a man starved, all dark green fabric and hulking shoulders as he seems to just… appear, crouching down with a hand brushing your cheek. You don’t actually remember seeing him walk over, so maybe you really did hit your head on something. That would explain the ringing in your ears. And your busted lip. And the way that every time Horacio moved, there seemed to be two of him dragging out a few seconds behind.

Hands, strong and callused and more familiar than they should be, grip at your shoulders to coax your head up. The world comes into focus then- less blurry but way more frightening. The walls are streaked with red and your eyes catch a crimson path on the floor, snaking around to the doorway. All you see is a man’s shoe.

“Hey, hey look at me.”

You feel yourself- as though disembodied- shaking your head frantically as you duck your face to the floor. He reaches to cut away the ties around your hands, one knee braced against the floor and his mouth pursed in a line. The scent of gunpowder chokes you, presses down on your lungs like the deadweight of a corpse. Your face feels hot, burning like you’re running a high fever and you can’t string two words together without thinking about blood and bodies you can’t fix and how you can’t remember anything - which means you can’t remember what they’ve done to you. It’s too much. It’s all too much. It's too much. It’s too-

“Look at me.”

Fuck.

Horacio’s hand moves to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb tracing over the split skin of your bottom lip. His eyes seem to hold everything inside them, the embers of a flame you’re used to seeing sedated now flickering something dark. Something you should want to run from.

What’s another arrow in the quiver of your self-loathing? Not much, you suppose. Not much at all.

You look.

--------

He walks you back to the complex with his fingers still curled around your arm.

“Are you alright?”

Horacio’s voice is quiet, softer than you’ve ever heard it but god, what you would give to hear it again.

“Yeah, yeah I’m- I’m fine. Just… tired.”

He nods - unconvinced but letting you lie anyway - and steps back to open the door for you. Right. He has your spare key.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and at that Horacio shakes his head. He’s good at hiding things, at hiding how he feels, but you know he’s holding his breath- trying to keep from frowning. For your sake. “I- I don’t know if I can do this, Horacio,” and you try to focus on the way his chest rises and falls to steady yourself but it’s not a good idea because it just makes you want to collapse, dead on your feet, into him. “Whatever this is.”

“Chiquita-”

“No- no. Don’t. You-,” you choke out the words, fighting tears as the exhaustion of the day finally seems to make itself known. “You can’t call me that. I- I'm not your chiquita,” and the last word comes out a bit sharper than you wanted it to, a bit too biting towards the man standing outside your apartment door with your keys still in his hands. Your eyes soften when you see the jagged metal gripped in his palm, hands tensing with scarred, white-stretched knuckles. Horacio’s jaw is tight again and you're reminded of how you teased him once. You’ll grind your teeth down clenching your face like that. Loosen up a bit.

The words leave your mouth, breathy and slightly shaking, before you realize what you say. “I’m not your anything.”

You want to slam the door in his face. You want him to slam the door in your face. You want so bad to be angry, to have someone to blame besides yourself and your own fucked up head, but you can’t. So you don’t. You just walk into your apartment and let the lock click quietly behind you, listening to footsteps as they retreat across the hall.

The rational part of your brain tells you to go to bed, to fall asleep after a good cry in the comfort of your bedroom surrounded by soft things and another wall separating you from him, but you hadn’t really made a habit of listening to reason lately. Why start now? The floor was as good a place as any.

Your back slid down against the door as you sat, drawing your knees to your chest with a shallow breath. There was a quote from somewhere. Shakespeare, maybe. Oh brawling love, oh loving hate, oh anything of nothing first created. This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

This love feel I, that feel no love in this. This love… this…

Romeo and Juliet. That’s what it was. The irony of it makes you laugh, the sound lacking humor as you shake your head.

They were doomed from the start, really. Still, there was something beautiful about it. Dying for someone else. Knowing they’d do the same.

You would die for him. That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you… what scared you was knowing he would die for you, too. Just like before.

The thought makes your chest seize up, the lump in your throat growing heavier with every passing second. You couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t live with yourself if you did. You barely lived with it now.

You fall asleep to the sound of crying. It wasn't yours.

Taglist: @chelsfic @itzagoodthing @lesqui @glowingpena @agirllovespasta @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @amarvelousmandalorian @paniclana @huliabitch @symbiont13 @jayoknrjk28 @ah-callie @watsonwise @raabiac @angelicpascal @sparrows-books @popculturepriestess @spookypym

lmk if you wanna be added/taken off. eventually i’ll get around to organizing like separate permanent/series/character ones but i’m lazy so. later.

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo fanfiction #horacio carrillo x you #narcos #narcos tv show #narcos fanfiction #maurice compte #maurice compte fanfiction #aint it a gentle sound

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blubberquark · 3 years

Text

Belated Protector Postmortem

I made the game Protector for the 46th Ludum Dare game jam. I did not make a tumblr post about it during the jam. Don’t think Protector is my best jam game, but what can you expect from a jam game? Hardly a glowing endorsement, I know. Download it from itch.io at this link, or don’t.

With some distance, I think it’s interesting to tell you why I don‘t think Protector is that good... or maybe “good” is not the right word. Some friends and other Ludum Dare entrants had encouraged me (privately) to keep working on it after the jam and fix the bugs. In my opinion, Protector is fine the way it is (for a jam game anyway), but any more work on it will be a waste of time. There will be no post-compo releases of Protector.

If you are just getting started making games, Protector could be a good example of when to stop working on a prototype. But first, let’s do the usual “game jam postmortem“ song and dance.

Game Description

In this moody puzzle-ish platformer, you control an invincible character tasked with guiding a small (and very vincible) dog through the level. You cannot control the dog.

Instead you can pick up and throw a bone, but you can’t carry the bone. When you press the bone throwing button a second time, the dog will chase after the bone.

One the dog is running, you cannot stop it. You also cannot call the dog to return to you. You have to clear the path for the dog before you let it loose.

What Went Right

Scope: I scoped Protector aggressively minimal. I remember feeling a bit under the weather on the first day of the jam, so I decided to take it easy and submit something small. I was okay with submitting a small game in the jam category. I just had this idea I wanted to try out.

There is only one level, and it’s not all that big. I submitted on the morning of the third day, with everything I wanted in the game, without losing any sleep, and with some time to spare.

Theme: The idea was my own take on that last level in Bastion, when the kid carries the battering ram, but as an escort mission. The main character was supposed to be some kind of brute or barbarian loosely inspired by the barbarian class in Diablo II. Obviously you keep a dog alive, because that’s the theme of the jam.

Character Designs: I think nailed it with the brute and dog sprites. The brute is big and faceless, and the dog is small and cute. The proportions of the brute convey that he is strong and slow, and his shield (but no sword) should clue you in about his purpose.

Simple Dog Behaviour: The dog runs and bounces around pretty quickly. Once the dog is running, all bets are off, because you are too slow to catch up. You have to set everything up so the dog won’t kill himself, because he’s not a cat with nine lives. He is a dumb dog.

Any kind of AI or pathfinding would have made the dog less predictable, and the main objective of the game is to keep it alive (that was the theme of the jam), so simple, fast, predictable movement was key. The player has to be able to predict the dog’s path before it starts running.

Level Design: The level is not that big. There is a variety of obstacles and set pieces, and these are all easy for the player character to navigate, but potentially lethal to the dog. In addition to multiple platforming challenges, there are two unique “set pieces” that break up the monotony.

There are five different ways for the dog to die, and the level is constructed to make the player experience each of them once. Some are obvious, like the lightning cloud and the tower that shoots arrows, but the level is designed so that every player dies at least once. After mastering an obstacle once, it should pose no challenge on repeat playthroughs.

What Went Wrong

Controls: The controls are very simple, based on only the four arrow keys, X and C. These can be mapped to the left stick and first two buttons of a gamepad. In walk mode, the two buttons jump and call the dog, and the “up” direction is used to raise the shield.

In throw mode, with the left/right axis controls the throwing angle, and the up/down angle controls the velocity. This control scheme feels too cumbersome. The X key is used for calling the dog and throwing the bone, based on context. This also feels cumbersome, but it makes it less likely for players to accidentally throw or call the dog when they want to jump. I still had to resort to putting the controls on the screen at all times.

For gamepad controls it would have made more sense to use the direction of the left stick for the throwing angle and velocity. For keyboard+mouse controls I could have implemented a mouse-based throwing system like in Gunpoint or a parabola indicator that shows where the bone will land. I could also have gone the other way with a Worms style throwing system in which the throwing velocity is proportional to the time the button was held. As is, the throwing uses the same buttons as platforming, but it doesn’t feel good.

Bone Physics: The bone physics was kind of bouncy and floaty. I implemented my own physics because the bone was the only object in the whole game that needs halfway realistic bouncy collisions. The player and the dog use platformer physics, so there was no need for a physics engine like Box2D, libODE, or pymunk. The bone is modelled like a simple spinning ball. I could have made the bone less bouncy to give the player more control, maybe even cheated by making it less bouncy only in the x-direction. I could also have gone in the other direction and modelled the bone as a rectangle or two balls connected by a line.

Dog Platforming: The dog sometimes gets stuck in a wall or on a ledge. This is bad. I could fix this by making the dog fall down or turn around when this happens, but that would make the problem worse. I’d rather have the dog (or the bone) stuck in a weird position until the player gets it out than having it sit inside a pit in an unwinnable position with believable physics.

The way bone physics and platforming work is very janky, but that is because the obvious fix would have unacceptable gameplay consequences.

Main Gameplay Loop: It goes like this: throw bone - move into position - let dog loose - wait for dog - retrieve bone - throw bone - move into position, and so on. There is no way to call the dog back because that would make certain puzzles too easy, no way to set multiple way points for the dog, no way to ask the dog to fetch the bone back to you, and no way to carry the bone - otherwise you could just walk over and drop the bone there.

The gameplay loop as it stands just doesn’t allow that many puzzles, and changes to the gameplay would make the current puzzles too easy. Adding more content is more or less incompatible with the current gameplay, and changes to the gameplay loop would break the existing balance.

Allowing the player to carry the bone, to use different tools than the shield, to call the dog back would destroy the game design.

What I Learned

Escort missions suck. I already knew that hidden complex systems are not fun, but even indirect interaction based on simple systems is hard to get right. Beyond that, I did not try anything new and outlandish. I just had the idea about the big protector and the little dog.

The most surprising thing was how poorly Protector was rated in the “Mood” category given the relatively high theme score. Having no sound really did me no favours, and neither did the GameBoy screen resolution or the 5-colour palette.

But importantly, despite all the gameplay shortcomings, this still works as a short game. If the game is short enough, it can be carried by novelty, and players will forgive janky controls, even if the controls are part of the game’s main difficulty. I relied on this insight in other jam games, but it does not translate to long-form games.

This is a bit meta, but it is important to understand when a game design does not work. To some degree I think game jams even encourage a kind of toxic positivity towards young people learning to program. By all means, you should encourage people who want to try their hand at game design, and you should not go out of your way to disparage teenagers learning to code or programmers who make programmer art because the graphic design in their enterprise software day job is done in a different department. All too often, instead of “keep it up“, we tell people who are getting started to keep working on their jam games. If a game has load of bugs, on some level it would be nice to have them fixed, and these bugs are an obvious starting point for a post-jam version of the game - but when I see buggy games with experimental gameplay ideas, I don’t always encourage the devs to keep tweaking the mechanics until it works. Some experiments have negative results, and that’s okay.

Some jam entries are great games, successful experiments if you will, but they can’t easily be made into longer games. That’s also okay.

Can We Fix This?

“But hypothetically” you ask me, “how would you turn Protector into a longer game if I hired you to be a game designer?”

Okay. Hypothetically. In this hypothetical world, you pay by the hour, no unpaid overtime, and no bonus based on how well the game sells ;-)

We need a story that glues all the levels together, and the dog platforming would be at most a third of the game. Maybe in some levels you and the dog fight side by side, maybe you explore some of the levels with the dog on a leash, maybe you tie the leash to a post at the level entrance and come back when you have cleared everything.

I can’t stress enough how important it is to have through-line that connects different types of gameplay, different set pieces and minigames.

In order to make the platforming and puzzle solving more interesting, you would have a different load-out in different levels. Some platforms are dog-only, and you would throw the bone (or a tennis ball) up there because you can’t reach it yourself. You would need a way to recall the bone (or tennis ball) or a way to recall the dog, maybe a dog whistle. Maybe you just have a limited supply of dog treats per level. Earlier levels just have the bone, and shield, later ones introduce mobility items for the player character, tennis balls, a collar, a leash, dog treats, a dog whistle, and so on.

It would be a fun idea (or a gimmick) to have most of the upgrades be for the dog, but that’s not very fun to actually play.

Another possible problem is if the dog handling becomes an afterthought, or a drag in the player, going back to fetch the dog after the level has been cleared. Escort missions are not held in high regard among players, so this could become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

With all these mobility items and larger levels, we would need an improved dog AI. We also could not have the dog fall into a pit of spikes, instead it should refuse to jump into unsafe distances, and somehow communicate to the player. We would also need a way to get the dog back down if it got up the wrong platform, and a way for the player to reset progress to the last check point or re-fill dog treats without creating an exploitable loophole where the player can just walk back and forth to the vending machine and win a level with infinite dog treats.

Oh no, the dog AI sounds complicated now. Complicated hidden systems are not fun, and training AI-powered animals is not that difficult code-wise, but it is difficult to pull off in a way that is fun and legible to the player. I still remember Black&White. Those animals were a gimmick. Somehow we need a way for the dog to communicate things to the player. Can the dog talk? Is there a bark code? Can the dog smell things?

One thing we absolutely must not do is vary the dog AI between levels. Players will have a really hard time as is, because the smarter the dog gets, the easier it becomes to accidentally mis-predict what it will do.

Think about all the parts of this rather comprehensive proposal: Complex AI, some kind of story, different controls, unlockable items, and level/puzzle design that integrates all of the above, all written from scratch or re-written for the bigger game. I’d rather spend the time on something else.

#game development #gamedev #aseprite #ludum dare #ldjam #postmortem #game jam #on the shortness of games

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watercoloredlie · 3 years

Text

A Christmas Wish

Title: A Christmas Wish (Day 1) Theme: Bonfire Fandom / Character(s): Supernatural/Arrow; Dean Winchester x Earth 1 Laurel Lance Warnings: Mostly fluff Word Count: 1,339 words Notes: So this is for @champbucks @12daysofchristmas challenge. I was originally going to just use wrestlers, but after the challenge was opened up to all fandoms, I just couldn’t resist making it the 12 days of Deanmas. If anyone deserves a bunch of cute holiday fics written about him, it’s Dean Winchester. Plus I threw in some Laurel because my girl deserves some holiday goodness too. Credit for the graphic goes to @snarkandsarcasmftw and credit for the bonfire idea goes to the show The Originals.

Christmas wasn’t an often celebrated holiday in Dean Winchester’s life. He barely remembered the Christmases he spent with his family prior to his mother’s death. After that, he and his brother Sam were lucky if their dad was even around for Christmas. The closest to a real Christmas he had since then was with Sam in the year leading up to Dean going to Hell. After that, he didn’t think he’d ever have a chance at celebrating the holiday again. But then he was saved from Hell by Castiel. Dean still didn’t celebrate Christmas again until he was with Lisa. He treasured the time he got to spend with her and their son Ben. Then they broke up. Christmas was pretty low key for Dean after that if he even celebrated it at all. Of course that all changed when Emma was born. It was the kick in the ass that Dean needed to see that he needed to do better by his children. So every year since then he tried his best to celebrate Christmas with them.

The bunker had ended up being a blessing in disguise. It gave the Winchesters a home. It gave Ben his own room when he came to visit and it gave Emma her own room. Childproofing it had been a pain, but it was worth it. Then Laurel arrived. She was a friend of Sam’s from college. Unlike him, she was able to go on to law school and become a lawyer. Laurel was also secretly known as The Black Canary, a superhero who nearly died protecting her hometown of Starling City. She faked her death with the help of the Winchesters so that the man responsible wouldn’t try to finish her off. Laurel spent her time in the bunker at first recovering from the surgery that had saved her life. She bonded with the Winchesters and especially with little Emma inadvertently becoming a mother type figure toward the little girl. Laurel would be the one to watch her while Sam and Dean saved the world. The last thing any of them expected was for Mary Winchester to be given back to her sons alive as a reward.

Now it was December and Dean was about to celebrate his first Christmas with his mother since he was three years old. Twinkling lights were strung up all around the bunker. The tree was placed in the perfect spot and decorated with care. Emma had even placed the angel at the top of the tree with a little help from her dad. It was a trenchcoat clad angel at her insistence since Uncle Cas was an angel so of course the angel on the tree has to look like him. Castiel was touched and also a bit amused by the gesture. This year was also the start of a new tradition. One that Dean himself wasn’t too sure of though.

Laurel rolled her blue eyes at him playfully. “It’s not about the wishes, Dean. It’s for good luck. I think it’s sweet.”

“I just don’t want Emma to get disappointed if her wish doesn’t come true.” He admitted with a sigh as he wiped the flour off the counter top.

She couldn’t help smiling softly at that as she moved to check on the cookies that were baking in the oven. “Well that’s why you try to make her understand that it doesn’t guarantee that the wishes will come true.”

“Daddy! Daddy!” The little auburn haired girl in question came rushing into the kitchen heading straight toward him.

“Whoa munchkin! What’s going on?” Dean dropped the rag onto the counter and easily swooped her up into his arms.

“Ben said the Grinch will steal all of our Christmas stuff if I wasn’t a good girl.” Emma pouted at her father.

“Well now that’s not true. We have an anti Grinch security system installed. He doesn’t really leave Whoville though so I don’t think you have to worry.” He pressed a kiss to his daughter’s head reassuringly.

Ben walked in shaking his head. “I only said that because she messed up my game. Grandma took it away. She said she’ll give it to you to give back to me later.”

“Emma just wanted to play with you, bud. That doesn’t mean you can just mess with his game either though, Em. So no more scaring your sister and no more messing with your brother’s things. Why don’t you two go get bundled up? Help your sister. We’ll be going outside in a few minutes.” Dean set the little girl back down onto her feet.

“But the cookies!” Emma protested looking up at her dad.

Laurel grinned softly at the little girl. “They just finished baking. I put them on the counter to cool. We can decorate them when we get back inside.”

“Okay mama.” Emma smiled and followed Ben out of the kitchen.

Dean and Laurel shared a look which only made her blush. After making sure the ovens were off, the two of them bundled up then headed outside where the bonfire was waiting. Ben and Emma were writing down their wishes with the latter being helped by Mary. The warmth from the bonfire in comparison to the chill in the air felt great. Sam and Eileen were near the fire keeping a close eye on it. When everyone was ready, they one by one each dropped a scrap of paper that they wrote their wishes on into the fire. Dean helping his kids do so, of course. It was only a few moments after all the wishes were in the flames that Ben looked toward the sky and his face lit up.

“It’s snowing!” Emma gasped in realization then squealed in delight.

Her brother laughed giving her a high five. “My wish came true.”

Laurel smiled nodding at them. “See? Good luck already.”

They enjoyed the snowfall for a bit. The bonfire keeping them from getting too cold. The kids were ushered back into the bunker after a while. Once they washed up, they went back to the kitchen where they helped Dean and Laurel decorate the cookies. Dean ended up having to wash icing off of Emma’s hands.

“What kind of cookies do you think Santa likes best?” Emma asked as she munched on a cookie afterward.

“I hear he likes pie better.” Dean grinned softly at her.

Laurel nudged him with an elbow earning a chuckle from him. “I think Santa likes all cookies and I’m sure he’ll love whatever cookies you leave out for him.”

“Okay. Can we make Olaf tomorrow?” She asked sleepily.

“If there’s enough snow, sure.”

“Yay!” Emma cheered then yawned finishing her milk.

Dean got her ready for bed. Laurel brushed the little girl’s auburn hair out while Dean read her a story. She was fast asleep soon after. They tucked her in then put the nightlight on. Laurel went to put the cookies away while Dean went to check on Ben. With the bonfire now safely out, Sam walked back inside with Miracle by his side. The dog shook himself off then walked away to get some water. By then, Dean and Laurel were done with what they were doing so they were just quietly talking. Sam smirked playfully and cleared his throat gesturing above them. They looked over at Sam then glanced up only to see some mistletoe hanging above their heads at a height that only the younger Winchester brother could have placed it there.

The blonde blushed at the realization, but didn’t hesitate to lean in kissing Dean softly on the lips. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas, Laurel.” Dean returned the kiss softly.

Mary gave them a knowing smile from where she was seated as the pair kissed a bit more. “Looks like Emma might have her wish come true after all.”

“Wait, what did she wish for?” He pulled back for a moment making them both look over at his mother.

The older blonde couldn’t help laughing softly. “A baby brother.”

#12 days of christmas #dean winchester #supernatural #laurel lance #arrow #spn

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vinylhazza · 4 years

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44 Seems so funny 😂

prompt list

44. You fix your hair in the reflection of a window to see them smiling at you through it.

you’re simply panicking. just absolutely not okay. not only were you late for work, the coffee pot had decided to crap shit somewhere between you setting the alarm last night and waking up this morning. you were certain you saw the flashing yellow light before you turned out of the kitchen and trotted back to your room in nothing but a massive t-shirt and your underwear. it had been your dad’s that he gave to you when you were just a sophomore in college, and you’d used it as a pj shirt every since.

you simply couldn’t function without your coffee. but apparently the world had a different plan for your Monday morning. if there was one thing you couldn’t go without in the morning above anything else (yes anything) it was coffee. coffee was essential. if you didn’t have coffee? the headaches that would follow were (for a lack of a better term) unbearable.

your phones sing-song alarm wasn’t with the program either apparently. on any normal day, you were rolling out of the comfort of your weighted comforter and clicking on an alarm that sounded at exactly 7:30. not this morning. no, of course not. by the time your eyelashes fluttered open and your arms raised in a stretch, joints pulling and aches eased in ways that just felt too good to be true, your phones bright white numbers told you, you weren’t just a little late. you were an hour late. an hour late to one of the best jobs you’ve ever had. one that would open so many opportunities in your career path. a job you had to jump through hoops for, use several comnections for. you vowed to never screw it up. and there you were, staring at the phone like a deer in the headlights.

“how the fuck?!” you gasp at the screen, snatching it with a scrunched up face of anguish, unlocking it with aggressive taps against the glass, and swiping right over to the ‘Clock’ icon.

you hadn’t set the damn alarm. you hadn’t even set the fucking alarm. obviously, if the alarm isn’t set, it’s not going to go off. how stupid could you be? how ignorant does one have to be to not set an alarm that they set every day? it had been engraved into your normal everyday routine, but with such a busy weekend under your belt - you were a bit more frazzled than usual. no excuse, but you still used it to at least make your frantic heart hurt a little less. you used that same excuse as motivation to jump from the mattress in a hurry, throwing your closet doors open with a lovely case of bedhead. you couldn’t be bothered to pat the hair down before you tugged at several hangers, deciding for once that there was no time to be picky. pick out a dress and go. you’ve wasted enough time laying in bed like a lump.

you did your best to manage the mess you’d made of yourself in your restless sleep, brushing through the tangles in your mess of hair, brushing your teeth aggressively, slipping on the blush colored dress that falls right above your knees - it’s one of your favorites- and smooth out some wrinkles from the fist you’d balled around the fabric during your haste to the bathroom. you’re throwing on just a minimal amount of makeup and examining yourself in the mirror before you throw your purse over your shoulder and rushed out of the door, texting a quick “on my way! running a little late this morning!” to your boss on your way out the door. without your keys of course. which only caused another hold up on such an important day of work. the sat mocking you on the coffee table and you curse yourself for not putting them on the key ring by the door. the second time you shut your door, it’s a firm slam that shocks the daily lights out of your next door neighbor who also seems a bit flustered - causing yet another tragedy. you just couldn’t win today. the poor older woman sat staring at you with a white button up blazer now scattered with brown coffee stains, her cup half empty in her hand.

“i am so sorry ms. berta! i’m running a little late today and i forgot my keys i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to scare you i just-“ you rambled on, stalking a bit closer to examine the damage you’d caused to the only neighbor that ever even waved in your direction. guess that’s about to end after this.

she holds up a shaky hand to stop you, wrinkled eyes closed in an attempt to calm herself - surely she would be yelling if she didn’t take a breather. the coffee was hot of course. but she understands. she’s a reasonable woman, she’s been around for a long time, and the young face staring at her in absolute horror just softened her right up. she knows how awful the feeling of being late really is. it’s a burst of adrenaline and when you have to go- you have to go. the older woman had no where to be of course, so she would have time to chance. no harm no foul. with a tiny shake of her head she’s shooting you a forced smile and a little wave in the direction of the elevator.

“it’s alright, dear. i didn’t like this shirt very much, anyhow. go on now, it looks like you’re in quite a rush to get to that job,” she tuts, turning to unlock her own apartment door quietly, eyebrows furrowed down in agitation.

with your opening to leave, you’re all but sprinting down the hallway and pressing the down arrow on the elevator rapidly - the orange color only mocking you further- you’re willing the cramped box to arrive at your floor just a little faster.

come on come on come on - ding.

with a huff and roll of your eyes, you’re stepping through the sliding doors and into the elevator, bouncing as much as you could in your heels impatiently, breathing heavy from rushing out of your apartment so fast. you knew your feet were going to hurt like hell when you returned home after such a long day ahead of you. the thought alone had you sighing. thankfully no one else was in the elevator to see how panicked you really looked.

it was...intriguing to say the least, that every single day there is something new to look at in LA. someone new to meet. someone to laugh with, someone to stay away from, the world kept turning, moving fast paced. except on days you were late - time seemed to pass slower than ever. every morning you walked to work - it was easier that way. it was a few blocks away and you had been used to walking around college before you nailed the job, and then before that with high school. you just loved to feel the wind on your face and sun shining down even if it did make your hair a bit frizzy sometimes when the humidity was rising. but today, oh my gosh today would be the day to have a car. you’re clicking against the cement, pushing through rude bystandards that watch you go through the beginning of your psychotic break you’re sure.

and there, your saving grace. your favorite coffee shop. it had been one of the first loves when you moved out to California. first you’d been in a small suburb, then you made the leap of moving into the big city. it was something you were unsure about from the beginning but to get the job you really wanted...you had to have access to bigger and better things. LA was that place for you. but the smaller coffee shop was always your spot to go when you needed a pick-me-up, a treat, or even just a coffee to keep you functioning like today. you debated for a moment whether the stop was worth it just for coffe - and you concluded quickly that yes. yes it was.

without so much as a look across the street, you brave it and follow the crowd across the cross-walk, pace quickening with the mere sight of the sign hanging over the door. a flashing sign you’ve seen a thousand times, but gets you giddy each and every time still. you can almost smell it now, the sweet smell of the shops signature cream that they sneak into your latte, cinnamon right across the top, the coffee beans roasting, the richness of the fresh cinnamon rolls and blueberry muffins that always wait for you behind the glass at the front register. you always made sure to grab either one for your boss as well, gotta get on their good side. usually cinnamon rolls for the win. God it was heaven.

but of course, vanity shines through when you come upon the large windows at the front of the shop, doing a double take at your reflection. you can tell that your cowlick is acting up again, making the hairs near your forehead go up in a strange odd looking shape, like you pushed it back but forgot to pin it and it got stuck that way. you surely couldn’t go to work looking so stupid. but you should have known better. you should have known to not walk right up to the glass, lean in close and try to tame the stupid hairs that never could cooperate. you just wanted to look presentable for your favorite place and for work.

but then a pair of eyes caught you. caught meaning with within the minute you realize that...yes...this is a window...and yes...other people inside can see you pampering yourself in the window. and one of those people happen to have their eyes latched onto your shocked expression through the glass, and has a dashing smile that knocks the air right from your chest. you’ve seen countless people do the very same thing, and it’s been a running joke of the shop ever since you started frequenting the quaint little café. watching people embarrass themselves was something you’ve found yourself laughing at. but this time it was you. and you didn’t like it one bit. this has to be some sort of joke the world was playing on you.

you’re jerking back from the glass with a gasp and turning promptly towards the door when you make out the man in the window, a devilishly handsome face that makes it even more embarassing that you’ve smoothed out your mess of a hair right in front of him. fixing a cowlick definitely isn’t the way to look presentable in front of a man that looked like the one in the window. just from the one look in the window, you can tell he’s sure to break the hearts of many women.

it’s not that bad. sure that was embarassing, but all you have to do is go in, order your coffee like normal. you don’t even have to look around. you don’t have to pay attention to him. just go to the register and start talking like nothing happened. you prep yourself in your head, grasping the brass door handle and pulling open with cheeks that feel like fire.

your favroite barista Julian is already laughing, covering his mouth in an attempt to hide the smile which only makes it more mortifying. you really shouldn’t have stopped.

“i thought we laughed at people that did what you just did, y/n,” he coughs out through the laughter, punching in your order that he knows by heart into the screen in front of him.

“fuck i know, i woke up so late and i could just feel the mess on my head,” you smile bashfully, tucking a strand back behind your ear to emphasize the issue, “guess that’s what i get for not setting an alarm.”

“that’s alright, happens to the best of us.” Julian smiles warmly, turning around to busy himself with your drink.

and then you feel it. the pressure of eyes staring at you. and you know, of course you do. it must be the attractive man staring at you through the glass. he’s probably judging you, laughing at you for being so foolish. and then came the whispering. two voices, hushed and urgent.

“dude, just get the fuck up and go over there,” came one voice, that was much too loud you might add. louder than the person probably wanted it to be. you knew they must have been closer by the door than you thought in your hurry to run away, judging how well you could hear their quiet conversation - only peaking your nerves. you reach down to fix the edges of your dress, smooth out the sleeves while you wait to try and calm yourself down.

“no, she’s already embarassed,” another voice, much quieter and discreet, “and i’m gonna go up there and sound dumb. she obviously wants to be left alone.”

“go now ethan, before i go myself,” the first voice, more urgent and serious this time. the voice had a edge, that resembled a father talking to their son. you knew the two had to be close with how stern he was being.

“jesus christ,” a small whisper this time.

you faintly hear a frustrated huff before the rough sounds of a chair scraping across the wooden floor rang in your ears. and you pray, with all of your might that it isn’t him, that your suspicions aren’t true and he’s not about to come and try and-

“there you are, the usual with a dash of something special,” the barista captures your attention once again, snapping you out of the whirlwind of anxiety in your brain. it propels you forward, the sound of his voice and for your hand to reach out and clasp onto the clue cup he holds out with a smile. it made you feel better, you must admit, “enjoy it while it lasts.”

“thank you, $3.27 right?” you hurry to pull your wallet from your purse, setting down the drink once again and burrying your hand in your bag, shuffling items around like a grandma that stuffs her bag too full. it was rather ridiculous how long you searched through the purse onto to come up empty.

and then you remember. you remember setting your wallet on your bedside table after ordering some new curtains you’d been eyeing for the last couple weeks. you finally gained the courage to splurge on them and when you retrieved your wallet for the debit card number you forgot to put the wallet back into it’s rightful place: the second inside pouch on your purse. and now, you’re paying for it. or well, not paying for it.

“um...i uh-“ you clear your throat, not really knowing what to do in a situation like this, completely embarassed, “i don’t exactly know what i did with my wallet,” you explain bashfully, setting your purse down on the counter to get a better look inside the bag. it’s a dark abyss of things that didn’t settle the severity of the situation. you were late. you were embarassed. and now, you were broke, “let me just look some more i’m sure it’s-“

“i got it.”

And there it is, that same voice you heard in hushed tones only moments ago, now directly behind you. you watch a hand move over your shoulder, handing a card over to Julian that watched you close with a smirk hiding just beneath the surface. he takes the card with a nod, sliding it with a hum.

turning around was, well, one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do - and the other was figuring out what hell to say to someone that looked...well...that attractive. so damn handsome it almost hurt to look at him. he was tall, that was your first observation. the rest followed suit, the dark hair styled neatly atop his head, eyes a hazel honey color staring right down at you, and a kind smile that strung at your heartstrings right away. he was breathtaking to say the least. and he had shown you such kindness, but of course you assumed it was to make you feel better about the incident at the window. a pity pay for the humiliation you’d brought upon yourself.

“you really didn’t have to do that...?” you said an eyebrow in question.

“ethan,” he provides, voice smooth as butter. fuck.

“well, ethan...that was very nice of you but you seriously didn’t have to do that. i could’ve lived without it,” you tell him quickly, trying hard to keep the blush at bay. he just kept looking over your face, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“but i wanted to, plus you look like you are in a hurry and needed it- i mean that’s not a bad thing or anything - i just mean- um,” he rambles on, “uh i was the one that saw you in the window and i just came up here to tell you that you look um really good and you shouldn’t worry about it.”

you are lit up with a smile, the cutest he’s ever seen really. he didn’t see anything wrong with your appearance in the first place - his heart stopped right in his chest when you leaned in close to the window, fluffing at your hair with your manicured fingers and tilting your head to check that your makeup hadn’t been smeared. when you had noticed him smiling at you through the window, he thought you might fall over from how hard you jerked yourself away. grayson had given him a punch on his shoulder with a little “she’s cute.” i mean...yeah she was cute but how was he supposed to talk to her after that?

you noticed another man laughing at the table ethan must have come from, and your eyes widen when you realize they look identical- you blink back and forth between the two to make sure you weren’t seeing things. that wouldn’t be surprised with the day you’re having. it’s the laughing that really pissed you off, though. was this some kind of dare or something? like a highschool jock told to talk to the loser nerdy girl at lunch? just to be laughed and mocked by his friends?

“you know what ethan, i’m not really interested in whatever is going on here. if you came over here to embarass me further, then i suggest you return to your table. thanks for the coffee but good on the small talk,” you cross your arms, turning around with a flip of your hair, “i’m having a pretty shitty morning as it is and i don’t need to be mocked.”

“what?!” he rushes out, glaring over at who you assume is his brother because...isn’t it obvious? the man slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes sparkling with tears from laughing at his brother, “no of course not, i wouldn’t mock you,” a huff, “that’s my brother just ignore him. i genuinely didn’t come over here for that. i just um...saw you and thought i should maybe say hello or something. i swear i mean no harm. i’m just stepping outside of my box and talking to a pretty girl.”

you can tell that he lets the last part slip and he wants nothing more to slide the words right back into his mouth. even if he believes it to be true. but that...jesus that makes you smile. you can tell he’s nervous from the way he moves one hand wildly while he talks, the other secured inside of the pocket of his black pants. they fit him well. the white shirt sticks to just the right parts of his chest and you forget that he can see you looking over him, smirking down at you.

“smooth,” you give him, picking up your drink back up from the counter and taking a sip from the straw, looking back to Julian with a thankful nod and a “text me?”, ignoring his suggestive grin and turning on your heel to be on your way, coffee in hand, already so late you’re worried they’ll fire you when you walk in the door.

“wait, wait! where are you going?” ethan steps forward, touching the back of your arm with a worried expression, ignoring grayson absolutely losing his mind at the table, “can i at least get your number?”

“hm...i usually don’t give my numbers out to strangers ethan...” you smirk at him, knowing you’re playing hard to get, something he loves. he’s a big believe in the thrill of the chase, but never stops showing he cares once he’s caught hold.

“well...will i see you here tomorrow? maybe then we can talk some more and then we won’t be strangers,” he reasons, really living on a prayer at this point. you’re sure he’s not used to hitting on girls in coffee shops, judging by the blush spreading lightly across his cheekbones. cute. very cute, “i promise i won’t bring my brother, he can’t behave himself obviously. just you and me. what do ya think?” his eyes are hopeful.

“you bet,” you smile softly, “see you bright and early, wouldn’t be late if i were you!” you sing-song over your shoulder, shooting him a smile before you’re out the door and off to win over your boss, cursing yourself on the way for not getting a cinnamonroll - thoughts filled with shy the boy in the window.

#asks #e!concepts #ethan!concepts #this is the one i didn’t like all that much but oh well

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bubonickitten · 4 years

Link

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 12 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 12: It’s the Buried, so… expect exactly what it says on the tin labeled Too Close I Cannot Breathe, that is to say: claustrophobia, being trapped, descriptions of asphyxiation and immobility, etc. Also: anxiety/panic symptoms; a brief mention of suicidal ideation; mentions of canon-typical worms & kidnapping; swears; and Lonely-typical Martin (isolation, low self-worth, etc.). SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 12: Lost and Found

Martin was so single-minded in reaching the Archives, he forgot to shroud himself before descending the stairs to the basement. It’s a miracle that no one was around to intercept him before he could make it to Jon’s office and close the door behind him.

For a long minute he stands there at the threshold, staring blankly into the room, taking in the bizarre scene.

A long, wooden crate sits in the center of the room, loose chains snaking underneath and coiled on the floor around it. A heavy padlock affixed to one of the links yawns open, key still fitted into the lock. Dozens upon dozens of tape recorders are arranged like a summoning circle around the box and every single one of them is on, filling the space with a low, jumbled drone of indistinct syllables.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Martin draws closer. When he catches sight of the ominous DO NOT OPEN scrawled on the lid, the realization hits him.

“Is that a coffin?” he says to himself, flummoxed.

“We really need you, Jon –”

Martin jumps just slightly when his ears pick out the sound of his own voice from the rest of the chatter. His eyes wander to Jon’s desk where a single tape recorder rests, isolated from the clutter on the floor. As the statement continues, Martin recognizes it with a jolt.

“We – I need you. And I – I know that you’re not – I know there’s no way to –”

“Where did he get this?” Martin wonders aloud, reaching out to pick the thing up – and only then does he notice the notebook it sits on. “Where did he get this?” he says, a bit louder.

There’s a scrap of paper sticking out of the top like a bookmark. Bewildered, he sets the tape recorder aside and flips the notebook open to the marked page.

Were I prone to flights of fancy, I daresay I would call his words portentous, the paper reads. Jon’s handwriting has always been nearly illegible, and it only got worse after his burn, but Martin is intimately familiar with it after all this time. A tiny swell of affection begins to bloom in his chest before he forces it back.

You can’t, he tells himself, shutting his eyes. Peter’s plan – whatever it may be – requires Martin to steep himself in loneliness.

Yes, he agreed to the plan assuming that Jon would never wake up. And he’s glad that Jon woke up, of course – albeit in a muffled, distant sort of way. He should probably be more bothered by that, but he notes it with only mild interest. It doesn’t change the simple fact that his feelings for Jon were never actually going to go anywhere. That sort of thing just… isn’t for Martin, let alone with Jon.

At least this way, Martin can put those dead-end feelings to some practical use. He has no illusions about being a hero. Even if Peter isn’t mistaken or lying about the Extinction’s emergence, Martin doubts that he of all people could make any real difference. But with any luck, maybe he can keep Jon safe – or safer, at least.

Not from himself, though, Martin thinks, glaring at the Coffin. He’s so…

He heaves a sigh before turning his attention back to the strip of paper with its cryptic message. The makeshift bookmark is held in place on the side by a paperclip. There is a drawn arrow pointing down, and his eyes follow its trajectory to see it pointing at –

Oh.

Martin can feel his cheeks flush. The arrow sits just above a stanza that he could best describe as blatantly pining, and…

“Oh, god, did Jon read this? That’s –”

“Embarrassing?”

Startled, Martin whips around to see a woman standing in the doorway. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Martin, right? Your ears are very red right now,” she says with a smirk. “Don’t worry, he liked it. You saw the note, didn’t you? A bit heavy-handed. He’s always been dramatic, but he never used to be such a sap.”

Martin opens his mouth just slightly, but no sound comes out. The idea of speaking with another person grates at him, bringing his thoughts to a grinding halt like a crowbar jammed between corroded gears.

“I’m Georgie. Jon’s friend.” Martin shuts his eyes and grits his teeth, willing her to go away. She doesn’t, though; doesn’t even wait for him to reply before continuing: “We need to talk.”

It’s worse than it was the first time. How is it worse?

Did the stairs end so soon last time? Did the walls close in so quickly? How long has he been here already? How much longer will he have to stay?

Jon stops for a moment, panting in short gasps, desperate for whatever stagnant air he can force into his lungs. As if to protest the delay, the walls press in tighter and squeeze a breathless whimper out of him.

Keep moving, he tells himself. Just – keep moving. There’s an end, and if you keep moving, you’ll reach it faster.

Without warning or invitation, the tape recorder clicks on and Daisy’s statement begins to play.

“…kept walking into the earth” – a peal of static – “completely out of sight” – more static – “the lid closed very slowly, and then he was gone.”

That’s… not where he paused the tape the last time he listened to it, he realizes with crawling dread. Why did it pick up there? And it’s – is it making its own sentences, mimicking his clumsy attempts at communication? Is it mocking him, trying to stoke his fear? Can the Buried somehow affect the tapes? What else could possibly be doing it? The Powers usually hold no sway in one another’s domains – except for… except for the Watcher, after Jon opened the door.

He’s fairly certain that that no longer holds true. It’s not as if he can still direct the Ceaseless Watcher’s focus; that was in a future that has not – will not – come to pass. But still… curiosity is as much of a pest as it’s always been. Jon resists for a brief few moments before giving in to the urge to Know, even as he curses himself for it.

It becomes immediately clear that just like the last time, he can’t See anything in this place. Reassuring, in some ways – the Eye can’t reach him here, and neither can Jonah Magnus – but the Archivist in him still recoils at the confirmation: he can’t See, he can’t Know, he can’t –

Attempting to tamp down his mounting panic, Jon lets out a shaky breath.

Breathe, he tells himself – and an instant later, he realizes his mistake. Predictably enough, when he tries to draw in a breath, the earth contracts again and chokes him before he can get to the two-second mark. The forced exhale comes out as a whine, and he hates himself for it.

You can’t stop here, he thinks. Keep going.

Blinking grit out of his eyes, he presses on.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Martin mutters to himself, frowning at the weathered stone floor.

“What was that?” Georgie asks, glancing at him as she reaches the bottom of the ladder.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Georgie makes a show of scanning the tunnel.

“Well, I’m the only other one here.”

Martin’s gotten used to talking to himself, but he doesn’t bother explaining that. He’s already exhausted from what brief interaction he’s had with her so far, and he doesn’t care enough to push through the haze.

Georgie starts walking towards a collection of chairs arranged in a loose circle a little ways down the tunnel. Why are there chairs down here? he wonders idly, before discarding the question with deliberate indifference. He cannot afford to give his curiosity any quarter, no matter how mild.

“Well?” Georgie says, sitting down. “Pick a seat and fall into it. You look dead-on-your-feet tired. Honestly, I’m starting to think chronic fatigue is a job requirement for you lot.”

Martin lets out the beginnings of a small chuckle. Almost instantaneously, he strangles it, but the noise echoes in his head, unwanted and unsettling. It sounds wrong to his ears, discordant and out-of-place. It’s only now that he thinks to wonder how long it’s been since he’s laughed.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself automatically before repeating: “I really shouldn’t be here.”

“Listen,” Georgie says, taking on a more serious tone, “I promised Jon I’d pass a message to you, and this is the only place we can talk without your creeper boss spying on us.” She holds up a folded piece of paper. “He left you a letter, too.”

“Fine,” he says flatly, approaching and holding out a hand. “Give it here.”

“You can’t read it outside the tunnels.”

“Fine,” he says again through clenched teeth. She stares him down for a moment – he resists the impulse to back away – but she does hand it over. He meets her halfway, avoiding skin contact as he takes it from her. He doesn’t even have to put conscious thought into that anymore; at this point, it’s become second nature.

Taking a few steps back, he stares down at the paper held loosely in his hands. There is a part of him – shoved into a dusty corner of his mind, forcibly stifled and neglected – burning to unfold it. His thumb toys with one of the corners, peeling the top layer up ever so slightly before letting it snap back down with a soft fluttering noise. A more prominent presence overshadows the first, though, looming over his shoulder, whispering insistently about restraint and resolve and a greater purpose.

When he notices that Georgie is watching him, he sets his jaw and forces himself to meet her eyes.

“I can read just fine on my own. I don’t need company.”

“Don’t know about that,” she says, not quite under her breath. Then, in a more conversational tone: “There are a lot of things that Jon couldn’t communicate. I’m here to fill in the gaps.”

“He went into the Coffin.” Martin barely recognizes the monotone as coming from him.

Georgie makes an affirmative noise. Something ugly and unwanted simmers just underneath Martin’s contrived calm, a nagging itch clamoring for attention in the back of his mind. When Martin takes a breath, he can only manage to fill his lungs halfway.

“Why would he…”

Martin falters. It’s too broad of a query, and just scratching the surface is enough to break the uneasy ceasefire between the Powers laying claim to him. Martin can feel the pull of the Eye begging the question, the pushback of the Lonely at the prospect of involving himself with others.

“It says ‘do not open’ in big letters,” Martin says instead. Not a question, just an observation: a tangible, easily digestible detail that he can latch onto, enough to distract the Eye but impersonal so as not to offend the Forsaken.

Georgie snorts at that. “No better way to entice Jon to do the exact opposite.”

If she was trying for levity, it falls flat to Martin’s ears. The carefully constructed stillness he’s grown so adept at cloaking himself in shatters. When he speaks, his voice comes out sharp, louder – more emotional – than he had intended.

“Why is he so – why would he go in there?”

“Because –”

Martin makes an agitated noise before he can stop himself. The slight echo of his own voice bouncing back at him off the tunnel walls is already too much company; being repeatedly reminded that there is an entire other person here is unbearable. Every atom of his existence is screaming at him to turn his back on her and get away.

Georgie falls quiet and waits. After a few minutes cocooned safely within his own thoughts, Martin looks up and is surprised to see her still sitting there. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised; he didn’t see her leave. There’s just some part of him that cannot reconcile the concept of someone else being physically present in the same space as him.

“Sit,” Georgie says. Just a single word, spoken softly but with the weight of a command.

Before he even consciously makes the decision to move, he’s closing the distance between them and lowering himself into a chair. Unthinkingly, he chooses the furthest possible seat from her, and when he sits, he scoots backwards a few feet, as unconscious and instinctive as breathing. If she notices, she doesn’t comment on it.

“It was important to him that you read that,” she says, nodding at the paper still clutched in Martin’s hands.

“‘Was’…?”

Georgie gives him a peculiar look. “It’s not a suicide note, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What? I wasn’t – I didn’t…”

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Should it have? Is that something he should have thought to worry about – that he would have thought to worry about once upon a time? It – it is, isn’t it? He knows how Jon can be, how he spirals, how he’s his own worst enemy – how when he’s not actively putting himself in danger, he’s hurting himself through casual self-destruction and neglect. How much has Martin changed, that that possibility of Jon deliberately hurting himself didn’t even occur to him?

Wasn’t half the point of Martin doing this to protect Jon? Because he cares about Jon? When did he become so out-of-touch with that part of himself?

“Should I be worried?” he whispers to himself.

“No! I mean, not about that – not now, anyway – I mean –!” Georgie grimaces. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you something new to worry about. You just – you seemed hung up on the past tense?” She chuckles drily. “I think I’ve just been spending too much time with Jon. He overanalyzes things like that.”

“Semantics,” Martin says obscurely. He isn’t even entirely sure what he means, but Georgie nods as if she understands.

“Always have to be conscious of word choice around that man. I have seen him brood over verb tense for days trying to find meaning where none was intended, instead of just asking –”

“So what is it, then?” Martin interrupts, his voice tight, staring down at the paper in his hands again.

“It’s… hmm.” Georgie gives him a look that he can’t quite identify. “I think you should just read it. Take your time, and let me know when you have questions.”

“I don’t think –”

“Trust me,” she says with a tight smile, “you’ll have questions.”

“Fine,” Martin says, grinding his teeth together. Georgie seems nearly as stubborn as Jon. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can shake her off.

He heaves a longsuffering sigh and begins to read. As it turns out, he does have questions, the first of many making itself known mere seconds after he begins reading.

I’m sorry I left you.

…now I’m here, trying to explain things –

– had changed since he left –

– it seemed he was alone –

“Who is ‘he’?” Martin asks.

“Hm?”

“It keeps referring to a ‘he.’”

Georgie blinks. “You’re kidding, right? I know Jon is oblivious, but –”

“What?”

She frowns. “How far are you?”

“Only a few lines in…? ‘You’ is me, I’m assuming, since it is written for me, but then he jumps right into –”

“Oh,” Georgie says, sounding relieved for some reason. “Yeah, I suppose you wouldn’t know yet – don’t get too tripped up by the pronouns. Ever since he woke up, Jon’s only been able to speak in statement quotes. Limits his options a bit.”

“That… explains some things,” Martin replies, remembering his brief encounter with Jon a few weeks ago. Martin had recognized some of the words as his own. It was bizarre, but he’d been trying not to dwell on the peculiarities of the one-sided conversation. Thinking about Jon at length always made it more difficult for Martin to stay away. But now that the subject is free-floating in the air like this, his sense of curiosity is making demands again. “Why?”

“No clue. Jon hasn’t really said, and I haven’t pressed him on it. I can tell there’s some baggage there, but I wasn’t going to make him unpack it when he wouldn’t have the time or space to actually sort through it just yet. I think it’s safe to assume it’s supernatural, though, not psychological. And it definitely isn’t by choice.”

Great, Martin thinks bitterly. Just what they need: more complications. When he turns his attention back to the letter, he doesn’t get much further in his reading before he has to stop again.

“Are you sure that Jon wrote this?”

“Mhm. He fussed over it for hours.”

“It’s just…”

“Weirdly communicative?” Georgie suggests, a knowing smirk on her face. “Uncharacteristically revealing and insightful? Indicating a level of self-awareness seemingly not typical for one Jonathan Sims?”

“I… I was just going to say ‘open,’ but… yeah?”

“Yeah,” Georgie echoes with a dry chuckle. “Just keep reading.”

Jon is stuck.

One arm is pinned to his side, elbow bruising where it presses against the wall. The other is stretched out ahead of him, bitten-short fingernails digging into the dirt for purchase. Useless; the earth is packed so tightly, he can’t quite get a grip. His bad leg is throbbing painfully with every slight shift, and he can’t seem to move the other at all. He tries to breathe through it, but he can’t seem to force his lungs to expand, trapped as he is in –

“A squeeze can be a hole less than a foot wide, sometimes going on for a long way, the rock pressing in on all sides of you,” the Archive recites matter-of-factly. “In a particularly bad squeeze, there are parts where the walls and ceiling are so close that you can’t move your arms or bend your legs to push forward, and you just have to squirm your way to the other side like a worm –”

Jon wriggles frantically, trying to pull one arm free to clap a hand over his mouth, but he’s stuck –

“– down, down, down, down, down below the earth, there was a worm. He had not always been a worm, of course, but time and tide and life had pushed him to it – and he was, as definitely always had been the case, trapped. Boarded on all sides with no escape and no recourse.” The words are strained and faltering, the pressure on Jon’s chest being what it is, but the Archive carries on, punctuated with the occasional gasp or grunt of pain but otherwise unrelenting. “Even in his faint and fading memories of a life that wasn’t simply stone and rancid, reeking soil, he wasn’t sure he’d ever known a thing that might be called freedom. Choices he had had, that’s true, and certainly compared to the relentless press of all the weight and dirt now on him, the simple choice of left or right or stand or sit would now seem the most outrageous of luxuries –”

Shut up, shut up, just shut up, Jon rails against the Archive, redoubling his struggling, but it forges ahead, as if to highlight the fact that Jon cannot.

“…this was a particularly bad squeeze. Near the end, it got so bad that, if Alena hadn’t gone in first, I would have told her to go back and forget Lost Johns’ Cave.”

Very funny, he thinks acidly.

“When had the crushing pressure in his chest become literal? When had the empty promise of the horizon finally vanished completely, replaced by the pitch darkness of this – forever wall of earth?”

Suddenly, the aforesaid earth expands outward like a vast beast drawing in a breath, and Jon pitches forward as the passageway widens just enough for him to move. It’s still a squeeze, but he can at least inch his way onward again. He takes advantage of the opportunity while it still exists, blunt fingernails scrabbling against the walls as he pulls himself along.

Something in Martin gives – an overlong tug-o-war brought to an unceremonious end by a snap in the rope, sending both sides careening backwards to the ground. Like a tightly-coiled spring let loose, he stands abruptly and begins to pace, trying to suppress the uncomfortable stirrings of emotion threatening to break through the fog.

“He’s only saying this because he thinks it’ll change my mind about working for Peter,” he mutters heatedly, running a hand through his hair, making sweeping gestures with his other hand. The letter still clenched in his fist flutters and crinkles with his sharp movements.

“What?”

“He’s just –” Martin throws his head back with an aggravated sigh. “He’s always been insensitive, but mostly in an – an awkward, off the cuff sort of way. And he can be snappish, but that’s mostly when he’s… scared, or overtired, or… but this,” Martin smacks the paper in his hand with the backs of his fingers, “this is just cruel.”

“I don’t understa-”

“Of course you don’t,” Martin spits out. “Just – using my – my feelings for him to try to manipulate –”

“Hey, hey, whoa,” Georgie interrupts, “that’s not –”

“What, then?” He laughs, and it feels almost caustic on his tongue. “He just – he’s gone for six months and then he comes back and suddenly he’s – he’s giving a love confession?”

“Yeah, he was worried that you wouldn’t be-”

“He doesn’t even like me most of the time!” Martin’s voice cracks, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Even after – I mean, he was nicer in the months before…” He closes his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat, unable to say the words. “But he wasn’t around much, so it makes sense. He wasn’t having to put up with me on a daily basis. Made it easy for him to forget all the things about me that he hated.”

“I don’t think –”

“And – and even when he was here, he was distant. Avoiding all of us, like it would keep us… I don’t know, safe?” Martin’s arms fall limp at his side, the fight gone out of him. “And – and then he… just…”

He trails off feebly, his burst of energy sapping away from him. When he doesn’t rally, Georgie begins to speak.

“Well… being avoidant and snippy, that definitely sounds like Jon,” she concedes. “But trust me, he’s not capable of using your feelings for him to manipulate you.”

“What?” Martin eyes flick to her.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s an ass sometimes. I know he mistreated you. He knows he mistreated you. He said as much when he was staying with me.”

He did?

“Judging by your reaction, I’m assuming he never told you as much.” Georgie sighs. “I told him to try talking to you. He was isolating himself, and he needed more than just me – needed someone who actually knew about… well, everything that goes on here. And I suggested you, since he talked about you all the time.”

He did? Martin thinks again, disbelieving.

“And based on what he said, it seemed like you cared about him? Though I don’t think he realized how much. Honestly, he didn’t even notice how much he went on about you until I started pointing it out.” She gives him an amused look, and Martin averts his eyes. “He’s astonishingly oblivious sometimes. He gets so focused on the little details that he misses the big picture. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Martin continues to stare at his feet, muscles tensed and knees locked.

“Anyway, he was worried about you, too. I kept nagging him about it. Eventually he did say he talked to you, but I’m willing to bet it wasn’t exactly a heart-to-heart.”

“No,” Martin says quietly. “I mean, he did talk to me after he was kidnapped for the first time –”

“The first time?” Georgie repeats. “It happened more than once?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. He hates that he has to specify which kidnapping. “He… wanted to check in with me before going traveling. And he… did seem worried, I guess?” After a beat, Martin adds hurriedly: “About – about all of us.”

“But he mentioned you specifically. Said you were taking on too much.”

“I was –” Martin splutters, pulling his hand away from his face and flinging his arm out in agitation. “How can he of all people say –”

“I know, I know,” Georgie says, placating. “He’s a self-destructive workaholic throwing stones at glass houses.”

“Boulders, more like,” he huffs. Georgie chuckles at that.

Martin thinks back. Elias had had him start reading statements to keep up with the workload while Jon was… in hiding, then doing independent investigation, then kidnapped – which Elias had neglected to even mention. Jon had always seemed fixated on the statements to the point of possessiveness, and Martin had been anxious that Jon would feel like he was… infringing, somehow? And Jon had been upset, but not jealous or territorial as Martin had expected. He was… he was worried, wasn’t he? That the statements would take a toll on Martin’s mental health? Because Jon knew what they were like, and…

More like setting an avalanche on a glass house, Martin thinks, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

“Couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that someone might be worried about him.” It isn’t until he hears his voice that he realizes he’s spoken the thought aloud.

“Yeah. He’s always been like that. I think he’s working on it, though?” When Martin doesn’t respond, Georgie continues. “But, back to my earlier point… yes, he can be an ass. But saying that he loves you, just to convince you to come back? Does that really sound like him to you?”

“It’s more likely than the alternative,” Martin says stubbornly, and Georgie sighs.

“It’s just… not something he would even think to do in the first place. His guilt complex wouldn’t allow for it, first off. And he can be thoughtless, but even when he’s being harsh, it’s not premeditated. But more than that, he’s not… hm. How to put this nicely…” She taps the knuckles of one hand lightly against her lips. “Jon doesn’t have the emotional intelligence necessary for that.”

Martin blinks several times, lips parted just slightly.

“That was… uh, blunt.”

“Well, it’s true.” Georgie shrugs, unconcerned. “He’s clever in a lot of ways, but this sort of thing doesn’t come naturally to him. Has trouble enough processing his own feelings, let alone managing others’ emotions. He’s always been either hypervigilant or oblivious with not much middle ground.” She casts a pensive look at the floor. “He seems… better than he used to be – or he’s trying, at least – but I still wouldn’t call him socially skilled. And even if he was, he’s still just not subtle enough to be deliberately manipulative.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s a shit liar.” Martin snorts at that, and Georgie grins. “I take it you’ve noticed.”

“A little over a year ago, he got stabbed –”

“Of course he did,” Georgie groans.

“Refused to explain how it happened. Said he cut himself with a bread knife.”

“A bread knife?” This time, she laughs outright.

“I know, right?” Martin exhales with a little heh. “He just – I knew he was lying, and he knew that I knew he was lying, but he just – he stuck to that story.” His lips curl into a small, timid, but inarguably fond smile. “Just… stubborn, you know?”

“Yeah,” Georgie says, the corners of her eyes crinkling when she mirrors his expression.

Martin clears his throat, smile fading. “But – but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does, though.”

Martin looks off to the side, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Look,” Georgie says, “I’ve known Jon awhile. We even dated for a time.” Martin’s knee-jerk flicker of jealousy must show on his face, because Georgie grins. “Don’t worry, we’re not romantically compatible, as it turns out. Strictly platonic.”

“I didn’t say any-”

“You didn’t have to.” Before Martin can protest again, she presses on. “Point is, you can trust me when I say that he’s not the type to throw the word ‘love’ around carelessly, let alone to use it for emotional manipulation.”

“Fine,” Martin says tersely, digging his heels in again. “Then he’s just mistaken. What he feels isn’t love. He just feels guilty, and – and lonely, and he thinks this will make it hurt less.” Martin scoffs. “Or, hell, even the opposite: he knows this won’t work and he’s hoping it hurts when I push him away, so that we’ll be even. Using me to – to punish himself.”

“Yeah, I can see why you’d think that,” Georgie says. “But it’s not the case. He’s… changed a lot.”

“When? How? You – you keep saying that, but what is that even supposed to mean?” His lips move soundlessly for several seconds before he bursts out, “He was asleep for six months, not – not getting therapy!”

Georgie raises her eyebrows at the increasingly battered letter trembling in Martin’s clenched fist.

“I think you should keep reading.”

“H-h-hello?”

The voice is weak, almost a whisper, but it startles Jon all the same. It sounded like it was coming from some immeasurable distance to his right, and he strains his ears for more.

“Is – is someone there? P-please, please help me, I can’t – I don’t know where I am, I – I can’t –”

It cuts out with a strained wheeze, but Jon’s heard enough to recognize it.

Well, he doesn’t know who it belongs to, but he’s heard it before, the first time he was here: a hapless plea from a stranger who Jon failed to save. The words are exactly the same. He knows, because they’ve haunted him since the first time he heard them, playing over and over in his mind on sleepless nights. Even after the ritual, they remained etched in his memory, only now they had to compete with the cries of the billions of other souls that Jon had condemned. That he could not help.

“Please,” the voice tries again. “Please, are you still there?” Jon tries to grasp for a statement, but the Archive is eerily silent. “H-hello? Please, please say something.”

Jon was unable to find him last time, but maybe… maybe this time, he can –

As if to quash that thought, the earth begins to shake, rattling his teeth and sending a shooting pain through his bad leg.

“Help me–!” The stranger lets out the beginning of a muffled scream, cut short when the earth surrounding them begins to properly heave and thunder.

The packed dirt beneath Jon’s feet begins to give way and then he’s falling, swept down, down, down. He doesn’t know how long the landslide continues before the earth becomes solid again, compressing around him and arresting his descent.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers to no one, as his ragged panting begins to subside. “I –”

His eyelids fly open and he barely registers the grit that begins to sting his eyes.

“It’s me?” he murmurs with a sense of wonder. Daring, he tests again: “Not the Archive.” He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Just – just me –”

The hungry earth constricts again as if with a vengeance, smothering the words before they can leave his throat and filling his mouth with the taste of soil.

As Martin reads on, his restless pacing continues.

After leaving the hospital, the next thing that is properly clear in my mind is –

– I need him to be okay.

I couldn’t see him or hear him –

– I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him – asked what had happened, he was just gone. And I was alone again.

Jon doesn’t know what it is to be Lonely, Martin thinks bitterly. Martin of all people knows what it is to be alone, and Jon isn’t alone. And as long as Martin can keep Peter distracted, he won’t be. Martin made his choice. He has to see this through.

A moment later, though, he’s admonishing himself. He’s being unkind. Unnecessarily harsh. It isn’t Jon’s fault that Martin’s Lonely. This is just a poorly veiled attempt to distract himself from the surge of guilt he feels at reading the words. Because… because there’s no denying that Martin wasn’t there when Jon woke up; that he hasn’t been there since Jon came back. Jon might not need him, not really, but… Martin still should have been there, right? What if he never gets another chance?

Martin’s blood runs cold in his veins, his chest tightening more with every passing moment.

What if… what if Jon never comes home?

I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –

– I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed.

I think he might be part of something really awful, and I don’t know how to make him see that – of course I did worry. I knew that, secretly, he was as well.

Martin huffs, blinking rapidly against the sting in his eyes.

“What?” Georgie asks.

“Nothing,” he says, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his dry mouth. “He just… sometimes I wonder if he actually hears himself speak.”

“Mm. Yeah, I get that,” she says after a moment, but Martin is already looking back down at the letter.

I know how that sounds – but – I ask you to read on.

Don’t… misunderstand me, please –

– I trusted his instincts almost as much as I trusted my own.

There was a time – not even that long ago – that hearing Jon say that he trusted him would have meant… everything. Now, it skates right over him, leaving only the barest impression. Or, that’s what Martin tells himself as he reads on.

More truthfully, it’s that he doesn’t dare pause to examine his emotional state right now.

Jon continues… begging, really, for Martin to listen to him. Ironic, really. How many times have the roles been reversed? How many times did Jon brush off Martin’s sincere attempts to take care of him, to encourage him to take care of himself?

And then –

Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –

– travel through time.

Martin rereads the lines silently to himself several times, his brain wrapping around the individual words without quite comprehending the whole.

“Travel through time?” he says, as if it will make any more sense spoken aloud.

“Right.” Georgie takes a breath, claps her hands on her knees, and gives Martin a significant look. “You… may want to sit down for this part.”

Partly to keep himself company, partly to make strategic use of this newest development in his overly convoluted existence, Jon records a statement: a rambling, stream-of-consciousness explanation, cramming as many of his own words as he can onto the tape while he has the chance.

“Every – every single mark was orchestrated by Jonah. Well, almost every one. I was marked by the Web when I was – when I found – when…” Even now, he cannot bring himself to share it where someone else might hear. “Before I ever started working at the Institute,” he says instead, “which is partly why Jonah saw me as a candidate in the first place. That and… and how easy I was to manipulate. You were right, Georgie, when you suggested that I was chosen because of my inexperience, not in spite of it. He… he read me like a… he knew I would play right into his hands.

“And – and of course being marked by the Eye, that happened when I signed the contract to become the Head Archi- well… the Archivist. Though, I think what crystallized it may have been my, ah – need to know, and – and paranoia, after…” Grimacing, Jon scrapes by another tight segment of the passage. “After finding Gertrude’s body. After Jane Prentiss. Jonah knew that she was targeting the Institute, and he let it happen. Put everyone in danger just to see how resilient I was, if I was… if I was a survivor, if I was worth investing in or if I should just be – eliminated, so he could move on to more promising candidate –”

Jon lets out a strained whine as he struggles through yet another squeeze.

“And I – I survived. Not that I had anything to do with that. It was… it was Sasha’s competence, her ability to act under pressure and think on her feet, which was – the last time we saw her, the real her, and I should have…” Jon swallows thickly. “And – and Tim, finding the fire extinguishers, and coming back to help Martin and me, because he… he was brave, and he wouldn’t abandon us. And Martin, being… well, being Martin. Making the fear bearable, because that’s just… how he is, isn’t it?” His fond chuckle dies in his throat, choked with dirt and persistent, unshed tears. “Caring, stubbornly caring, even when we were both about to die, even though I’d done nothing to deserve his consideration.”

The squeeze opens up a bit, allowing Jon to draw in a shallow breath. The air is stale, humid, and saturated with dust, but at least it lets him exercise his lungs a little.

“An-anyway – Jonah, ah, he was watching the whole time. Deliberately waited to activate the sprinkler system until the worms had…” Jon shudders, trying to ignore the way his scars begin to itch and crawl. “And Tim – he got caught up in it, too, just because – because he was too close to me at the wrong time. I guess that – that never stopped being true, did it?

“The next few marks were… well, I couldn’t have made it any easier for Jonah.” Jon laughs, a bitter wheeze of a thing. “I just had to go looking for answers. Stupid. All he had to do is leave me a few pertinent statements and watch as I walked right into the Vast and the Desolation…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Martin says flatly.

“Not at all.”

“Time travel.”

“Yep.”

“Actual, legitimate time travel.”

“I don’t know what distinguishes legitimate time travel from illegitimate” – Martin rolls his eyes – “but sure?”

“How?”

“Not entirely sure? Jon’s had trouble going into detail given… well, his current limitations. Something about a wormhole in a spooky house?” She frowns. “And he mentioned spiders offhand once, but I still don’t know whether he meant it literally or metaphorically.”

Martin doesn’t reply to that. He paces, paces, paces in short, erratic bursts. The hand not holding the letter curls into fist, fingernails cutting into the palm.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Georgie ventures.

“I… I don’t know,” Martin answers truthfully. “It’s just – a lot. Elias is Jonah Magnus, and – and he forced Jon to…”

He stops his pacing and unclenches his fist, only for his fingers to begin twitching and flexing, as if itching for something to wring or throttle or crush. The pounding in his ears nearly drowns out his own noisy breathing, and he has to take a minute to relax his jaw before he speaks.

“How… how is he?” He manages to keep his voice remarkably calm, considering the crackling, pent-up energy roiling within him.

“Handling it better than I would have expected, honestly? I mean – don’t get me wrong, he’s… traumatized. Guilty. Keeps referring to himself as a monster, and I don’t think that’s entirely because he doesn’t have any better words to use. Still not taking care of himself as much as I would like, but… for once, I don’t think he’s just being careless? It’s more like… I don’t know.” She leans forward with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped together in front of her mouth and gaze fixed on the floor. “He’s afraid to sleep, afraid to read statements – which I guess is like eating for him now? It’s like he has to choose between fulfilling a basic need and… well, triggering a panic attack. It’s not a fair choice to ask him to make, and it would be unfair for me to hold that against him.”

“None of that sounds like ‘handling it.’”

“Except he’s not just giving in to despair, and for once he’s not going it alone. He’s actually asking for help, and accepting it when it’s offered.” She straightens in her seat again, and Martin resolutely ignores the pointed look she gives him. “He’s been openly communicating – not just about the facts, but about his own feelings.”

“Not enough to keep him from taking it upon himself to – to bury himself alive, apparently. And for a person who tried to slit his throat and – and leave him to… you know, if Basira hadn’t stepped in, I – we never would have known what happened to him.”

Martin thinks back to the day Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute.

“I don’t want to become a mystery,” Jon had said. “I refuse to become another goddamn mystery.”

That was the first time he had really seen Jon with his guard down. Martin remembers every detail: the tone of his voice, the set of his jaw, the thinly veiled desperation in his eyes when he finally offered Martin a candid glimpse of what lives behind all those obdurate walls he hides behind…

“Because I’m scared, Martin!”

So much about Jonathan Sims had made sense after that.

“Well,” Georgie says, “he trusted us enough to tell us where he was going this time.”

“And you let him go?” Martin says, far more vehemently than he had intended.

“First off, there’s no letting him do anything,” Georgie says sternly. “He’s an adult; I can’t control him. It’s not my job to control him. But yes,” she continues after a pause, softer now, “he explained the situation and I told him I’d support him.”

“Why?”

“Because he said he knew what he was doing.”

“And you actually believed him?”

“Yes. Because I really do think he’s changed. He promised me that this isn’t more of the same, and I believe him.” Georgie shrugs. “Also, he’s from the future and he’s done this once already. Though I’m willing to bet that the last time, he didn’t tell anyone what he was planning.” Staring at Martin intently, she leans forward again. He takes an automatic step back, as if pushed. “He’s trying to do better. I think he deserves a chance to prove it – maybe to himself more than anyone else.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t –”

“Then sit back down and read the rest.”

He doesn’t sit, but he does return to the letter. And it’s… well, he doesn’t know what to make of it.

Jon knows about the Extinction. He knows that Martin is cooperating with Peter partly to protect him. He knows that Peter’s plans involve Martin’s isolation.

None of that is surprising, if Jon actually is from the future. He seems confident that the Extinction isn’t as imminent a threat as Peter claims, so if Jon does have future knowledge, then… well, Martin might have to reevaluate some things.

But despite the weight of that revelation, that isn’t what’s dominating the forefront of Martin’s mind right this moment. What’s tripping him up right now is…

He deserved to –

– to be – beloved –

– cared for – trusted –

– being wanted and appreciated –

– being genuinely loved –

– no matter how wrong it might feel –

– when you’re at your lowest point, when you’re your most emotionally vulnerable.

I need him to be okay –

– and the world is so much better for –

– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with –

– being in it.

Almost sedately, in stark contrast to his earlier burst of manic energy, Martin finally lowers himself into the nearest chair. It’s only later that he’ll realize that he didn’t pause beforehand to assess which seating option offered the furthest physical distance from Georgie.

“You’re… sure Jon wrote this?” he says meekly.

Georgie sighs heavily, but when she rolls her eyes, it’s with amused exasperation rather than true annoyance.

“Like I said the last eleven times you asked, yes. They aren’t his words exactly, but the meaning behind them is his. And I don’t think it was the apocalypse that made him so sentimental.” Martin gives her a bemused look, and she sighs again. “It was you, okay? And it started way before whatever happened in his future. He was besotted when he was staying with me last year, even if he didn’t realize it for what it was. And he might be clumsy at expressing it, but… you know as well as I do that he overthinks everything, and I don’t think that’s changed any. If he was confident enough to say all those things, he means it.”

“It’s just…” Martin trails off, gesturing vaguely with one hand. It isn’t impossible for him to conceptualize of Jon as someone capable of love. The impossible part is that… “It’s me, you know?”

“Yeah, and so does Jon, and it seems he likes you as you are.” She waits for Martin to look up before she continues. “I won’t tell you what to do with that information. I think he would agree with me when I say that you aren’t obligated to reciprocate. But I will tell you that he had the exact same reaction to you caring about him. Regardless of how you see yourselves, neither of you seems to think that the other is unlovable.”

Martin… doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s too much, too fast, too unexpected – too unbelievable.

“Did he, ah…” The Lonely kicks up a furious objection, but Martin forces himself to ask the question. “Did he say how long he would be gone?”

Yet again, Jon is pinned, panting and shaky from the exertion of struggling fruitlessly for… well, he isn’t sure how long he’s been stuck. He isn’t even sure how long he’s been in the Coffin. He managed to dodge giving a specific timeline for when to expect him back – he didn’t want to worry anyone if he missed a deadline – but he did insinuate that it shouldn’t take more than a week. Secretly, he hoped he could return more quickly than he did the last time.

As expected, though, he has no sense of the passing of time in here, beyond just too long. Too long without air, too long without stretching, too long without Seeing –

That familiar rumbling is starting up again, distant at first but moving closer, closer, closer like an oncoming freight train, volume climbing louder and louder until the entire earth is roaring. The walls contract abruptly with an earsplitting crack, punching the scant amount of air in his lungs out in a wracking wheeze. From all around him come the grunts and groans and yelps of pain from who knows how many fellow trapped souls, but there is one cry in particular that draws his attention.

“Daisy?” His hoarse voice cracks, and he clears his throat before trying again. “Daisy!”

“Jon!”

End Notes:

Sorry for the delay!! Last week was very busy for me; I didn't have much time for writing.

Citations are as follows: Section 1: The ‘we need you’ bits are from Martin’s dialogue in the S4 trailer. The ‘Were I prone to flights of fancy…’ line is from MAG 007. Section 2: Excerpts of Daisy’s statement are from MAG 061. Section 3: None. Section 4: Jon/the Archive’s dialogue comes from the following episodes, in order: 015, 166, 015, 166. Sections 5 & 6: None. Section 7: See last chapter for citations for Jon’s letter to Martin. Section 8: Jon quotes are from MAG 039; see last chapter for citations for the letter excerpts. Section 9: None.

Also,,, my ace/aro-spec ass is not a poet, and I wasn’t going to embarrass myself by attempting to write a love poem. Just pretend it’s affecting, S1-S2-era awkward Martin yearning, complete with that very relatable experience of reading your past writing and cringing because oh, god, the mortifying ordeal of confronting the person you were a minute ago, let alone years ago.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #long post #tma spoilers

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