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spookykoolkat · 8 months

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the red j.m. | chapter three

CHAPTER THREE: PROTECTON

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pairings: older!joel miller x plus sized!younger!reader

chapter summary: it's been three weeks since you decided to stay in jackson and you realized that your hatred and irritation caused by the man who let you live under his roof may be more than just that.

warnings: age gap (joel is 57, reader is turning 26), inappropriate thoughts, creepy joel if you squint, fluff/nicer joel, and a small breakthrough with joel, MDNI!

wc: 5k

na: HELLOOOOOO omg okay here is the third chapter of the red, my new passion project that i'm currently in love with. i have so many more one shots and ideas that i'm writing, including a request i hope to finish up before next week! i hope everyone is loving this series so far and i hope that you show ur love by reblogging, sharing you thoughts in a comment and liking :P i hope u luv this just as much as i do and hope y'all look forward to more chapters to come! (and oneshots and fics and stuff LOL) ps all love to my plus size girls i love u guys.

THREE WEEKS LATER

YOU

as the days went on, you found yourself falling into the routine of the world you live in now. you decided to stay, and it’s something you hadn’t second guessed either. part of it was nice, living somewhat normally, as normal as you could given the circumstances. It almost felt like a weight off of your shoulders. you could actually get rest most nights without the threat, some nights still being nerve wracking.

it was your anxiety that kept you awake, your thoughts of depression and paranoia created a difficult defeat. It was hard. and you struggled, just not in front of anyone. your father wasn’t the best father, but one piece of advice you took from him was to never let anyone feel like they have to take care of you, always handle your issues alone because quote unquote, they’ll just throw it back in your face.

the deal was, you get a job while you take a few classes in order to take patrol routes, and the job was the local clothing store that did trades and fixer uppers. you didn’t know much about sewing or making clothes, you just remembered watching your mother sew holes back up after you skinned your knee trying to get away.

ellie attended school, doing the best to get the education she needed before deciding what her role will be in this society. yours is being a merchant apparently, but you complied. it was money, at least whatever was comparable to money, and you needed it to get your own place. living with joel and ellie was fine, but you realized it was just you and joel most of the time. ellie managed to make her own space in the garage and joel let her, helped her even. he figured it’d be nice to have two different spaces for one another.

he felt the same about you. but didn’t ever tell you of course. he figured you already had enough on your plate for him not to breathe down your neck until you leave. you saw it anyways though because joel could not help the way his face said more than he needed.

he was used to being alone, until he met tess, then he got used to having someone there and accommodated to living with another person. he hadn’t gotten used to you yet. in the kitchen wearing shorts and a long shirt as you made breakfast, for the three of you until joel would say that ellie was already gone. he would eat his plate quickly, saying a quick thank you and not saying any words as he does the dishes you just made.

you would tell him you could wash them, that he didn’t have to, but he insisted you didn’t. not with his words of course, he’d just rush to do them before you could finish your plate. you didn’t know what to make of him yet.

“i got your plate, you’re gonna be late for work,” he would say, taking your cup and plate to the sink to wash. he’d always be right though, you were going to be late on days you cooked in the mornings. but he just seemed to want to be out of your way and as far away as possible from you. you even asked tommy how to go about living with his brother.

“best advice i can give you is to just do your own thing. he won’t pay no mind to you, like livin’ with a damn cat i tell ya,” he said playfully, but something in you made you believe it wholeheartedly. he truly was like a cat. quiet, reserved, does his own thing, and takes care of himself. you figured, how hard could it be? until actually living with him. now, you’re kind of bothered by the lack of interactions. you were here, you might as well get to know the people around you but he didn’t make it that simple. you didn’t either at first, so you’re patient.

but then you got in your head. you don’t need to let anyone in, you aren’t here to make friends or share dark secrets. being here made you gain small hope, but it didn’t last once you started thinking again. there wasn’t a way for you to have people in your life and keep them safe at the same time. you realized that everything you had to fight for and protect, you failed.

but you weren’t the only one still adjusting and battling themselves. joel put up a wall between him and everyone he’s ever interacted with. it was for his safety, and now ellie’s.

sometimes he’d be surprised by you in the wide living room with a book in your hands after work. it wasn’t that rare you constantly met him in the living room after his shift was up, because by the time he was coming back home you were getting up for work. sometimes vice versa, and sometimes, very rarely, would you and joel be leaving the house at the same time. but still, after almost a month of being in joel’s presence there wasn’t more than 20 words exchanged each day.

joel didn’t bother to get to know you, he didn’t ask you about anything and didn’t even ask you about your plans to stay or not. he just didn’t want you asking questions either. plus, he figured everything he knew about you was all that he needed to know.

you would think joel would like to know who was living under his roof, but truth be told he hardly knows the people he calls neighbors. to him it wasn’t his priority to meet new people and indulge in normal life activities like watching a movie or going to the bar they hold in the town. he molded perfectly into the role he and others gave him, which was to protect and hunt. to do his part to contribute to the new making of jackson’s society. in joel’s mind, he wasn’t in jackson to make buddies and go on dates, and he wasn't prowling for anyone either.

his mind was on survival, and calculating if every decision he makes will heighten the chances of him and ellie, now you, surviving. he wasn’t interested in the get togethers people invited him to, he couldn’t care for the annual small pot luck they have in jackson, all he cared about was making sure jackson stayed safe, that all three of you stayed safe.

so, he put off making friends and love, and focused on ellie. he didn’t need anyone else knowing him and his life anymore than they already do, and he didn’t need a stranger trying to pry his deepest and darkest secrets out of him.

the thing is, you wanted to know him. even if you were still unsure of him, jackson, yourself─you could admit that he did his part in making you nervous, drawing you to something. you still had a dislike for him though. you couldn’t tell which feeling overpowered which.

jackson was bigger than you thought.. there were at least two or three subdivisions of houses, a school, a church, one bar, one clothing store, one hardware supply, and a small park that was really two swings and an aluminum slide. maria told you as she gave the tour that it took a while to build up, but with time came something amazing. something the QZ or the fireflies could never achieve, it was peaceful. everyone relied on each other, everyone trusted each other. except for three people—the three people who live under joel’s roof. that’s what the three of you bonded the most over, the fact that you all have trust issues.

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you noticed joel a lot more over the weeks. he was a grumpy man, a man who if he could, he’d get a newspaper with his coffee—straight black, and read outside on his patio as the sun rose. by himself, alone. how he wanted. and you understood of course, you know how it is to want your solitude. but, you also couldn’t help how eager you were to talk to him. surprised at every small good morning, or have a good day you get once and while from him.

he was sharp and cold with most people, offering a hand to compensate, and helping those who need it. joel realized after a while it’s better to make acquaintances rather than enemies in such a tight knit community, a community that relies on the people within. he couldn’t break that cycle, so he was friendly with those who he got to know.

you noticed how much stuff he would bring back on his patrolling days. a box full of female hygiene products, a box full of new clothes, or more ammo. you watched from the window as he looked around to see if anyone was looking, and would go to the shed he built that was in the backyard of the house. you wondered what he was doing to get all of these things, but you never brought it up to anyone.

It wasn’t your business.

you didn’t bother to pry, and to be your usual curious self and ask him about it. you knew he’d shut the conversation down before it even started, and it wasn’t worth it to you. you did make a mental note to bring it up to him eventually.

a small part of you liked him though. despite the mystery, the coldness, the selfishness, the rudeness, you actually liked joel because he reminded you of you. a small part would be an understatement. you always seemed to be looking for joel. whether it was downstairs, in ellie’s space, or in public. constantly wondering where he was, or if he was looking at you. whether you realized it now or not, his presence brought a certain comfort to you.

you volunteered in the kitchen serving dinner from time to time, and when you did you fought hard to not stare at the miller brothers walking in with ellie. but, ellie didn’t make it hard to acknowledge their presence and notice them.. joel would just nod in your direction, you’d give a small nod back and get back to making plates. you practically fought yourself to not glance over at him, just to make sure he was still sitting in his usual seat next to ellie. and when you lost, you’d look up to his seat just to see his eyes peering over his cup at you.

It was an odd dynamic that left you wanting more from him. you wanted to learn more about him when he had moments of vulnerability, which was only twice over the course of your stay.you only knew he was from austin and was a contractor before everything started. you wanted to pry more, to know him, to know what makes him smile and laugh. and if you were going to learn about joel, it wasn't going to be through ellie or tommy, or even maria.

you wanted the accomplishment of getting to finally know joel all by yourself, it seemed like a challenge to you. everyone talked, people would ask you where you stayed here in jackson when a local notices that you’re a new face and would end up looking like they saw a ghost when the words, ‘i’m a friend of tommy’s, i’m stayin’ with his brother,’ came out of your mouth. he had a reputation obviously, but you didn’t know the extent. everyone knew joel miller and the little girl, and joel knew you’d get wind of the things people have said and feel about him.

he just hoped that that’s all you got wind of.

you were so confused at this new and sudden urge to be around someone all of the time, but it’s happening with joel even if you never act on it. you weren't going to force yourself around someone just because you wanted him near.

you wanted him to be the one to break first. to talk to you first and ask about you, even act like you exist a little more than he did now. you needed him to feel this way about you, and more. you weren’t going to get hurt, and you weren’t going to let it happen by the commune’s biggest asshole.

but then you would come back to reality. you realized joel miller had absolutely zero interest in you. not as a friend, not as a person━to you, he saw you as a temporary thing. and you would remember that the feeling of close proximity to joel and knowing who he was wasn’t going to make your life easier. It was a constant battle with yourself, fighting your vulnerability and settling for being the second hard ass in jackson.

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FRIDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2024.

YOU

it was late at night when joel came home from his interchanging shifts with other people in jackson. you were humming to yourself as you washed the pile of dishes that were stacked when joel walked in. with everyone trying to get settled, it was hectic. finding a new balance with being the new addition to the home, getting into a regular flow of things. so when you got home from work, you cleaned up as much as you could without moving things around even though you were desperate to. as long as you were here, this still wasn’t your house to mess with.

you stayed in places here and there, a shelter in waco, texas when your parents traveled there for safety from the QZ, a stranger’s underground hideout the first two years of it, many more people’s homes and abandoned buildings and escaping from QZ’s around the states.but you never failed to tidy things up while you stayed, you couldn’t shake it. you respected your surroundings and were grateful for the people who did extend their hand to you, even if they hurt you and made you regret not killing them.

joel walked in with a hard face and an unhappy sigh, looking towards the open kitchen and seeing you in a long sleeve shirt that’s risen on one side where your waistband carries the old walkman, your hair in a lazy put together bun—a part of him couldn’t look away if he wanted to. still trying to get used to this.

he had to be honest, he found it hard living in the same space as you. he noticed you getting a bit more hopeful these days, not looking as angry as he does every day, and talking more. not to him, but he watched from afar. always had an eye on you even when he wasn’t around. he made sure tommy looked after you, maria, he even made ellie make sure you were okay. making sure you weren’t completely out of your mind. not more than usual, at least.

he had something for you. he didn’t know if it was true, if he could be this far gone that he couldn’t stand to be around you because he wanted to take care of you in ways you would’ve never thought of? he hated that you made him feel like he wanted to protect you. he also hated the fact that you could never make him hate you.

you didn’t notice him of course, you continued to scrub and wash as he came up behind you and tapped you on the shoulder to tell you he was home, sending you to flinch and sigh. you removed your headphones and let them rest on your neck as you turn the knob of the sink.

“fuck!,” you said, putting a wet hand to your forehead as you tried to breathe in, “why are you always doin’ that? asshole.”

“watch your mouth,” he tried and you had to stifle a laugh as he plucked a beer can from the fridge and left the kitchen area to sit in the living room. it was always a little funny to see him irritated because of you, you couldn’t lie to yourself.

“bite me.” you spit, putting your headphones back on and rolling your eyes.

joel felt so wrong. your responses shouldn’t leave him wanting to hear more of your sharpness. he shouldn’t be curious as to what you sounded like when you laughed hard enough. he shouldn’t want to watch your every movement.

you were lost, confused, trying to find your way and here he was watching you like a creep from his spot on the couch. he would’ve loved to turn on a tv right now, ignore his instincts and feelings and turn into whatever show was on. all he has now is a dull radio ellie traded with the neighbors for, and he decided to put that on instead. it was a bit rare to find music, good music even.

by the time he found a soft 60s song, you were done and wiping up the area before drying your arms. you decided to grab a beer yourself, cringing at the dark bottle, and making your way to sit on the couch across from joel. he watched as you lifted the hem of your shirt to wrap around the cap of the bottle, twisting it off successfully. he couldn’t help but notice the exposed skin that was pressing into your black shorts.

“i uh, never thanked you or tommy. for saving me, bringing me here. i’m just, it’s a lot to get used to. i still don’t know if i’ll stay,” you broke the silence and took a swig of the beer, downing it quickly.

“don’t thank me, thank tommy.” he said coldly and looked at the burning wood in the fireplace against the wall. It was silent for a bit while joel’s eyes wandered from you to a nearby window, watching the snow fall. you couldn’t help but think about it, and before you knew it the words were coming out of your mouth.

“why did you want to leave me there?” you looked to him with the beer in your lap, sitting criss crossed on the couch and your fingertips tapping at the sweating beverage. he looked to you once and looked down and around, sighing.

“it ain’t personal. tommy and maria, they don’t take people in like that. it shocked me, is all. i just didn’t trust ya,” he admitted and drank his beer, getting comfortable.

“do you trust me now?” you asked and he kept his gaze on the floor. you didn’t expect a different response from him.

you kind of sat there, stilled and quietly listening to the music that comes from the radio. he doesn’t watch you anymore, he just drinks his beer until he finishes and lays there with his forearm over his eyes. a part of it feels normal, like coming home from a long day at work and cracking open a beer, going to sleep after and repeat.

“I’m trying, you know. trying to get my own place here, and work and make connections so I’ll be out of your hair.” you defended even though there was just silence. you felt bad, imposing on a man who clearly wants to be left alone. but he could be less of an asshole.

“I’m not tryna rush you out of here.” is all he says and you notice for the first time you’re actually having a conversation with joel miller. or the equivalent to a conversation.

“It feels like you don’t want me here. I’d ask tommy and maria for a room but, they’re a married couple and she looks like she’s about to pop. feels wrong to invade their space like that.” you said and drank your coldish beer, not enjoying the foam it created.

he sighs, sitting up from his slumped position and looking at you while your eyes are on the bottle in your lap. he didn’t speak immediately, so when his eyes trailed over you and your bare legs you could feel the heat from his gaze. It made you squirm a bit, your legs pressing together again as he makes your stomach flutter. you couldn’t help but look at the hand that grips his bottle.

“It ain’t that either. you’re just,” he sighed again, half lying, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows, “you’re unpredictable, is all. don’t ever know what that mind of yours is thinking, if you’re thinkin’ of hurtin’ yourself or if this is all a trap still.” he confesses and you form your lips into a straight line.

you stay silent for a moment, before meeting his gaze. “I don’t want to hurt myself, joel. or you, or ellie. I have no reason to. I just, when you found me i was alone. and i like being alone, don’t get me wrong. but it gets… scary. depressing. I mean I’ve lost everyone, i’ve killed anyone i ever loved because of those fucking things. I had no one who cared if i was alive or dead anymore, and it just got to me.”

“and i know everyone’s gone through the same thing nd more, it’s just,” you huffed and moved your eyes down to your bottle, “I’ve prided myself in being alone, that i don’t need anyone.I’ve shut everyone out and been so mean to everyone. but for what?” you asked rhetorically.

you thought about it a lot. what was the point of trying to kill everyone before they killed you first? what life are you living if you aren’t trying to make the best of it? these were questions you asked yourself daily, thinking about how many people you’ve scared off because you felt they were too good for you. too kind, too caring, everything you wanted and needed you sabotaged because in your eyes, you’d rather get the blow over sooner than later.

“your protection. and it works, it’s jus’ lonely.” he said, stealing the words from your mouth.

“It’s lonely.” you repeat after him.

for a moment, you felt yourself warming up to joel, understanding him more than you thought you would. solitude was something the two of you appreciated, but were tired of. having joel and ellie around made you feel less alone, like there were other people who understood how you felt. it’s why you liked talking to ellie so much, she reminds you of yourself when you were younger. she made you feel like maybe there was a chance to make things better for her, like joel wanted. you understood why he didn’t want to throw her in the world of being a protector at so young, she was just a kid. she deserved a chance to be just that. someone like that, someone who has fought and protected themselves and other people for so long, deserves a chance to be the ones being protected.

“where were you when it happened?” you asked, a new song coming on the radio. you figured maybe now that there was conversation happening, you could try to squeeze your way into his mind even if it’s for thirty seconds.

“bailin’ my brother out of jail. you remember?” he asked.

“yeah, i was like, playing with my dog. then it was like explosions and crashes and cars. it didn’t take my dad long to start boarding up the windows and doors. but yeah, i remember.” you said and he shook his head, wanting to say something but holding back. he paused, then spoke.

“I’m sorry about your family.” he said and you gave a tight smile, thanking him.

“I’m sure they’d be proud of you. survivin’ this long. It ain’t for the weak.” he said and that you agree on. you would’ve never made it had you been softer, or allowed yourself to be scared. you couldn’t be though. the two of you sat in silence as the static poured through the song, comfortable, together. he broke the silence first.

“I found some old cassette tapes in the house when we first got here, if you want them. ain’t got much use for em.” he said, standing up as your eyes followed him. you grew a smile, and he was watching you find joy in little things like old music.

“yeah, yeah of course.” you said and set the half empty beer bottle on the coffee table, standing and following him to where the cassette tapes presumably are. he ends up leading you upstairs, hitting left at the corner where you turned right all of the time, your doors were down the hall, directly across from each other.

“I stored em’ in case. I kept everything i found in here, never know when i’ll need it.” he said, and you smiled. he was actually being a softie right now, as soft as he’d get you supposed.

you appreciated it. more than he knew because you didn’t know how often he’d get this gentle.to a lot of people, this was just an act of kindness. but joel miller is not kind, and you wondered why he was being so nice to you all of the sudden. even if he was being snappy and short with you, he was trusting you to be in his solitary area, at least that’s the way you saw it.

he looked disarmed even though you knew he had a gun pressed into his back, and he looked comfortable. at ease, like he wasn’t expecting impending doom for once.

“It’s called being a hoarder, joel.” he narrowed his eyes on you before going into his nightstand and taking out around five tapes. Donna Summer. Beastie Boys. The Fugees. Bob Dylan. Prince.

“I love Prince.” you said with a small smile as you grabbed the tapes from him, looking through and inspecting them. you remembered your mother playing his 1999 album throughout the house when you were a small kid. It gave you a bit of nostalgia, and warmed your heart at the distant thought of your mother. It meant more to you than it meant to joel, and he could see it. joel was actually enjoying the fact that you appreciated this niche gesture for you.

“thank you, joel. I think Queen and Etta James will be grateful for a break.” you joked and the corner of his mouth tugged softly into a resistant smile. still better than no smile. joel glanced at the clock and noticed the big hand hit one, remembering how tired he was all of the sudden. or maybe more so acknowledging the fact that this is the most you and he have talked in a bit.

“you know you can ask me for anything, right? I mean, you know,” he struggled with the words but with your encouraging eyes, he had no problem continuing, “I’ll do what i can for the two of ya,” he said somewhat kindly, referring to ellie as well.

you wondered now what he truly thought of you. if he still saw you as a burden, a threat, or just someone he lives with. you also noticed he wasn’t too good at expressing his feelings, he wasn’t a visibly emotional person. maybe he really was just too desensitized to everything around him.

“I don’t want to be a bother, i’ve been okay.” you said as you held the tapes with grip.

“you don’t bother me,” he confessed, “anything you need, a’right?” he said with sure eyes, needing confirmation back from you. now you really couldn’t get a read on him. this was what sucked the most to you. you didn’t want to say it, but he was so bipolar with you. with everyone you saw him interact with, he was just short tempered and selfish. it never changed, he was mean to everyone and anyone who was near.

but with you, he just avoided you. and when he would come near, he was either angry or neutral. it was confusing to say the least, whenever the time came for the two of you to engage, it was always a surprise at which way the conversation led. It’s like you were able to get a read on him when he interacted with anyone else but yourself.

“yeah, anything.” you noticed you were more breathless than you intended to sound, so you cleared your throat, and averted his eyes.

you realized you stood in his room with a t-shirt as a dress basically, alone with the door shut. It made you nervous, and as your eyes examined the room just to fall on his bed, it made you wonder what it would feel like to be next to him as he slept. you bet it felt warm, cozy, safe. safe in his arms, held away from the world. but then you felt crazy. you don’t even know the guy and you’re thinking about sleeping with him? what happened to collectively hating joel miller?!

you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you until your eyes worked their way up to his, a small blush forming on your face as he basically caught you checking him out. but he didn’t look like he noticed, he seemed too dazed by you to notice you were even looking at him.

“I should go to bed. thank you again for these, joel.” you smiled sleepily, breaking the small silence. his gaze went back to normal, you seemingly saw the darkness in his eyes fade as his eyes locked on yours again. he looked softer.

“yeah, me too, and you’re welcome. I’ll see you in the mornin’,” he trailed off, you just nodded and awkwardly shifted out of the room, releasing a breath you were holding. you finally felt like you could breathe again, like the weight of his gaze was suffocating you.

that night you fell asleep with your headphones on, listening to Protection by Donna Summer, and thinking of joel.

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wildpeachfarm · 1 month

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You said you're willing to talk about writing and I know you can't contribute as much (fair, I'm an author and earlier someone asked you about pastels and I was like, well duh they like pastels look at their tumblr layouts only to keep reading asks and realized they were talking about the other kinds of pastels 😭)

But right now I just feel so excited as a writer cause I've got some really exciting plans coming up soon. With my current WIP (beloved sex worker au) I'm dabbing into very different character dynamics and really mature themes that I never let myself explore before

And either after that's done or before I finish it as a little break I'm planning on something that's gonna be really short and sweet. It'll be a nice change of pace from the sex worker au and its gonna be shorter so less thinking needed. I hesitate to call it low-effort cause it's not really, but that's probably gonna cap out between 3k-5k which is bite-sized for me as a writer to work on (I know for some writers that's pretty long and no shame to them, just for my personal averages that's very much on the short end of the spectrum)

I'm just excited to create honest 🫶

And the reception of the SW!AU has been so lovely it makes me want to write more 🥰

How about your art? Any exciting pieces on the way? A new setting you want to put them in?

I really don't know how to ask artists about their progress sorry 😅

I imagine you guys aren't all that different but for writers we can all speak in tropes and while artists can do that to, you guys also go outside the bounds of tropes a fair bit lol

(wait omg this makes me wonder if I also misinterpreted that ask as meaning the wrong type of pastels HAHA)

OOOOH this sounds so interesting I love seeing people explore new dynamics with characters and their interpretations of unique scenarios and such. Also I'm a sucker for sweet stuff too so needless to say i will be SAT for anything you post!

I've been working on art slowly but surely! I've got a few ideas on the back burner but the next two weeks are still stressful exam season for me so I haven't had a /ton/ of time to whip out drawings like i usually can haha. Hopefully soon™️ tho

oh yeah I never thought about it like that but I definitely see it! I wish the fanbase did more bigbang events with artists and writers together because I always love to see collaborations within one trope/genre/prompt/etc. because it can still be so varied :0

#ask #anon #this is a scheduled post

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hepatosaurus · 4 months

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2023 AO3 Wrapped!

I had a lot of fun tracking my fic reading in 2022, so... I did it again in 2023! Still fun, still both completely unsurprising and a little illuminating at the same time. I definitely read less fic this past year—only 77 across 12 fandoms, compared to last year's 110—but that's OK. Life happens, and I'm very aware that I'm never going to be a person who reads a million words per month (or 100 books a year). Stats-wise, I can't guarantee that these numbers are completely accurate, but they feel right and that's what counts.

Word Count

971,646 words! Numbers fluctuated throughout the year with one real dead zone (lol @ June - I was busy! sibling got married! played a lot of Zelda!), and I kind of petered out by the end of the year. On the plus side, my brain can handle reading actual books again, which was fun. On the minus side: less fic. Oh well. (Also: May's number isn't entirely accurate, but I had to put rubicon's final word count somewhere. No, I haven't finished reading the complete edited fic yet, but that's when the last chapter draft hit my inbox, soooo there.) Most fics were on the shorter side, unsurprisingly (average length was ~12k); I think rubicon was the only one over 100k. I did read more 50–100k fic compared to last year though, which was nice.

(Putting the rest behind a cut. Obligatory warning that this is mostly about Fire Emblem, but what else is new?)

Top Fandoms

My FE3H reading took a HUGE hit this year, falling from 87.3% to... 83.1%. Ouch, how will my faves recover. Really though, this was yet another reminder that although I certainly watched and loved a lot of new movies and tv shows, read new books, played new video games (ok, it was mostly BOTW/TOTK), all things that could conceivably lead me to check out greener pastures, I am still in an extremely monofandom phase in terms of actual fic reading/fandom participation (four years now!). And honestly, I'm fine with that! I'm having fun, blorbos are still my blorbos, there's still a ton of fic I haven't read yet (new and old), and I'm in a nice/quiet/drama-free corner of fandom. Besides, the average fandom lifespan is too short these days anyway. I'm doing my part to break the cycle. :P

I do wish I had the brain space to read a little more widely, though. I was so close to going on a zelink bender after I finished BOTW, but life got busy and it just... didn't happen. Maybe in 2024. Severance and fandom juggernaut SoftBank Next 30-Year Vision tried their best—two fics each! impressive, lol—but the heart wants what it wants, and what it wants is anime chess pieces kissing (and/or killing) each other.

Top Authors

56 individual authors, with the top spot going to...desmodus! which does not surprise me tbh; they write such good fic. Looking at these particular results was an interesting reminder that I'm really not someone who methodically/voraciously reads through an author's entire back catalogue, at least not currently. Like, besides the named authors, there were four more with two fics each and the rest had only one each. Next time, I'm almost tempted to see if I can factor in word count to get a better idea of how much time I really spent reading each author, especially since I might (hypothetically) read multiple forgettable 1–5k fics by Author A, and then a single memorable/meaty 95k fic by Author B that sticks with me for years. Is Author A really more of a "top" author? Not really. That's more work on my part though, so we'll see what happens. (All of this waffling could be solved by making an actual rec list for once, but shhhhh.)

Top Pairings

Surprising absolutely no one, I'm still in sylvix hell. Congrats to None for jumping a couple spots in the rankings, though! A solid showing. I need to get better at tracking platonic relationships, but to be fair, those tags are underutilized on AO3 to begin with (or not used consistently), and I typically—but not always—stick with the main tags chosen by the author.

Also, please note that the ship in sixth place was entirely thanks to alphabetical sorting (it was a six-way tie), but I'm keeping it as is because it makes me laugh/implies some sort of character growth on my part that may or may not exist.

Top Characters

Lol. In my defense(?), Sylvain did drop almost three whole points this year; he couldn't even hit 60%! What kind of blorbo...?! Jokes aside, it's an entirely expected list. My Blue Lions/Golden Deer bias persists, but I'm not sure what determined when I logged "Blue Lions Students" vs. their actual names—probably half laziness, half just following what the author picked. I did love seeing Ask A Manager's Allison Green chilling at the bottom of this list with Bakugo, though. I'm sure she'll be fine. (And god knows Mr. King Explosion Murder and the rest of my top 20 could stand to follow her advice.)

(Also: apologies to Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, as I see his illustrious surname was cut off accidentally. Forgive me.)

Ratings, Categories, etc.

Also pretty unsurprising! I considered cutting my NSFW tracker at the beginning of last year since it's a little redundant, but that never happened. It might come in handy one day, especially if I'm looking through my spreadsheet for individualized recs. I was surprised that the Multi category was so low, but that could be due to inconsistencies in how people tag their fic? And/or how I logged them. Sometimes it means poly, but sometimes it just means that there are multiple kinds of ships in a fic. Either way, it's something to consider for 2024's tracker. Consistency! Let's strive for it! ✨

Tags & Tropes

Also about what I expected, though I was honestly shocked to see Established Relationship ranking so high? And Friends to Lovers so low? What is going ON here. (The former is probably partially due to mikey desmodus's excellent married sylvix fics.) Sorry to Horse Feelings, though; I made a dedicated tag on my google form and everything, but there was only the one fic in the end :(

Etc: Commenting, Rereading, Reccing, and Bookmarks

Commenting: My only real fic-reading "goal" in 2023 was to get my commenting percentage up to at least 50% and...I did that! Just barely, but 51.9% is 51.9%. Obsessive media tracking works!

Rereads: As expected, and pretty in line with last year (with a tiny increase). I'm just not a big rereader in general, though I did do a fair bit of rereading WIPs to prepare for new chapters. (Not sure how I classified those, come to think of it...)

Bookmarks: Also pretty similar to last year (with a tiny decrease).

Reccing: Now this DID surprise me. That "Yes" percentage seems almost absurdly high, jumping from 46.4% to 61%, and my "No"s dropped a ton too (22.7% to 5.2%). Either I got nicer or I just read better fic. :P Leaning towards the former, but probably a bit of both tbh. My one DNF was a longfic WIP that didn't spark joy and was becoming a hateread, which is rare for me - byeeeee.

Takeaways

By now my tracking form has become part of my fic-reading routine (read - track - comment/etc), and I can't see that changing any time soon. Obviously not everyone wants to (or should!) engage with fic this way, and I can definitely see how it might suck the joy out of reading for some people, but for me, it's been a good mental exercise and a really helpful commenting aid. Also, it's just fun. I like thinking critically about media! I like having a place to record my silly little thoughts about the silly little fanfics I read! All in all, I highly recommend doing something similar if you, like me, get a rush from making lists and compiling data, and if you like complimenting people but sometimes need that extra push to actually tell them and post a comment.

Goals-wise... I don't really do those lol. Probably to continue commenting and maybe try to read more widely, but honestly I'm probably not going to change my habits intentionally. Besides, looking at what I've read so far, yes, it's already half Fire Emblem, but also half gen and half F/F with nary a Sylvain in sight*! We got History Boys, we got Haikyuu filk, we got Ingrid and a MILF! Who knows what's around the corner?

(*This is quite literally only because I haven't logged rubicon yet. Don't worry, he's coming.)

#fandom #fic tracking #ao3 wrapped #fandom navelgazing ahoy!#and fire emblem obviously.#also a bit of a rehash for anyone who follows my fe twt but i get to ramble more here

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avemstella · 3 months

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Random fic updates because I realize it's been a while for all my fics and wanted to let yall know.

I've actually written a lot! I just suffer from much of it being scattered about, so it's not remotely postable until I write the stuff to bring all the pieces together haha.

Most notably, my Neuvi fic is the worst offender of that. I've written what is probably 20k of it (about half is in a notebook so that's why it's an estimate) and uh, it's nowhere near done, good lord. I've written the beginning, a ton of the end, and some random middle bits (of that is 5k of Neuvi interacting with 2 characters who were not in the draft pfft). While I'm loving it, it also was driving me mad, so I've taken a break to write smfwtwd, as I really didn't mean to leave u guys hanging on that cliffhanger for so long lol. Also, I've decided the Neuvi fic will have multiple chapters, probably 3 (I really underestimated how much room I would need for the different parts of his life).

On smfwtwd, it's going really well! I've written a bunch this week and I think I should be done within the week (though with posting I do have to account for editor sister's schedule). A bunch is in a notebook, so word count is ??? but I do think it'll be, while not short by any metric, just for the time it took to come out it's not massive. But I do really like what I've written so far, Dottore is so fun to write haha (also the continued saga of Childe having to grapple with family issues both his own and everyone around him pfft).

I'm sorry Venti fic u will come out when u come out. I think I'll work on a chapter (or two or whatever) right after smfwtwd chap, or I'll finish the first Neuvi chap and then work on it. We shall see. You've been on my brain a lot lately, and I've been super tempted to add a whole extra arc to this fic because of my Fontaine related brainrots. But while I do think it would be really good and does help set up something nicely, I also think it would really fuck up my pacing (not that my pacing is great in the first place, but it would be a big pain to make work without really derailing the narrative for a couple chapters), so I think I'll restrain myself. However, saying that there is a real chance there will be a side story to my side story at some point pfft.

But yeah, if anyone's curious, between my warring desires to write smfwtwd and all my Furina ideas at the same time, going home for a while for christmas, and a slew of other smaller things, my writing schedule has been a mess pfft. Also, there's an incredibly high chance I'm getting a dog and that's been a whole thing that's been highly distracting. Also blame ace attorney haha (to clarify no fic for that coming at all, I've just been finally going through all the games).

Anyway, while that is a lot, I currently feel a lot better about my plan for writing and stuff should hopefully be coming out semi-soon. Thank you for being patient!

#fic stuff #avem rambling #this lives up so much to that tag #sorry such a long ramble haha #Also if anyone is curious the dog is a maybe because he's a shelter dog and I need to pass a house check #which the foster lady said is incredibly hard to fail #so I'm probably fine but I live in a small slightly barren apartment so I'm still nervous haha

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wickedscribbles · 2 years

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Tempo, Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x AFAB Reader (Second Person Perspective), she/her pronouns

Rating: Explicit

Tags: fluff, illness/caretaking, smut, sub Sherlock, PiV, cowgirl

Word Count: 5K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

New Year's Day is a quiet affair. John and Mary bring baby Rosamund to Baker Street, and Sherlock is delighted to see her with Karl Popper in tow. Your heart aches in a strange way to see him gravitate towards her, though he seems hesitant to actually hold her in any way. You and Mary are quick to assure him about the durability of children.

The night of New Year's, you'd danced with him to whatever cheesy song they'd had on the broadcast countdown, in your sock feet. You have to lean up to be able to kiss when the countdown reaches zero, and you can feel him smiling against your mouth. Fireworks echo, deafening, all over London. There is nowhere in the world that you'd rather be than in his untidy little flat, dancing to a song you don't know, letting him pitch and sway you like the sea. His lips are your guiding point, his hands the lighthouse.

And you are home.

—---------

Returning to work is the last thing you want to do. The brief respite from your regular onslaught of numbers and accounts has felt far too short, your desk even lonelier than you remember it. But you have bills to pay, a flat to return to, even if you're there as little as possible these days. You'd spent that whole week from Christmas to New Year's with Sherlock, aside from a day where he went home to visit his own parents. Your flat seems miserable in comparison, unoccupied and dull.

There's nothing lived in about it. It's just a place you come back to at the end of the day. Depressingly, it's starting to remind you of your office. With that thought in mind, you stop over at a shop after work one evening and take the time to buy some wall decorations, relieved when it makes the place feel less like a box.

Your lessons, too, are due to resume with the start of the year. Your hands needed time to heal after that moment of self-neglect. Though you'd watched Sherlock perform on your Stradivarius in wonder, he hadn't insisted that you do any of your own practice in your week together.

Unusual, you think. Perhaps that means he's going to double down on your studies after such a long break. You're not sure if you're looking forward to that or dreading it. Bit of both, maybe. You already have instructions to go over all your songs, starting with the easiest and working your way to the hardest.

At the coffee pot Wednesday morning, there's a thick murmur of conversation. At least five people are standing round, preventing you from getting to where you want to be.

That's unusual. And annoying.

"Oh, did you hear?" Michelle pipes up when she spots you lingering in the hall. "God, you're not gonna believe it – the CEO stepped down over holiday."

You feel your eyes go wide. "He – what?"

Someone else nods, eager to chip in. "Just resigned, said he wanted to 'move on to other interests'. Must be nice, eh?"

Eventually you pour your coffee, your mind buzzing. There's no way the CEO would quit. Not when he owned a company this massive. Someone would have to persuade him, threaten him, even, to do something like that.

You think of how he'd grabbed your arm, his harsh voice.

But honestly…you're glad he's gone. Maybe now you can stop holding your breath until the end of every shift. You wonder if Sherlock already knows the news – probably. He's got his finger on the pulse of so much, and –

Hold on, hold on. Did he have something to do with this? No. He couldn't have. Sherlock's a detective, he doesn't go around making threats. And even if he did, he wouldn't be able to budge someone as big as your CEO.

But his brother could.

When you return to your desk, coffee in hand, there's a blank piece of paper sticking out from under your keyboard. As you flip it over, you have to allow yourself a smile.

You're welcome, it reads. A late Christmas gift. –MH.

You decide you do like Mycroft after all. A little.

—-------

Are we still on for lessons today?

A long pause.

Can't, sorry. Case came up. Tomorrow? –SH

Alright, if you say so.

Tomorrow arrives.

Helloooooo

Mr. Brilliant Detective Man

I need you to teach me the violin or rail me senseless, whichever suits your fancy

I'm not in. Does Friday work? – SH

Your heart sinks. He's never blown you off before. And why now? Why would he wait until everything felt almost perfect between you to start this?

You tell yourself he's being honest. That there is some sort of incredible, all-consuming case he's absorbed in, because you know how he bloody well gets. Laser focused on one thing and one thing only, and at least he had the decency to tell you he wouldn't be in.

But then Friday arrives, and so do you, violin case in hand, to 221B Baker Street. There's no sign of Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson, who seems to have resumed her affair with Mr. Chatterjee. Swallowing hard, you hesitate outside the flat, stomach twisting with anxiety.

Okay, calm down, it could be a case.

Or he could be avoiding you.

…Or it could be drugs.

Shit shit shit.

When was his last screening?? You're supposed to be keeping an eye on this, supposed to be watching. In a panic, you pull up Molly Hooper's number, hoping against all hope that she answers. The line rings once, twice, three times.

"Hello?" She says at last, and you could deflate with relief.

"Hi, Molly, so sorry to bother you," you reply in a rush. "It's just, erm…do you happen to have the results of Sherlock's, you know. His screening? This week?"

"Oh, let me see…"

A brief pause. Some shuffling.

"He hasn't come in yet. He's normally in on Thursdays but he put it off. Said he'd be in by the weekend."

You thank her, saying your goodbyes.

Some tiny insatiable overpanicked part of your brain is fucking convinced he is in there right now doing a line of cocaine. It takes everything you have not to kick in the door. Instead you knock, heart in your throat, and let out a heavy breath.

Nothing. Nothing. Then, footsteps. Finally, the door opens a crack, and the face peering out at you is not what you'd expected.

He's ill. Hair untidy, face pale, eyes and nose rimmed red, ill. Looking awful and a bit grumpy to see you standing there. You’re no expert on addicts, but at a glance, he doesn’t seem like he’s been taking anything stronger than the cold medicine you can get down at Boots. Wearing pyjamas and a scruffy blue dressing gown, Sherlock looks like he’s just rolled out of bed.

"It's not Friday," Sherlock says thickly, frowning. (He even sounds awful, all raspy and hoarse.) "Told you. Now bugger off before you catch what I've got, thank you."

"Hey, wait –"

You slide your foot in to stop the door from closing.

"First off, it is Friday," you start. "Second – God, Sherlock, if you were ill why didn't you just say?"

Exasperation sinks into your tone despite your best effort. Guilt creeps over his expression, which in turn strikes the same feeling in you. Even if he’s been keeping it from you, he had a reason. You could do without him stepping around the truth, but that’s something the two of you will have to confront in your own time. There’s nothing to be done about it now that it’s happened except to acknowledge that it has and move on from there.

“I’ve told you,” he continues, though there’s no venom to his tone. “Didn’t want you coming in and catching whatever godforsaken germ’s traveling across half of London.”

“Could’ve said that.”

“Then you would’ve ended up here even sooner. The earlier in the week you came, the higher your risk of exposure.”

“You ought to have known I’d end up here regardless,” you say stubbornly. His motives are sweet but entirely unnecessary. “I’m not afraid of catching your cold, Sherlock Holmes. Now let me in the damn flat.”

With an irritated growl, he steps aside, relenting.

And – oh. The flat is clean. Not in a flux state of untidy/passable, as you’ve known it for as long as you’ve known Sherlock, but clean. Right down to the surface of the coffee table, which is missing its usual rings. All the sheet music seems to be sitting in one folder, pinned under his violin case, and there’s hardly a stray speck of dust in the place. It smells strikingly of lemon disinfectant in here, and you take in a deep lungful. I could get used to this.

“Did you hire a housekeeper?” you muse, craning your neck to peek into the kitchen. It’s sparkling. You’re fascinated.

“No,” he says shortly. “Hard to find any that wouldn’t balk at what’s being kept in the refrigerator, I’m sure.”

“So you just…cleaned. For fun.” You place a hand on your hip.

“I don’t want you to –” Sherlock clears his throat, hoarse “ – don’t want you to get ill. But the likelihood of keeping you away for longer than a week was poor. So. Tidying. It was awful. Do people really do this all the time?” He gestures, exasperated, around the place.

“They do.” You laugh a little. “And yes, I agree. It’s boring as all hell, isn’t it? Cleaning the same things over and over just so they can collect new dust. Then you die.”

“Cheerful way of putting it.”

He has his arms crossed, appraising you from across the room. From the tired, drawn expression on his face, you venture a guess that your first observation wasn’t far off the mark. Perhaps he has just rolled out of bed. Sherlock watches you with light green eyes missing some of their usual clarity.

“Are you alright?” you ask softly. Taking a few steps toward him, you’re amused but not surprised when he backs up an equal amount.

“Fine,” he responds.

“Then why are you keeping away from me? I told you I don’t care if you give me whatever disease you’ve picked up.”

He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Perhaps you ought to.”

You step forward again, and it feels somewhat like cornering a wild animal. This time, he doesn’t move, though you can see he wants to. Running a hand through already tangled curls, he only watches you, weary.

“Why?” Your tone is challenging. “What terrible plague have you been struck with, oh weary man? Tell me.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes so hard you fear they’ll get stuck in the back of his skull. “It’s a cold, you antagonist. Is it so awful of me to not want you to have one?”

“Is it so awful of me not to care?” You keep going until you’re right in front of him, gazing up at his obstinate, flushed face. “I’ve been worried about you.” Resting your fingers on his cheek, you find it warm. Sherlock closes his eyes. “And I’m just – I’m glad that this is a problem I can help you with.”

“What do you mean?” he murmurs. Then, seconds later, “Oh.”

You say nothing, uncertain if it would upset him to lay out your train of thought right here. He takes your hand in his and laces your fingers through, squeezing, meeting your glance with another guilty expression.

“I see. It was one thing to delay lessons without a given cause, but with what you know about my history of drug abuse, you grew suspicious.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Please don’t feel the need to apologize,” Sherlock says, his voice sounding somewhat strange with its new rasp. “I should’ve just told you, as you said. Should’ve been honest.”

“Sweet of you to try and spare me, though.”

“Don’t believe anyone’s ever used that word in reference to me before,” he chuckles. “It’s a bit unnerving.”

“Mm,” you hum, burrowing your way into his dressing gown for a hug. Just like his skin, it’s incredibly warm in here, despite the bitter January chill. “Better get used to it, then.”

Sherlock sighs, defeated, wrapping his arms around you. Something deep in your chest aches just to be held like that. You were being honest when you told him you didn’t care if he gave you whatever he had – you’ve been through worse. All you’d wanted was to know if he was alright, and now that you have that confirmation, you’re okay with whatever happens next. And anyway – you have enough paid time off work that if you needed it, you could use it, should anything befall you.

“You look tired,” you tell him after a long moment. “Go back to bed.”

He gives one last protest about you staying here, but there’s almost no energy behind it. As if it’s all being done for appearance’s sake, rather than out of any real desire to keep you away. You watch him curl up under the blankets, get comfortable, and fall asleep almost at once.

Seeing Sherlock asleep is…bizarre. After so long together, you know he’s watched you sleep more times than you can count. Yet every time the situation arose, you’ve always been the first to nod off. Today, though, it seems he can’t keep his eyes open a moment longer. Atop the blankets, you lie next to him for a time, fascinated. He’s folded up on his side in a sprawl of limbs, curled in a loose ball.

His face looks so much calmer. Not burdened with the responsibility of always thinking, judging, observing. Just…at rest. At ease.

“Hey, you stubborn arse,” you whisper, reaching up to brush a loose curl out of his face. “Look at me if you can hear me.”

Nothing. He’s really, truly out of it, mouth open, face pressed to the pillow. His breath soft and deep. As you watch, he wriggles deeper into the blankets before settling with a sleepy sigh.

Okay…good.

“I’m in love with you,” you breathe, your heart thudding painfully against your chest. “As much as I wish I wasn’t. As much as I wish we could just do whatever it is you want. This casual…whatever this is. I can’t. I know I’m in love with you because I’ve been in love before, and I’m scared senseless.”

You blow out a harsh sigh, holding out one shaking hand before clenching it tight. Bracing yourself to keep going.

“Love hurts. Love’s fucking hard. It’s every bit as complicated as you already know it is, I won’t lie and say it’s all rainbows. The last time I loved someone, they…they ripped me apart. I’m still learning how to put myself back together.”

You feel your lip wobble, fighting tears, even as you’re smiling at how stupid you’re being. He’s not even awake to hear this. This little confession is all for you – to help you get this weight off your chest.

“But I want to try again, despite all that. You make me want to try again, even when there are days when you’re being strange or closed off. I don’t care. In the end you’re you and you’re worth it. I love you, and nothing’s going to change my mind. So there. That’s all.”

Thank God, he’s slept through it all. For a few minutes more, you watch him, letting the complicated volley of emotions steep in your heart and in your mind. If only you could work up the nerve to say all that to his face, to fight through the arguments he’d no doubt raise about all of it being too much to handle. Even after John and the issue being laid to rest, you feel like he’ll never try again.

Leaning down, you brush your lips to his forehead. You work carefully to extract yourself from the covers so you don’t disturb him, tiptoe from the bedroom, and close the door. Your plan is to put the kettle on, get comfortable on the sofa, and not think too much about everything you’ve just told your sleeping not-partner. If that’s even possible.

—--------

In the dark of the bedroom, after you’ve left for the kitchen, Sherlock lets out a deep breath. He presses his palms to his eyes, as if to keep all the complicated things he’s heard from circulating in his mind.

This is far worse than he thought.

—------------

It’s early evening by the time the bedroom door opens, and you’re well into a novel rooted from one of his bookshelves. Sitting cross legged on the sofa, you look up in delight to see him emerge, giving him a small smile. Though it’s been odd to spend time in the flat without him, the experience is far from unpleasant. 221B has been a place of comfort to you for some time, and the hours pass quickly.

“Well, look who's decided to join us,” you say, placing the book aside. “You hungry?”

Sherlock shrugs. “Not really.”

You decide not to press him. Instead you unfold from your place, stretching a little, not realizing how stiff you’ve gone from hours staying in one spot.

“That’s alright. Mrs. Hudson dropped off some soup earlier – she knows you’ve been holed up in here ill too, you know.”

He huffs out an indignant sound at that. “Really don’t need her getting ill, now, do we?”

“That we don’t,” you agree. “All the same, she’s dropped off enough supplies to medicate a small army. And mulligatawny.”

“I’ve no doubt – the woman thinks I’m incapable of walking down the street and purchasing my own cold supplies.”

“Well, you know how mums are.”

Sherlock pads over to where you sit – still keeping a fair distance, you notice. The nap seems to have done him some good. At the very least, he looks less like he’s going to fall over at the first lapse in conversation. More alert, more like himself. You can’t help grinning as he hesitates, finally settling at the far end of the sofa, cupping his elbows in either palm. His glance grazes you, up and down, as if even eye contact is something he has to be careful with.

"How're you feeling?" You pick up your favorite mug, the one with the chip in the rim, and take a sip of water. "You look better."

"Bit better," he answers, absentminded. "Tired. Er, sore. Throaty. Annoying cold things."

Still he watches you, saying with everything except words that he'd very much like to slide over and be touching you right now. How stubborn can one man get? Or maybe it's a matter of not knowing if it would be the right thing to say. Either way, it melts your heart, and you can't bear the distance any longer.

“Oh, c’mere, love,” you say, trying and failing to keep the amusement out of your voice. “You’re not the only one who can tell when one of us wants something, you know.”

His face arranges itself into a rather unthreatening scowl. “If you get ill…”

“Then it won’t be anything new to me,” you finish, content as he crosses the distance and settles to recline across your lap. “Promise. I’m a big girl. Pinky swear on it, if that’s what you want.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

You only smile in answer, watching as he turns to get comfortable. He buries his face in the material of your jumper, closing his eyes like he missed being able to touch you so freely. One of his arms snakes its way around your waist, somewhat awkward in this position, and you lean up to help him get situated. You'd forgotten how many positions one has to contort into in the name of physical contact, when it comes to cuddling. Sometimes it's worth it, though.

He makes the smallest content sound, settled there against your stomach, and your fingers reach down to tangle in his hair. Lightly scratching at his scalp, reaching for your phone to scroll through as the minutes wear on, early evening fading into night. God, it feels so domestic it could rot your teeth. Both of you are so at ease with one another without the need to say a word, quiet and calm.

You glance down to see if he's dozed off again only to find him gazing up at you. The look on his face is one of such fierce, gentle affection that you almost forget how to breathe. How long has he been watching you like this? What is he thinking about? Sometimes you have no idea, and that's infuriating. Especially when he can read you so easily at times (yet seem clueless in others).

"Thank you," he says eventually, drawing your attention back after you break eye contact. "For checking in. For – staying. Despite the risk."

"I wouldn't let you stay here sick on your own," you reply at once. "No one deserves that."

A grin, half-hidden in your jumper. "As I keep telling you, love, I'm not dying. It's some hardy variety of London cold being passed around."

A shiver down your spine at love. Slipped so casually from his mouth, like it belongs there.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to look after you. That's what –" the word partners sticks in your throat " – friends are for. We check in on one another."

"I don't see John driving in to chuck supplies at the door of my flat," he jokes.

"No," you muse. "But then again, John doesn't shag you either, does he?"

The air changes, thickens. Sherlock swallows as he gazes up at you, and the look on his face is one of familiar, unspoken need. Even tinged pink with cold, you can tell what he wants to ask for. You've put an idea in his mind, made a suggestion, and it seems that Sherlock isn't quite sick enough to stop thinking about the last week you spent together.

You can't stop dwelling on the absence. Going back to your work, back to your regular life, had felt so much harder without having him there to touch you every day. It'd felt damn near like a honeymoon after so long spent waiting to fuck one another. Over the holiday break, you'd made up for lost time, only to spend the first week of dreary January isolated again.

"He doesn't," Sherlock says, and even in the two quiet words you can hear the change.

A pause. The two of you breathe together, your fingers still tangled in his hair, his eyes bright and begging on your own.

Then: "Please fuck me."

He says it so plainly that it takes you half a second to process the request. You would've expected some stepping around, some stammering. Though his cheeks are dark with a blush, he'd just said it. As if it's something he's been considering long before you arrived. Guess that week alone had given him plenty to think about, too.

"Sherlock…" you bite back a nervous laugh. "Are you sure? If you're ill, you should be resting, and I don't want to –"

"I'll let you do the work," he cuts in. "However you want it. Just – I've missed you, missed feeling you, and with this damned cold I haven't done a thing in ages –"

"You haven't even wanked thinking about me? Aww."

He huffs, frustrated, cheeks still pink. Your glance down tells you everything you need to know about how much he's missed you. His cock strains against the loose pyjama bottoms as much as it can, and you reach down to grab it.

"Alright," you decide, decidedly more than thrilled at the thought of being in charge. "But you have to do as I say, down to the letter. Understand?"

Sherlock is quick to nod, scrambling up into a sitting position.

"Bedroom, mister."

—---------

In what feels like seconds you find yourselves tumbling onto the blankets, the door shutting in a rush as you go. You walk him backwards, somewhat proud that he trusts you not to let him fall, confidently going where you lead. The moment he feels his legs hit the bed, he falls back, hands going to remove his shirt. You stop him with a firm tap to the wrist.

"Leave it on."

Looking somewhat surprised, he does as you say, moving back to make room as you join him on the mattress. You move to lie beside him, entwining your legs with his. He scoots back, breathing heavily, eyes focused on your mouth. This is the point where he'd have his tongue in your mouth, exploring every sensitive place, biting your lips. You can understand why he wouldn't now.

With a pang of regret, you scramble to think of what you could do instead. Eventually you settle on dipping your mouth to the hollow of his throat, delighting when you find that sensitive place behind his ear. His arms come up to wrap around you, hips arching into nothing, tracing delicate circles as you take your time to build the heat.

"Sensitive here, aren't we?" you say in his ear, and he shudders for you.

"Please keep going." His answer is small, his neck bared for you, and you can't resist.

Sliding one hand down to palm his bulge through his trousers, you comply, drinking in the ragged moan when you experiment with scraping your teeth over his neck. Your fingers sneak under his waistband, and he clings to you, trying not to make a sound, all hoarse gasps and shuddering breath.

"Sweetheart," Sherlock utters in a low whine. "Just like that."

"You're not even inside me yet, love," you tease, and his answering groan plays in your mind for the next week.

You take him out and stroke him, sucking lightly on his earlobe with every flick of your wrist. Shameless, Sherlock meets you with his hips, rising off the bed, the sound of it wet and sloppy.

Right as you hear him start to get desperate, you pull your hand away, lifting your hips to take off your trousers and pants. Sherlock stares at you like he's never wanted anything more than he's wanted this, wanted you. By the time you're astride him, you think the look of blazing desire on his face is the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

You rub the head of his cock around your glistening slit in slow circles, grinning when he chants your name, begging, pleading. And when you grant your mercy, spreading your folds and taking him to the hilt, you don't think the sound of his voice has ever been sweeter.

Adjusting to the sensation of having him inside you after a week away, you beam down at Sherlock, memorizing the wrecked look written across his features. As if you're holding everything he needs in the palm of your hand, if only you would move, let him have it.

You know the feeling.

"Please," he whispers, rutting his hips forward. "God, please, move, need to feel you, need to come, I – "

Raising an eyebrow, you place your palm flat against the smooth expanse of his hip.

"Need to? Oh, we're being presumptuous, aren't we?" You squeeze around him, knowing he feels it, watching his nostrils flare. "Remember who's in charge."

"You are," Sherlock's quick to answer. "You are, and you're doing remarkably. Once again I've failed to realize how well suited you'd be for a role, and I –" you've started rolling your hips in little, lazy circles, making it hard for him to think " – I'm s-sorry. You're gorgeous when you're being dominant and you have no idea how close I am to coming inside you."

"I think I do," you say wryly. "And you're so pretty when you're lying here, taking what I give you."

"You're going to make me come," he chokes out, the words a blur. "S-so close." His eyes never leave your body, glued to your breasts as they bounce and jolt with each thrust.

"That's the point, isn't it?" Devilishly, you ram your hips down faster, watching his eyes roll back in helpless bliss.

"Oh f-fuck you're going to make me come I'm right there please don't stop don't stop –"

In another flurry of urgent words and whispered warnings, he does exactly that, spilling deep inside you. He tilts his head back, back, collapsing against the pillows with a golden sound of rapture as you ride him through every wave.

When he's finally had enough, you pull off him, crossing your legs to avoid – well. The mess. Or the worst of it, anyway.

"Tomorrow," Sherlock says breathlessly. "Tomorrow, I am going to taste you until you forget what walking feels like. You phenomenal creature."

A quick thrill of arousal shoots its way into your core at that promise. You try not to let it show on your face as you wobble off the bed, leaving him there dazed with his cock out.

"I look forward to it."

—-------

When you’re all tucked away later in the hush of the bedroom, burrowed beneath his arm, you feel him lift your fingertips to his mouth. There’s something familiar about the gesture, and it reminds you of the first time he’d bent to kiss your budding calluses so long ago. It’d made your heart leap then, and so it does now, even when you’ve grown used to him touching you like this. Even when the affection comes easy now, despite his insistence that all this isn’t what you want it to be.

“Your hands are almost healed,” he murmurs, sleepy, gruff. “Why did – why did you overplay? There’s no benefit. You know that.”

You’re silent in the utter darkness, thinking of what answer you could provide.

You hurt me and I needed to take my mind off it. I couldn’t bear a moment alone with my thoughts because they all pointed back to you on the sofa when you couldn’t bloody look at me. I thought I was losing you and I panicked. It was stupid.

“I don’t know,” you say instead, the words bitter in your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

His huff of a sigh is warm on your skin. “Please don’t do it again. I don’t want you playing to the point of pain. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Good.”

You feel him shuffle closer, pressing his lips to your temple, and a wave of affection ripples through you. Together, you succumb to sleep like that, your heads bent close, one of your arms thrown around his shoulder.

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sukacheri · 6 months

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silly wip update time!!! hinakasa the world + another thing

im like. in the final dialogue of the final scene of hnks chp1 rn. then i plan to edit it all and get it to a place im happier with. very head banging against wall rn bcuz my intentions were 5k a chapter but i always severely underestimate myself hahaha. it's double right now so, yay.

and that isnt to say *this* chapter is so much longer than the others, theyll both probably be about the same. except the third one may be shorter. but im not even going to try guessing anymore!!!! who cares!!! more hnks words!! whatever!!

my initial plan was after finishing chapter 1 that id let myself have a little indulgent break for an au, but i may have to push that back becauseee i saw rtiz week date/prompts got announced on twitter! ill try cooking something up (short. SHORT.) and then ill swing back to hkns. no guarantees on rtiz... i feel like it's been so long i may just not have the patience with myself to get back into writing them, but i have some ideas!

other than that... oh! yes. so regardless of where i am at with hnks, i do plan to share ~1k snippet of it on Halloween. The scene is actually moreso about 2wink lol? but i think itd be nice to have that as a little teaser if im not ready by then.

kinda one of the reasons this fic has gotten so big is because im starting to incorporate other characters so time has to be dedicated for that + hnks so. yeah. fun! more 2wink! yay!

okay no other updates now i think. here's your "thanks for reading" snippet

“Alrighty then!” Hinata singsonged, his smile stretching across his face. “We can just do that, and we can start by playing some chess.”

Tsukasa’s eyebrows raised, creasing his forehead as Hinata’s words settled on him. “Really? Oh, that’s..” He trailed off, breaking into a grin like he just found an ultra rare card in one of his packs. “Yes! Let’s play chess. Ah, I still need to get my side set up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just start playing. Pawn to E8!�� Hinata moved his piece.

“Pawn to-- hey, wait! Hinata-kun, don’t move your pieces yet. And also dont--”

“But white starts first, right? So, I’m totally good to go.”

Tsukasa scowled, frustration replacing the glee in his eyes, but with all the same level of intensity.

All the more fun to press him.

“Hm, I did make a mistake, didn’t I?” Hinata pulled his pawn back, letting Tsukasa have a moment of reprieve before speaking again. “Checkmate.”

He moved the pawn back to E8. The black king’s starting spot.

Hinata barely repressed a snort as Tsukasa’s fist tightened around his king piece.

“Hinata-kun.”

“Hm? Yes? What is it that I can do for you? Ah, you’re wondering what flavor I’d like for my second parfait since I just won, right?” Hinata finally broke into his parfait, taking a giant spoonful and not caring about speaking with his mouth full. “You’ll have to let me finish this one first at least!”

#text #wip #im truly head in hands about the word count #when i tell you i thought 5k/chap was overestimating....#anyways. im done guessing word counts its clearly not a skill i have

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jarfulloftears · 2 years

Text

when there's no more room in hell [7/7]

find the masterlist & playlist here!

the following chapter includes: vulgar language, vampirism, and gore.

author's note: as we move into our final installment, I just want to thank y'all for the love y'all have shown for this short story. it has really become one of my favorites to write, so much so that I'll be expanding the No More Room universe by diving deeper into not only Nala/Zyà and Cortez's story but the undead society at large as well as a few of Nala's former friends from the living world. I'm still working out the details, but this will most likely be posted on Wattpad, at some point! More details will be coming much later, but in the meanwhile, I hope you all enjoy this last chapter and the rest of the spooky season!

word count: ~5k

I pumped the runway with pounding heels although no step nor stomp was a match for the wall-shaking deep house that blared on.

I wore a pair of shades, this being one of my favorite accessories in the entire collection. I was thankful that my favorite overall look had been saved for last.

Going out with a bang was my forté, and though the attire was a bit understated, it varied widely from the more flavorful pieces in the collection.

It was an all white ensemble that accentuated my figure without completely flaunting it. Not to mention, it paired nicely with my new ‘do.

All eyes were on me as I strutted, removing the shades just before more camera flashes sparkled from the depths of an audience.

I kept my eyes forward as I reached the end of the catwalk.

Pose. Pivot. Glasses. Pose. Pivot. Walk. Spin for one last look. Walk.

Soon enough, that was that. I walked the catwalk one last time, falling in line with the other models and applauding Cortez as he came out and took a gracious bow.

He was met with much love, and such sentiments spilled during his after party. It was a quiet, close-knit function. Cortez hated being around too many people at once, and found it only necessary to celebrate the collection with only the people who helped make it happen.

Besides, we’d be around plenty of people tonight, at Micah’s birthday soirée. Now was the time to enjoy the calm before the storm.

“You did amazing,” Cortez handed me a glass of champagne.

“Me? Your work was amazing. The graffiti jacket with the Baroque twist? I’ma need that,” I affirmed as his hand found the curve of my back.

“Thanks,” he smiled slightly.

“No, thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Ryan Thomà.”

He chuckled lightly just as I did, sipping from my glass although my thirst for something else was growing.

Cortez’s was too, which was made evident by his drumming fingertips.

“The wait won’t be too much longer,” I whispered to him.

“I’m just anxious… and hungry,” he took his glass to the head.

“Me too, but we got this… We can stop and get a snack before we head over, if you want,” I offered.

“Nah, nah. I wanna keep as much of my appetite as I can,” he refuted. “Besides, I’m sure Lily will have as many finger sandwiches or whatever-the-fuck at the party to hold me over for a little bit.”

I watched him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a migraine coming on, one that only had one remedy.

I wanted to ease his pain, wishing he could feed off of me but I wasn’t sure how that worked with us both being undead.

“Tezzy, really. We can go, if you want,” I rubbed his arm through the soft material of his blazer.

He insisted he was fine, but I didn’t want to take my chances. I forced him around, saying our goodbyes and ensuring that he’d see everyone at Micah’s party.

Soon enough, I was driving him home and whipping up some meat and blood for him. With everything still in pouches, I picked at plastic wrap and blood bags before messily cleaning and rinsing items and quickly assembling a plate and glass for him.

“Look at’chu,” he gave me a full smile as I knelt next to him. I tossed him on to the couch upon entry into our home, and he was sprawled just as I’d left him.

“In sickness and in health, huh?” He was too busy joking to open his mouth for a bite of chicken.

“Cortez,” I deadpanned before just lifting his head to my bosom and bringing the food even closer to his lips.

He ate until the plate was nothing but bones and drank until the glass was nothing but empty.

“I’ma let you rest for a little bit, alright? I’m gonna start getting ready,” I informed him.

“Thanks for gettin’ me home and fed,” he took my hand into his just as I stood up.

“Of course,” I shrugged before turning to leave the room.

“Chill for a sec,” he requested, although his unloosened grip was enough to keep me where I was.

“You know it takes me forever to get ready,” I reminded him as he beckoned me onto his lap.

“This won’t be long,” he pulled my body against his as I straddled him.

Our hands were laced, the golden band he gifted me shining.

“You gave any more thought to this?” He kissed the stone.

“I already told you yes.”

“You told me I was crazy too.”

“Yeah, I did. Twice. But I still said yes.”

“So, say yes twice.”

“Bye, Cortez,” I started to stand. His wrap on me swiftly tightened.

I looked into his eyes, seeing just how serious he was.

“Even with what I said to you, last night?” I questioned how he could still feel so deeply for me.

He nodded, not an ounce of hesitancy in his heart.

“Even if I—”

“You know my answer. You’ve known it since the night you came back to me… Now, I’m asking you to let me know yours.”

“Cortez… like forever?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“What if I fuck you over?”

“I can handle it.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

“But I want to.”

“But—”

“Nala, if it’s a no, just say so.”

“And if it is a no?”

“Then it is what it is.”

“I don’t want to be without you.”

“Then don’t be.”

I knew my answer, yet I struggled to say it outright.

All I could do was kiss him, kiss him like I’d never see him again.

Soon enough, I was getting ready for tonight. I wore black, accessorizing with gold, of course.

I stared at my engagement ring for a long while, rubbing at the stone and pondering my forevermore.

“Oo-wee! Look at’chu,” Cortez’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

He wore what felt like the reimagining of a traditional tux. He would make quite the groom.

“Come here. Let me see you,” he beckoned me to stand from the couch— it’d been a rare instance where I ended up waiting on him rather than the other way around.

An ankle-length bodycon dress was painted onto me while long sleeves with a Morticia Addams flare waved like flags with my every movement. The statement piece however was a cut out that put my cleavage and full sternum on display.

It was sexy. It was a bit gothic. It had Zyà written all over it.

“Goddamn,” Cortez was doing a great job of adding to my confidence as he spun me around.

“I’ma have a hard time parting from you tonight,” he shook his head.

“I could say the same,” I released his hand to smooth over his lapels.

“You ready?” he inquired, hands on my hips as he searched my gaze.

I nodded.

“No turnin’ back, baby.”

“No turnin’ back,” I affirmed with a toothless grin.

We were gone.

We arrived.

Cortez proceeded to enter the large home without me, making it a point to be seen by many.

Knowing that it wouldn’t be long before he’d be made to leave— either because of the friend group’s uncomfortability due to speculations about my murder or Micah’s own insecurities, whichever came first— it would rule out any suspicion of Cortez’s involvement in what would soon be Micah’s demise.

He’d find his way back inside at some point, but in the meanwhile, I was sneaking in.

I made my way inside through a side entrance, a doorway often used in the height of Micah and I’s affair.

I slipped past company, who were too liquored up and too involved in their own conversations to notice me ascending a staircase to Micah’s study.

It was a library sized room, a wall of books on one side and a lounge area complete with a fireplace on the other.

A rush of memories surged as I ran my fingertips along the furniture and sculptures.

This was the site of our very first relation, a passionate and heartbroken kiss stolen in the wake of what seemed like a very real breakup with Lily.

Of course, things escalated. From the desk to the sofa to the windowsill. And the next day, they were back together.

And just that quickly, I had become his doll to be taken out and played with at his every whim. And I fell for every excuse every time— they were on a break, they had a fight, he felt so alone.

After a year, I stopped caring about excuses. And six months after that, he stopped giving them, and our relations were no longer justified by puny circumstances.

We’d enjoy one another for no other reason other than it was a Tuesday. And as he started confessing his love for me— love that proved purely conditional and transactional— I developed what I thought were mutual feelings.

He promised that he would leave her for me. That I would be the one settling down with him. That together, we would build an empire.

But then Lily’s mom got sick. He couldn’t leave her then.

Then the company he co-owned took a hit in stock. He couldn’t afford to build the life he wanted for us.

It was one obstacle after another prolonging our union, and soon enough, there wasn’t a union in sight for us.

He fucked me, and as he got dressed, he told me that we were done. Just like that.

No warning. No goodbye. Just “Ayo, this was fun. Me and Lily are gettin’ pretty serious, so lose my number.”

Apparently, being six months away from a wedding only constituted being “pretty serious” — not as literally being engaged.

And I was pathetic enough to not accept that. I blew his phone up until he changed his number. I popped up on him at his own fiancée’s party.

Previous to that, I even popped up at this very home, having to endure the brass knuckles of his brother’s verbal abuse.

No wonder Micah was the way he was. His brother was even worse than him, and he was the only person Micah had had since he was a teenager.

Yes. It was all coming back to me. Not only the memories but the feelings attached to them. Fury and sadness and hatred. So much hatred, and so much of it didn’t even belong to me.

It was hatred that he held for me.

I just thought he liked to fuck me like he hated me, but it was evident in the way he spoke to me, in the way he treated me, in the way he would embarrass me— he hated me. Like, for real.

He hated how much he needed me to make him feel like a man. He hated how I dressed. He hated how he could only own me in private. He hated his own life. He hated being an heir. He wanted to be as free as me and hated me because I could and he couldn’t.

That’s why he wanted to dominate so much of me. It made him feel powerful, being able to put me on a leash, knowing that we all had to answer to someone, and my someone was him.

I reflected on our many affairs as I poured myself a glass of whiskey.

That sick smirk of his. That fiery glare he’d give me. That grip he would put on my neck. The bruises.

There was nothing I couldn’t handle. After all, I was a big girl, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for Micah.

Not even when he got me pregnant.

You can imagine how that ended, and yet, I never ran.

I was waiting on my happy ending, knowing that just like our sessions of hate-making, there would be bliss at the end of it all.

I was so naïve when it came to him. Blinded.

And he knew that. He knew he could get me to do anything, and he thought I was the stupidest bitch he’d ever met because of it.

I shook my head at the revelation, sitting in the luxurious seat behind the desk, turning to face the paneled windows looking out on the garden below.

I wondered if Micah ever even liked me. After all, we were friends first, part of the same friend group for years on end.

Was it all a ploy to eventually put his greatest act of envy into play? He hated me so much that he wanted to ruin me.

Well, I guess now the feelings really are mutual, and soon it’d be my turn to ruin him.

He entered the study, made evident by a deep sigh and muttering about how insufferable certain guests were.

He was always so miserable.

He came to a halt. “Uh… I’m sorry. You can’t be up here.”

I sipped from my glass, watching his reflection in the window as he slowly approached the desk.

“Ayo—”

Slowly, I stood before facing him.

He turned pale within an instant, eyes wide and breath stolen.

He was still gorgeous.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” my fingertip circled the edge of the glass as I treaded toward him.

He stepped away from me as he stuttered, “W-What are you doing here?”

“I had to come see you, my love,” I smirked while setting down my glass.

He was speechless, struggling to rationalize what stood before him.

“I thought you were dead,” Micah whispered with a hesitant approach.

“Well… you’ve always said that I was a whore for your attention,” I seductively smirked, an excited anxiety wrestling within me.

The scent of him was driving me up a wall. Underneath his cologne was the sweet musk of fear.

“You couldn’t have faked your death. I-I saw your body,” he shook his head, failing to take my words for what they were.

He was still trying to do the math in his head. His blood pumped with fervor as his heart raced.

I was slowly approaching him, his steps backward more firm than the ones he’d taken forward.

“There’s no need to be scared, Micah,” I assured.

He thought about shouting out for help. With a party still gathered for his enjoyment, he’d have a plethora of witnesses.

The thought of such turned me on, but I knew better than to let him belt out a cry for attention. All I had to do was get my hands on him, and he’d be done for.

“What are you?” he asked, disgust mixing with his fear in such a way that it was beginning to fuck with my appetite.

“I’m yours,” my expression softened.

“You’re fucking crazy… and you’re fucking dead! ” He was going back and forth in his own mind.

He pondered if he were going crazy, if hallucinations were a side effect of grief.

“Micah, you know I could never stay away—”

“Get the fuck away from me!” He made a run for it, but Cortez emerged from the shadows and took the form of a door.

With folded arms, he stood in the doorway and stared down at him menacingly.

“Yo, what the fuck? What is this?” He looked at me again.

“It’s your opportunity to apologize,” I answered calmly.

“Apologize?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

He scoffed, partially out of amusement. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious, Micah,” I nodded while Cortez slowly closed the door of the study.

“I don’t have shit to apologize for. You should be apologizing to me for all the hell you’ve caused— for all the times you almost put our shit on front street. For fucking dying!”

“I died of a broken heart, Micah, and you’re the reason why,” I took a step toward him. “I gave you years. I sat quietly while you went and lived your happy life— the life you promised me.”

“You knew I was with Lily.”

“And I knew you were supposed to leave her. Every time I let you do what you wanted with me, it was supposed to be in exchange for your heart.”

He gulped, his Adam’s apple bouncing delectably as he thought of how to switch his approach. I cut his efforts before he could apply them.

“But it’s okay… It’s all okay, because I realize that if I really became yours, you would’ve broken me beyond repair.”

“Nala—”

“You don’t get to call me that anymore, Micah!” I roared, my hunger beginning to tear through me in a way that was affecting my attitude.

“Call me what you used to.”

“N-Na—”

“Did I fucking stutter?” I nearly rushed him but he was quick on his feet, a backwards jog propelling him away from me.

Cortez shut the other entrance of the study, a soft thud being just the sound needed to trigger Micah’s memory.

“Doll,” he muttered.

Excitement was ringing through me, my joints yearning to be cracked. I cracked my neck and sighed in bliss at the sound of such a term.

“That’s more like it,” I could feel my fangs growing as I continued backing him toward a seat.

“You used to like playing with your doll, didn’t you?”

“Nala, please,” it was the sight of my fangs that made him beg.

“Didn’t you?” I urged just before he found himself tripping into a seat.

I towered over him as he cowered into the chair.

I pushed aside one of his locs and ran a hand over his face, knowing that he was scared of even touching me. He feared that a touch was enough to send him to his grave.

He wasn’t all the way wrong either because with the ways I yearned to lay my hands on him? Oh, he was a goner.

My mouth watered at the sight of his beautiful skin and freshly twisted locs.

In another life, we would’ve made beautiful babies. Too bad this was the only life he’d get.

I nearly laughed at the thought.

“Tell me what I want to hear, Micah,” I wrapped a hand around his throat like he’d done to me so many times before.

“I-I should’ve done right by you,” he nodded with a strained voice.

“I should’ve been a man of my word, and I’ve regretted the way I treated you every day you’ve been dead,” His tears were fighting to be seen.

The fear was good and only getting better, but it was the remorse that was edging me closer to ecstasy.

“I’m sorry, Nala. I’m so sorry,” he whimpered pathetically, my palms resting on either side of his face.

He was so warm. My brain was tingling, my body was yearning for him, and I was just about to lose control.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at me, too terrified to look me in the face. Meanwhile, the shame and guilt were pushing his tears over the ledge.

“It’s okay, Micah,” I whispered. “Everything’s gonna be alright, baby.”

“No, it’s not… because you’re gone,” he sniffled, drawing his eyes to mine finally.

I halted, holding off on my animalistic instincts to hear more of him.

“I miss you so much, Nala. I need you,” he shakily inhaled.

“You don’t need anything but a fucking—”

“I’m serious, Nala. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I don’t even know joy without you. You were my joy.”

He continued on, this time, taking my hand into his and intertwining our fingers.

“Wherever you are, take me with you. This life isn’t worth living without you, Nala… I love you,” he confessed.

My head and my heart battled, my hunger ripping through logic while my heart banged on the door of my brain. It was all too much as I dropped to my knees.

“I love you… more than life itself… and I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the love you deserved. I gave you the only thing I had. The only thing I knew.”

He added, “I just wish I could’ve been better for you. I wish you could be mine again.”

I tried not to let my emotions get the better of me, but those were the exact words necessary to lay Nala to rest. To move forward.

But as I knelt there fighting off tears and letting my hunger consume me in a brain fog, Micah sat up in his seat.

“I’m so sorry,” he spoke gently, a softness I’d only seen on blue moons shining through.

His palm found my cheek as he wiped my tears.

“I’m sorry for all the hurt I caused… You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved,” he admitted. “The closest thing I’ve ever had to real love.”

I reveled in him, eyes closing as I breathed in his essence.

I missed this.

“Be mine, one last time,” he whispered.

I gazed up at him, dreamily swimming in those eyes of his. His tears were still tracing his cheeks.

“I’ll always be yours,” I kissed his tears, fighting the urge to just lap them up with my tongue.

He wanted so badly to match his lips with mine, but he was scared— scared that this would be a kiss of death.

And that’s exactly what it was.

“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Show me you love me.”

He dealt with his own battle, whether to do what I said or to tell me what I needed to hear.

“Play with me one last time,” I whispered.

“Is that what you came back for?” Both of his palms rested on my face.

My skin heated, my engine revved, and I became a fool for Micah all over again. His touch was enough to distract me from my mission, but my body was close to a blackout.

I was in overdrive— the hunger, the lust, the tsunami of emotions all playing tug of war.

I couldn’t control myself anymore, forcing my lips onto his.

It was electric, a rollercoaster taking my heart on a journey through time. Our tongues warred while my palms ran against his lap.

His hand found my throat, the slightest squeeze being given, sending my mind flying through every single moment we were twined in my past life.

The roughness. The degradation. It was all so hot.

But when that lack of tenderness would haunt me outside of our nest, that’s when the pain really started to settle in.

And as his grip strengthened against my throat, that feeling of hatred festered within me. And it led me right back to my death, the only moment where such cruelty was done out of love.

The feeling of blind safety being pulled from beneath me returned. I’d been shoved right back into the memory of my death, when pleasure rolled through me and my life force was halted.

And as Micah choked me, I was facing that moment of fear and uncertainty again.

I was being triggered, but before I could pull away in panic, he forced me away with a vehement head-butt.

I fell on my ass, pain echoing at my dome as he quickly scooted his chair backward and stood.

He sprinted for the opposite entrance of the study, but his track and field days proved to be far behind him.

Cortez caught him, slinging him backward before grabbing him by the throat himself. Micah was hoisted into the air, Cortez gazing up at him like a Christmas ornament.

“Yo, please,” Micah strained.

Cortez didn’t hesitate, slamming Micah’s back against the hardwood floor before throwing punches until blood was drawn.

I finally stood, approaching a sobbing Micah as Cortez wailed on him.

Blow after blow, cracking bones and cries of desperation. Cortez didn’t stop until Micah was losing his grip on consciousness. By then, my head was still throbbing, and Micah was nearly a pulp— blood drenching his swelling features and making him unrecognizable.

Cortez ceased with a deep sigh before ending his bout of silence.

“You took your power, and you gave it right back to him,” Cortez didn’t have to look at me for me to know he was talking to me.

I sunk to the floor, sitting on my heels on the other side of Micah, too exhausted to argue or wrestle with Cortez’s evident disappointment.

“Save the sentimental shit for when he’s actually dead,” he added as Micah weakly begged and pleaded.

His face was contorted in just the way I imagined it, and his deep baritone had been reduced to soprano whimpers.

But I couldn’t even dwell in the satisfaction of his pathetic tears. I was too entranced by the pooling blood of bruises and the oozing of wounds that had bursted open.

“The throat or the spine?” Cortez asked me.

“Y-You don’t have to do this, Nala. Please. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He whined.

“The spine,” I wiped my own tears and sniffled.

“Say goodbye,” Cortez said.

“Goodbye, Micah.”

“Please! Lily— she’s pregnant! Please!”

“Fuck you and your bloodline, bitch,” Cortez chuckled before sending one more punch to knock him out.

Micah’s unconscious body was turned over, clothes were ripped and so was his skin.

It was almost like getting to the bone of a rib or cracking the shell of seafood. And as blood splattered and flesh squelched, Cortez presented me with the very thing that I wished Micah had put to use during his life.

I felt so much at once, the first being bloodthirst.

My mouth watered while my head pounded. My fists clenched as my hunger nearly split me in half.

My injury ached on, but it didn’t compare in the slightest to the all-consuming, brain smashing, stomach stabbing pins and needles that nearly made me foam at the mouth in agonized hunger.

And finally— warm, smooth, and savory— I started to quench my thirst.

I sipped from the fountain of Micah while Cortez continued to rip at his flesh.

My brain fog was lifting bit by bit, and I indulged in every part of him I’d longed for.

I even ripped his heart out, the taste alone nearly pushing me to what felt like an orgasm. But it was the dead look in Micah’s eyes that really sent me over the edge.

My eyes rolled as I chewed and grunted, barbarically feasting and sharing. With Micah’s heart in one hand, oozing with every bite and every squeeze, I ripped his face into streamers with the other.

My hunger was simmering, and with them, the ferocity of my instincts lessened. The silence of the room was reinstated, and all that was left was the soft rumble of chatter and laughter carrying from downstairs.

I sighed deeply, the gravity of what I had done and what I hadn’t done settling on my shoulders. I could feel tears coming, but I wasn’t completely sure as to why.

Was this what letting go felt like? Had Nala been laid to rest right here next to Micah?

Could I finally move on in the way that I never could in my first life?

I met Cortez’s stare, and within moments, my mounting anxiety was flattened.

I looked at him and knew that everything was going to be okay. Any questions I had would be answered in due time, and I had the rest of my life to figure myself out. To find Zyà.

I tearfully kissed Cortez, sharing the savory taste of my worst enemy in disguise.

Grief and joy were all rolled up in my tears, and Cortez let them flourish.

“I love you,” I sobbed softly.

I was a wreck, much more than I had anticipated. I was happy, I was sad. I was foolish. I was free.

“Thank you,” I whispered as he kissed my forehead, right where my aching had quieted itself.

“Of course,” he caressed my cheek tenderly.

“Thank you,” I repeated while staring into his eyes.

With blood swiped at our lips and drenching our fingertips, it was best that we get to cleaning things up.

But I couldn’t pull myself away from his gaze.

He said, “You fell in love with him again.”

“And I fell in hate with him again too,” I messily wiped my tears.

“Did you learn anything?”

“Don’t go against my instincts… and save the sentimental shit for later.”

“Never give them the chance to think they can outsmart you. You strike. You eat. You move on.”

“I hear you.”

“You did a good job, baby,” he assured me.

“No, I didn’t. I got in my head. I let my other urges get the best of me. My need for closure,” I shook my head.

He reached for Micah’s partially detached spine. He cracked off a piece of it, licking it clean before holding it to my view. “Here’s your closure.”

With that, he stood and assisted me to my feet.

We stepped over Micah’s body, and I led the way to the bathroom only a few steps down the hall.

It was there that we wiped off blood splatter and cleaned our hands and faces.

And it was there that I gave Cortez a second yes.

We shared a kiss and soon enough, we were sneaking out of the window— the very same window I’d have to use when Lily made an early arrival home.

We tiptoed down shingles and dodged the first story window to avoid being seen by party guests. We climbed down a wall ladder and landed in the garden.

Our hands were joined as we disappeared into the night.

Our clothing found a fire, and we found refuge at his place— a place I hadn’t been since before I died. It felt just as cozy as I remembered it, and I felt as safe as I’d always hoped to be with Micah.

Cortez made me a necklace out of the bone he forcibly cracked, and I made him my husband.

Within days, we were swapping vows and taking a blood oath, something that would bind us for the rest of our undead lives.

I guess I got my happy ending after all.

#wtnmrih #makeboyscry #jarfulloftears #fic writing #spooky season #horror fic #black horror

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magnus-sm-writes · 3 days

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Short Story Update: First Third of 2024

When it comes to short stories, I tend to go pretty long. It’s a bad habit of mine from writing novels. I want to include every single detail I can, which causes a lot of bloating. It’s… something I definitely need to work on.

For my last few short stories, I set myself a word limit. Constraints really bring out my creativity. When I have a word limit, I focus on the more important details and stop waxing poetic about hair and eye color. (A serious problem for me.)

For me, a “short” short story is in the 5k range, and even then, it’s normally 5.5k and over. Being concise can be a bit of a struggle for me. I’m doing my best to fix that, which is why I’ve been aiming for between 3k-4k words for my last few short stories. I have to learn how to tighten my short stories.

My last two short stories I’ve finished have both been exactly 3,014 words. A fun coincidence, for sure. Both are about grief and how it can make a relationship unhealthy.

Normally, when I go into a short story, I have an image that comes to mind. I’m a very visual person (despite being a writer). Shockingly, both these short stories were based more off vibes than any images.

My first short story, “Communion of Separation”, had a somber mood to it. That strange sort of sadness that comes with graduation and knowing the people you’ve grown up with are leaving. A fear of being lost. It was bittersweet. Even though I’m happy, I love writing sad stories where characters are prolonging their suffering. What can I say? I’m a sucker for emotions that settle heavy in my lungs.

The second, “My Lover Tastes of Ivy & Wine”, was based on the idea of a mortal falling in love with a god. Then it became more tender in its second draft, something about loss and nostalgia. I was obsessed with peaches, blackberry wine, and ivy plants at that time, so it had to be something about Dionysus. Always.

“Communion” and “Ivy & Wine” were both shockingly quick drafts. They were nice, quick breaks from me wrestling with some of the stories I’ve been focusing on this year. (Greenest and Hamish, cough.)

The issue with talking about both of them is that, because they’re so short, it is difficult to discuss both of the stories in-depth without revealing the entire story. I’m attempting anyways, because I like the challenge, and because I want to talk about these so badly it almost hurts.

“Communion of Separation”

Length: 3,014

Logline: Henry is caught in a tangle of dead ends and struggles to deal with it.

Literal logline: Trying to hallucinate a better relationship.

Status: Rewriting

Theme song: “Dreamland” by Glass Animals

Vibes: Oily puddles, post-nap haze, photos from your childhood, road shimmer

Quote: “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

When it comes to “Communion”, I decided to challenge myself a little. I wanted to write about a relationship where both parties are dragging a dead relationship out of a sense of obligation to each other. In addition to that, I wanted to give the story that feeling of experiencing everything through a haze of medication.

It’ll need a couple more edits to get it perfect, because it’s a difficult feeling to get right. One of the only books I’ve seen get it correct is Fight Club, which I think is part of the reason I love it. There’s a huge disconnect between the narrator and reality that is such a struggle to get right.

My inspiration for this piece was mostly what I was listening to at the time. Specifically, the Dreamland album from Glass Animals and trip reports from various drugs.

The quote for this piece is from Queen Elizabeth II: “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

Henry and July are at a bad point in both of their lives where they’re just going through the motions. They’re codependent and detached from the world. I think they love each other in a deeply unhealthy way. You know how a lot of people in freshman year of college end up in really toxic relationships? It’s exactly like that.

EXCERPT

Moments from the car crash play on the tv. He can see it from the tree’s point of view. Shattered glass is spiderwebs, diamonds, shimmering angel eyes. The Henry on the screen is laughing so hysterically it sounds like a scream, or screaming like a laugh. Glass sticks to his blood-red face, his dark hair. July’s nose bleeds.

“My Lover Tastes of Ivy & Wine”

Length: 3,014

Logline: After the death of his uncle, Bertram goes to Greece to claim his inheritance and relive his childhood memories.

Literal logline: When reliving your childhood doesn’t fix your grief, maybe sex can!

Status: Editing

Theme song: “Bedroom Hymns: by Florence + the Machine

Vibes: Dust in sunbeams, half-drunk glasses of wine, kissing strangers, crying for no reason

“My Lover Tastes of Ivy & Wine” is my most recent short story. I just finished it this month! It began with my excitement for warmer weather—specifically, sun-warmed grass beneath my feet—and became a story about grief. I don’t know what it is about me and grief in this quarter of the year, because I am absolutely not grieving anything that’s happened. I do have a nasty habit of “pre-gaming grief”, as I like to say, so I suppose I pulled from that emotion.

I’m hoping to edit this somewhat soon. The ending is pretty shaky, unlike the ending of “Communion”, and I need to smooth it out.

Something I really like in “Ivy & Wine”, though, is how Bertram is annoyed by his own grief. I find a lot of the characters I write have a deep grief in them, and they either tend to be resigned to it or annoyed by it. It feels very realistic to me. When it comes to grief, I’m always annoyed by how long it continues. And it never feels like it ends, does it? That’s the most annoying thing about it. I guess I’m always taking my annoyance out on my characters. Who would have thunk?

Another thing I adore about this is the excerpt. We gardened a lot when I was a kid, so I transplanted some of my memories onto Bertram. I just picked up a cologne from Maison Margiela that smells exactly like picking tomatoes in the garden. That was part of my inspiration.

The other inspiration was from a book on poisons I listened to while I was moving last year. In it, there was a section on English ivy, which devotees of Dionysus would crush and mix with wine to enter a crazed state during their bacchanals and wreak havoc on the countryside. I believe English ivy is a deliriant like Benadryl or datura. Basically, you are not meant to consume it, and whatever side effects you get is the plant telling you that you made a mistake in putting that in your mouth. This was perfect for my use.

EXCERPT

Bertram planted tomato seeds from Claudiu’s cabinets. Peas. Green beans. What he remembered harvesting as a child. He tended to the trees, watering and weeding them as they blossomed. They would soon buckle beneath the weight of their own fruits. The ivy-covered trellises flourished from daily waterings and threatened to take over the entire villa.

When it comes to short stories, I’m pleased to have written three in one quarter (including “Plastic Fangs” from the previous update post). Understanding the pace of my writing process is vital to setting goals and expectations for myself. Three short stories feels a bit excessive for my pace, considering I hadn’t finished many in 2023. I likely won’t write three stories next quarter, even though I’d really like to.

Tracking my writing has been useful for this. Not only when it comes to writing blog posts and maintaining my tumblr—and this has been useful in helping me post more—, but in ensuring I know exactly what, when, and how I write. I can look at the content I write and be able to learn more about my process through semi-scientific dissections. I’ve been big into the scientific process lately because of work, so I’m more than willing to apply it to my other work (writing).

These stories were fun to write, if a bit macabre. Isn’t everything I write macabre, though? I have a nasty habit of writing sad things. Hopefully my next short story will be something happier, though I doubt it.

#short story update #my writing #writing update #snippet #writes on tumblr #writeblr

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wanderlust2am · 2 months

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I started my evening with the idea that I would be going to bed earlier than usual, but here I am laying down writing my thoughts on this page, rather than dozing off. I want to change my life around, rather than feel like a useless slob who does nothing, but be sad over everything that is going wrong in their life. I am starting to pick up the pieces as I am beginning to find positive light and hope in everyday care again.

I need new ambitions and hobbies, ones that will make me feel happy and productive. I am thinking of signing up for a short 5k in the summer and a marathon for 2025. Training and pushing my body to new limits they have never been to before, but also completing something that I never thought I would accomplish in my life. My dreams are not just dreams, but in order for me to shift them to a reality, I need to act upon them.

This isn’t too late, compared to the other times where I would wake up and fall asleep to. So, I am going to update you, as I find the courage to build myself up and what I learn through these activities.

I truly feel like I am in this world alone, and at first i thought that was a horrible thing, but the truth is - it is quite nice. I no longer want to wait for anyone in order to do things that make me happy, and I should no longer have to wait for others to accomplish my things. I started to pause and look around me to see that everyone around me is doing things that make them happy and do things with me when they have the free time. And i am doing the opposite. I build myself up for others’ time and only do things for myself when i complete doing those things for others.

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helaintoloki · 3 years

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Everybody Loves Somebody

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight language, themes of insecurity, angst, pining, slow burn (kinda?), eventual fluff, over 5k words in length

notes: it’s finally finished! this took forever but I swear I put my entire soul into making this as perfect as it could be. I’ve never used this format before in my writing and it was challenging but also super fun so hopefully you guys like it :) (also yes the title and the fic somewhat is inspired by the Dean Martin song)

summary: Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

Sunday

Three quick raps on the apartment door force Bucky to kick back the covers and sluggishly rise from his spot on the floor. He’s exhausted, but his recognition of the evenly spaced knocks on the wooden frame has him feeling compelled to answer, and so he does. Too tired to notice the television is still droning on in the background, Bucky idly wraps his discarded blanket around his form to shield his vibranium arm before opening the door to greet the old man standing on the other side.

“Rough night, huh?” Yori greets with a knowing smile.

“Something like that,” he replies with a tired, lopsided grin. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I set you up on a date,” the man says casually, as if setting Bucky up on dates without his knowledge and against his will is a common every day occurrence, and it is. “Saturday evening at six.”

“What— A date? Yori—“

“She’s a nice girl, very pretty. I think you’ll like her.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Bucky tries to interject, but Yori is already halfway down the hall before the super soldier can get another word in.

“You’re meeting her at the Italian place down the street!” Yori calls behind him. “She likes sunflowers!”

The old man’s shouts are sure to have woken up the entire fourth floor by now, but Bucky is too busy trying to process the jumble of information that has been thrust upon him so suddenly and so early in the morning to care. The last date Yori had sent him on had ended in disaster; Bucky wasn’t ready to get back out on the field, a stable relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. Surely no one in their right mind would stick around once they found out the truth about the man, and if they did it would only be a matter of time before the constant nightmares and extra baggage that came with dating the ex-Hydra assassin sent them running for the hills. But Yori meant well, Bucky knew that, and he also knew he owed the man more than he could ever give him in return, so if sitting through another painfully uncomfortable date would make him happy, then Bucky would just have to suck it up, put on the nicest shirt he owned, and charm his way through another awkward dinner.

“Sunflowers,” he grumbles to himself, quietly shutting the door before returning to his spot on the cold hardwood floor.

Monday

Monday mornings are gym mornings, early workouts that start at five and end at seven. He promptly returns to the apartment building at seven thirty, eight if he stops for breakfast, then goes to check the mail before heading back to the comfort of his sheltered apartment. He doesn’t receive much other than grocery coupons and an odd letter from the government every now and then, but he’s been told that a routine is good, it’s healthy, so on Monday mornings at seven thirty—or eight— Bucky pulls out his keys and opens his assigned metal box with a sense of indifference.

It’s eight o’clock on this particular morning, and with a half finished cup of coffee in hand the soldier opens the little metal compartment to find nothing other than stray specks of dust and the tiniest of spiderwebs in the top right corner of the box. It’s a familiar sight, but Bucky has learned not to let it bother him by now. Remember James, it has nothing to do with you, his therapist always said. You have to learn not to take things personally.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Bucky murmurs quietly before finally shutting his mailbox with a sigh. Coffee cup discarded in the nearby trash can, Bucky turns to make his trek towards the elevator only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a beautifully familiar face.

Your name is y/n, you live on the fourth floor, and for someone reason you’re always covered in glitter. You’re on your way out the door, art supplies held clumsily in your grasp just begging to jump free from your hold, and despite the rush you seem to be in you still greet the man with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” you chime, honey coated voice filled with warmth and kindness for the stranger. Bucky simply gives you a halfhearted smile in return, watching you walk out the door and wishing he could just muster up the courage to speak to you.

You won the soldier’s heart the day you knocked on his door to drop off a “welcome to the neighborhood” casserole. It had only been his second day in his new apartment, and while he knew some of the other tenants were weary of the mysterious man with the thousand yard stare who had decided to call the building a home, you never once seemed to bat an eye at Bucky or his closed off nature. He had been a little short with you upon your first meeting, his anxiety coming off as annoyance, but still you wore that same kind smile of yours and assured him that if he ever needed anything you’d be happy to help. You were a kind person with a big heart, and Bucky didn’t want to chance snuffing out one of the few lights left in the world, so he let you be. Admiring you from afar was all he let himself have of you, and that was it.

Though, Bucky would be lying if he said you didn’t come across his mind every once in a while. He wondered what you were like, what music you listened to, how you liked your eggs in the morning, if you were an old soul or young at heart, if you’d ever let yourself fall into in the arms of a broken man and help pick up the pieces. It was a pipe dream, but sometimes a friendly smile from you in the morning was enough to get Bucky through an entire day. He hadn’t been with anyone in years, and while he didn’t think he was ready to get back out on the dating scene just yet he knew that if you asked him to he’d take the plunge in a heartbeat. You were an angel, and Bucky would never be able to bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Monday mornings are workout mornings, but they’re also mornings with you.

Tuesday

On Tuesday afternoons Bucky often finds himself in the company of Yori, ensuring the old man stays out of trouble and going out of his way to make sure his newest friend has a nice day out on the town. It isn’t much, and it never will be, but it’s enough for now, at least until Bucky can find the courage to tell the father just what exactly happened to his son on that fateful night. But until then, sushi for lunch will have to do.

He makes his usual trek to the man’s apartment, stomach already beginning to rumble at the prospect of a nice crunch roll, but Bucky’s hunger is soon replaced with nerves at the sight of the woman standing in Yori’s doorway.

You look pretty today, hair haphazardly styled in your rush out the door this morning, colorful stains of dry paint adoring your hands that clutch a bundle of books close to your chest, and a dangly pair of earrings that glint underneath the sunlight pouring through the hallway windows. There’s a smile on your face as you nod along to something Yori says that doesn’t quite register in the soldier’s jumbled thoughts, and the two of you are both too engrossed to notice his lingering presence standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you so much for lending me these. The kids keep me on my toes and I haven’t had any time to settle down with a good book so these were perfect,” you utter gratefully, handing off the pile of poetry books to Yori’s awaiting hands. Names of authors that Bucky doesn’t recognize catch his eye, just as his friend finally catches his presence.

“Of course. I have more if you’re ever interested,” he says before finally addressing the elephant in the hallway. “James, there you are. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Bucky stiffens at the sound of his name, heat immediately crawling up his neck as you turn to him with a friendly smile. Clearing his throat, he steps forward and musters up a meager grin in return.

“Like I’d ever miss Tuesday lunch,” he jokes, a nervous chuckle falling past his lips.

“I guess I better get going. Thank you again, Yori,” you chime with a grateful smile. Then, with your attention turned to Bucky, “Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Thank you...” he trails quietly, mentally kicking himself for his stiff demeanor and wishing he could be less pathetic in your presence just once. Just once and he’d die a happy man.

You leave with a polite smile, turning down the hallway and out of Bucky’s grasp once again. Yori elbows his side.

“She’s single, you know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky replies with a wry chuckle. “You have me set up with one girl already.”

“Right,” Yori notes thoughtfully with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re going to have a nice time on your date.”

“We’ll see,” is all he says in reply, your smile the only thing on his mind as the two men head out for the day.

Wednesday

Bucky has grown to love rainy days, days in which he can remain tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his own home with a relaxing mug of hot chocolate in one hand and some piece of pop culture media he has yet to catch up with in the other. Today’s pick is a book titled The Outsiders, and Bucky chooses to sit upon the windowsill to read the novel.

Gentle drops of rain trail down the glass window, pattering soothingly in a way that makes Bucky fear he may fall asleep. He sets the book aside with a tired sigh and glances out the window with his warm cheek pressed against the cool surface; the city is quiet and the streets nearly empty, and this makes it easier to spot you.

It’s almost as if you’ve been popping up out of nowhere lately, but Bucky never seems to mind. Watch from afar, that was the deal he made with himself, so who was he to complain if you made the task easier for him? He could never have you the way he wanted to because he doubted you’d ever want an unstable old man like him, and even if you did he’d be no good for you. He knew girls like you back in his day, girls with stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves, girls who’d melt in his arms whenever he so much as smiled at them. And yet you weren’t like any girl he’d ever seen; you were an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to spend all of eternity deciphering the mystery of you. But he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

Despite the gloomy gray skies hanging above you there’s a serene smile on your face as you stop to admire the pots of sunflowers outside the building, reminding Bucky he has to buy some for his date on Saturday. God, he was dreading it. Bucky was sure whatever girl Yori picked for him would be nice enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes wish it were you he’d be taking out for a night on the town. A guy can dream, right?

You retreat into a nearby coffee shop when the rain begins to fall harder, and as Bucky turns to his own warm drink he finds that the mug is now cold. Book discarded, he rises from his spot on the windowsill and drowsily drags himself into the kitchen for another cup.

For a moment he thinks sunflowers might surely bring about his demise, and the passing thought brings the smallest of smiles to his face. Only time will tell.

Thursday

“How are you feeling about your date on Saturday?”

The woman stares at him expectantly, pristine notepad resting casually in her lap, pen in hand as a warning, eyebrows raised at the man as he stares down contemplatively at the stitching of his leather gloves. What should be a comforting environment instead only seems to put him on edge, and as the seconds tick by on the clock hung crookedly above the doorway her pen only seems to get closer to the blank page below her. Shoulders sagging, Bucky can only offer a small sigh in response.

“I can’t say I feel too great about it,” he finally says, the tension in his shoulders alleviating slightly as she finally puts the pen down.

“And why’s that?” Doctor Raynor prods curiously.

“I just don’t really think I’m all that ready for a relationship. What person wants to be with someone as screwed up as me?”

“The right person will,” Christina comforts. Your smiling face flashes briefly in his mind in response and he shifts in discomfort— the doctor notices. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the full story here, James. I suspect there’s something else that’s holding you back. Or maybe someone.”

“That obvious, huh?” Bucky retorts with a wry smile.

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Her name’s y/n,” he says, your name falling past his lips in the softest tone Dr. Raynor has ever heard from him before. “I don’t know her all that well, but she lives in my apartment building so I see her around a lot. She’s... she’s really pretty.”

“Well, what is it about y/n that you like?”

Geez, where do I even begin?

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, picking absently at a loose seam on the end of his shirt, “I guess I like how friendly she is. Every time I see her she’s always smiling, she always says good morning to everyone and lends a hand wherever she can. It’s like she goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m not really used to that but it’s a nice feeling. The first time I met her she never even flinched, she wasn’t scared like other people usually are, and even when I blew her off she still made it clear that I was welcome and if I needed a friend she’d be there. That’s the kind of person she is.”

“Did you take her up on that offer?” The woman asks, but by the look on her face Bucky is sure she already knows the answer.

“No...”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” Christina says firmly, “you have to stop closing yourself off from the people around you. Making a friend could really help you, especially if this girl is truly as nice as you say she is.”

“She is,” he reiterates firmly, “and that’s why I can’t be her friend.”

The doctor’s brows furrow with piqued interest at his admission, legs shifting underneath her as she gets comfortable in preparation for what will most likely be a heavy confession. “Can you elaborate for me?” She says. Bucky sighs.

“After everything that’s happened, and everything the world has been through, it just gets harder and harder to find some sort of light in the dark. So when you finally do find it, it’s like you have to do everything in your power to make sure it never goes out.”

“So y/n is a light?” Raynor reaffirms.

“For so many people,” Bucky nods, “and if I try to put myself in the picture I’ll only bring her down. There’s no future with me, and she deserves better than that.”

“How do you know that if you never put yourself out there?” The doctor asks softly, silently stunned by the heavy confession Bucky has entrusted her with; it’s the most he’s ever opened up before.

Pieces of the past dart through his mind, and in the midst of all the heartache and the chaos he sees Yori, the one friendship he’s been able to successfully maintain since his period of healing. The memory of the man is pleasant for a moment, until Bucky is reminded of the basis of their friendship and how one single confession will tear down everything they’ve built together. It doesn’t matter what kind of man he is now or how much control he has over his own life, the Winter Soldier will always have the final say, and nothing will ever change that. Finally, he speaks.

“I just do.”

Friday

“Crap.”

The softly uttered curse sounds from across the hallway and alerts Bucky of his struggling neighbor’s presence. Purse slipping off your shoulder and heavy groceries spilling from your arms, you struggle to maneuver your key into the lock of your front door all while the heat of embarrassment engulfs your body in a suffocating hold. You’re not as put together as you usually are, your belongings in disarray and eyes full of exhaustion rivaling that of his own, your usually meticulously picked clothing replaced by joggers and an old college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big on you, and yet Bucky still finds himself frozen in your presence.

Don’t just stand there, help her you idiot, his mind screams at him, the soldier harshly swallowing down his nerves before taking shaky steps towards you. An orange slips out of the brown paper bag and rolls towards his feet, and Bucky takes it as his in into a conversation.

“Need some help?” He asks with a crooked smile, one that softens at the look of distress clear in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe out before offering a meager smile of your own. “Some help would be great, thank you.”

Bucky takes the heavier bags of groceries from your aching arms and returns the orange to its rightful place, allowing you the chance to take your keys and unlock the door. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk in, leaving it open as a silent invitation for him to let himself in. Bucky swallows nervously but wordlessly follows behind; he’s never been in a woman’s apartment before, and the fact that it’s yours makes the experience all the more nerve wracking.

Your apartment is small but personalized, decorated with little knickknacks and houseplants and old family portraits that Bucky does his best not to stare at in fear of being rude, and the vanilla scented candle that burns on the coffee table makes him feel all the more welcome. You drop your purse by the couch with a tired sigh before directing your attention to the man who stands awkwardly in your living room. His hulking figure makes your apartment seem tiny, oddly comforting in a way, but you hold back your giggles and merely guide him to your kitchen.

“You can set them on the counter,” you say with a passive wave before reaching into one of the cabinets for a glass cup. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man says politely as he settles the heavy bags down on the marble surface; as much as he’d like to sit and spend the evening with you, he can’t stay long, or more like he won’t allow himself to stay long. Your movements are clumsy as you down your glass of water, and Bucky looks away flustered as little droplets begin to escape the corners of your lips and dribble down your neck. “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but are you alright? You seem a bit... flustered.”

“Is it that obvious?” You joke quietly, your smile barely reaching your eyes as you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins to say in fear of overstepping, but you merely shake your head in response.

“I’m just a little stressed out. The kids always keep me on my toes, especially now that there’s more of them, and it’s been hard trying to get some of them to readjust.”

“Kids?” He repeats with furrowed brows. He can’t recall ever seeing you with any children, and there’s no sign of any living with you in your apartment. A genuine laugh leaves your lips this time at his response and Bucky tenses uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” you explain with a smile, and everything clicks in Bucky’s mind then. That would explain the constant paint stains and trails of glitter left in your wake, the arts and crafts supplies and stacks of drawings you seem to carry with you everywhere. And here he thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger than it already was— were you even real?

“The effects of the blip have been really difficult for them. It’s hard having to come back to school and see that all your old friends are now five grades ahead of you. I know everyone has been impacted in some way by what happened, but it’s harder for the younger ones to understand. I’m doing my best to make the transition back to normalcy easier for them, but some days are harder than others, you know?”

“Sounds rough,” is all Bucky can manage to say, swallowing his emotions back harshly.

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly, rubbing away the clear exhaustion in your eyes, “but I’m trying my best.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You smile then, a genuine smile, one that makes Bucky weak in the knees, and suddenly it’s as if all the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“I really needed to hear that,” you utter softly, “thank you.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky jokes lamely, but you must like his sense of humor for you let out the quietest of giggles.

“You’re sweet. I like talking with you, but I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

“Not really,” he shrugs with a crooked smile, “I just had some errands to run before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask curiously, brows raising with interest as Bucky awkwardly looks down at your hardwood floor.

“I’ve got a date.”

“Huh, no kidding. Me too,” you smile, and in response Bucky’s heart slowly begins to sink to his stomach. Yori had said you were single, but only an idiot would believe that someone like you could stay that way for long. Maybe if he had taken the doctor’s advice sooner he could be the one you’re seeing instead of the lucky guy that beat him to it.

“I should get going... I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again for the help, and good luck on your date,” you say with an encouraging smile. Bucky swallows harshly in response, a look of longing in his eyes that he hides well with a meager quirk of his lips.

“You too,” he murmurs in response, casting you once last glance before showing himself out. The lock clicks behind him, and Bucky trudges back to his own empty apartment.

Saturday

The dining patio of the Italian restaurant is pleasantly empty, but the quiet stillness does little to help soothe Bucky’s nerves as he waits for the arrival of his date. He probably should have asked Yori what she looked like, what her name was and what she’d be wearing so he’d know what to expect, but the old man had been adamant on keeping the identity of his date a surprise.

“It’ll be better that way,” he had said, “trust me.”

The bouquet of sunflowers sits before him on the table almost tauntingly, their bright colors and sweet scent sending his senses into overdrive. He almost resented them, but then he thought of your smiling face through the window and the tension from his shoulders began to dissipate— if you could be strong and put on a brave face despite all the bad things that had happened in the world, then so could he.

“James?” A meek voice calls quietly, pulling the man from his thoughts. His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the woman standing before him and he swallows anxiously.

“Y/n?” Bucky replies, quickly rising from his seat and cringing at the way in which the legs of the chair scrape harshly across the floor with his sudden movements. Here he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, and here you were proving him wrong with your cute little outfit and styled hair and charming smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my date,” you explain with a sheepish smile. Bucky deflates— not only would he have to suffer through his own painfully awkward date, but he’d also have to sit and watch you get swept off your feet by someone else all in the same night.

“Oh... well, who’s the lucky guy?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh, “I think you are.”

“Me?” Bucky repeats flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Yori was the one who said I should try dating again. He thought it would be good for me to spend some time with other adults since I’m always with my students, and when I said I didn’t really know anyone he told me he’d take care of it for me. All he told me was to come to this restaurant Saturday at six and look for the man with sunflowers,” you summarize before gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “and you’re the only one here with sunflowers so...”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Bucky then at the realization, and he isn’t sure whether he should jump for joy or wait for the ground below to swallow him whole. Finally he had a chance to spend time with the girl who had taken over his thoughts and occupied every available space in his heart, and yet he couldn’t help but feel terrified. A date was a big step up from neighborly conversation in your apartment, and all of Bucky’s hopes of developing something more with you were riding on this one date. Yori knew exactly what he was doing by setting the two of you up, and Bucky had no choice but to be grateful for the man who had bestowed upon him the chance to finally win you over.

“If this is too awkward for you we can just skip this whole date—“

“No, it’s not awkward at all,” Bucky is quick to interject. “I mean, this whole thing is certainly a surprise but it’s a good one. It’s an honor to be your blind date.”

He flashes a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, and he knows then that he’s back in the game— who would have guessed he’d be able to dust off his old moves with such ease? He had to if he wanted any kind of chance at winning you over.

“In that case, why don’t we get out of here? This restaurant is a little stuffy,” you note with a small chuckle, your nerves slowly beginning to dwindle.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?”

The nightlife atmosphere of the plaza square is surprisingly much more comfortable compared to the dining patio, and Bucky considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to witness firsthand the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the light of the starry sky. A nighttime stroll is right up Bucky’s alley, and you both fall into a comfortable step as you talk about whatever topic seems to come to mind. You speak of your students, about how much their smiling little faces have helped you get through the toughest times, how there’s a stray cat who calls the dumpsters behind your apartment building a home and waits for your arrival on trash days because you always bring the feline a special treat. Alpine, you had named it, and Bucky adored that greatly.

The details are vague but you enjoy the stories he tells you of his childhood and the way his whole face seems to light up at the mere mention of his mother and sister; that look dwindles slightly when he speaks of his old best friend, but you pretend not to notice. As a younger man Bucky worked at the docks before serving time in the army, though he fails to mention where he’d been stationed, and now he works for the government. You feel almost giddy to be learning so much about the man you once believed would rather prefer solitude over your company, and as the night drags on and the conversation begins to dwindle you almost wish you could reverse the clock and do it all over again.

“Thank you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, prompting you to halt your steps and raise a brow curiously at your counterpart.

"What for?"

“Taking a chance on a guy like me,” he smiles faintly while offering you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything like this in a while, and the idea of putting myself back out there scared me shitless, but you just make things so much easier. I guess what I’m trying to say is when I’m with you everything comes naturally, and I really appreciate that.”

“Oh,” you utter softly, a sheepish smile of your own gracing your lips as you turn away to admire the scenery around you. It isn’t until now that you notice you’ve stopped before the fountain, the arches of water flowing overhead illuminated by the fluorescent lights below them. A nervous fluttering occupies your stomach and when you finally meet Bucky’s gaze you feel as if nothing else in the entire world mattress other than the two of you in this moment. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of in the same boat, so that just means we can figure this out as we go. Together.”

“I like that,” Bucky affirms with a nod, a look that can only be described as lovestruck taking over his features. Nerves overcome you then as you clutch your bouquet of flowers to your chest, heart thrumming rapidly in your rib cage as Bucky steps closer. The glove that had once shielded his right hand from the cold is now missing as he gently cups your cheek and encompasses you with his warmth. His palm is calloused and rough but comforting all the same, and it takes everything in your power not to melt like putty in his grasp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs quietly as if raising his voice any higher will ruin the moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, swallowing back your nerves, “it’s okay.”

Your softly uttered words of confirmation are all Bucky needs to hear before dipping down and gently brushing his lips against your own. His movements are hesitant for only a moment, and it is only once he’s sure you are comfortable and secure that he moves in for more. Your lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and so sweet, and as your eyes begin to flutter shut and the forgotten sunflowers slip out of your grasp you drape your arms securely across his shoulders at the same moment in which his left hand joins his right in cupping your face as if you were a precious jewel in need of the upmost care.

Nothing exists when you are in each other’s arms, you are safe and sound in your own little world, and as you part to take a breath Bucky realizes then that one kiss is all he needs to know that you are the one he’s been waiting for all his life.

And by god, if you aren’t more than worth the wait.

479 notes · View notes

youarejesting · 3 years

Text

Hope in the sheets.10

[Masterlist]

Beta: N/A Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers, Words: 5k

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things.

What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Implied sex, pregnancy, implied reader has baby.

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

Hoseok and the others were eventually led into the birthing suite; the entire place had been cleaned and only the bare minimum of staff stayed behind. They were sorting out equipment and monitoring your current state. When his eyes landed on yours he felt emotions bloom in his chest. There you were laying in the bed, a small bundle of soft blankets nestled delicately in your arms. You had showered and dressed in a nightdress that had been packed in your hospital bag.

Hoseok’s lip curled. He was trying to hold his expression, giving you a forced smile before he broke out into tears. Holding your free arm out to him, he stumbled into your embrace kissing your forehead and telling you how much he loved you.

His words were broken by the force of each sob. “Are you going to hold her, or do we have to hold you?” Yoongi playfully teased. Hoseok wiped his eyes taking a few shakey deep breaths trying to calm his emotions.

When you moved the blanket to show your daughter laying gently against your chest, he was a mess once more. “Hobi, you want to hold her?”

“I can hold her?” He hadn’t even thought that far ahead. He could hold this baby, his daughter, he could hold her in his arms and she was real.

“Of course you can hold her.” You laughed, reaching up to wipe his tears away. Hoseok remembered everything he was taught from the birthing classes, practically reciting them out loud. You placed his daughter in his arms and his bottom lip fell.

Tears were his automatic response. There was nothing else, this miracle, this symbol of his love for you, his best and longest friend. This was his child, his flesh and blood and he couldn’t thank you enough for giving him such a gift.

“You have to stop crying Hobi, we need a nice picture for your family.” You smiled and he tilted his head back sniffing.

“I love you so much, and I love her, I just can’t stop crying.” The words broke again Hoseok turned to show off his daughter to his friends. They were some of the people he was closest to and when he looked at them they were all crying. Jungkook’s wet cheeks and red nose, Jimin’s sweet puffy eyes bubbling with tears, even Yoongi let out a stray sniff.

By far it was a sight to see big burly Namjoon openly weeping like Hoseok and cooing over how precious she was.

“Look how little she is,” Namjoon whimpered

“Her hands are so tiny too,” Hoseok said back. The two were just making it worse for each other, a back and forth of doting comments of your newborn each statement causing a fresh cycle of tears.

The nurse who had been checking your vitals waiting to take you back to the ward rolled her eyes. “I have seen some sappy fathers but you brought a whole troop.”

“Gentleman it’s time to let mum and her baby get some sleep, the father can come back tomorrow morning any other guests can come two at a time during visiting hours.” She ushered the other six males from the room, Hoseok kissed you his cheeks were wet.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Get some sleep Hobi, get the house ready. If all goes well I will be out of the hospital soon.” The nurse took your daughter from Hoseok’s arms.

“Wait, can I give her a kiss?” You whispered. The nurse nodded bringing your daughter over allowing you to kiss her goodnight before she was wheeled down to the nursery.

“Are you ready to go back to the ward? You should get some sleep. Your body will be exhausted. We will bring the child in when she is hungry.”

“Okay Hobi, I have to go rest now you head home and make the house all ready for when we come home okay.” You waved goodbye to him and watched as Jimin took his hand leading him from the room. He seemed reluctant to take his eyes off of you, his hand coming to lay flat under his heart.

You touched your collar bone watching him mouth the words 'baseline'. It was like everything you ever wanted but such a weird and obscure way you got there. You wanted to be with Hoseok and cherish him and be loved in return, but you never thought you would get there by completely derailing your relationship and almost ruining your life.

It was like you had to destroy what you had to build something better. It seems counterproductive and a step in the wrong direction but somehow you were able to shape the rubble of your friendship into a relationship stronger than before.

You love Hoseok with all your heart and he only has eyes for you. It seems you were both delusional to believe that you weren’t in love. Everyone could see it except the two of you and now it was painfully obvious.

Being a mother was kind of a shock. Scared when you woke up to cramps, only to remember you had already given birth, you were also woken throughout the night to feed your daughter. A part of you worried about taking care of someone, the responsibility setting in as being a mother was a full-time job.

“You are doing wonderful.” The nurse gave you some pain killers for your cramps, your uterus was slowly shrinking back to its regular size and you were uncomfortable. “Would you like me to get you anything?”

“I would love something to drink.” Voice hoarse from sleep, she nodded before setting off for you. You sat up watching the sunrise, your daughter sleeping soundly on the bed in front of you. She was so precious. Even with closed eyes she still wiggled and stretched her hands out to the warm glowing orb.

“Seonhee, do you like that name?” You whispered, taking out a small outfit: a white onesie with sunflowers and bright yellow footed pants with soft yellow ruffles on the butt. “Jung Seonhee.”

“Ah, is that her name?” The nurse smiled, placing some apple juice and water on the small bedside table. She sanitized her hands and began helping you with the baby's clothes and diaper, bagging the old clothes and disposing of the soiled diaper. She smiled down at the little girl in her bright outfit. “I think it suits her, Seonhee”

The doctor came by on her round, her hair pulled into a tight bun and her scrubs pastel blue with stalks. “You are looking better, how are you feeling?” There was no messing around, she was straight to business, checking for any concerns or pain. Your stomach was being palpated while she brought up things to look out for. “Ultimately if anything happens that you are unsure about, even if it is something silly like, should I have coffee while breastfeeding, call this number here, they are a great service and they will help you.”

“Thank you so much.” Taking the card you were handed and a little care package from the hospital, the nurse placed the card into the baby book which had accompanied you throughout pregnancy and after. “Am I okay to go home today?”

“You are all clear. Let us know what time you want to leave and we can have all the paperwork ready.” Pausing in the doorway, a young nurse almost bumping into her, she spun around, her coat swishing with her. “After giving birth a lot of women become a little moody, fatigued, or cry. This is totally normal as your hormones will be dropping back to a normal level. It is perfectly normal to feel these things during this time.”

“Ah, that’s good to know.” You replied while searching through the care package, glancing at some of the booklets and information sheets. There was a number for a community service where mothers take their babies to be weighed and receive checkups. The nurses had few information sessions on feeding techniques and developmental leaps.

Looking forward to being a part of a group of new mothers, you knew you would have a lot of questions eventually. It would be nice to know if other mothers have similar concerns or effective tips for any future problems.

Hoseok arrived with a big smile, kissing you sweetly before heading over to scoop up his daughter. “Wait Hobi,” you stopped him, “I need to talk to you before you get all teary-eyed again.”

“Okay,” serious expression on his face he gave you all his attention.

“We need to agree on her name and sign the birth certificate.” The smile returned to his face, the twinkle in his eyes never dwindling since the moment he stepped into the room. “I like the name 선희 (Seonhee) written as 善 meaning Good or nice and 希 as in Hope”

Hoseok watched you write an example on a scrap piece of paper, and began nodding enthusiastically. Hands shaking the two of you eyed one another passing secret smiles, the taste of giggles on the tip of your tongue. Once the document was completed Hoseok’s hand swooped up into your hair, cradling your nape as he kissed you.

Neither lazy nor heated, the kiss was full and romantic, his lips telling a story against yours. The world stopped and only Hoseok existed. Until a shrill cry broke through the silence and the two of you apart. The cry brought with it the sound of machines and nurses walking down the hall.

“You want to go home,” Hoseok raced around the hospital bed towards your daughter, wiggling in the tiny hospital portable bassinet. His style was honestly amusing. Strips of fabric hanging from a graffitied shirt with a cargo jacket and sneakers. Strange to see him holding a baby but you loved it so much.

Just because you were parents didn’t mean you had to get rid of everything you love. Sure you had to grow up and it was extreme. The transition you made while pregnant felt like your life was ending. That you would live to serve a tiny being. But seeing Hoseok still smiling the same, still wearing the same street hip hop style reassured you that you still had a life outside of being a mother and that would never change.

Of course, the two of you probably wouldn’t club anymore. It would be unfair if either of you went out without the other and unfair on your daughter if you were not there for her. Not to mention the cost of babysitting and the trust you would need in order to leave Seonhee with someone who wasn’t you or Hoseok.

Hoseok helped you with your bags packing the car, he had borrowed Jin’s for a smoother drive. Always thoughtful even on the littlest details. Sitting by the baby's car seat while Hoseok drove you home apologizing for every speed bump and every turn.

“Hoseok, I would like to go home before it is dark. You don’t have to drive that slow.” You laughed, he was being so serious like a knight or warrior preparing for battle to protect those he loves. In the reflection of the rearview mirror, you saw his lips twitch in amusement, the sun shining on his shaggy hair. “I love you.”

“Babe,” He whined, “you can’t say that when I am driving, I want to kiss you and then we really won’t get home before dark.”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours in the mirror before concentrating diligently once more on the road. He was singing softly to the radio as he crossed town, you must have fallen asleep as you were woken by his sweet laugh and some kisses on your cheek.

“We are home Lil darling.”

Breathing deeply trying to clear your head from your nap, as the fog in your mind disappeared your hands were secured in Hoseok’s as he helped you out of the car. Standing patiently for your body to catch up, the tender sensations in your stomach leaving you stiff.

“Seonhee, time to see your new home.” Hoseok scooped up the infant holding her to his chest as if it was the most natural thing like he had several years of experience. As opposed to this child being his firstborn. He took the soft yellow muslin wrap and covered her protecting her eyes from the afternoon sun.

Opening the door, you weren’t surprised, (mostly because you had spotted their cars on the curb) to see the boys sitting on your couch equally as excited to see you as they had been the day before in the birthing suite. Hoseok was placing your bag on the table when Seonhee started crying.

“Hey, sweetheart what’s wrong?” Hoseok patted her bottom to a steady rhythm hoping it would lull her back to sleep. Her crying continued and you felt your shirt grow damp, taking a seat you held out your hands for your daughter and nursed her while the boys kept their eyes firm on one another to respect your privacy.

“Are you drinking or are you sleeping?” You giggled at your daughter who was milk drunk. Burping her gently she wiggled releasing a few loud burps and spitting up a little onto the back of your hand and the small burp cloth you had been holding to her clothes.

“Let me take her while you clean up.” Yoongi smiled, scooping up your daughter, holding her so her head was supported, her arms and legs draped over either side of his arm. His other hand rubbed and patted her back gently as he swayed.

“You look like a squashed pie.” He smiled cheekily talking to the baby in his arms. “Cute bow shape lip from your mum, and your nose is very cute like Hoseok’s.”

“How dare you call her a squashed pie.” Namjoon tried to defend but when Yoongi turned he showed the infant, her cheek squished up against his arm, her drool slowly seeping between parted lips. “Okay, maybe a little but she is also adorable.”

“All babies look like aliens when they are born,” you grinned.

“But do you love her, more than anything else in the world?” Jungkook giggled trying to make small talk while also projecting his newfound love for such a tiny being.

“We just met, I need some time to get to know her some more.” You joke playfully curled up on the couch Seokjin handing you some dinner and a cup of tea while the boys took turns meeting your daughter.

“It says in the paperwork she can have a bath tomorrow, and that her first poo might be really yucky.” Hoseok read the take-home leaflets from the hospital and constantly checked on his two girls making sure they were both safe and sound.

“Put her in outfits you don’t care if they get destroyed,” Yoongi was singing something to the child. It was low and rough. He was talking about dreams, freestyling about how your daughter didn’t need to go to university and that she didn’t have to know everything right at this moment.

Placing the little girl into Jimin’s waiting arms. His eyes sparkled and his lip dropped as he turned soft for the little girl.

“Hello, I am Uncle Jimin and I am going to spoil you so much.” His sweet voice gasped. He practically wiggled on the spot when she brought her fists up to her closed eyes and yawned. Taehyung was quietly snapping photos, careful not to use the flash as he didn’t want to hurt the baby's sensitive eyes, even while they were closed. He assured you, that he would get photos of everyone holding Seonhee. He had already captured Yoongi and was taking a few extra of Jimin with the small bundle.

It was honestly nice to see them all so supportive and there for your daughter. Images in your mind blooming of her first Christmas and birthday and all that would follow. Namjoon would buy her a green bike with flowers and tassels on the handles and Yoongi, helping assemble it before she woke up, attaching the training wheels for her safety.

Learning how to wrap people around her finger from her Uncle Jimin and then using it against them. She would be a dancer like her father and would light up the room. You could see her performing on a stage with the eight of you waiting with flowers to throw on stage. Maybe she wouldn’t win the first prize at her first show but they would still take her out for pizza and celebrate. Her skills would improve and the day she wins the trophy she would be lifted onto Seokjin’s shoulders.

Not noticing you had started crying until Namjoon pulled you into a hug. “Hey what’s got you so upset.”

“No, I am not upset, I was told that as my hormones go back to normal, I might cry and be more tired and moody and upset and I just,” Sniffing Jungkook handed over some tissues and hugging your back. The newer of the group Taehyung and Jungkook had just fit perfectly into the group, it was like they were always meant to be.

“Hey love,” Hoseok said, coming over to kneel at your feet holding your knees softly. "Tell me what made you so upset."

“I was thinking about her first Christmas and her first birthday and how you would all be here and she would be loved and…” Taking a sniff and pushing the tears from your eyes you looked up at them seriously. “You can never leave now, we are going to be one big family. I hope you know you are now each my daughter's uncles and therefore responsible to attend events. If you didn’t want to be a part of the family, I am sorry you are now my family.”

More tears shook your form. “You're the only family I have, I wasn’t exactly disowned more than I left when my mother told me not to have my sweet daughter. My precious baby deserves a big happy family and so I am sorry you are stuck with me.

“And don’t even think you are getting out of it.” You pointed at Taehyung and Jungkook, “You are my family now. Seonhee needs lots of uncles to protect her.”

“We aren’t leaving,” Seokjin grinned, taking a turn holding the wiggling bundle, smiling for a picture, and looking at her. “She will be a heartbreaker.”

The first couple of weeks were a learning curve filled with broken sleep, reheated meals courtesy of Seokjin, and constant fatigue looming over your head. Jimin appeared one-afternoon Taehyung, Namjoon and Yoongi apprehended your daughter. Settling her into a baby carrier strapped to Namjoon’s chest. The thick bodyguard looked a little silly with a tiny child nestled against his pecs.

Seonhee was wearing a new outfit from her uncle Jimin. It was a sweet-footed onesie with bear ears warm enough for a day out in the park. Kicked out of the house by Jimin who stressed how much you needed a break. Hoseok was at work while you were still on leave which meant you took the larger portion of the home and baby duties.

Mostly because you were at home all day, but also not wanting to interfere with his sleep schedule seeing as he was going to an actual job that needed proper attention. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation from Jimin as he dragged you into the bathroom and started the bath filling it with a generous amount of bubble bath. It was the sleepy-time product you had chosen for your baby, emitting a soft lavender scent.

“You relax and I will wash your hair.” He smiled and he massaged your scalp to help relieve any tension, after washing out all your hair products he took your skincare products letting you lay in the bubbles as he pampered you. “You are such a good mum, you are doing amazing.”

“I hope so,” you yawned.

You stepped out of the tub, quickly wrapping yourself into the fluffy robe you hadn’t used in a while. Then sat down on your bed whilst Jimin dried and styled your hair. The others had returned, poking their heads into the room and smiling at your new refreshed look. You quickly fed your daughter while Jimin braided your hair securely.

“You rest okay, we will watch her until Hoseok comes home. Don’t worry we will come to you if we are unsure about anything and for food times.” Yoongi said playing some soft tranquil music on the small speaker by your bed.

It seemed pointless. Laying there believing it impossible to fall asleep. As you walked past the clock reading half-past one, your stomach rumbled in a gentle protest. Before you could even think of the food you wanted to get dressed, pulling on a white crop top and a baggy overall dress. Something easy to breastfeed in. It was definitely time as your breasts were heavier with milk.

Walking out you poured yourself a glass of juice and scooped up your fussing daughter, stomach growling again. Yoongi stood up marching into the kitchen, rapidly chopping ingredients. Soon the house was filled with a savory aroma and the glorious sound of oil sizzling.

Hoseok was having his first afternoon with Seonhee. You were going for a checkup. Jungkook was free and agreed to accompany you to your appointment, he almost paled when he saw the equipment on the table for your checkup. It made for a good laugh and endless teasing during your small coffee date afterward.

Jungkook’s phone buzzed and he grinned texting back quickly. “Ooh, what or who is making you smile so big?”

“Uh, I just got a funny text from Namjoon. Apparently, Hoseok asked for company so Namjoon and Yoongi stopped by the house after their errands.” He laughed, nose scrunching showing off his front teeth. “And well, your daughter may have accidentally had a poo explosion. So far from the pictures I have seen, Yoongi and Hoseok are covered in it. And while trying to help Namjoon dropped a whole bottle of baby powder and they are vacuuming the carpet.”

“Jimin and Taehyung agreed to pick up some more and I have been asked to keep you busy,” Your smile growing the more you heard, of course, they would make a mess on your first day out. Expecting something chaotic to happen but never something as funny as this.

“I am just glad it is something like this and not that someone is sick or hurt,” You smiled while eating a strawberry cheesecake and sipping coffee. Not making any move of leaving early and relieving them of their duty. It was a right of passage and showed just how much you trusted them. Hearing that something happened and not jumping to take over.

“They said not to tell you, but how could I not?” Jungkook turned his phone showing you some photos worthy of scrapbooking, the kind you would take out for Seonhee’s twenty-first and a story she would get sick of hearing at every family gathering. “Look at them.”

“Well while they are busy, how about we go grocery shopping? I think perhaps we can make something delicious for dinner,” Standing and collecting your jacket from your chair, and leading the way. Jungkook followed listening to your concerns about your weight and figure, he assured you how good you were looking and even offered to personally train you at 21, the gym.

Seonhee was growing steadily. Each milestone leading into the next, she would roll over and had started to crawl. Finding herself putting things she shouldn’t in her mouth. Going back to work was hard for the first few days, leaving Seonhee at the daycare was easy but she became more clingy when she came home. It was her way of coping with the separation that came with daycare and full-time work but eventually, Seonhee got into a routine.

Understanding that her parents were always coming back made everything in the house run a lot smoother. She had a small handful of sounds, mostly eomma, appa.

Work was a lot more tolerable and dare you to say fun. Jimin had quit his sugar baby gig and joined the company working alongside you. Sure he had broken a few hearts by canceling his service but he was happier. He never explicitly said it but you believed he was trying to be more independent and above everything else make himself more approachable to Taehyung.

Taehyung however left for a while, he had been away working with a few celebrities and luxury brands, photographing concepts, photos, and more. He had been pushing and working harder and harder as the days passed until he traveled away for his latest project.

It was a little sad that they weren’t together but you could see the longing in Jimin’s eyes whenever he replayed Taehyung’s Instagram story. Dragging him from his desk to have lunch together and distract him from the thoughts spinning around in his head.

December marked eleven months since Seonhee was born. Cruising against the couch and cabinets opening things she shouldn’t. You had invested in baby locks and a small playpen. Neither really did much as she knew how to push the whole contraption across carpet and tiles to get into things.

Mostly she would follow you to the kitchen hoping to get teething biscuits or any other treats her father would sneak her. He was never able to say no and you often found them sneaking snacks together where he would give you his big eyes and pouty lips claiming that she deserved a snack.

Christmas had your house filled to the brim with presents and boys, Seokjin was cooking in the kitchen with Yoongi’s help while Jimin and Jungkook were playing with Seonhee. Hoseok was helping Namjoon into a Santa costume in the backyard. No one had heard from Taehyung. You assumed he was busy with work and that he would be unable to make it.

There was a knock and Jungkook raced to answer it and laughed, “Finally, I thought you were skipping out on the family Christmas.”

“I wouldn’t skip out on the family Christmas, you are my favorite family,” Taehyung said handing over a suitcase to Jungkook and carrying in some bags of wrapped gifts, placing them under the tree. “Look at you, you have gotten so big!”

Namjoon Santa came in and delivered gifts and ran off getting changed only to come back and watch the gift unwrapping. Jungkook went to collect the two eldest from the kitchen, pushing Seokjin before dragging Yoongi out the two stopping in the archway.

“Hey, you are under the mistletoe!” Jimin giggled, proud that his trap had worked, he was hoping that some people would get stuck under it. “You are going to have to kiss.”

“We don’t have to, we are watching Seonhee open her gifts,” Jungkook said only to be grabbed by Yoongi who kissed the younger male and pulled away.

“Satisfied.” Yoongi turned back to the young girl opening her presents, Namjoon got her some picture books and a few educational toys. Seokjin had wrapped a small toy kitchen that was her size. Yoongi brought her to everyone’s surprise a little clam pool and some plastic toys to play with.

Jimin brought her a whole lot of princess dresses, tiaras, and fairy wings. Jungkook got her a cozy coupe red and yellow plastic car that she could push around with her legs. Taehyung handed her the small gift bag and inside was a night light that made the roof look like a galaxy and played soft music.

After Seonhee’s gifts from the boys, Hoseok brought out a box. He was struggling with it but when he opened it out popped a little dog who began licking her cheeks and wagging his tail intensely amongst the large group. “His name is Mickey.” Hoseok grinned watching Taehyung taking pictures and smiling fondly as she giggled.

Other gifts were exchanged, the most notable was Seokjin giving everyone matching sweaters with his face on it, and Taehyung’s gift to Jimin. It was a small bag and inside was the signature Tiffany blue colored box.

“You didn’t have to,” Jimin said softly and Taehyung smiled.

“I told myself I would support you, and I know you didn’t want to be treated like a sugar baby, I just told myself that I wouldn’t allow myself to date until I got you those earrings you really wanted. I wanted to give you something you could be proud of.” Taehyung explained, “And it was so hard to resist you when you kept inviting me over.”

Opening the box Jimin saw the earrings he had once mentioned ages back, the exact earrings Taehyung had handmade for him. “Now you can get rid of the ones I made you, they look horrible compared to these.

“I still love the ones you made and I will keep them forever.”

“I won’t treat you like a sugar baby anymore, I wanted to ask if maybe you wanted to go on a date.”

“Well, these earrings will get you about five dates.” Jimin giggled cheekily

“Five I thought for sure it would be five and a half?”

“Five and a free butt grab?”

“Deal!”

The nine of you were walking through the kid's attractions at the theme park seeing some familiar faces, you were having lunch when some music started playing. It was the theme park's dance parade and Hoseok was dragged into the dance by Taeyong.

You were giggling when WinWin dragged you up dancing with you and turned to see Hoseok on one knee, a ring box opened in his hands. You felt your chest about to explode as you tackled him to the ground sobbing in his chest. “Hoseok really, you mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it, I have loved you for years.”

“I love you so much, hell freaking yes put that ring on me, quick quick.” You kissed his face nonstop giggling between your tears. He was finally able to get the ring onto the designated finger standing and pulling you onto your feet. He kissed you passionately, you pulled back burying your face in his chest squealing.

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xmint-conditionx · 3 years

Text

art on exhibit | myg + jhs feat. knj

pairing: sugardaddy!hoseok x fem!reader, ceo!yoongi x fem!reader, brat!reader, sub!reader, dom!hoseok, dom!yoongi w/c: 5k but i feel like it should be so much longer for some reason smh summary: you and your sugar daddy, hoseok, are big fans of exhibitionism, but this is the craziest you’ve ever taken it. most of his prestigious party guests are jumping to get to get their hands on you. will you be able to handle it? tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism, remote controlled vibrator, almost reaching limits, spanking, marking, biting, ball gag, degradation (slut), praise, punishment, crying, light oral (f recieving), public humiliation, rope play, shibari, suspension, almost like being pimped out but u like it?, open relationship, hoseok is sort of protective tho, overstimulation, subspace, the orgasm nearly kills you, this one is real nasty, namjoon is just a guest appearance tbh but maybe later he doesn't have to be???

a/n: this thing has given me so much trouble by not appearing in tags. it didn't the first time i posted it on the old blog, and it hasn't been showing up this time either, so please feel free to give this one some extra love. also, honestly, i was sitting on this idea for a long! time! before i actually wrote it out. if i was spaced out in my last class of the day, i was probably thinking about this. i am almost proud and almost ashamed to share this with you all, lmao cause it's honestly a huge fantasy of mine. i’ve been really wanting to do a sugardaddy!hoseok thing for a while, and if you guys like this, then i think i can add more to the story. alright, y’all stay nasty. enjoy!

The ropes dig into the skin of your thighs ever so gently, and you close your eyes to listen to the din of the party that surrounds you. Guests only arrived 30 minutes ago, and you’re already dripping wet. This isn’t the first time you and Hoseok have done exhibitionism, but this is the farthest it’s ever been taken. Men and women in their best black tie attire surround you, glasses of his most expensive champagne in their hands. Not all of them are looking at you; some are too bashful to acknowledge your existence. Some only sneak glances when they think nobody else is looking. Few have come up and examined your entire naked frame, suspended from Hoseok’s ceiling in the middle of his entertainment space.

They’re examining you as if you were a piece of fine art; just another pretty and peculiar object that Hoseok has collected. You’re placed among some of his other art pieces - some Pollocks, some Dalis, some Picassos, and one O’Keefe - and somehow, you feel like you fit. That’s what Hoseok had said anyway. That since you were one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his life, he wanted to feature you as the work of art you are. He chose to display you in his favorite way.

Red shibari rope surrounds each of your legs like a cage before confining your hands behind your back. The rope trails over your torso and is twisted and knotted around your exposed breasts, but not tightly. Just enough to accentuate your natural shape. Your legs are tied so that they remain apart, one held higher than the other to leave you fully exposed. Your stomach is facing the floor, but not entirely; Hoseok has tied you so that you’re almost lounging comfortably there, suspended in midair. The lines of rope flow with the form of your body, and even though all of your weight is pressed down onto them, the ropes are the soft and luxurious kind - no doubt expensive - that make you feel as though you could be floating instead.

Just then, your attention is jolted to your cunt, where his favorite black remote control vibrator has just been triggered. You clench around it, and your moan is muffled by the ball gag that is secured over your lips. When you open your eyes, he is standing solidly in front of you.

His black button up shirt and jacket combination is draped over his shoulders beautifully, and his shiny brown hair is parted in the middle. He looks incredible. Radiant. Sinful.

“You looked bored,” he says with a little smirk as he continues to let the vibrator run inside of you, “and we can’t have that… Perhaps I should turn it up.”

He twists a small knob on the remote and the vibrations steadily rise in frequency until they’re as high as they can go. A semblance of a scream escapes your lips behind the gag. You begin rocketing toward climax, but Hoseok knows you and your body too well. Just as you begin to feel the tingles spread over your body, he shuts it off, and your muscles immediately go lax from being tensed up and ready to come.

He laughs softly as you pant, and then takes a quick look around the room.

“You seem to have gathered some attention. That’s my good girl.”

Without another word, he pockets the remote, and you watch how his ringed fingers delicately pick up a flute of champagne from one of the server’s tray tables. Then he simply walks away. His immaculately shiny black shoes gently thud on the marble floor as he makes his way through the crowd, to presumably some other obscenely rich friend of his.

You feel a small amount of saliva about to peak over your bottom lip. You’ve been good about swallowing everything but it seems your denied orgasm has made you forgetful. Moments later, a small thread of your own spit runs out of your mouth and onto the floor. You know that you have been dripping from the other end too, and you wonder if any of the guests have just seen you drool on yourself.

As if to answer, Hoseok comes back from behind you and grabs you by the jaw. His face lights up when he confirms that you have made a mess of yourself. He turns to one of his guests and speaks.

“See, Namjoon?” he says, tilting your head up toward his guest so that he can see, “She’s incredible.”

You meet eyes with the guest, and put on your best innocent look. You love how a blush starts to creep up into his cheeks, and how his pillowy lips part slightly. Even though you’re bound from head to toe and easily the poorest person here, you feel like you’re the most powerful person in the room. The guest clears his throat and turns his attention back to Hoseok.

“How much was your price?” he asks.

Hoseok looks down at you, and a smirk begins to form on his plush lips.

“1,000 US Dollars. Per second,” he says, “Which charity will it be, then?”

You’d been the one to come up with the idea for the proceeds from the charity fundraiser to be benefitted by getting to control the vibrator. Hoseok loved it.

“Your education charity,” he says, “and I’ll take 30 seconds.”

Hoseok nods, “Do you want to go ahead and write the check now or do you want me to keep a tab running and let you know at the end of the evening?”

The tall man considers this, and looks back at you for a moment before answering, “keep it open, will you?”

“Alright, Mr. Kim. All yours,” Hoseok says as he fishes out the device from his suit pocket before turning to you, “Be good, you hear me? Don’t come until you have been given permission by either Mr. Kim or myself. Understood?”

You nod frantically as you watch the remote being transferred from Hoseok’s hands to Namjoon’s. The earlier flustered man turned more confident once he held the little black fob in his palm - quite a large palm now that you look at it closely. It would look so nice trailing up your thigh, you think. You look up at Namjoon and convey a pleading look, one that silently asks for mercy.

He does not give it.

With a small grin, he turns on the vibrator, and you scream (or try to) at the suddenness of the sensation. He spends his entire 30 seconds with the device in your pussy at full speed, and you can’t hold back your groaning. You clench around the bullet, and when his time is up, you feel beads of sweat starting to form on your brow from the exertion. You’re left a panting mess in front of him, Hoseok, and every other guest that has turned to watch you squirm.

Namjoon’s satisfied smile and nod encourages others in the room to have a turn. Before long, you see a few more guests make their way over to where you are hanging. This time it is a group of women.

“Hye-jin!” Namjoon exclaims, before he hugs the woman and offers a short to the three others that come over with her. She’s dressed in the most beautiful black form fitting dress you’ve ever seen. Her hourglass figure sways captivatingly in the gown, and you’re momentarily mesmerized by her figure. You look up at her and she’s smirking down at you; you were too distracted at the way the large jewels on her necklace fell over her collarbones to realize that they were already discussing you.

“I should have known it would be you to break the ice,” she says playfully to Namjoon, who just presses his lips together in resignation as he puts his hand to the back of his neck.

“How’s the comeback?” he asks casually, as if there isn’t a fully naked and exposed woman suspended in front of him. His ability to be so casual while you’re at the edge of your sanity shoots a ping of arousal through your body. You shiver slightly, and you catch Hoseok looking at you out of the corner of his eyes. He’d never admit it, but he cares about you a lot. You can tell he’s checking to make sure you aren’t getting ready to start snapping your fingers- the safe action you’d both agreed on to release you from the ropes and send you into his master suite. Even when he had walked over to find Namjoon, you know even then he wasn’t out of sight or earshot from you.

He had a clean and plush robe stowed away in the closet nearby, and was always ready to release you should you want to be. You’d worked together before the event to set up a space in his suite to go should you need to retire for the evening, and you caught him setting a hoodie of his on the side of the bed where you typically sleep. You’d always playfully taken them, either to flirt or to wear it (and only it) to encourage a round two. But he had never deliberately set one of them aside for your use. He knows you won’t be using it to flirt or to rouse him into more sex, so his little efforts to bring you as much comfort as possible had set alight something in your heart.

He really did take pride in taking good care of you. As a good sugar daddy should.

You’re yanked back to reality when the vibrator starts up again. You clench around it and feel a gush of wetness surge out at the sensation of it going at full blast. Just when you become used to the speed and lower your whining, you open your eyes to see the woman holding the remote this time, grinning down at you with full lips. She meets your gaze and turns it up all the way, which makes you tense up every last one of your muscles. The woman next to her with long, light hair and a wicked gaze, whispers something to her while eyeing you up and down. It then occurs to you that you weren’t paying attention and don’t know how much time she purchased.

As the seconds tick by, they feel like hours. With the device at full speed, you feel yourself closing in on a climax, and so you squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for the orgasm that is about to rip through your body…

She turns it down to the lowest setting and watches as you groan at the second denial crushes you. More saliva drips down your chin as she switches it off, leaving you with only the beads of sweat that cling to your skin.

“Thank you, Hoseok. Worth every penny,” Hye-jin says, handing the remote back to him.

Hoseok beams his thousand-watt smile at her, and congratulates her on both the success of Maria, her solo album, and then thanks her for her donation.

She thanks him in return, and both women walk back into the crowd. Namjoon has also gone, which just leaves you with Hoseok again. His eyes meet yours for a moment, and you see a fire in them that you’ve never seen before. You’re dangling about waist height, and you can’t help but to look down from his face to try to see if you can make out a bulge. You don’t get time to really look, because as soon as you break eye contact, he moves to your back and smacks your ass cheek hard. A loud thwack echoes throughout the large space, over the din of the partygoers. You inhale sharply at the sting, and let your breath back out in a long groan, drawing the attention of more guests. You knew that the champagne would loosen inhibitions eventually.

You hear the footsteps of a couple other guests walking toward you from behind where Hoseok stands. You crane your head to try to see over your shoulder, but they stand just out of your peripheral vision. They’re talking in low voices, and you can’t make out what they’re saying. You wish you could swing yourself around and look at them, but knowing that the only thing they can see of you is your dripping cunt, you’re not so mad.

You feel a hand on your thigh, a touch you’re familiar with. You know it’s Hoseok’s hand, as he gently trails up your inner thigh, purposefully teasing you. An involuntary shiver runs through your body and you can’t help but to whimper slightly. You hear a man’s chuckle, and then he’s speaking, again too low for you to hear.

Hoseok uses his grip on your inner thigh to spin you around so that you’re facing the group of men. Namjoon has come back, this time with what appears to be a friend in tow.

“Baby girl,” Hoseok’s voice says gently, and you look up to meet his gaze, “Yoongi here has just asked if he may touch you.” Your eyes widen at the thought, remembering how just Hoseok’s hand trailing up your thigh had your toes curling. You look up at the new guest, and see only a cold and stone-like expression. His eyes seem to bore right through you, and directly into your cunt. You’re momentarily mesmerized under his heavy stare, before you slowly nod your head.

“Yoongi here has just generously donated one million dollars to one of my charities, so do you know what that means?” he asks you, not expecting an answer, “How long is one thousand seconds?”

“Sixteen minutes and 40 seconds,” Yoongi says, not breaking eye contact from you, “If I’m correct.”

If your mouth could drop, it would. Namjoon, looking up from his phone, just nods nonchalantly.

Hoseok asks the man what he has asked everyone else: if they would like to keep a running tab or if they would like to write a check now. Yoongi reaches into his back pocket and pulls out what you assume to be his checkbook. With rings glittering in the lighting of the room, his hand swiftly fills it out. He rips it out and extends it to Hoseok.

“I won’t be needing more time.”

His cool confidence in saying this small phrase makes your stomach drop.

Hoseok grips your chin and tilts your head up. “Remember, baby girl, don’t come until you’re told to. You want to be on your best behavior for Mr. Min. Trust me.”

He speaks sternly and then releases your jaw, trailing his hand back to stroke your messy hair, before settling on your two hands secured behind your back and giving them a light squeeze. A silent reminder of your out, should you need it.

This Yoongi must be… a force to be reckoned with.

“Your time starts now,” Hoseok says, tapping his phone screen. You squeeze shut your eyes and brace yourself for the abrupt shock of the vibrations, but seconds pass, and they don’t come. You gingerly open your eyes and look up at the man standing above you, toying with the remote. He regards it with vague interest, and then he flicks up his eyes to look at you. Your heart stops for a moment, as he begins to rake his onyx eyes over your body. He purses his lips slightly and begins walking around you, all too slowly.

Even though he has disappeared from your view, you can feel his eyes on you. Your anxiousness grows as he remains out of your sight longer, and this is no doubt intentional. It seems as if he picked up your unease earlier when he first approached.

This guy is good.

You’re so on edge, that the light vibrations that begin in your cunt still surprise you. He turned the vibrator on to its lowest setting, but these low and slow vibrations still make you have a sharp intake of breath. He finally arrives back to your front and seems pleased at your reaction. He squats down so that his face is level with yours.

“What a good girl you are,” he muses, lips parted, tongue playing with the inside of his cheek, “I hope Hoseok here treats you well. You seem… pent up.”

At those last two words, he revs up the vibrations slightly, causing you to let out a small moan. He stands and puts the remote in his pocket. You watch as he gently rolls up his sleeves to the elbow, his forearm flexing as he fixes them. Your hungry stare betrays you.

“Is she always like this?” he asks Hoseok, almost laughing at you. “God, she’s desperate.” He looks at you. “Does Hobi not fuck you enough, little girl?”

Your eyes widen at the implications, and you furiously shake your head no, trying to convey as much as you can with your eyes alone. He just chuckles.

“Loyal,” he says, “I like that.” He looks back up at Hoseok. “Is your agreement exclusive, or is there room in her life for a second... benefactor?” You look up at your sugar daddy, eyes wide with what he might say. He’s just standing there, arms folded over his chest, as if he were discussing the weather or the stock market.

“I’m afraid she’s all booked up for the foreseeable future, unfortunately,” he says cooly but firmly, a little bit of edge to his voice.

“Pity,” Yoongi says, taking a step toward you, “I could think of a million good ways to take up her time.”

“You’ve got 14 minutes left,” is all Hoseok says in response, a definite sharpness to his tone. You’ve only heard this type of voice from him when you’re being particularly bratty. You rarely hear him this stern.

The vibrations quicken slightly, and you can tell from your frequent use that the device is at about its medium speed.

Yoongi takes his hand and reaches out to your back, and with a featherlight touch, begins to trace next to where the ropes lie. He keeps working down your back, and gently trails down your bare ass cheek and ghosts against your pussy. You can feel the heat from his hand, impossibly close to touching you. You hold your head back and try to look at him as you whine out a plea.

“Eyes straight ahead, little girl,” he says, and you comply reluctantly, flopping your head forward dramatically as you sigh. His hand grabs hold of your thigh, and squeezes it so hard you’re sure you’ll find a bruise there in the morning. “And lose the attitude.”

You whimper as he releases your thigh, and goes back to delicately running his fingertips up to your core. He stops just short of your cunt, and you desperately want him to just touch you. You flex your back and buck your hips in order to push yourself onto where you know his hand is. Your clit makes contact with his hand, and as soon as you feel it connect, you feel it missing. Not even a moment later, a sharp sting spreads across your ass, and you clench around the vibe.

“What a greedy little slut you are. Do you always misbehave this much?”

You turn your head back to look at him, and as you meet his eyes, you can see he begins to fume.

“Namjoon, keep her head straight. Someone's not listening.”

You turn your head back around and Namjoon is quickly grabbing your jaw firmly in his hand. Your eyes meet his, and his earlier show of no mercy seems to still be intact. You feel Yoongi’s hand soothe the soreness he just created, only to once again reel back and give the same spot another firm smack, just as hard as the first one.

You cry into the ball gag and the shockwave from his hit sends you slightly swinging forward into Namjoon’s belt. Even though the vibrator is only at medium speed, you feel yourself beginning to get close to a climax. Your moans get longer and higher, and your body tenses to prepare for it. You hear Yoongi behind you.

“Don’t.”

You know exactly what he means. You focus on your breathing and furrow your brow in an attempt to stave off your orgasm. It’s working, but barely. He turns up the vibrations and you cry out again, your head shaking as much as Namjoon’s firm grip will allow.

“Don’t.”

You distance yourself from the situation, distracting yourself with thinking about schoolwork. The essay you’re currently writing. How the rough draft needs to be done by tomorrow night. You need three more in-text citations to make --

His hand is against your clit, and he’s rubbing at an agonizingly slow pace, with just enough pressure for you to want more. You inhale sharply and work harder to distract yourself.

You have two of the quotes picked out, but you need to finalize the third one to really hammer in your point. Maybe you can spend tomorrow morning reading --

His lips graze over the ass cheek he tortured earlier, your smarting skin responding sharply to the gentle contact. He gives you a soft kiss, and then you feel a sharp pain as he sinks his teeth into your already ruined ass.

Your eyes fly open and you make desperate eye contact with Namjoon, trying to show him that you can’t last much longer. Thankfully, this Namjoon is a perceptive man, and he looks from you to Yoongi.

“She can’t take much more, Yoongi.”

“Good,” he says, breath grazing over where he just bit as he speaks. “Come, slut.”

For the first time tonight, your orgasm peaks and rips out of you. Your whole body trembles with the sensation, and you feel his pressure on your clit increase to see you through. The orgasm is hard, and long, and it leaves you with tears streaming down your cheeks, mascara running wildly. You’re coming down slowly, and you feel his hand pull away. Before you realize it, he is standing in front of you again. Namjoon releases you, and your head hangs lifelessly as you pant.

Yoongi stands directly in front of you again, and you find yourself staring at his expensive shoes. You’re completely spent. Post orgasm bliss spreads throughout your muscles, and then, a slight discomfort. You realize what it is: the vibrator is still going.

You squirm lazily and whine at the sensation, it being too much. Yoongi squats down and gently lifts up your head by the chin. Your exhausted eyes meet his, and he clicks his tongue.

“Aw, are you all sensitive now?” he asks gently, in an almost patronizing tone. You don’t care. You nod sleepily.

“Is the vibrator too much, little girl?” You nod once more, eyes fluttering shut.

“Then use your safeword gesture,” he says, almost as if it’s a dare. "Go on. Snap."

If he’s not done with you, then you’re not done. You open your eyes and look directly at him as if to say “challenged accepted.”

Without moving his eyes from yours, he cranks up the vibrations until you’re whimpering again.

“Six more minutes,” you hear Hoseok say from beside you.

“Plenty of time,” Yoongi replies without skipping a beat. “I think we can get three more in. One every two minutes? Surely a slut like you will have no problem with that, since you wanted to come so badly earlier.”

You groan at the ache in your cunt, and at the slight displeasure the vibrator is causing. Yoongi stands again and walks back behind you, and this time you know better than to move your head to look.

Soon the vibrations begin to feel pleasurable again, and you’re having a hard time keeping your moans quiet.

“Atta girl,” you hear Yoongi say from behind you, “Your next one’s already coming isn’t it? You greedy little thing. You’re going to ruin Hoseok’s nice floors with your slick. And in front of all these people?”

Just like that, you’re reminded that you have an audience. Quite a large one. You open your eyes to see just about every guest’s gaze glued to your straining form. The heat bubbles in your abdomen as your next climax rushes toward you.

“You may come again,” is all Yoongi says as you’re thrown off the edge again. As soon as you begin to recover from this one, he ups the vibrator to full speed. You scream into the ball gag at the overstimulation, and cry out as tears spill out of your eyes. It’s entirely too much, but you love it. Before you realize it, another orgasm rips through your body, almost as if it were a continuation of the last one.

He doesn’t miss this though, and spreads your ass cheeks apart so he can get a better view. At this point, you’re not sure if you can do another one. You feel as though you might pass out if you come again. But the overstimulation is so overwhelming that you can only think of reaching one more high. You tense your entire body and try to get another one, but your muscles are so spent that you can’t stay tense for long. After a few more tries, you just sigh and hang limply, your limbs heavy and tired. You hang on the edge of climax, being able to see the other side, but not being able to go there.

Mascara tears stain your cheeks from exertion, and you are well and truly spent. You give up.

But you don’t snap your fingers.

Yoongi fastens his lips over your aching clit, and sucks. Just like that, you feel your orgasm building again so you clench, desperately trying to claim it; this time, you reach it.

It tears through you like a slow strike of lightning. You feel yourself shaking as it takes its time fracturing within you. It grows white hot in your belly, and it’s as if every cell in your body has been burned alive. All of the energy you have left is spent thrashing in the ecstasy of your orgasm, and for a few seconds, you know nothing else but the pleasure.

You find yourself deep in subspace, practically dead to the world. You don’t even have the energy to open your eyes. You barely register Hoseok as he begins untying the ropes around your hands, getting assistance from both Namjoon and Yoongi. You feel his hands as he releases your ball gag and caresses your face as he asks if you’re okay. You give the tiniest nod, and he wraps your limp form tightly in his arms as the two men finish unwrapping your legs. He swoops down and sweeps your legs up to carry you bridal style away from the party.

The next thing you know is the soft and cool silk of his sheets enveloping you as he lays you down. You exist there for a time, every nerve ending in your body tingling as you drift off.

You wake some time later to hear quiet chatting. You inhale and breathe in the musky scent of Hoseok’s favorite cologne. You find yourself curled around the hoodie he left for you. As you slowly open your eyes, you can just make out the time on the nightstand clock. It’s almost 3 AM; the fundraiser had to have ended over four hours ago. You breathe slowly and close your eyes again so you can focus on the voices in the room.

You hear Hoseok straight away; his tone is forever instantly familiar to you. The way his normal speaking rhythm is a little sloppy with alcohol. In reply is a voice you more recently became acquainted with. The voice who you last heard giving you permission to come. It’s a little bit more rough now, a Daegu accent slipping out in his intoxication. The third one takes you by surprise. A low and calm voice. Lower than you’d ever suspected possible, from hearing him speak this evening. Even still, Namjoon’s even tone is a rumble you can make out.

You sit up slowly, not wanting the blood to rush to your head. You were sleeping hard. Your dry mouth guarantees that. At your movement, the three men stop their talking and look over at you. Hoseok is the first to set down his glass and walk over to you. His black tie is gone and so is his jacket. His collar is wide open, showing off his tanned chest behind the many unfastened buttons. He gets on his knees next to the bed and reaches for your hands. Once he finds them, his brow is creased with worry, as he brings your hands up to his lips.

“Are you alright, baby girl?” he asks into your hands. You still have the weight of sleep over you, so you don’t respond right away.

“She had her gesture, Hoseok. She could have used it,” you hear Yoongi say, and you look in his direction. He sits with his legs spread, glass of whiskey hanging off of his fingers. Your eyes meet, and even though he’s trying to seem impertinent and uncaring, there’s a tinge of worry and guilt in his eyes. You glance to Namjoon and see that his worry is more plainly stated.

Hoseok caresses your cheek and turns you back to facing him. His eyes plead for an answer. So you give it.

“Yes,” you say, voice raspy, “I’m alright. I feel great, actually.” Hoseok visibly relaxes and you hear Yoongi across the room mutter an “I told you so” to Namjoon.

“He didn’t push you too hard?” Hoseok asks.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you reply smugly, meeting Yoongi’s eyes, “But he did well and truly wear me out... Clearly."

You chuckle as Hoseok covers your hands in a million tiny kisses.

“Perhaps I do need to step my game up,” he teases, “I’ve never seen you so fucked out.”

“Nothing a good nap can’t fix,” you tease back. He smiles up at you, and you once again get lost in his brightness and warmth. “Mind if I join you all for a drink?”

“Of course not, baby girl,” Hoseok says, “I’ll go get your robe--”

“Don’t bother,” you say, wiggling into his hoodie and pulling the hood up and over your hair, “but you can go get me a glass.”

#bts smut #hoseok smut #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #yoongi x you #hoseok x you #namjoon x you #xmint-conditionx

169 notes · View notes

rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Note

Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing.

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin. It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #georgie barker #rosie zampano #tma rosie #tim stoker #meet cute #blind date au #this is my love letter to TMA #prompt answer #fanfic prompt

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kenmasgameboy · 4 years

Note

May I ask for 61 and 2 were Iwaizumi cheated on the reader, and Oikawa knew but never told the reader even tho they were best friends. And she leaves them behind. Cause fuck cheaters. Angsty angst please!

bruh the way this shit made me FEEL WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU UGH im SAD. also i ended up writing SO MUCH for this omg. I loved this prompt a lot more than i thought i did. I think i put into it what i wish i said to my ex who cheated on me with my best friend. fuck!! cheaters!!

TW: arguments, long distance relationship, cheating and betrayal, swear words.

2. “When did you stop loving me?”

61. “You don’t smile anymore.”

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

You had known these boys for ages. Looking at Oikawa and Iwaizumi made you feel like you were home. Iwaizumi, the man that would send you into the heavens and make you feel safe beyond any amount of doubt. You don’t remember a time when you weren’t in love with him. You don’t remember a time when you weren’t with your best friends.

But recently things are different. University made everything hard and it was like a wall had been driven between you and your happiness. The first year was the hardest, you would call Iwaizumi every night or every other night in the pain of being so far away from someone you loved so much. You’d keep things under control though, you never wanted to worry him. You thought you knew him, that if you exposed how you really felt he’d march down there in an instant. But then somewhere around a month or two into this, he stopped answering. He’d still text you in the mornings, so you didn’t give it much thought and instead turned your attention to your best friend, Oikawa.

Both of them were on the other side of the world from you. Oikawa was away in Argentina, and he still made time to talk to you. Iwaizumi was all the way in California, just doing university and not a university student and a professional volleyball team like Oikawa was. He was a completely different person than you used to know.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Oikawa looked over at you after about a 5-minute long pause of silence in your conversation. You were staring at your phone. You took in a deep sigh. Iwaizumi hadn’t texted in two days.

“Nothing, I’m sure it’s nothing.” You brushed it off, trying your hardest to hide those tears that threatened to sting you and fall down.

“You can tell me, right? Is it something at school? Have you made any friends?” Oikawa asked you. Reaching his hand out and laying his head against his bicep.

“A few.” You shrugged.

“Y/N-chan, I don’t want to sound like Iwa, but I’m worried about you. You don’t smile anymore. Have you thought about going home for a few days?” He offered as a possible solution.

“I don’t want to go home if you guys aren’t there.” You grumbled, “But I was Hajime’s thanksgiving break is coming up next month, I was thinking about surprising him since I know he’ll have a week off with nothing to do.”

“I’m offended you aren’t coming to visit me!” Oikawa whined.

“I will when you finally give yourself a break!” You teased, “Plus, honestly he hasn’t texted me in days. I know it sounds stupid, we’ve been together for years, but I feel like I need to see him. Something just doesn’t feel right.”

“I think you should. But maybe you should tell him you’re coming before you go?” Oikawa suggested. Fiddling with his hair in between his index finger and thumb.

“No way, that takes all the fun out! You said it yourself you hadn’t seen me smile recently. This will give me a reason to smile. Once I go there and we figure everything out, I’ll have my reasons again. Just please don’t tell him! I don’t want to get his hopes up and if I suddenly can’t afford it or something then he’d be disappointed.” You begged your friend, and he solemnly nodded before needing to leave.

You kept to your plan. You got on that long flight to California, landing alone and getting a uber to your boyfriend's apartment. You were so thankful you guys swapped sharing locations before leaving, it made this so much easier. You got to the door and fixed yourself nice and pretty before pulling out your phone and recording. You wanted to keep his face of surprise forever.

You knocked on the door, but the person who was surprised was you. A woman opened the door in a towel. Your face dropping.

“Is this Iwaizumi’s apartment?” You had one last shred of hope in you, you had one last string of hope in you. Please, anything but this.

“Oh my god! Wait you’re Y/N right? Hajime and Tooru always talk about you.” She smiled widely, offering her hand to you, “I’m Jess, I’m his girlfriend. He didn’t say you were coming by.”

“Babe, who is it?” You heard the love of your life's voice coming from the shower. You stopped recording on your phone.

You couldn’t control yourself, you pushed the woman in front of you to the side before she could answer for you. You ran into his bathroom, your tear-filled eyes meeting his through the shower curtain.

“Surprise.” You said your heart being smashed to pieces on the ground as you meet his face. His eyebrows raised, his body limp. He knew he was caught.

“Y/N.. What are you doing here? No, no wait.” You tried not listening to him, you walked away. Not wanting him to see your tears fall anymore, he didn’t deserve that side of you anymore.

“Wait, who the fuck are you?” Jess asked you on your way out the door.

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.” Iwaizumi called from behind you. Following you into the street in nothing but his gym shorts.

“Stop, Hajime! I can’t even fucking look at you!” You couldn’t help but raise your voice.

“Y/N, please I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to find out like this–” He grabbed you by the wrist but you just ripped it away from him.

“Don’t touch me! Are you fucking serious? What did you think I would say? I knew you were distant, I didn’t know if it was the timezone or what but now I understand.” It took all the strength in you to stand and face him. Your body running on the adrenaline of the betrayal and anger that coursed through you. “You fucking asshole. 4 years for it to end like this? I loved you so much. I wanted to marry you! You couldn’t have at least broken up with me like a man when you find a new girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend– I don’t know why she told you that, babe I don’t want this to end–” Iwaizumi tried coming up with absolutely anything to say to you. The truth was he hadn’t thought about what to say at this moment. He’d replayed it in his head multiple times when he laid with other girls, at some point he convinced himself he could get away with it. That maybe he’d never have to tell you. Obviously, that dream came down in a crumbling wave of hurt and disappointment.

“Don’t you dare call me the same thing you called her. Like it even matters if you called her your girlfriend or not! It’s obviously been going on for some time. So tell me, Iwaizumi, when did you stop loving me? I need to hear it so I stop being so blind in the future.” You choked out the last bit of your words, tears fell into your mouth. You were sure you looked the ugliest you’d ever looked. It embarrassed you, but you needed to know. After this, you’d never see him again.

“I–I can’t answer that.” Iwaizumi was crying in front of you. Rubbing his eyes on the back of his wrists. “I still love you–”

“No you don’t. Iwaizumi, you feel guilty. That’s not love. I want to know how long, was she ever there when I was calling you because of how badly I missed your voice.” You refused his confession. His eyes widened, you couldn’t tell if it was the realization or the way it hurt to be rejected by you. Either way, his silence was enough to answer for you at that time.

“Did Tooru know?” You asked next to his lack of response.

“What?”

“You’re girlfriend said you and Tooru talk about me a lot. So both the closest people in my life lied to me, right? They lied to my face.” You asked him again, wanting to speed this up and get the hell out of there. He hung his head. You let out one last hiccup of pain.

“I asked him to, I told him I would tell you myself. Don’t be mad at him–” Iwaizumi begged you this time but it was too late.

“If he were a real friend of mine he should’ve told me, but he chose his side. When you stopped answering I was on the facetime with him every day. He had plenty of chances. You’re too late, Hajime. Tell Oikawa that I’m never speaking to either of you again. I’m blocking your numbers and I’m going back to Japan the next chance I can get.” You backed away, your head hanging. You didn’t know if you had any more hot tears to shed. They burned your cheeks. You hung your head down, trying to drop them onto the street instead of on your cheeks.

“Y/N... Please...” He begged weakly, his arm extending to touch your shoulder. He tried to bring you into his chest but you put your hands out to his chest. Your skin felt like it was going to fall off, he didn’t give you the comforting feeling of love and home and happiness anymore.

“No. This is the last time you’re ever seeing me.” You said it, looking into his eyes one final time. You could never do this, you felt like everything had been flushed down a clogged toilet. How would you ever move on from this?

“Where are you going?” He asked you, trailing at your heels.

“Away from you.” You spat, pulling out your phone. You were trying to look for an uber in the area.

“No, please let me take you somewhere safe, this isn’t a good neighborhood! And I know you got a C in English. Please, I’ll protect you, even if I need to follow from further away or something, I can call you someone and we can talk again tomorrow–” Iwaizumi was really trying, he pulled out his own phone and tried to look for something in his contacts list but you refused.

“That’s coming from the person who hurt me the most. You have no place in my life anymore. Just leave me the hell alone.” You said this without looking behind you, “Goodbye, Hajime.”

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

jenna’s 5k celebration dialogue prompts!

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taehyungs-perm · 3 years

Text

midnight love - ch. 1

collab with @jimins-filter

jimin x reader; superhero au; childhood best friends to lovers au; ceo, billionaire philanthropist, playboy!jimin

genre: angst; lowkey funny; eventual smut

summary: playboy park jimin comes back to seoul city after disappearing for six years; too much has changed, especially you. living out your nights as nyx, seoul city’s dark knight, is a secret you’ve kept for as long as jimin’s disappeared. but what happens when a new hero named eros comes into town just as park jimin shows up at your front door…

word count: 5k

chapter 2

PLAYBOY BILLIONAIRE PARK JIMIN BACK IN SEOUL

You stared at the main headline on the trending page of Twitter, clutching a cup of iced coffee, desperately trying not to crush the plastic cup as you sat on your bed. You didn’t know if you should feel relieved or annoyed that Jimin was back in Seoul. You clicked on the headline and your phone was immediately filled with pictures and videos of strippers, people doing lines of coke, and a wealthy array of booze.

Of course Jimin did this. It was so on brand of him: to go missing for six years and then show up unannounced and throw a giant, extravagant party (at his newly purchased penthouse in downtown Seoul, of course). In the most simplest terms, you were pissed. Even after all these years, you had held out some hope that when he came back the first thing he would do is come see you or call you. But nothing. No text, no call, hell not even a letter. You scoffed at your naivety. You clearly didn’t matter to him.

You rubbed your head in annoyance and threw your phone on the bed, trying to expel any thought of Park Jimin and focus on the case you had pulled up on your laptop. You’ve been working at it for a week now and any and all concentration you had mustered while drinking your 7th cup of coffee went down the drain when you heard a sharp ring from your phone. You picked it up from where you threw it on your bed, the phone screen illuminating your face in the dim light of your room. It was an unknown number. You hesitated for a second. It could be a work-related call, you realize, quickly picking up the call.

“Hello?” you answered, skeptical.

“______?”

What the fuck? How did he get your number? Your mind was racing with thoughts, thoughts that you had long since repressed ever since he left without a word. When you didn’t respond, he repeated your name again. His voice was as silky and calming as it was last time you heard it six years ago.

“Jimin?” you whispered, scared that this was all an illusion, that his voice would just suddenly disappear.

As much as you wanted to be mad at him, you couldn’t. You really couldn't. He was your kryptonite. From covering for him when he skipped detention to writing his college essays, you would do anything for him. Well, you used to. That was a different time, a different you. Back then, you knew you could depend on Jimin like he depended on you. But that was before he broke your heart and your trust.

“______” he said giggly. He was drunk. Why are you not surprised?

A surge of annoyance went through you.

“Back from the dead?” you asked, dryly

“It sure feels like hell since you're not here. Why didn’t you come?” he whined.

“Where? To the brothel you call a home?” You let out a shaky laugh of disbelief. “ I had work, Jimin. In case you’ve forgotten, some of us actually have a job.”

“I missed you.” he said in a feather light tone, sending shivers down your spine.

You wanted to believe him, every ounce of your being wanted to believe he meant those words. But you knew Jimin. He was irresponsible, he was a playboy, he was reckless, and most of all, he was a liar.

“Jimin, what do you want?” you said exasperated.

“I want you. Can you please come over? I just wanna see you. That’s all I want. I don’t want this party and I don’t want anyone in my house except you.”

God, he can spew some bullshit. “I have to work Jimin. I can't come over. I have shit to do” you said coldly.

“Please? I know fucked up ______ I know I did. And I’m sorry. I'm trying to make things right. With us.”

And just like that you were 18 again, falling for his words and his empty promises.

“Jimin..” you said trailing off, unsure of what to do. You offhandedly glanced at your clock, it read 1:25 am. It wasn’t that late. You normally didn’t go to sleep until 3:00 am anyways.

“My driver’s already at your house” he said quickly.

“Fine. But I’m only staying for 20 minutes. Then your driver is going to take me straight back home. Got it?”

“Got it, darling.”

You glanced in the mirror. You were wearing grey sweatpants with an unzipped grey hoodie, revealing your white Calvin Klein bra. Your hair was falling out of the braid you had put it in a few hours ago, with a few strands covering your eyes. You were tempted for a moment to change, maybe wash your face, but then the familiar surge of annoyance came back. You were there to hear whatever bullshit excuse Jimin had, nothing else, nothing more; it didn't matter what you looked like, the last person on earth you had to impress was Jimin.

You slipped on some slides and walked out of your apartment, spotting the black Mercedes on your driveway. You felt a gust of brisk air hit you as you slid into the backseat of the car.

“Ms. ______?” the driver called from the front seat, his eyes meeting yours through the rearview mirror.

“Yes?” you said, shivering from the cold.

“Mr. Park insisted I come here to pick you up, if that’s alright?”

“It’s fine. But this is a short visit. I won't be staying there long.”

The driver nodded and reversed onto the main road. The drive was short. You had just about scrolled through some emails before the driver had parked the car in front of a large black tower. The driver got out of the front seat and opened your door. You stepped out, suddenly feeling very under dressed. He escorted you to the front desk where he whispered something to the concierge.

“He will be taking you up to Mr. Park’s penthouse,” the driver said, presenting the concierge. “I will be waiting out front for whenever you would like to be taken home.”

You nodded and thanked the driver, and then followed the concierge to the last elevator on the right of the lobby. You stepped in and watched as he swiped a card and tapped a few numbers on the keypad of the elevator. High security, you thought.

You watched the number on the screen inside the elevator go from 1 to 69 in a matter of seconds. The doors swiftly opened leading straight into the living room. Your mouth gaped open at the sight. There were girls stumbling around in their stiletto heels drunk, wine glasses and beer cans scattered on the floors, a bra hanging from the chandelier, and too many naked people. You looked back at the concierge who seemed unfazed by the animalistic sight, standing in the elevator only for a moment before the doors closed behind you.

You carefully made your way through the mess when you heard a familiar voice, “Please put on some clothes mister. There are designated drivers who will take you directly to your residence.”

You whipped your head and saw a completely distraught Namjoon with his hands covering his eyes, talking to a completely naked man.

“Namjoon?” You said incredulously. It had been a couple of years at least since you last saw him.

“______!” he said, immediately breaking into his familiar dimpled smile. He pulled you in a small hug. “It’s been too long! What are you doing here?”

“Um..Jimin asked me to come.” You admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Oh..” Namjoon knew your history with Jimin, the long complicated story of nothing. “He’s in his bedroom,” Namjoon said, pointing down the long hallway to the left.

You started to make your way to his room but as you walked, the old feelings of butterflies started to creep up. God, stop it. Literally look at this. He’s an idiot, a fuckboy, a full on hot mess. You don’t need this. You don’t need him.

His bedroom door was cracked slightly open, revealing a soft stream of moonlight trailing into the hallway. You pushed the heavy door open as you exhaled all your stupid worries. The room was quiet but you noticed some strewn pieces of clothing on the floor here and there. You saw a corner of the black framed bed but it was covered by large frosted glass panels. You walked over to his bed and saw the one and only Park Jimin. He laid there, his arm covering his eyes and his brown hair all messed up.. He wore a simple dress pant and shirt, the top buttons unbuttoned. His shirt was slightly raised, revealing his defined V line.

“You have a wine stain on your shirt.” you said bluntly, wanting to point out the imperfections on the oh so perfect Park Jimin.

Jimin smirked, lifting his arm from over his eyes. He looked at you lazily, his eyes slowly raking up and down your body.

“Nice to see you too beautiful,” he said sleepily.

“I’m here, Jimin,” you sighed, crossing your arms. You shifted to the side, looking at him exasperatedly. “What do you want?””

“Just wanted to see you,” He mumbled, tucking the escaped strands of hair behind your ear. Jimin leaned forward, balancing on his elbows, and whispered in your ear, “I missed you.”

You fought back a blush and pulled away. “No shit, you’ve been gone for 6 years.”

“I didn’t mean to be gone for that long, it just happened.”

“You could’ve called or texted.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Everything’s always complicated with you, Jimin,”

“C’mon darling, I’m here now,” Jimin said sweetly, trying to reel you back.

“You didn’t even fucking call me when you came into town. I found out through twitter!”

“Well, I called you now,” Jimin teased, sitting up on the bed, about to grab your arm.

You softly shook your head before walking towards his sleek black dresser and pulling out a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt.

“You should change,” you said, throwing the clothes at Jimin who caught them with ease. You turned around, your back toward him to give him some privacy. You faced the floor to ceiling windows that took up one part of his room, overlooking downtown Seoul. The lights of the city twinkled with wonder and the cool gray fog covered it with secrets.

You suddenly felt a body press against your back. Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist and he leaned his head in the crook of your shoulder. You wanted nothing more than to just melt into his arms and forget about everything. But that could never happen. You turned around, trying to get him away from you before you did something stupid like kiss him. God, you couldn’t think around him.

Jimin obediently pulled away, stepping back so that the two of you were now facing each other. You saw that Jimin decided to forego a shirt, allowing you to get a better view of his sculpted abs. Your eyes immediately caught his tattoo that definitely was not there before: NEVERMIND written in all caps in a scraggly font. There were various scars littering his chest, some of them even looked fresh. What in the hell was he doing in the time that he was gone?

His voice came out genuine but you could hear a tinge of desperation that you hadn’t recognized before, “I meant it, you know?”

“Jimin,” you sighed. You looked up to meet his brown eyes. He looked at you anxiously, craving your forgiveness. “I don’t think you missed me. I think you missed your life.”

“I’m being serious ______. I really fucking miss you. I thought about you everyday,” he continued, trying to convince you.

“Maybe I would believe you, but there’s four naked girls in your living room right now. Your actions beg to differ.” You grabbed your phone that you left on his dresser and walked to the entrance of his room . Just as you were about to close the door, you turned around to look at him. “You haven’t changed one bit, Park Jimin.”

☙

You slipped off your slides as you re-entered your apartment, the sound of silence overwhelming you. Everything about him was running through your mind as you laid down on your bed, trying to process what had just happened. The scars on his body, the tattoos, his eyes: it was everything about him changed but nothing really had. He still had the same charming smile and idiotic behavior. You tried to close your eyes and finally get some sleep but you were still unsettled from the whole interaction with Jimin. Deciding operation sleep was a no go, you got up from your soft pillows and stretched your body. You knew only one thing would put all of this nervous energy to use: patrolling the city.

You stepped into your closet and pulled out your suit: black cargo pants with a fitted athletic black tank top tucked in. Underneath your top, you wore a sleeveless blue turtleneck which doubled as a mask. You felt yourself fall into the familiar routine of suiting up, lacing up your boots and pulling your hair into a ponytail. You remember being so nervous the first few times you went patrolling, whether it was for your life or fear of failure, you can’t be sure. But now, you felt calm and relaxed. Even though you could never guess what new dangers would emerge from the depths of the city, you knew the citizens of Seoul could always rely on you. And at the end of the day, that’s what made you truly happy: helping others. It’s why you became a lawyer and it’s also why you donned the identity of Nyx.

Dipping your fingers in a pot of black face paint, you drew a crescent moon facing up on your forehead. You quickly put on your black gloves and pulled up the blue neck of your shirt so it covered your mouth and nose. You stared at yourself in the mirror and didn’t recognize yourself; you only saw the beloved dark knight of Seoul city: Nyx. Grabbing your two daggers that were sheathed in black leather, you climbed out of your bedroom window. The only benefit of living in an apartment without a balcony was that right next to your window was the fire escape stairs, leading directly to the roof of your building.

You peered down at Seoul, not seeing the beauty you had just seen from Jimin’s penthouse window, but rather witnessing the darkness and destruction that was slowly consuming the city. Your thoughts were interrupted when you saw the distinct crescent moon symbol that was flipped to form a “U" flash into the dark sky, the symbol of Nyx. It was coming from the Seoul City Police Department and you knew exactly who had signaled it.

You grabbed the nylon rope tucked into your pocket and pulled out a small metal tin. You clicked a button on the side of the tin, transforming it into a grappling hook. After securing the hook on the roof ledge, you rappelled down the building, safely landing on the ground. Tucking the rope and hook into your pockets, you made your way to the building’s garage where your beloved motorcycle was waiting for you.

You hopped on the bike and drove for what seemed like 10 minutes before arriving in front of the police department. You made use of your rope and grappling hook again, as you scaled the building to get to the roof. There, you saw a man with his back towards you wearing a long, black trench coat.

“Detective Kim,” you called to the man, standing anxiously by the large spotlight with the Nyx symbol plastered on it.

“Nyx,” he said whipping his head in the direction of your voice, “Good to see you. It’s been awhile.”

It had been awhile. Detective Kim Seokjin had been only a small-time detective at the SCPD when you first started out. After realizing you both had the same goals and wishes for this city, you and Detective Kim decided to work together, confiding each other in your missions and reports on crime.

You nodded, “Seoul has been quiet. Too quiet.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it means I’m missing something.”

“Missing what?”

“I’m not sure yet. And that’s what makes me afraid.”

“Never thought I would hear those words from the hero of Seoul.”

“I’m not a hero. I’m just doing what I can.”

“The people of Seoul love you. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed, but I don’t want them to depend on me.”

“Why? Planning a vacation?” he said teasingly.

“Maybe. This really isn't my day job. Can’t be Nyx all the time.” you said, smiling.

“Anyways, I wanted to update you on something that’s been going on. We’ve kept it out of the news so far but with how things are going, I have a feeling that this will make headlines soon. People at the office wanted to take care of it ourselves but I can’t stand by any longer. We need your help.” Detective Kim said handing you a tan file folder.

You rifled through the file as he continued to speak, “There have been 2 robberies at the two major banks, Bank of Seoul and Seoul Holdings Inc.”

“When did they happen?”

“Bank of Seoul was yesterday afternoon and Seoul Holdings was two days before.”

“Any leads?”

“We think it might be mob related.”

You looked up from the papers to meet Jin’s concerned eyes, “We cleaned up the mob.”

“Maybe they resurfaced, or maybe this is something entirely new we are dealing with.”

“Any idea of where they’re going to hit next?”

“We think Seoul United.”

“Have a unit there at all times. Make sure they keep track of who is coming in and out. Based on these two robberies, the next one is going to happen soon.”

“Got it. I’ll form a team and get them down there as soon as possible.”

You had reached the end of file when a small business card slipped out and fell to the ground. You knelt down and picked it up, flipping to the front of the card, expecting to see the business card of one of the banks. But it was just a blank card with a demented looking smiley face drawn in blood red ink.

“What’s this?”

“Right. I almost forgot. We found that in the empty bank vault at the Bank of Seoul.”

“Did you have labs run an analysis on this?”

“Yep. They found nothing. No fingerprints, no trace of anything on the card. Completely blank.”

“What about the ink?”

“It’s ink. Not blood.”

“Find out what exact ink this is. Maybe it can give us a lead on something.”

Jin nodded as you handed the file back to him. You grabbed onto your grappling hook. But before you slipped back into the darkness you called out to him, “Keep me posted.”

☙

Waking up was too hard. You were far from a morning person, hitting snooze on your phone alarm until the last possible minute. Between seeing Jimin and meeting Detective Kim, you got a total of four hours of sleep, which was not nearly enough for your strenuous schedule. After hitting snooze for the fourth time, you had to scramble to get ready. You quickly brushed your teeth, washed your face, and combed your hair before changing into a black pantsuit. Slipping your laptop into your leather messenger bag, you blindly grabbed for your keys as you headed out the door, almost stumbling in your black heels.

You made it to your office just in time, but because of your tardiness in the morning, you weren’t able to get any caffeine. You sighed, blowing the escaped strands of hair from out of your face, you knew it was going to be a long day. You opened your office door and saw your long time best friend sitting at her desk, opposite of yours.

“Hey ______! Rough morning?” she said, chuckling at your state.

“Hey Sana,” you replied, giving her a quick hug. “ More like a rough night.”

“Who’s the lucky guy? I saw that Park Jimin is back in town,” she said teasingly, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Don’t even get me fucking started. “ You said groaning as you sat down at your desk.

“You went to his party?” she said shocked. “You know, I’m still offended he didn’t invite me. And after all we went through in college. I wrote so many essays for that punk—”

“I didn’t want to go. He called me. Drunk off his ass.”

“Oh my god, really?” Sana said, pausing her rant about how ungrateful Jimin was and opted to lean forward in her seat to her what you had to say.

“Yeah and he asked me to come over.”

“So did you?”

“I did.”

“______!” She gasped at your actions.

“It’s complicated. But I went over and saw him.”

“What did he want?”

“Nothing. Or well he wanted to talk to me. See me I guess. He apologized.”

“For what? For leaving and not telling you? For breaking your hea—”

“For leaving Sana. He apologized for being gone for six years and for not calling me once.”

“What, he just said sorry and expected you to forgive him?”

“Yeah I guess,” you said shrugging.

“Men are so fucking stupid.”

‘Tell me about it. Anyways, then I ended up meeting Detective Kim. Well, Nyx did.”

“Damn, you had a long night. What did he say?”

“He said there's been a couple of robberies, one at Bank of Seoul and the other at Seoul Holdings. They think Seoul United is next.”

“What's the plan?”

“He’s gonna set up a unit there to keep watch 24/7.”

“And what's our plan?”

You smiled at her words, “I was hoping Team Nyx could help me out.”

☙

After a long day at the office and figuring out a plan for the bank robberies, you were completely drained and wanted to do nothing except curl up in your bed and watch Netflix. You got home, kicked off your heels, dropped your messenger bag to the ground, and started to walk to your bedroom, thinking about which episode of New Girl you were going to watch.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, interrupting your train of thought. You wondered who would show up at your place unannounced at this time. You looked through the peephole of your door to see none other than Park Jimin holding a bouquet of roses. You stepped back from the door exasperated. You thought you had been clear of your hatred for him the other night.

You felt your heart beating slightly faster. Stop it, you chided yourself. It was evident from the other night that Jimin was still the same: a player and a liar. There was no place in your already busy life for someone as reckless as Jimin; you needed to focus and Jimin was an unnecessary distraction.

You opened the door to Jimin, his hair tousled from the wind. He was wearing a black blazer, with a black shirt tucked into a pair of, you guessed it, black jeans.

“Hi,” was all he said, standing in your doorway and giving his signature smile.

“What are you doing here Jimin?” you said, crossing your arms across your chest.

“I just wanted to explain myself again. Our talk last night didn’t go as I hoped.”

“And what exactly were you hoping for?” you snarkily.

“Forgiveness?” his wide eyes locked onto yours.

“Jimin...” you started to trail off.

“I’m sorry ______. I told you, I wanted to call you but I just couldn’t.”

“That’s such bullshit,” you started to close the door but Jimin caught it, pushing it aside to step into your apartment. He closed the door behind him, and he glanced around your apartment, taking in the place before looking back at you.

“______ please, trust me. If I could have called you even for one second just to hear your voice, I would have.”

You looked into his eyes and saw his sincerity. You didn’t know what to think. You wanted to believe him so badly.

“I—” you started to say but Jimin cut you off.

“I would never do anything to hurt you on purpose, you know that,” Jimin said looking at you intensely. “Can you please forgive me?”

You didn’t want to fight with Jimin anymore. As much as you hated him for what he did, you missed your best friend. And deep down, you knew he was right, that he would never hurt you.

You let out a deep sigh, “Okay Jimin, I forgive you.”

Jimin once again gives his charming smile. He looked like he was about to hug you but refrained himself from doing so. Instead, he handed you the bouquet of roses he had been holding, “For you.”

You were so caught up in your fight with Jimin that you didn’t register the peculiar color of the roses until he handed them to you. They were black roses. The color was as dark as the night sky. You looked at Jimin then back to the flowers. There was no way he would have known right? There were only two people who knew that you were Nyx. Jimin just came back from Seoul so he couldn't possibly know.

“Why black?” you asked carefully, studying his expression and body language for any clues that suggested he knew of your secret identity.

Jimin just shrugged in response. “It’s your favorite color.”

“You still remember?” you asked incredulously, shaking your head.

“You’re a hard person to forget,” Jimin said quietly. He took a step closer to you and you suddenly registered the nonexistent distance between the two of you. You felt his hot breath fanning your face and you felt like your heart was pounding so hard he could feel it. Jimin tilted your chin up so that you were forced to look at him, staring into his brown eyes. You shivered at the contact of his cold fingers against your skin. He looked at your lips before looking back at your wide eyes, silently asking for your permission.

“I can’t,” you whispered apologetically, trying to push his hand away.

Jimin caught your hands, his metal rings pressing into your hands, as he tried to catch your gaze, “Why not?”

You finally meet his eyes looking at you imploringly, waiting for an answer.

“I have a boyfriend,” you choked out, knowing those exact words would be like venom to him.

Jimin immediately let go of your hands at that moment. His expression hardened and he clenched his jaw: his telltale sign of anger. He walked away from you to sit on the navy blue sofa in your living room, spreading his legs as he sat down.

“I see,” he said coldly.

“You can’t be mad at me. That’s not fair.” You said irritated, turning around to look at him.

“I never said I was mad,” he said, staring at the wooden flooring, not meeting your eyes.

“Jimin, you left. You left for six years and you didn’t tell me. What was I supposed to do? Wait around for you?”

“I just—” Jimin ran his fingers through his hair with frustration before letting his face rest in his hands. “I just thought things would be the same when I came back.” He said helplessly.

“Well, you thought wrong.” you quipped, crossing your arms over your chest, looking away.

Jimin was quiet for a moment before speaking up, “I’m happy for you. Really. I would love to meet him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You scoffed.

“C’mon, we should try to move forward. At least be friends again.”

“Jimin, I just need some time. You can’t just show up in my life unexpectedly and expect everything to be the same. It doesn’t work that way.” You sighed. You opened the door for him, a silent indicator that he should leave. Jimin glanced at the door and your tired expression.

He got up from where he was sitting and made his way towards the door, “I understand ______. But know that I’m here for you. Anytime. I just want you back in my life again.”

He looked at you one more time before heading out, leaving you at the doorway as you clutched the black roses. You watched from the window as he got into his car, ignoring how the crushed petals slowly fluttered to the ground.

authors’ note: guysss this is @jimins-filter first posted fic (ah!). so there might be a few things that are a bit confusing in text but if you wanna see references as to how we came up with nyx’s character, Elektra’s costume and fighting style from Daredevil (the Netflix TV show) was a major inspo for Nyx, additionally we did take some style inspo (the crescent moon symbol on the forehead) from the Painted Lady from ATLA. We are super excited for this fic and hope you guys will love it. This is VERY different from strawberry girl so this is something different for me as well. give a follow to @jimins-filter her blog is aesthetic af. ty for reading and let us know what you think so far! 💜💜

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