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nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

dance me to the end of love (v)

word count: 4.6k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of poor parenting and damaged familial relationships

series masterpost: here

a/n: and just like that we're halfway through!!! it's crazy to think about it. however, lots happens in this chapter so buckle up peeps

Soon Magdalene’s feelings are going to get the better of her.

She knows she’s heading down a dangerous path but she can’t help it. Ryan is like a drug she can’t get enough of even though she knows it will hurt her in the long run. Living with him has opened her up to the laid back, intelligent, incredibly funny man he is and Magdalene doesn’t know how she’s ever going to function in her own space ever again. They complement each other like two peas in a pod, and everyone else is starting to catch on to the shift in their relationship.

“When are you going to fess up to Ryan about your feelings?” Bette asks as the two of them sit on the lawn across from the university library. It’s mid October, but the weather is still warm enough that Magdalene eats her lunch outside. Her best friend decided to join her today, no doubt knowing that she’s feeling a little lonely. The Avalanche are in the middle of their season opening road trip and have been gone for nearly five days. Ryan’s condo feels empty without him in it, and Magdalene misses him an unfathomable amount.

“Never, if I can help it,” she replies casually, taking a bite of the turkey wrap that Bette brought her from Barn Owl.

The blonde scoffs. “Fuck off. You have to. What are you going to do when he gets back from Florida and you tackle him as soon as he steps through the door.”

“Caligula will get there first,” Magdalene shrugs. “Those two are thick as thieves.”

Truthfully, Magdalene wasn’t sure what she was going to do. This is the longest they’ve been separated since she moved in and it’s proving to be a harder adjustment than she thought. Magdalene feels a little silly missing him so much – she went nearly twenty-six years without knowing Ryan but now he’s imprinted on her soul for the rest of eternity. Living without him seems impossible.

Bette drops the conversation then, almost as if she knows Magdalene is in her own world thinking about what to do. She mentions the upcoming home opener and her plans to attend with a couple of the other wives and girlfriends. “We’re going out beforehand and you should join us! I really think you’d like most of them.”

The bell in the clock tower rings, signalling the start of another hour, and Magdalene promises she’ll consider the offer as they pack up the picnic and say goodbye. It’s a short walk back to the building she works in, seeing as they were only across the street, but it takes a while for the elevator to come around. Magdalene could have taken the stairs down to the basement but they scare her a lot more than she’d like to admit. Hopefully June won’t mind her being a few minutes late.

Her boss doesn’t look too pleased when Magdalene strolls through the door almost seven minutes later then she should have, but as soon as she tosses the cookie Bette brought her in June’s direction all is forgiven. They work in near silence all afternoon, background noise provided by the small stereo in the corner and their respective grunts of frustration when an image doesn’t digitize properly. The university has finally decided to undertake the massive project of making all their school records available to the public online, and Magdalene and June are in charge of getting all the files ready before sending them to IT for installation into the website. It’s a huge task and is going to take them the better part of a month and a half to finish. Magdalene spends the rest of her work day finishing up a box of graduation records from the 1870s and leaves smelling of very old paper.

On the drive home she considers the invitation Bette extended to her. Magdalene knows she’ll be attending the game, having promised Ryan before he left that she’d be there, but she doesn’t know how to feel about going out for dinner and drink beforehand – especially with people so involved with the team. She isn’t like them, in nearly every sense of the phrase, and doesn’t want people to get the wrong idea. It wouldn’t be fair to Ryan for people to assume they’re together in case he ever does want to bring someone around, but Magdalene can’t help thinking that the speculation wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps it would be the clue that shows him how she feels.

The invite stays in the back of her brain while she heats up leftovers and eats quickly, knowing that Ryan will call soon. He’s like clockwork with his precise game day routine, and he always calls shortly after four o’clock when out east. Magdalene’s phone buzzes from the spot beside her on the couch and she quickly scoops it up and accepts the call.

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless because she’s so excited to talk to him.

“Hey yourself. How was work?” Magdalene can tell Ryan’s got a smile on his face even though she can’t see him. She indulges the question, telling him all about the stuff she digitized and what’s next. Though she always tries to get out of talking about work, fearing it will bore the daylights out of him, Ryan insists on hearing every detail Magdalene wants to share. He finds it all fascinating and tells her so every chance he gets. During her monologue Caligula wanders over and becomes extremely invested after he hears Ryan laugh at something Magdalene said. The small white cat jumps onto Magdalene’s lap and tries to paw the phone away from her ear.

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker. Little boots would like to talk.”

At the sound of Ryan’s greeting, Caligula starts meowing up a storm. It’s as though he’s actually holding a conversation with the man, waiting for Ryan to say something before he continues to make noise. Magdalene laughs through what could barely classify as a conversation until the cat gives her space to talk again.

“So,” she says, drawing out the word in an attempt to make Ryan laugh. “Bette asked me to join her and some of the other girls for drinks before Friday’s game.”

Ryan’s responding before Magdalene has finished uttering the last words. “That’s great! I think you should go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, “It would be nice for you to know someone other than Bette.”

Magdalene is surprised at the response, but tries her hardest to keep her tone light and teasing. “Why, you plan on keeping me around Mr. Graves?” She can tell Ryan is struggling to come up with an answer because there’s a fair amount of sputtering on the other end of the line.

“I’d be stupid to let you go.”

All the breath in Magdalene’s lungs escapes her. She didn’t expect him to say something like that, and it sends her mind reeling. What does he mean? Unable to process the comment, Magdalene makes up an excuse and hangs up as quickly as possible. She spends the rest of the night wondering if Ryan was trying to make a move and deciding how she should handle his homecoming in a few days.

☼☼☼☼

When Ryan gets home Thursday morning Magdalene is at work. Caligula is happy to see him, practically pouncing on him and purring so loud Ryan’s sure the neighbours heard the cat. For an animal so small, Caligula can make a lot of noise if he wants.

“Hi boy,” Ryan coos, adjusting his grip on the cat so he doesn’t get dropped while the two of them move around the house. “Did your mom talk about me while I was gone? Been thinking about her a lot lately.”

The cat doesn’t respond, of course, but Ryan finds comfort in vocalizing his emotions. Multiple times on the road trip Tyson made fun of him for the silent pining he’s found himself participating in since Magdalene moved in, and hinted that she might have said something to Bette. Neither of them are great at keeping secrets, but Ryan also knows they want him and Magdalene to get together and aren’t above manipulation to achieve their goals. He doesn’t know how Magdalene actually feels, but Ryan isn’t willing to risk losing their friendship. Just a couple of months ago she sat on the deck of the lake house and told him she wasn’t looking for a relationship – he has to assume that’s still her position because if he doesn’t Ryan isn’t quite sure what he’ll unleash. Though the two of them are close, closer than most friends, Magdalene stills keeps a lot of things to herself and Ryan doesn’t want to pry. When, and if, she’s ready he knows she’ll come to him.

Exhausted from the countless hours of travel he’s endured over the past few days and the pains that come along with being a professional athlete, Ryan falls back onto the couch cushions. He hurts in places he didn’t know existed and wants to do nothing but sleep. Caligula settles into his stomach, purring contently, and though he knows he should unpack his gear, Ryan can’t find the energy to move himself or the cat. Everything will still be there when he wakes up, and hopefully Magdalene will be on her way home. She texted Ryan earlier in the morning, no doubt just before she headed out the door, to say that she was taking some holidays to have a long weekend and would be home around noon. Sleep comes easy with Caligula nestled against his body, and Ryan dreams of Magdalene as he frequently does.

☼☼☼☼

Despite Bette telling her countless times she shouldn’t be, Magdalene is nervous. The significant others of the Colorado Avalanche are a tight knit group and are very particular with who they let in. Magdalene is a nothing, has no true connections to the team besides being Tyson’s girlfriend’s best friend, and she’s worried she won’t make the cut. If it wasn’t for Bette picking her up in the morning Magdalene would have found a way to get out of drinks, but the blonde made sure she couldn’t make a run for it.

Sitting in the elevated booth, she not-so-casually sips her glass of wine while Bette tries to calm her down. “They’re going to hate me,” she groans, lowering her head to rest it on the table.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bette counters. “You literally know most of them, and Livy will be here if you get too uncomfortable, but most of them were at EJ’s back in May.”

Magdalene can’t argue with the truth, so she rolls her eyes and finishes her drink. By the time she flags down the waiter for a refill the other girls have arrived. They take turns hugging Bette and shuffling into their seats. Magdalene feels awkward with no one acknowledging her, but she does her best to buck up and deal with it. It means a lot to Bette, and Ryan, that she’s here trying to make friends so she’ll at least make an effort.

A blonde who looks a little older than the rest addresses her first. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Mel. I think we met last season at a game.”

It takes Magdalene a second to recall the face, but then she recognizes Mel as the person who alerted her to the fight Ryan got into to defend Tyson. “Oh yeah,” she chuckles, though it’s still got a nervous quality, “You’re the one who was yelling about Ryan’s fight.”

Everyone looks at her like Magdalene had confessed to seeing a ghost. “What’s the matter?”

“No one ever calls him that,” a petite girl with tight curls explains. “We all just call him Gravy.”

“Oh.”

Magdalene isn’t sure what the comment is supposed to mean, or if it even meant anything at all, but she does her best to push it aside because Livy is trying to catch up with her. The rest of the outing goes well – Magdalene keeps quiet until someone gives an inaccurate analogy about Rome and she has to correct them. It may make her seem stuck up, but she really hates when people spread misinformation. Everyone laughs, and after that it’s hard for Magdalene to stay silent. She talks about work and college, but when someone asks about home she shuts down. Bette notices the shift in her behaviour before Magdalene’s face has even dropped, and shifts the conversation in another direction. Soon it’s a respectable time to head to the arena and they all pay their tabs, Magdalene going first and then ducking out of the bar that became crowded while they were sitting down.

The fresh air feels good against her skin, and she takes the time alone to regulate her thoughts. There’s still several hours until she can return home and cry in the shower over the mention of her family so it’s important to present a calm facade. Bette comes out slightly ahead of the other girls and checks in with her friend, but Magdalene assures her she’s okay. It was a bit of a spook, but the other girls have no idea about how fucked up her familial situation is so Magdalene can’t hold it against them. The arena is a few blocks over, so the group walks towards it at a brisk pace. Magdalene’s mind is still churning from the bar when they step inside, so she peels off from the rest of the group. Warm ups are about to start and she knows that seeing Ryan will help to calm her down, at least until they can go home and she can sequester herself away from the rest of the world.

She finds a space against the glass and strains her eyes for her new favourite number. Ryan hasn’t made it out on the ice yet, but Tyson gives her a big wave when he skates past. It takes a few seconds, though it feels like years, but Ryan eventually steps out, all long limbs and hair and dazzling smile as his teammates give him big hi-fives. Magdalene doesn’t want to intrude but she needs to spend a few moments with him to feel completely present. When he skates by she waves shyly, and Ryan doubles back once he realizes who it is.

“There’s my favourite girl!” he shouts over the crowd, making sure Magdalene can hear.

The phrase brings a smile to her face, which in turn makes Ryan light up more. “Hi Ry,” she yells back. “I just wanted to come and say hi.”

Ryan’s heart warms at her words, but he knows that’s not the only reason. He’s lived with her long enough to know that something is bothering her but he isn’t going to push. There isn’t much time to have a conversation, so Ryan takes the time to make plans for after the game. “You riding home with me?”

Magdalene nods. “Yeah. Bette picked me up this morning so I didn’t drive.”

The loud sound of sticks clapping against the ice startles them both, and it’s Ryan’s teammate’s way of getting him to refocus. Magdalene says goodbye and before Ryan heads back to the bench he flips a puck over the glass for her. She smiles brightly, and watches him skate away. On her way up the stairs she hands it to a little girl wearing a much too big Graves jersey. It makes her night, and Magdalene returns to the private box she’s watching the game from feeling much lighter than when she entered the arena.

☼☼☼☼

Later, much later, after all of Ryan’s post game media and sitting through the traffic of downtown, Magdalene opens up about what was bothering her at the arena. The two of them are curled up in Ryan’s bed buried under a mass of blankets with several pillows strewn about. It’s become a frequent place for them to spend time, and every time they lay down Magdalene rests her head on Ryan’s chest and he keeps her in place with his arms wrapped tightly around her. Magdalene’s clutching his hoodie tighter than usual, her voice small as she speaks into the darkness of the room.

“I didn’t just want to say hi earlier.”

Ryan isn’t surprised by her confession, but wants to know what caused the surprise visit. “No? What was it?”

Magdalene lift head and shifts to face him, propping herself up with an open palm. “It’s kind of stupid,” she mumbles, feeling dumb for even bringing it up. Ryan doesn’t want to know the sob story that is her past life. “But it’s mostly okay now.”

“You don’t have to tell me, and I don’t want to push, but I think getting it off your chest will help,” he whispers, feeling like talking in a normal voice could startle the girl in front of him.

He’s right – Magdalene knows it. Telling someone the truth, as much of the truth as she can share, other than Bette would do her some good. Her therapist once said Magdalene needed to work on letting people in, and she figures there’s no one better than Ryan. “One of the girls asked me about home when we were getting drinks, and it’s just a really sore subject for me. I shut down and just needed to see you to ground myself.” Ryan goes to talk, but Magdalene continues. “No one really knows, but I left for Denver as soon as I graduated high school. My parents weren’t the greatest, and I suffered a lot emotionally at home. When I told them I was leaving, they told me never to come back and we haven’t spoken since. So yeah, that’s pretty much it. And I just needed to see you to remind myself that I’m okay without my family. You’re part of my family now, the one that really matters.”

Ryan is speechless. “Oh bug,” he sighs, heart hurting for all the pain Magdalene has experienced in her life. “I’m so sorry.” He wants to scream for her, maybe even break something, but all his anger dissipates when he looks down and sees her crying. Silently, Ryan wipes away the tears with the pad of his thumb and holds Magdalene until she stops trembling. They lay in silence for a while, sitting with the weight of the confession she just made. At some point Caligula shuffles in and finds a spot at Ryan’s side that isn’t occupied by Magdalene. The three of them feel like a little family, and it’s too good for Magdalene not to do something about.

“Can I kiss you?”

She’s never been so confident while asking a question. Magdalene knows he wants to kiss Ryan, has known for a while, and after baring her soul to him it seems like an appropriate time to take the plunge. They’ve never truly been just friends and everyone around them, including themselves, knows it.

“Mags,” Ryan says in a gentle yet stern voice, “I’m not gonna kiss you. You’ve just been very vulnerable with me, which I appreciate, and though I really really want to fucking kiss you I’m going to take advantage of you like that.”

If it were possible, Magdalene’s heart would expand so much it would be close to bursting. “I promise this is what I want and that I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. So please shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.”

She leans forward to connect their lips, and it feels like a fire has been ignited in her veins. Ryan is soft and gentle with the right amount of grit to make Magdalene weak in the knees. They move in tandem, giving and taking where necessary, and by the time they pull apart for air Magdalene thinks she’ll never be able to kiss anyone other than Ryan. When he looks at her, eyes kind and glimmering with light, Magdalene is certain kissing other people is off the table.

Neither of them make an effort to talk about what just happened or what it means. Instead, Magdalene kisses him again, and again, and keeps going until she’s completely out of breath. There’s no protest from Ryan, and he looks as blissful as Magdalene feels. She rests her head on his chest again and he cards his fingers through her hair as they sit in the comfortable silence that surrounds them.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene keeps kissing Ryan, and he keeps kissing her. It’s always in the safety of his apartment, oftentimes with Caligula in the way, but wholesome and loving and warm. They haven’t defined their relationship, and truthfully Magdalene is glad. She likes being friends with Ryan and doesn’t know how the added pressures of dating would affect them – though she might like kissing him more than just being friends.

It becomes routine for either of them to reach for a kiss before heading to the door. Magdalene gets one every time she leaves for work, and if she’s there before Ryan has to leave for games he’s pulled into her lips by his tie. It’s fun and it’s new and Magdalene never wants it to end. She keeps the secret for a couple weeks, but eventually it becomes too much to hold in and she tells Bette one Saturday when they meet for brunch at Barn Owl because the boys are away.

“I kissed Ryan.” It’s out of her mouth like a bullet, cutting through the air and ringing out. Bette is shocked, jaw dropping, only to open further when Magdalene corrects herself. “Been kissing Ryan, actually.”

“You’re fucking joking,” Bette laughs, still not one hundred percent sure Magdalene is being serious. When the brunette nods her head, she squeals in what can only be presumed as delight. “Shut up! Tell me everything!”

Magdalene indulges her friend, and spills every detail she’s willing to share. Part of her wants to keep a bit of her life with Ryan a secret so she does, but Bette is more than willing to work with the information given. She listens carefully while Magdalene talks and waits until there’s nothing more to say before diving into a long list of reasons why kissing Ryan is the best thing that’s ever happened to her friend. Magdalene isn’t sure that it’s great because Bette will always have someone to go to games with, but she is in agreement that it is one of the best choices she’s ever made. They spend the rest of the morning giggling like school girls over potential love and Magdalene heads back to Ryan’s place feeling light and airy.

☼☼☼☼

The first thing Ryan does when he comes home is kisses Magdalene. She’s sitting on the couch with Caligula on her lap reading a book, and he doesn’t even bother to drop his bags on the floor before leaning over the worn leather and connecting their lips. It feels heavenly after the days-long absence and Magdalene chases his lips when Ryan pulls away.

“I missed you.”

They’re three words that shouldn’t mean much, but coming from him they send Magdalene spiralling. He missed her? The girl who spends her days geeking out over old documents and talks to her cat? Regardless of how true the statement is she appreciates it, because Magdalene missed Ryan more than she could ever explain.

“How was the flight home?” she asks, twirling a lock of his hair around her index finger and pulling him down for another kiss. Ryan happily obliges, and kisses her until Caligula begins to meow for attention. The cat practically launches himself into Ryan’s arms as he rounds the corner to sit down next to Magdalene, and purrs loudly at being reunited with the tall man.

Ryan laughs at the animal’s antics before wrapping his spare arm around Magdalene and pulling her close. “It was fine. We hit a bit of turbulence that made it hard to sleep but I managed,” he replies, and reaches for the television remote. Magdalene hums in response, resting her head on Ryan’s shoulder and returning her attention to the book in her hands. It’s silent except for the low buzz of the television as Ryan reviews tape, but neither of them mind. Co-existing is enough for both of them, and it’s peaceful and easy. The occasional conversation occurs but they mostly do their own thing, enjoying the feeling of being together again. More than a few kisses are shared, and Magdalene eventually pries herself away from Ryan long enough to make dinner.

They stayed glued to each other until Magdalene falls asleep. Ryan doesn’t even notice when it happens, but eventually he tries to leave the couch to get a glass of water and finds dead weight on top of him in the shape of the girl he just might love. Magdalene’s snoring softly, and he’s positive there is nothing more adorable in the entire world. A glance at the clock on the wall alerts Ryan to the fact that he should go to bed too, and he begins to brainstorm how to get Magdalene into bed without waking her. She’s been exhausted lately, working extended hours, and he knows she needs all the rest she can get.

It takes a few moments to coordinate, but Ryan gets himself upright without Magdalene realizing she’s no longer using him as a pillow. Gently he scoops her into his arms and pads down the hallway, careful not to hit her ankles on the walls or door frames. Once inside her room, Ryan tucks Magdalene into bed and makes sure her phone is on the nightstand just where she likes it. She looks so content in sleep that he can’t help but lean down and press a shirt kiss to her forehead.

“Night Mags,” he whispers into the dark, wondering if she’ll wake and hear all the adoration his voice holds.

Magdalene stirs at the noise, and opens her eyes to see Ryan’s retreating figure. “Night Ry.”

It’s late, approaching two in the morning, when Magdalene’s phone starts ringing off the hook. Though Ryan has told her multiple times that she doesn’t need to turn her sound on before she goes to bed, she can never find it in her to heed his words. What if there’s an emergency somewhere and some hospital has to get a hold of her? Magdalene would never be able to forgive herself if she was too late because she slept through the incoming calls.

Despite her underlying fears of missing something important, Magdalene considers letting it go to voicemail. She’s exhausted, between the high maintenance projects at work and trying her hardest to go to every Avalanche home game she can, and if it’s urgent she’s sure the person will call again if they need her. It rings three more times before Magdalene decides to pick it up – if only to stop the incessant noise.

Not bothering to even see who’s calling at such an ungodly hour, Magdalene speaks in a sleep-laden voice that betrays what she was doing not even a minute prior. “Hello?”

Bette answers her, offering a quick but sincere apology for the time but explaining that it couldn’t wait. Magdalene groans in contempt, thinking that it most certainly could have waited a few more hours. She doesn’t voice her opinion however, instead waiting for her friend to spill whatever news was making her bounce up and down on the other side of the line.

She’s about to hang up when Bette utters a sentence Magdalene’s been waiting for but never thought she’d hear at one fifty-seven am. “I’m getting married!”

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlouisbluesbrat21 @denis-scorianov @danglesnipecelly @c-tangerine @stormingroses @spine-buster @rapidfever @bb-nhlqueen7 (add yourself to the taglist!)

#ryan graves imagine #ryan graves x oc #ryan graves fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #dmtteol

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esteemedproblem · 3 years

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The Duke💞

Painting/artistic lover-friend thing

+ Has seen his handful of paintings but most of the ones he deals with are very old, antiques or paintings he didn’t get to witness the creation of. He thinks they are pretty sure, able to be sold at a nice price too but I don’t think he is too awfully big on them. Probably keeps a few in his home to liven the place up but probably isn’t attached to any painting in particular. Would be open to discuss the meaning of the painting sure that seems like something he would enjoy a lot wondering what the painter was thinking while they crafted their piece.

+ However it is a different experience altogether seeing a painting being created on the canvas in person. Seeing each calculated or heartfelt stroke of the brush forming the image. All the painting over old brushstrokes and adding the details just to change it into something else. He will frequently ask you why you decide to make specific decisions on a piece and whether it is a long explanation or simply that it feels right, he is amazed.

+ Even if you aren’t a particularly good artist, watching you create is something he wouldn’t miss. From sketches of flowers, to recreations of items that only exist within your dreams each piece you create he will remember likely better than you will. He will remark upon an old image you created like it was a week ago and you will simply not remember it because it was months ago and a piece you weren’t particularly fond of or didn’t think was noteworthy. To him it was noteworthy.

+ Isn’t a fan of digital work it’s not that he doesn’t think it’s art he just has a preference for traditional art. (Karl would probably think digital art is cool might write him next) There is just something so different about how a painting/drawing/sketch feels holding it in your hand and seeing the lines, erase marks, texture and life that this piece went through to be created.

+ If you are just getting into art he will be your biggest motivator. He has an excellent way of fitting helping criticism and compliments into something truly helpful. He is like this with any hobby you wish to pick up really he would never try to stifle your desires or artistic pulls.

+ Even if all you draw him is two stick figures holding hands he will have that hanging up on one of the doors to his wagon for the rest of time.

+ The main reason I started writing this is for this one. The Duke has never been drawn or painted before, he had never bothered to ask and pay someone to do it and no one has ever asked him if they could paint him. If you ask him if you can draw him or paint him he will be taken back frozen for a moment before replying with laughter and “I would love that actually.” He is the most confident man I know but being someone’s muse would make him feel so unbelievably loved and adored. If you gift him the piece afterwards it will instantly become his most treasured item. Absolutely priceless.

#the duke #re8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #i want to learn how to paint so i can paint him but alkdjfd i cant actually give it to him huh

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jamaisjoons · 4 years

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me & you ⤑ jhs | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 your relationship with your best friend has always been strange - especially since you started as friends with benefits. 〞best friends to lovers au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: hoseok x reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: light angst ⋆ fluff ⋆ smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: soft dom!hoseok, sub!reader, softcore porn, anal fingering, anal sex, but like its not kinky, just v sof, unprotected sex, anal creampie, mentions to ass to pussy, AGAIN ITS ALL SOFCORE PORN OKAY but don’t fucking do that irl use a damn condom this is fantasy not real life okay

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: god i��m really out here wildin and writing softcore anal porn in one day? damn someone come stop me

⏤ happy belated birthday to @readyplayerhobi,, miss tali i love you lots and this bff!hobi fic is what you deserve

Large beams of sunlight stream in through the open door of your cramped, rooftop apartment. The radiant rays illuminate the small space of your front room - chiffon curtains lightly billowing in the wind. A light shiver runs across your spine and goosebumps prickle at your skin. Sitting on the floor of your front room, you stare at Hoseok - taking in the complete almost intangible sight of him.

Lounging lazily, his back pressed against the sofa’s edge - your best friend hums softly to himself: indolently flicking through the pages of his book. He’s a picture-perfect view of ease - his muscles completely relaxed and eyes idly flittering over the pages of his book. Long fingers delicately support the spine - his grip gentle: as if applying any more pressure would cause it to fall to pieces. Occasionally, he lifts his other hand and turns the page.

The motion shouldn’t be so captivating. It’s a simple gesture - turning the page of a book. Yet, the way Hoseok’s graceful fingers flit down the side of the page before curling around a corner and flipping the page, has you completely spellbound. His fingers move elegantly, and you can’t help the way your eyes follow them - gaze fixated on the slender, pretty digits.

Suddenly, Hoseok shifts to a different position. Knees drawn up to his chest, he rests his elbows against the kneecaps as he pulls the book closer to his face. The faded couch behind him silhouettes his figure - drawing attention to his slender body. Dressed in a pastel blue baggy shirt, and loose-fitting grey slacks, he’s the epitome of comfort. Though, somehow, he still looks utterly ethereal. His russet-red hair ruffles in the wind, his heart-shape lips pulled into a slight pout - dimples teasing at the corners - as he focuses on his book.

Breath hitching in your throat, you struggle to breathe. Hoseok is beautiful - you have absolutely no doubts about that. Nor do you have any doubts about the almost overpowering swell of emotions you feel whenever you see him. Butterflies bloom in the pits of your stomach at the sheer sight of him, and the sound of his dulcet voice ringing through the air never fails to cause your heart to lurch.

You and Hoseok have been best friends for almost seven years now - but you’ve never had the most conventional relationship. No - because best friends usually don’t sleep with each other when they feel like it. But you and Hoseok do.

Or at least you used to.

Best friends don’t know incredibly intimate details of your sex life. But you and Hoseok do. You know what he sounds like in bed: the sweet, sinful noises he makes in the midst of pleasure. You know the feel of his hands over your naked flesh: his hands splayed across your back as he pulls you flush against his body. You know the way his cock feels inside you: pulsing synchronously with your own walls as he fills you up with his cum.

The two of you may no longer sleep together - that had long since faded after you’d graduated - but that doesn’t mean you don’t know - or that you don’t remember.

Had you started conventionally, of course, you’d never have known Hoseok intimately. However - when the two of you had met, it had been in the first year of college - in a dingy bar frequented by the broke students of your university. In a mess of drunken limbs, you’d fallen into bed together that night. And the night after that. And the next. It had started as just a simple release - no strings attached and just a way to burn off the stress of college. But eventually - it had started becoming more.

Stressful nights filled with hands grasping for a quick release had turned into early morning study brunches together. Drunken Saturdays filled with frenzied, sloppy touches turned into late afternoon Sundays lying in bed. Spontaneous evenings filled with needy kisses and wandering hands turned into late-night pillow talks. At some point in your casual relationship - you’d stopped going home after your little rendezvous - and you’d begun sleeping over.

Then had come the pillow talk. Tongue loosed by your orgasms - Hoseok would pull you close into his body, and you would sigh at the tacky feel of his sweat-soaked skin against your own. But it wouldn’t matter - because he’d soothingly rub your back, and you’d trace your name in his skin over and over again. And you’d talk - talk about everything and nothing at the same time. Sometimes, you’d talk about your dreams for the future - and sometimes you’d playfully argue about which Disney Princess would win in a fight. But sure enough, through those late-night pillow talks, the two of you had developed an unlikely, somewhat strange, friendship.

You’d gone from simply fucking and crying each other’s names, to talking about your lives, your past and your hopes. Out of all your friends, Hoseok knows the most about you. He knows your favourite brand of chocolate - stashing some of it in your secret pile of sweets during your period. He knows the names of every one of your plush toys and pets from childhood - and the order of which ones are your most favourite to your least. He knows that some nights, you like to be left alone; dissociating from the stress of work and life as you retreat into your self to recuperate.

In fact, there is very little that Hoseok doesn’t know about you.

If you’re being honest, you can count the things he doesn’t know about you on one hand. He doesn’t know that his smile is your favourite thing in the entire world: you’re sure he could light up the entirety of Seoul with you. You know he definitely lights up your world with it. He doesn’t know that his tender touches are the one thing that can calm you down without failure - or that when you’re most stressed, you wish for nothing more than his arms around you while he whispers everything will be alright. But most importantly, he doesn’t know that somewhere in the seven years that you’ve known him, you’ve completely and utterly fallen in love with him.

After you’d graduated, almost three and a half years ago now, you and Hoseok had stopped sleeping with each other. Mainly because you’d found yourself getting into a serious relationship. Hence, you’d ended it with Hoseok - and your relationship had fallen into one of just friendship. Of course, that serious relationship had failed after about six months - and you’d never admit it to him, but it was due to Hoseok himself. When your boyfriend, Juhwan, had found out that you’d been sleeping with Hoseok, he’d freaked out and demanded you choose between the two.

When he’d presented you with the choice, you’d been shocked. Hoseok had been a constant in your life for four years by then. So you’d made your choice. A very easy choice. Aided by the fact that not only were you bored and listless in your relationship with Juhwan, but that he’d also tried to remove Hoseok from your life. So, you chose Hoseok. You’d always choose Hoseok. Of course, it was probably your own downfall that caused the bitter end to the relationship. Completely accustomed to your odd relationship with Hoseok, you had compared Juhwan to your best friend - craving the spark of connection and intimacy that you feel for Hoseok with someone else.

In the years after Juhwan, you’d tried to date again - but none of them compared to Hoseok. None of them smiled the same as him, or had his humour, or made you feel at ease like he did. So, for years now, you’ve simply settled for being Hoseok’s best friend. There’s still traces of your former intimacy; in the way his hand instinctively falls to the small of your back as he leads you around, the way the two of you snuggle on the sofa while watching Netflix: Hoseok’s hand resting just above your ass, your body laying on top of him - or even in the way he’ll buy you flowers ‘just because’ and kiss your forehead.

Just like that, with simple - what should have been platonic - gestures, you’d fallen headfirst for your best friend. Between the warm smiles on coffee dates, lazy strolls through the parks, and the way he’d playfully smile at you and call your name - as if it belonged to him; you’d lost your heart on him.

You couldn’t help it. Nor do you regret it.

Utterly magnetised to your best friend, you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him, press your mouth to his and drown every one of your senses in him. A part of you wonders if Hoseok feels the same way - whether he yearns for you as much as you yearn for him. Drawn out of your musings, you hear Hoseok’s phone vibrate on the low coffee. Placing his book down, Hoseok picks up his phone before unlocking it with a swipe. After his lips twist in amusement, he lets out a tinkling, raucous laugh. Eyebrows shooting into your hairline, you cock your head in question.

“What happened?” you ask, your head tilting to the side.

With another boisterous laugh, Hoseok’s eyes glance up from the screen. Eyes twinkling with mirth, “Namjoon and his girlfriend tried to have anal sex - but the moment he entered her ass he came,” Hoseok guffaws. His words only have you scoffing.

“Pretty bold of her - I’ve heard stories about his cock. I wonder if it’s as big as they say it is?” you ruminate distractedly. Preoccupied with your own thought, you don’t see the way Hoseok’s eyes soften, a slight twinge of despair ebbing through them. However, as quick as it starts, it fades away and he turns back to his phone. “I wonder what it feels like,” you continue musing out loud.

“Namjoon’s cock?” Hoseok chokes out, looking at you with wide eyes. Sending him a playful disdainful glare, you snort.

“No - anal sex,” you reply - as if it were the most obvious answer. Had this been a conversation with someone else - anyone else - you’d be uncomfortable and shy. But it’s Hoseok - and you’d always been open with him.

“Wait, you’ve never had anal sex?” Hoseok’s incredulous voice breaks the air.

Humming softly, you shake your head. Then, with a shrug, “I haven’t really had anyone I trust enough to do it with,” you reply.

“Do you want it?” Hoseok asks - his voice turning breathy.

With a soft laugh, “why are you offering?” you tease. Your words are meant to be playful, but seeing the heavy sincerity in Hoseok’s eyes, you pause.

“Yes. I am,” Hoseok replies, his voice completely serious.

“W-wait what?” you ask, your mind suddenly swimming with haziness.

“I mean it. It’s not like we haven’t fucked before - and you do trust me, don’t you?” he asks - then with a pause - “But it’s completely up to you,” Hoseok finishes. You swallow audibly, your throat constricting. Would this be a bad idea? It’s been so long since you’ve felt Hoseok’s naked body against your own. But things are different now - you hadn’t been in love with him then - you are in love with him now. Would you be able to survive feeling him inside you - so intimately - only to lose him again? You have no idea.

Despite your reluctance, however, “yes,” your mouth automatically agrees. Consequences be damned - you’ll deal with heartbreak later. Right now, you have to opportunity to have Hoseok again - to feel his naked skin against your own as you drown in all that is him. You’d be damned if you lost this opportunity.

“I- are you sure?” Hoseok asks. His warm eyes stare at you in question; you know him well enough to know he’s giving you an out. But you don’t need one. You’re sure of this - as sure as the love you feel for him. Even if it’s just one last time, you need to feel him inside you.

Eyes steeling with resolution, “yes,” you reply once again. Sucking in a sharp breath, Hoseok nods. Then, he’s getting up. He holds his hand out to you and you place your own in his palm before you allow him to lead you to his bedroom.

Stepping past the threshold of his bedroom you feel the heat rise by several degrees. Carefully, Hoseok guides you towards his bed. This streams of sunlight bath his bedroom - lighting up every inch and corner. There’s not a hint of shadow or darkness, and suddenly you feel a little selfconscious. Without any cover, you’ll be completely exposed to him - unable to hide any flaw on your body. Suddenly, you feel your stomach twist in nervousness, and momentarily, you wonder if this was a mistake.

Hesitancy thickening in the air around you, Hoseok’s in front of you in a flash. Your eyes widen at the sudden movement and you let out a short gasp. He’s incredibly close to you now - his face only a hair’s breadth away from yours. Swallowing thickly, you look up at him through the thick of your eyelashes. With deliberate movements, Hoseok’s hand moves to cup your face - and delicately strokes his thumb across your cheek.

His actions comfort you - the tension in your shoulder dissipating under his tender touch. Boring into you with his warm gaze, Hoseok dips his head down. His lips hover over your own - so close that you can almost feel his mouth - almost taste him. Heart-shaped lips ghosting over yours, “It’s alright. I’ve got you,” Hoseok mutters.

Then, his lips are descending onto yours. You gasp against his mouth. It’s been so long since you’ve tasted him - felt his mouth move against yours - that you’ve forgotten what he tastes like. Not anymore, though. As he licks your lips, the saccharine flavour of his tongue coats your lips; and with another gasp, your mouth parts open. Lethargically, he presses his tongue between your teeth - the wet appendage massaging and gliding over your own.

Lost in the intoxicating sweetness of Hoseok’s tongue against your own - you barely register the way he undresses you. Briefly, he breaks your kiss - a soft whine of protest slipping from your lips - as he sheds you off your top. Then, pressing his lips back against you, his hands caress down the curves of your sides and along your abdomen before he deftly unbuttons your jeans.

Aiding his movements, you step out of your jeans - leaving most of your body exposed. The crisp air causes you to shiver, Hoseok’s hands reverently falling to your hips as he pulls you closer. Head dropping to your neck, his hands curl around your pelvis before cupping your ass. When he squeezes the fleshy cheeks of your behind, you gasp. However, he doesn’t stop there. Fingers delving under the waistband of your underwear, he spreads your ass with one hand - the fingertips of the other brushing against your dewy slit.

A low groan resounds through the air, Hoseok’s chest rumbling against yours, “You’re already wet. God, I forgot how responsive you are,” he rasps. His warm breath fans over the naked flesh of your shoulder, and over your back, causing the hair at the nape of your back to stand on end.

“H-Hoseok,” you stammer out, your head nuzzling deeper into the crook of his neck when you feel him lightly trace the outline of your folds.

“What do you want, Petal?” Hoseok questions. The sound of the familiar pet name causes your heart to clench. Vividly, you remember the way he used to call you Petal, his fingers ghosting over your clit as he brought you to climax. Though, this time it’s different. Before, whenever he called you Petal, the pet name would drip with desire and dominance. Now, however, it’s filled with tenderness - his soft voice causing your chest to cave from the weight of the emotions that well up inside you.

The muscles of your throat tighten, and simultaneously, your tongue ties as you try to force the words out. “You. I want you,” you choke out. There’s more truth to them than he knows - than he’ll probably ever know. The magnitude of your words ring heavy in the air, the atmosphere shifting slightly. Hoseok hums in approval from above you, his finger still tracing teasing circles over your folds.

“Where?” he murmurs. Taking a deep, shuddering inhale, your heart races. Everywhere - is the first thought that springs to your mind. You want to feel him everywhere: feel yourself drown in his embrace, inhale the intoxicating scent of earth and spice that wafts around him, taste the sweetness that is his essence. You want to sink into everything that makes up the entirety of Hoseok’s being. But the confession sits heavy at the back of your throat, the words turning to ash in your mouth as you feel your tongue dry.

Instead, “I-In my a-ass,” you stutter out. Choking out the words, you feel your ears heat - your flesh searing in embarrassment. You know he can feel your mortification - he’s the only one who can read you like a book - but rather than pointing it out, he places a soothing kiss to the edge of your shoulder.

Drawing away from you, “get on the bed,” he urges.

On shaky limbs, you do as he says. Falling to the bed with a bounce, you shuffle backwards. You watch him slowly shed his own clothes, until he’s dressed in nothing but his boxers. Trepidation and want pools in the pit of your abdomen, your stomach twisting as you watch him slowly approach you once. Momentarily, he stops at his bedside table, and opening the mahogany draw, he begins rummaging around in it. Time moves slowly - the seconds ticking by at what feels like an excruciating phase as he searches through his bedside table.

Finally, he finds what he’s looking for. When he pulls out the small bottle of lube, your stomach flips. Crawling back onto the bed, he comes to a halt in front of you. Knees pressed to the bed, he leans back on the backs of his heels before gesturing to your with the wave of his hand. “On your hands and knees, Petal,” Hoseok commands softly. The light domineering tone is reminiscent of the way he used to beckon you to your knees - but again, this time, it’s different. His command is softer - and you simply can’t decipher the underlying current of tenderness clinging to his tone.

Nonetheless, you slowly flip yourself over. Bearing your ass to him, Hoseok dips forward and presses a soothing kiss to the base of your spine. You feel his fingers curl around the waistband of your underwear before he peels the article of clothing off of you. A soft sough drops from your lips when you feel the damp fabric pull away from your folds before he slides it down your thighs. Lifting your legs, you aid Hoseok in divesting you of your underwear. When he’s done, he turns back to your sex, and you bite your lip when you feel his dark gaze on your folds.

In this position, you’re bared completely for him - nothing hidden from him. Under his heavy stare, you feel yourself grow self-conscious once again. Curling into yourself, you bury your face into his pillow before taking deep breaths. The scent of earth and spice fills your senses, the calming scent soothing you instantly. From behind you, Hoseok drags his soft lips against the fleshy globes of your ass, before he presses two tender kisses to each cheek.

“Relax, Petal, I’ll take care of you,” Hoseok mumbles. His warm breath ghosts over the seam of your ass, the muscles of your thigh twitching in response. Taking another deep breath, you pull yourself together before nodding to him.

“What’s your safeword?” Hoseok asks and another wave of nostalgia hits you.

“Butterscotch,” you breathe out. Hoseok freezes behind you, his face crumpling as he hears the word.

“Still?”

You bite your lip at the light disbelief in his voice.

Butterscotch had been the safeword he’d chosen for you - because you’d consumed an unhealthy amount of it during your university years. Butterscotch reminded Hoseok of you - of the days you used to suck at the caramel sweets and drive him mad with lust: wishing you’d suck at his cock the same way. For you, however, butterscotch reminds you wholly of Hoseok; and the way he’d sweetly call your name when you came undone above him. And even now, years after him, and long since you’ve had him in your bed, butterscotch remains your safeword - the security blanket you’d never really been able to let go of.

“Still,” you reply, echoing his sentiment. Hoseok takes a couple of moments to let your words wash over him. Fruitlessly, he tries to figure out what it means; figure out why still, after all this time, you’d kept the same safe word. But he can’t make anything of it. So instead, he presses another sweet kiss to your skin.

“Okay. Say ‘Butterscotch’ if it gets too much, alright, Sweetness?” Hoseok breathes out. Sweetness. That’s a new one - you haven’t heard him call you that before. Sweetness; you repeat in your head. Over and over you play the name in your head, until it’s all you can hear: until you’re drowning in it.

Abruptly, you feel a cold liquid drip over the seam of your ass. Pulled back to reality, you buck your hips and hiss at the sensation. Hoseok pays you no mind, instead, dripping more of the lube over your twitching asshole. The click of the cap resounds through the still air and then silence. He’s incredibly still behind you, and you have to resist the urge to turn around and look at him. You have no idea what he’s waiting for - but the pause only has you growing tense again.

Without warning, he presses a finger against the rim of your ass. You groan, your thighs quivering when you feel him softly trace the outline of your puckered hole. His touch is gentle - reverent - as he traces your back entrance. The slim finger barely ghosts over your flesh, his finger moving in feathery circles. He’s barely doing anything, yet heat begins prickling along your spine. Just the soft strokes of his fingers has pleasure rippling through you, and briefly, you wonder what it would feel like to have him actually inside you.

Though, you don’t have to wonder long - because the next thing you know, Hoseok is applying pressure to your asshole. Under the force of his lubricated finger, your ass slowly opens up for him. Simultaneously, the two of you hiss: you in the odd pleasantness of your ass opening up around his slim finger; and Hoseok in incredulity as the hot tightness of your ass muscles squeeze his fingers.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” Hoseok mutters. Experimentally, he wriggles his finger inside you, causing a cry to tear through your throat. It’s definitely a strange sense of fullness - but you can’t deny the sheer undercurrent pleasure that tremors through you.

“M-More,” you choke out, softly bucking against his hand.

A deep exhale, “Fuck- okay,” Hoseok rasps out. You feel another squirt of lube against your ass, the puckered rim twitching as the cold feeling. Slowly, Hoseok begins thrusting his finger into you, gradually opening up your muscles for him.

Low keening whimpers emanate from your throat, wetness flooding your sex as you feel his finger plunge leisurely inside you. Hoseok moves with deliberate motions, his lips ghosting over your ass in soothing butterfly kisses. “Are you okay? Speak to me, Petal,” Hoseok urges, picking up the pace slightly.

Head spinning with pleasure, you hazily register his words, “G-good. It feels good. Hobi- please, more,” you reply with a strangled moan.

At your behest, Hoseok presses a second finger into you. You feel the tight ring of muscles stretch for him. Discomfort stings at your ass, the slight ache making you wince. Hoseok mumbles an apology, peppering another kiss to the base of your spine. Even as he does that, however, he continues pushing the second finger into you. Once it’s knuckle deep, he stills - letting you grow used to the sensation.

“How’s that?” he asks. Shaking your head, you try to clear your head. Your mouth is dry, throat completely parched. Hands aching, you unclench them from the sheets - when had the happened?

“It’s alright. Just- just give me a moment,” you breathe out. Hoseok nods behind you. You both stay like that for long moments - the internal muscles of your ass twitching every now and then. When you grow accustomed to the stretch, you experimentally clench around his fingers. You cry out in pleasure when your ass squeezes his digits, a low thrum of bliss swirling in your stomach.

“Okay, y-you can move,” you stammer out. With your permission, Hoseok begins thrusting his fingers into you once again. With every plunge of the dainty appendages, your stomach twists and tightens. Muscles of your thighs quivering, you lose yourself in the pleasure of Hoseok’s fingers stretching your ass out.

Foreignness of it all fading away, you’re left with nothing but utter, blissful rapture. A third finger teases at your entrance - and this time, when Hoseok pushes it into you - the muscles of your ass are relaxed - and you easily accept the third digit. The stretch feels euphoric, and sinking further into unadulterated intoxication, you push your ass against him.

Deliberately, Hoseok plunges his fingers into you - his eyes trained on the way your ass swallows his digits. Lube slicks his appendages, the slippery fingers coating your internal muscles in the slick lubrication. Within the confines of his boxers, his cock strains, pulsating with need as he continues fucking his fingers into your ass. His throat constricting, he spreads all three fingers inside you: in a scissoring motion, as he stretches you out further.

The sudden action has you crying out, your back contorting in euphoric elation. Hoseok lets out a deep shudder at the sight - once tense with nervousness, your shoulders are completely relaxed now - you’re ass pushing back against his digits. Once again, he spreads his fingers - trying to spread you out as much as possible for his cock. The stretch has your rolling back once again, your pussy clenching around nothing as you drip onto his sheets.

“Want you. Fuck- Hoseok I want your cock,” you slur out, your hips picking up the pace as you try to fuck his fingers deeper into you.

“I need to stretch you out more or-” Hoseok tries to argue. However, fists gripping the sheets harder, you shake your head.

“I’m ready! Please, I just wanna feel your cock. Please,” you plead. Hoseok waivers for a brief moment, but the desperation in your voice, paired with his own aching cock, has him giving in.

Retreating his fingers from your ass, he grabs the bottle of lube again. You hear him uncap the contained before squirting some on his cock. Slick sounds of his palm rubbing over his cock fill the air as he preps his cock for your ass. However, when he presses the head against your asshole, you twist your hand back and stop him.

“What’s wrong? Do we need to stop?” Hoseok asks. Quickly, you shake your head before flipping yourself onto your back. Hoseok’s eyes widen at your new position. “What-” he begins, only to have you cut him off.

“I want to see you,” you breathe out. Eyebrows furrowing, Hoseok looks at you in concern.

“It’ll be more comfortable on your knees,” he tries to reason. However, steadfast and resilient, you shake your head.

“I want to see you,” you whisper again. This time, there’s a heavy undercurrent of emotion lacing through your voice. Large imploring eyes staring at him, you plead for him to give into you, and completely captivated by you, Hoseok knows he can’t deny you. There’s very little he could refute when it comes to you. You may not know it, but there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to see you happy.

Nodding in surrender, Hoseok helps manoeuvre your legs so your ass is spread for him. Legs bent at the knee, he presses them against your chest. The muscles strain, pulling taut at the new positioning. Nonetheless, you ignore the slight discomfort - far too wired by the thought of Hoseok’s cock in your ass.

Shuffling between your thighs, Hoseok presses the weepy head of his lubed cock against your slick asshole. Then, he slowly begins thrusting into you. Feeling the blunt head of his cock slowly enter your ass - stretching the tight ring of muscles - you suck in a deep breath. His girth is thinner than the width of his three fingers, and aided by the slipper lubrication, he slides in fairly easy.

However - Hoseok’s cock is much longer than his fingers - and soon you feel discomfort deep within your stomach. Wincing, you feel his cock spread open the untouched territory of your ass, the blunt head spearing you open for him. Through it all, you stare up at him - watching the way he sucks in deep breaths, his face twisting in pleasure as the hot muscles of your asshole rhythmically pulsate around you.

Eyes fixated on him, you take him in. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him like this - naked and fucked out: all for you. Sinewy muscles ripple under taut, caramel skin - his flesh glistening with a light sheen of perspiration. Bathed in sunlight, he glows from above you - shimmering in the amber rays as if he were some ethereal being sent by the heavens themselves. Your throat constricts and you feel your heart clench once again.

With his cock deep inside your ass, you don’t think you’ve ever felt more connected to him than you do right now. Hoseok feeds the last inch of his cock inside you, his hips pressing against the fleshy cheeks of your ass. When you feel your ass swallow the last inch of his shaft, you cry out in pleasure. Heavy lids beckon you to shut them, but you refuse. You want to savour this moment. Right here, right now, you want to remember everything.

Eyes raking over him - you ingrain this one memory into the back of your head. The way the corded muscles of his arm twitch, braced on either side of you. Deep chocolate eyes staring at you, his warm obs half-lidded and fluttering as he tries his best to hold still and not fuck into you. How the muscles of his abdomen ripple under his skin as his cock pulsates inside you, synchronous to the way your ass contracts around his shaft. All of it. You commit it all to your memory - because if this is the last time you have him in your bed, and inside you, you never want to forget it.

Tears pool in your eyes, but you blink them away. Seeing them, Hoseok bends over and presses gentle kisses to your lids, hushing you softly. You have no doubt that he thinks it’s due to his cock in your ass - but it’s not. It’s so much more than that. It’s the feeling of fullness, of wholeness, as you feel him deep inside your stomach. It’s the way your hurt aches looking at him - wishing he was yours for the rest of your lifetime. It’s the way you’re completely in love with him - your best friend - the only constant in your life these past few years.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok whispers, his nose brushing against yours. You close your eyes at the tender action. A part of you wishes he wasn’t so sweet - that he wasn’t so… Hoseok - just so that this would be a little less overwhelming - so your feelings wouldn’t be so overpowering. But he is sweet, and he is Hoseok, and you’re so desperately in love with him that you wish to feel him deeper into you.

A deep shuddering breath exhales from your nose, “I’ve never been better. Please move. I want to feel you,” you reply. You’ve never spoken truer words - because despite the staggering weight of emotions you feel for him, you haven’t been better and you do want to feel him - entirely and absolutely.

At your words, Hoseok slowly moves his cock - retreating it out of you before thrusting back in. Each plunge has his cock dragging against your inner ass muscles, the ridged veins of his shaft only adding to your pleasure. Slowly, Hoseok begins thrusting into you - his hips snapping against your fleshy cheeks with every plunge. He doesn’t move quickly - keeping his pace slow and mind-numbing - but he moves deep, his cock burying to the hilt with every movement.

White-hot pleasure begins racing through you, your veins searing in pleasure. Every time his cock impales you, you’re pushed closer and closer to the precipice of your orgasm. Hoseok senses your impending orgasms, the hot muscles of your ass erratically clenching around his cock; subsequently, your pussy clenches around nothing - dribbling your wetness over the seam of your ass: only adding to the lubrication.

“Are you cumming, Sweetness?” Hoseok asks. He dips further down, his torso pressing against your shins. The weight of his body against your legs forces your limbs further against your chest and you groan in pleasure. Impossibly, the change in angle has him hitting deeper inside you - so deep you feel him within the back of your stomach.

“P-Please,” you stutter out. Rapturous ecstasy flits through you, teasing and taunting at your being as you feel yourself teeter towards the brink of your orgasm.

One hand twists between your body, and suddenly, you feel Hoseok’s fingers against your pussy. Your eyes snap wide open, coming face to face with dark coffee eyes. Hoseok’s fingers thrum against your pulsating, engorged bud - working the bundle of nerves with his deft digits. “Cum, ____. Cum for me,” Hoseok urges.

The soft command, paired with the way he still relentless drags his cock in and out of your ass, and his fingers dancing across your clit, has you careening off of the edge and straight into pleasure. Back twisting off the bed, your head falls back as you cry out. Thighs trembling, you feel elated bliss course through your veins; a rush of euphoria searing across your skin as you cum.

From above you, Hoseok lets out a grunt. Your pussy clenches around nothing - but he can feel the force on the contractions mirrored in the muscles of your ass. His pace turning erratic, he thrusts a few more times inside you. When his balls tighten, he pushes as deep into your ass as he can. Cock swelling inside you, you cry out when he spills his cum inside you. Rope after rope of thick, warm cum fills you up - coating your internal walls and bathing you in his seed.

Euphoria blitzing through him, Hoseok’s tongue loosens from his own mind-numbing pleasure and you hear him slur something out. Despite the haze fog that clouds your mind, his words register as clear as day in your mind and you find yourself grounded to reality instantly.

With wide eyes, your gaze flits over him - looking at him in a mixture of utter disbelief and hope. You watch as he heaves for air from above you, in a bid to satiate the burn in his lungs. Once he’s pulled himself together, his eyes open and you once again meet warm umber eyes. Seeing your mouth open wide, shock apparent on your face, Hoseok’s eyebrows twist into confusion.

“Did you mean it?” you whisper. Your question only has his brows knitting further together.

“Mean what?” he rasps out. Despair washes over your face and you feel that inkling of hope wither inside you, tears stinging at your eyes. Seeing the signs of distress clear on you, Hoseok’s eyes widen in alarm. Slowly, he pulls his cock out of you. You wince at the sensitivity, his cum spilling out of your ass. Ignoring the feeling, you bite your lip and press the heels of your palms against your eyes - willing the tears away.

Immediately, Hoseok’s hands are gently wrapping around your wrists. Slowly, he tugs them away from your eyes - even as you resist. “What’s wrong? What did I say?” Hoseok practically pleads, imploring you with his earnest eyes. You shake your head, not wanting to repeat the words. “____,” Hoseok breathes out, urging you once again.

Hearing the pleading tone, your face crumples, “you said you love me,” you whisper out. Hoseok stiffens above you before he grows quiet. You shut your eyes, turning your head and bracing yourself for his imminent rejection.

“Would it be so bad if I do?” Hoseok asks. Your eyes snap open at his broken voice. Frantically, you search his eyes for any trace of a lie, or insincerity. When you find none, however, your heart flutters in your chest. From above you, Hoseok sighs, before running a hand through his vermillion hair. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t expect you to reciprocate and I definitely didn’t mean to tell you like this but- but I do. I love you, so much,” Hoseok confesses. His words are like music to your ears, and a different type of elation thrums through you.

“I’m sorry if this changes things-” Hoseok continues.

Unable to help yourself, and a rush of euphoria drumming through your soul, “I think having your cock in my ass is what changed things,” you giggle. Halting at your words, Hoseok’s eyelids widen slightly. Gaze raking over you, he takes in the sight of your satiated smile and twinkling eyes.

“What-” he begins. However, you only giggle in exuberance once again.

Sobering at the slight hurt in his eyes, you smile gently at him. Straining your arms, you cup his cheeks. Then, lifting your head, you ignore the way your muscles twitch in protest. Instead, you place a tender kiss against his lip. “I love you too, Hoseok” you confess - reiterating his previous sentiments.

“Wait- are you serious?” Hoseok splutters in incredulity. Nodding with a giggle, you press another kiss to his lips.

“I’m serious. I love you,” you repeat. This time, Hoseok searches your eyes for any sign of deceit - but like you, he finds none. A large grin curls onto his face, and suddenly, he’s giggling alongside you.

“Have we been in love with each other this entire time?” he asks, shaking his head in exasperation at the thought. You can’t help but chuckle, your cheeks aching from smiling so hard.

“In a way, it makes sense. It’s always been me and you,” you respond.

Hoseok’s face crumples, his eyes softening. Then, he’s bending down and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah… always me and you,” he breathes out. Moving above you, you feel his cock brush against your wet folds. Hissing in pleasure, your hands fall to his ass: fingers gripping his soft, plump cheeks.

“H-Hobi,” you mewl out, instinctively bucking into him.

“Round two already?” he chuckles.

With another nod, you press a kiss against him, “I want to feel you again,” you whisper against his lips. At your words, Hoseok groans. Dragging his cock against your folds, he positions the tip at your entrance.

Then, with one smooth thrust, he slides home into you.

a/n: god if it wasn’t obvious i fucking love jung hoseok

⇥ Kofi | Masterlist

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swimfuel · 3 years

Text

okay humanstuck thoughts under the cut

i owe a lot of this to @/rhythmic-idealist's kankri/vantasposting bc holy shit theyve got such a big brain (ill link to their individual posts when im on desktop since im using this to keep all my thoughts straight and i agree with most of what they say wholeheartedly)

general status quo stuff:

signless works in an extremely demanding career involving helping others (i'm leaning towards an attorney who works with organizations and does pro bono work), and is also extensively involved in social justice work outside of his job... he is very rarely home

he loves and cares for his children deeply and tries to express it whenever they're face to face, but the couch in his cramped and messy office has seen far too much use over the years for him to have been able to say it enough

his habits of working himself to the point of exhaustion are handily passed down to his kids btw

the kids had to grow up quickly because signless was out of the house so often and so consistently—kankri, who was already pretty high-strung, has to learn to take care of himself and karkat

they grow up near ms firuzeh maryam, who's their pseudoaunt/grandma (she took in a nine year old kavana vantas when she was about twenty), but they just call her ms rosa

they spent a lot of time in the maryam house growing up, with miss rosa's two nieces. porrim is a year older than kankri, while kanaya and karkat are the same age

kankri grows kinda sensitive to people trying to mother him since it rubs against the notion that he's the "adult of the house" and that he can take care of himself and karkat just fine

(and it also kinda underlines the fact that kankri has no idea what he's doing at the best of times)

and ironically enough, kankri becomes overbearing and naggy towards karkat in his own right, which forestalls them becoming close in any brotherly sort of way

they grow up really just... unable to communicate with one another clearly

karkat develops his ornery exterior in response to kankri's constant stream of opinions and frantic attempts at making up for the presence of a guardian in the house

i think there would actually be some really interesting parallels with rose in this au.. maybe i'm drawing from my own experiences as well but i think he'd begin to assume that every time his brother opens his mouth, he's going to criticize karkat

but instead of reacting like rose with the "making yourself more of a puzzle"/passive aggressive stuff, he gets a more defensive/hackles raised/"argue with you before you can argue with me" approach

and the thing is that they do love each other and would take a bullet for the other etc etc etc.. but they don't know how to express it because they've fallen into these shitty patterns

and it really doesn't help that kankri has grown somewhat resentful of signless over the years... that mix of resentment and fear and love gets more extreme and more polar every time signless gets injured during a political demonstration

i think kankri and signless would also be slightly closer than karkat and signless, as signless' job really only started to ramp up when karkat was less than years old and kankri was in his early double digits

kankri autistic btw its word of god (i am god)

karkat has a pet crab. its name is also karkat. he vents his frustrations to it.

i feel like the vantases exemplify both the best and worst parts of their aspects with one another as well... the strength of their bonds keeps them together and grounded, but TOO grounded. [insert Blood rant here]

the Blood rant:

i define Blood as bonds, responsibility, and the "core". if Life is the fertile soil and everything living on a planet's surface, then Blood is the gravitational core of the planet keeping everything together

i also think Blood, Heart, & Mind work in tandem to define a person just as blood serves to connect the pieces of the human body... Heart is the soul and the self, Mind is the application of one's self through active choices (agency), while Blood defines both the self and the choices one makes in greater detail [and, as an aside, Life provides the physical spark of life needed to keep the heart pumping blood]

OKAY wow that got tangential anyways

SO BASICALLY! too much Blood makes you stagnate, so for example:

kankri is split between staying home with karkat or going to college across the country and being truly unbound for the first time in years

another crisis of Blood: signless is caught between his empathy and responsibility to the whole world and his responsibility to his own children

okay so here's more status quo stuff:

the maryam and vantas kids grow up together and its hilarious because you'll see them all together and its just like (girlboss) (girlboss) (physical manlet) (emotional manlet)

the maryam girls are actually miss rosa's nieces but she took them in when they were both pretty young

the pyropes know the vantases well enough considering pyrope senior and sign have known one another from their respective legal practices for years, but they live on the other side of town

the leijons lived in town when kankri and meulin were very young, but they moved and travelled for a long time before coming back and reestablishing their roots

the captors (psii being one of sign's oldest and closest friends) move into town with the peixes family pretty early on though

the condesce is.. a horrible spouse and guardian, to put it plainly. she's very emotionally manipulative and isn't averse to smacking people around, including her own family. she moves herself and her perfect little family into town so she can properly oversee a new business venture close by

feferi is one of the best young swimmers in the country and has a pretty good shot of getting onto the olympic team.. a lot of this drive to be perfect and to be better results from the condesce's unrelenting pressure and thinly veiled resentment throughout her whole life

so yeah psii, )(ic, feferi, and sollux all live together and it's really not great for anyone involved. (meenah ran away years ago, and crashed on aranea's couch for a pretty long while—mituna moved out with latula for college before psii and the condesce got married)

it gets bad to the point of sollux staying with the maryams for two months while the adults try to sort out that absolute clusterfuck and get the divorce proceedings going (meenah finally convinces feferi to get out and come stay with her and aranea for the duration as well)

in terms of relationships i think latula and porrim were really really close in high school, and probably had some kind of unacknowledged thing going on for a while that never actually turned into anything because latula and mituna were going steady

kankri has had a crush on latula for years but never acted on it for similar reasons

meenah still carries a lot of that give no fucks attitude (it's developed moreso as a defense mechanism here) and can't understand why feferi refuses to leave the condesce with her

okay back to VANTAS MANPAIN i also think that karkat feels the weight of a lot of expectations on his shoulders as well

he feels responsible to live up to the example his dad and his brother set, even if it's to his own detriment—and kankri's oblivious rambling about his grades and his teachers and all his clubs certainly aren't helping the matter

kankri is one of those overinvolved kids taking a million AP's while simultaneously shitting on the collegeboard at every single step

hes this super overachiever anal retentive perfectionist type dude and (just as karkat preemptively criticizes others to forestall their criticisms of him only to harshly criticize himself) kankri subconsciously holds the people around him to the same expectations he holds for himself

so karkat also develops this sense of lacking which, in combination with everything else, culminates in self loathing and thinking he has to solve everyone else's problems and getting horribly mad at himself for every little mistake

GOD i have a lot more but lemme post this before i accidentally close out of the app and lose it all

more little details:

vriska's mom and terezi's mom HATE each other like HATE HATE HATE one another it's so bad

karkat wrote a ten page review of my immortal in middle school

jade is one of nepeta's best online friends

sollux can't raise one eyebrow at a time.. karkat gives him so much grief about it

the vantases eat a lot of shitty renditions of persian dishes until karkat learns to cook because literally the only person in the world with a CHANCE of getting KANKRI VANTAS to make an EDIBLE DISH is miss rosa

kanaya is really good at persian dance too but is VERY VERY embarassed to perform in front of people.. however porrim definitely is not

karkat has insomnia while kankri just stays up stupidly late for assignments that really shouldnt be taken that seriously.. but they both have the same rumination/sleep anxiety thing where your brain goes insane with horrible and depressing scenarios as you try to sleep

and more ideas that i thought were interesting but idk how to fit in the context of this au:

signless and disciple getting married pretty late in life after having been in love for years, the vantases move in with the leijons and karkat suddenly has two sisters

nepeta and karkat are both juniors at this point, meulin is probably in her third year at a local college nearby while kankri is about to start his second year at a university pretty far away

the kids in general honestly but ill figure it out

more random hcs this time with kids:

kanaya and rose get into a flame war online that gradually settles into elaborate courtship rituals

also nepeta + jade online besties

also bec can inexplicably still teleport

the first sbahj movie comes out and the next six months of dave strider junior's high school career are absolute hell

actually hc that dave senior goes by d strider professionally. the d stands for a lot of things

aradia and dave frequent a lot of the same forums but never end up really interacting

meanwhile karkat and john frequent a lot of the same forums and DEFINITELY end up interacting. this turns into grudging (at least on karkat's part) friendship after they find themselves fighting for their lives defending an objectively shitty movie together on the same thread

#humanstuck #vantas family #.

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vetyr · 4 years

Note

I’ve just gotten into digital drawing and I’m getting disheartened by my lack of progress, and frustrated at how bad I am at drawing without a reference. Is it possible to improve drawing even if I never go without a reference? Or do you have any tips for drawing just from your imagination?

Hey there! Long response ahead. You may find it reassuring to know that it took me around half a decade to get good at drawing without reference, and for a good chunk of that time I was drawing daily for 3 or 4 hours per day. It’s not an overnight thing, it’s not even a within-a-year thing; your brain genuinely needs the time to learn to generate images & volumes rather than to solely perceive them.

In branching out to digital, you and I inadvertently added a slight layer of difficulty to this process of learning to draw without reference. It’s more noticeable now than it will be in a few years time, but here’s what I imagine you’re dealing with (as I dealt with when I started digital): any drawing knowledge you gained through drawing traditionally seems like it’s gone, or at least really hard to access. When you try to sketch or paint digitally it might seem like you “forgot” how to address proportions, values, anatomy, volumes, color, etc.—but when you go back to drawing traditionally, it all comes back. That’s just the nature of moving to a radically different medium.

If you practice consistently for a few more weeks, you’ll notice that things start to come back to you. After a few months to a year, and digital may feel as natural (or more natural) to you than traditional. If you’re exclusively drawing digitally during this time, you’ll likely have trouble learning to draw without a ref, just because your mind is still adjusting to this very big change—but that’s to be expected. Accordingly, I’d recommend that you keep drawing traditionally as you learn digital, and do your non-reference drawings traditionally, for the most part. This way, your brain is only handling one major change at a time (digital vs. imagination). Once digital is like second nature to you, you can do more imagination drawings there.

On drawing from reference: Stepping away from the logistics of brain stuff, you absolutely can improve as an artist if you never go without a ref. I know hundreds of artists who make incredible work that stems from clever use of references. Art made with references is valid; if you don’t know what something looks like, there is literally no shame in finding pictures of it in order to make a good piece. I do it frequently.

There’s also this spectrum of ref use that I’ve picked up on: on one end, there’s art that may nearly be a copy of some picture (e.g., essentially a study with a few details changed); and on the other, there’s art in which the artist takes little samples from many, many photos or other art pieces and incorporates them into one cohesive image. It’s easier to start from the former end and head towards the latter. The convenient part of using small portions of many references is that it’s not difficult to transition to doing drawings from imagination. When you focus on a small visual, it’s easier to remember it than if you were trying to remember one very large and complex set of visuals (e.g., it’s easier to visualize an eye than the entirety of a face).

Described above is a more gradual solution for drawing without a ref—that is, slowly using less and less reference over years of remembering and learning. I also recommend the brute-force approach (I employed the two in tandem): making yourself to draw from imagination, preferably with a direction in mind, and seeing how far you can go before you encounter too many gaps in your knowledge to continue. When you can discern gaps (e.g., not knowing what an arm looks like at a very specific angle), take note of a few that you find important, and study them. You won’t be able to figure out everything quickly, so don’t fret about that. This is very much an active learning approach, and will likely get you results quicker than the method mentioned in the paragraph above. It’s also scarier, as you’ll be humbled pretty quickly by the ocean of knowledge that you are without—I know I was :)

As is proper for an answer addressing drawing from imagination, here’s a study of a photo. I’ve been trying to figure out how to paint in Procreate as of a few days ago, and it’s been quite interesting. I still prefer Photoshop, but the app certainly has its merits.

I’ve been pretty inconsistent with posting recently, and it’s mostly due to schoolwork. Junior year for my major is notoriously heavy, so I haven't been able to paint illustrations (outside of commissions that I’m finishing) and answer questions, sorry about that!

#asks #artists on tumblr #illustration #art tips #drawing #painting

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lavenderlattaes · 4 years

Text

the night we met. | jeon jeongguk

⇒ summary: and on a cold winter’s night just before the start of a brand new year, you meet a boy who changes your entire new year for the better.

⇒ [ ghost! au ]

⇒ pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

⇒ word count: 4.7k words

⇒ genre: light fluff, angst

⇒ warnings: mentions of cheating, breakup, and death

⇒ note: hello! it’s been so long since i wrote a long bts fic, huh? but i’m back again with a new one and this is one of my entries to @btsghostiewritersnet ‘s Bingo Bash! It falls under my ghost! au tile and i hope you guys like this! please don’t hesitate to tell me what you think. enjoy! (also this is the third time im reposting bc the tags haven’t been working for me hhh) ＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／

The cold night air nips at your frozen, flushed cheeks as you hold back tears. Of all the days of the year, why did you have to end up alone and heartbroken on New Year’s Eve? Your tired, Timberland boots clad feet lead you to the park you frequented with your boyfriend before he decided to lock lips with someone else that wasn’t you. You walk past the benches and the playground and find yourself by the crystal lake that was still frozen over by the cold winter. You crouch down on your feet, your fingers reaching out to glide across the icy surface.

You sniffle softly, your mind going back to the events a few hours prior as your heart breaks. You shut your eyes tightly and let the tears fall freely, the hot tears warming up your frozen cheeks. Loud, heartbreaking sobs wrack your entire body until you can hardly breathe anymore.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How could he do that to you? How could he break your heart in the most cliché way possible? How could he break his promise of a forever with you? You were stupid to think he’d actually love you for as long as you breathed the same air, for as long as you lived.

“You’re going to get sick if you keep crying out here in this cold weather.” A shy, timid voice rings out from behind you, and your sobs quiet down slowly. You immediately wipe your tears away, and sniffle again before turning around.

Your eyes lock with a pair of soft, gentle, brown, doe-like eyes the moment you turn around. A handsome boy around your age stares at you, his hands buried deep in his pockets. You break away from his glance momentarily to wipe the few tears that still manage to escape. You let out another gentle sniffle before standing up. You brush your hands against your jeans, the snow falling down your fingers and down onto the ground.

Your eyes, nose, and cheeks are all red now, and the boy purses his lips before pulling out a small handkerchief. His right hand extends out to you, offering the small piece of cloth. You look at it and back up at his face. He stares at you and you timidly reach forward, taking it. You give him a small nod and he just nods back, as you turn to the side slightly, blowing your nose into it. He lets out a chuckle at that, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Thanks,” you whisper once you’re done, and you stuff the handkerchief into your pocket as you turn back to face him.

“Why were you crying?” The boy asks and you sigh, plopping back down onto the ground. He approaches you gently, before going down on his knees to sit beside you. You glance at him to find his gaze trained on the empty, frozen lake in front of you both.

“My boyfriend cheated and broke up with me,” you answer, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“On New Year’s Eve?” The boy asks again and you nod, as he chuckles. You turn to look at him with a light frown.

“What’s so funny?”

“My girlfriend broke up with me too on New Year’s Eve,” the boy tells you, and he turns to meet your gaze.

“Maybe you weren’t supposed to spend the next year together. Maybe this happened to you because you’re supposed to be with someone better than him.” He says softly, as the wind blows around you both, making you shiver lightly. The boy notices you shivering and shrugs his thick coat off, throwing it around your shoulders.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” you try to decline but he shakes his head. “You’ve been crying, you know. You need to warm up if you don’t want to get sick.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, pulling the coat tighter around you.

“I’m Jeongguk.” The boy finally introduces himself and you manage to crack a small smile.

“I’m Y/N.”

ii.

An incessant tapping sound rings in your bedroom in the middle of the night, waking you up in the process. You groan from the annoying noise, rolling over in your sheets as you try to get yourself to get out of bed.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Y/N, open up!” you hear a familiar voice call your name, making your eyes snap open, fully awake now.

You get up and rush over to the window, your eyes meeting those same, doe-like, eyes you first met one year ago. He grins at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in amusement as you squint at him, your fingers reaching over to unlock the window. The cold air brushes inside the room as you let the boy in.

Jeongguk lands on his feet gracefully, barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. He glances at you with a grin as you roll your eyes at him.

“What are you doing here? It’s late,” you ask him, walking back to your bed. He climbs in with you, crossing his legs as he leans on his arms for support, facing you.

“It’s been exactly one year since we met, don’t you remember?” your best friend grins at you as your mind finally registers the date. Your eyes glance at the digital clock perched on your bedside, and the red numbers glare in the dark room.

12:03 am, 2021-12-31.

“Happy one year of friendship…?” You suggest sheepishly, turning back to face the boy. He grins and lunges forward at you, trapping you in a bone-crushing hug. Your body falls back on the bed as Jeongguk moves his full weight on top of you, making you whine.

“You’re heavy!” You choke out from underneath him, but he only lets out his melodious laughter ring out in the quiet room.

“Oh, come on, you love me!” He giggles and you’re furiously slapping his back, trying to get him off of you.

“If I say that, will you get off of me?” you breathe out and he immediately rolls off to the side, making you gasp for air dramatically. He rolls his eyes before perching his head up on his arm. He turns to your side, grinning at you as you glare at him playfully.

“For real though,” you begin once you’ve caught your breath, “I really do love you.” You admit, the sincerity in your voice and the gentleness of your tone making the atmosphere suddenly shift. It’s silent now, and Jeongguk just stares at you, his mouth partly open.

“You made me happier. I thought I didn’t want to keep smiling after what my boyfriend did. I know he doesn’t deserve me pining over him so hopelessly but I still continued believing he would somehow tell me it was all in my head. I hoped he would chase after me that night, but he never did.” You say quietly, your eyes trained on the ceiling. It was covered in stars, not the plastic, glow-in-the-dark kind, but hand-painted stars that Jeongguk and you both painted a few months ago. Well, he did most of it while you just cheered him on, dancing around in your room to whatever was playing on his Spotify radio back then.

Jeongguk’s free hand comes up to cup your face, turning your cheek to face him. “I just wanted to see you smile. That’s all that I ever really wanted. You looked so sad when we first met. I’ve never seen anyone so sorrowful that I even felt my own heart breaking.”

Maybe it was the way he looked at you — like you were his entire world, or the way he cupped your face in his hand — like you were some delicate china doll he couldn’t bear to break, or the way he always hugged you — like he never wanted to let go, that made you realize maybe you’ve already fallen for your best friend.

Maybe you really were supposed to break up with your boyfriend before you welcomed the new year because you were supposed to spend that new year with Jeon Jeongguk instead.

“I love you.”

The words fall past your lips and out into the silent night. It doesn’t register in your mind until Jeongguk smiles softly at you, leaning in close to kiss your forehead.

“I love you too.”

You smile up at him and he just scoots closer to you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you tightly. That night, you fall asleep in Jeongguk’s warm embrace, your breaths mingling, your hearts beating at the same slow, steady, and calm pace.

When you wake up the next day, he’s gone. It doesn’t faze you though, because he’s always snuck inside your room late at night and left before you woke up. But a small part of you hoped that he would be there when he woke up, especially since things have somehow changed between you now.

His scent still lingers in the air, and the side of your bed where he lay was still warm, the sheets slightly crinkled. A small note peaked out from underneath your phone, and you know it’s from him. The handwriting says it all.

Meet me at the lake later tonight. i love you <3

A smile makes its way onto your face, instantly boosting your mood for the rest of the day.

And just like one year ago, the cold night air nips at your frozen, flushed cheeks as this time, you try to hold back an excited smile. You take excited skips toward the park, your fingers brushing along the benches and the trees. You reach the frozen lake, your smile blooming once you recall the events from last year. You crouch down onto your knees again, your fingers drawing on the icy surface as you wait for him.

“I hope you’re not crying like last year,” Jeongguk’s playful voice rings out from behind you and you immediately turn around to face him.

“Why would I -” your smile drops from your face when you see Jeongguk’s red eyes and nose. Tears are falling down his face as the wind blows softly, making you shiver.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask softly, walking over to him. He purses his lips, his dimples popping out as he tries to stop the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry.” The cursed words you’ve despised the most leave his lips.

“Why? Why are you sorry?” you plead, reaching forward to grasp his hands in yours.

“I can’t be with you.” Jeongguk whispers, his breath shaky as he grips onto your hands tighter.

“Why not? Why are you doing this to me now? After telling me you love me?” You’re crying now, and Jeongguk’s sobs get quieter as he slowly calms himself.

“You’re going to have to be happy without me now, okay? I’ve spent an entire year with you now, I need to go.” He explains, letting go of your hands to cup your face.

You shake your head furiously, your hands coming up to hold his wrists. The wind was blowing harshly around you, making you both shiver but it can’t possibly be colder than the ice crawling into your heart right now.

“Don’t leave me.” You cry out, making both of your hearts break.

Jeongguk’s thumbs wipe your tears away, before he leans in to kiss your forehead again. “I can’t stay here with you, Y/N. It would be selfish of me to stay.”

“Why? Where are you going?” You ask desperately, your eyes searching for some sort of sign that he’s just lying. But over the past year that you’ve come to know him, you’ve learned how to read him better than anyone else. You know him like the back of your hand. He never hides his emotions when he’s with you. And he’s never lied to you, not even once.

“Somewhere far away and I’m not coming back,” he answers truthfully and you know it in the way he doesn’t stutter and in the way he holds your face gently. You close your eyes, letting more tears fall down your flushed cheeks as you feel the same biting cold from just over a year ago. Only this time, it hurts more in your heart than it does on your cheeks.

“Even when I’m gone, I’ll always be here,” he whispers, placing your hand above your heart as you feel your steady heartbeat. “I’m never going to truly leave you behind, Y/N. But I need you to be happy even without me. Can you promise me that?” he crouches down to your height, tucking a finger under your chin, prompting you to look at him.

“It’s going to be hard, but can you do it? For me?” He adds, caressing your hair gently as you give him a slow, hesitant nod that still manages to shatter your heart into a million pieces.

“That’s my angel.” He coos with a soft smile, pulling you in for a tight hug. You cry into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist as he kisses the crown of your head repeatedly.

“Will I see you again?” you ask, pulling away as you stare up at his doe-like eyes that made you fall for him in the first place. He smiles, and leans forward to kiss you on the lips for the very first time, and the last. You kiss him back, pouring all of your love into the only kiss you ever get to share with Jeon Jeongguk.

“One day, angel. When it’s time for you to see me again.” He pulls you into a hug again, wrapping you tight in his warm embrace. For the first time that night, you don’t feel the cold. All you can feel is Jeongguk’s warmth spreading all throughout your entire body. You close your eyes, relishing in the feeling of being wrapped in his arms.

“I love you, always remember that.” Jeongguk whispers.

And when you open your eyes, he’s gone.

You take ragged breaths, wiping away the tears hastily as the coldness starts creeping into your heart again. You turn around, hoping to find a glimpse of his retreating form or even just his shadow but you find nothing. Not even a trace of his footsteps on the snow, or his scent lingering in the air.

It was as if Jeon Jeongguk was merely a figment of your imagination.

And you cry. You cry, and you cry your eyes out until you can’t breathe, until your throat hurts from screaming, until your mouth feels dry. You drop onto your knees, the snow seeping into your jeans, soaking your skin with the icy coldness. But it still can’t compare to the ice that has now fully coated your breaking heart.

iii.

“Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me?” A masculine voice calls out in the darkness, and you squint your eyes, opening them slowly. A bright, white light greets you, and when your eyes finally adjust to the brightness, you’re staring into the eyes of a doctor.

“Hello, Y/N. I’m Doctor Kim. How are you feeling?” He asks gently, giving you a gentle reassuring smile. Doctor Kim is young, seemingly only a few years older than you, with black hair pushed back against his forehead, and full, pink lips. He seems more like an older brother than a doctor with his warm smile.

“I’m okay, I guess…” you trail off, your hands flat against the bed as you try to push yourself up to a sitting position. Doctor Kim immediately goes over to your side, helping you sit up. “What happened?” you ask, as Doctor Kim sits down beside you.

“You got into a car accident, Y/N. You were in a coma for a year.” He tells you, as your brain tries to process everything in. “You remember your name, so you most likely didn’t lose your memory. Or is there anything you don’t remember?”

You try to think. You know your full name, and your birthday. You know your parents’ names. You know where you study, what you’re taking up, and even some of the professors you hate the most. You know your friends, and the name of your pet.

You shake your head, and Doctor Kim smiles at you. “Great. Seeing as there’s nothing wrong with you, you’re free to go. Your parents are already filling out the forms so you’ll be out by tomorrow. If ever you suddenly realize that you’re missing a piece of your memory, don’t hesitate to contact us right away. Aside from that, you’ll also have weekly check-ups with me until I’m fully assured that you’re okay.”

You give him a nod and a small smile. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” He gives you a curt nod before slipping out of the room quietly. You let out a long tired sigh, despite just having woken up from a coma. You lean back on the bed, your mind racing with a million thoughts.

You didn’t tell him, but you were sure you were missing something. You didn’t know what, exactly, so you decided against telling him. What would you even tell him anyway? Your gut tells you something’s missing but you don’t know what it is? That wouldn’t make sense anyway.

“Y/N! You’re awake now!” A bright, cheery voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and your eyes land on a smiling, blonde haired boy.

“Chan,” the name falls off your lips with ease, your heart warming up at the sight of your best friend. He rushes over to your side, grabbing your hand to grasp it in his. The gentleness of his hand holding yours feels familiar and you feel yourself smiling.

“I was so scared you lost your memory and forgot about me,” Chan sighs, his eyes looking downcast. You squeeze his hand gently.

“How could I forget the only person who always drags me to work out at the gym with him against my own will?” you tease and he lets out a loud laugh.

“I won’t drag you along with me now. At least, not until you’ve fully recovered,” he winks and you give him a playful roll of your eyes as he smiles wistfully at you.

“What is it?” you ask, tilting your head as you study his expression.

He shakes his head, pursing his lips. “Nothing. I’m just glad you remember everything.”

Chan spends a few more hours with you before he has to leave, saying he still needs to work on a few more of his songs. He gives you one last hug before leaving you alone to your thoughts once more.

Everything feels weird. Everything about Chan still feels the same. He’s still your best friend, and there’s still that familiar warmth of his hand holding yours. His laugh still sounds the same. Nothing’s different, nothing feels unfamiliar.

But why does it feel like you can feel a warm hand holding yours long after Chan’s hand lets go of it? Why does it feel like you can hear someone else’s laughter ringing in the silence long after Chan’s laughter has died down?

The next day you find yourself back at home, missing the familiar, homey scent of your surroundings. This was definitely better than the bleach and betadine trademark scent of the hospital. Your parents leave you to collect your thoughts, giving you some time and space to yourself first.

You climb up the stairs to your room, feeling drained from the car ride back home. You had a long day, and it was past five in the afternoon. The sky was dark already, since you were still early into January and still a few months away from blooming flowers and cherry blossoms falling. You climb under your covers, smiling at how familiar it all feels.

Still, something’s crawling at the back of your mind when you turn on your side. Your hand reaches out, feeling the sheets, hoping to find some sort of answer to the nagging question you’ve had since yesterday.

What were you missing?

Sleep eventually consumes you and your eyes shut close, momentarily putting a halt on the nonstop thinking.

You missed dinner and it’s already 12:15 am when a strong breeze blows in through your room, pushing your windows open. The strong gust of wind hits your bare skin, and the coolness wakes you up with a shiver. Your eyes glance at the clock on your bedside and as the red numbers glare at you, your eyes widen.

You remember his doe-like eyes and his giggles full of mirth. You remember the little scar on his left cheek and his plush lips. You remember his soulful voice when he sang for you and how he holds you in his arms when you dance around in your room into the late night. You remember him taking his coat off to wrap you in it the first time you met. You remember him telling you you’ll get sick if you continued crying. You remember feeling his warmth surround you during your first meeting. You remember how he holds your hands in his, how he hugs you with so much care. You remember how he picked up the broken pieces of your shattered heart that night, putting it back together little by little, piece by piece over the days, weeks, and months that you got to know him.

You remember how he snuck into your room that night, reminding you that it’s been one year since you met at that frozen lake that holds so much sentimental value for you. You remember telling him you love him, and how he tells you he feels the exact same way. You remember falling asleep in his arms that night, you remember his soft lips against your forehead kissing you good night.

You remember how he leaves you that same day, telling you to still be happy even without him. You remember kissing him for the first and last time. You remember clutching onto his embrace, hearing him say he loves you one last time before opening your eyes and finding no trace of him anywhere.

You remember every moment, every memory, every fleeting moment you had with him. You remember how he made you feel — every time he made you laugh, every time he made you feel loved.

You remember him. You remember Jeon Jeongguk.

Tears start streaming down your face as you grab your phone, searching his name through your contacts. But you find nothing. Your fingers type out his number instead, memorizing it by heart, but your call goes straight to voicemail. You don’t stop there, you pull up almost every social media account you have, hoping to find any trace of him in your friends or your following list. You remember taking a thousand pictures with him, posting them all the time.

But there’s nothing about him. Your breathing gets ragged as your fingers fumble through your phone, calling your best friend. Knowing him, he’s still awake at this hour.

“Y/N? Hey, why are you still-”

“Chan? Chan, where’s Jeongguk? Did he tell you where he’s going? He never told me but maybe you know where he is?” You cut him off, tears still streaming down your face as you stutter out your inquiries.

“Jeongguk? Y/N, where are you? Are you outside? I’m going to pick you up, tell me where you are.” Chan says worriedly, and you can hear him cursing lowly under his breath and the sounds of keys jingling in the background.

“No, I’m at home. Chan, where is he? Why did he go? Why did he leave me without telling me where he’s going?” You’re sobbing into the phone now and Chan’s door shuts behind him as he sighs.

“Y/N, I need you to stay there until I get to you, okay? Wait for me.” You shake your head but remember he can’t see you.

“Chan, just tell me where he is. Please.” You’re begging now and you can feel the heartbreak rising up your throat, making you feel suffocated. You can’t breathe properly, but the next words you hear knock the breath out of your lungs.

“He’s dead, Y/N. He died saving you.”

iv.

“You were crossing the street when he saw you. He immediately ran over to push you out of the way. Your head hit the pavement, but he couldn’t get out of the way in time to save himself. He died the moment you both made it to the hospital.” Chan tells you slowly, his car coming to a stop by the park. Tears were flowing silently down your cheeks.

“But I met him, Chan. I spent an entire year with him.” you try to insist, turning over to face Chan whose eyes are glossy with tears now.

“You were in a coma, Y/N. You didn’t know each other before the accident either. How could you have possibly met him?” Chan sighs.

“Chan, I loved him for an entire year! Was he just a figment of my imagination then?” You cry louder, your heart breaking. Chan looks up in thought with a sad sigh, before turning to face you.

“Dead people have regrets. Jeongguk must have had his own regrets and didn’t want to leave just yet. Your wandering soul met his ghost that same night. But after spending a year loving you, he has to go. Maybe all he wanted was to make you happy. And now that he’s accomplished that, his time is up.” Chan explains and you close your eyes tightly, wishing for all of this to just be a huge nightmare.

But it isn’t.

“Can I get some fresh air for a bit?” You ask and Chan leans over the console to give you a hug. He opens the door from behind you and you give him a grateful smile before heading out. Your feet lead you to the very same spot again.

And just like the last time you were here, the lake is frozen over. Everything feels like déjà vu again. You crouch down on your knees with a sad, long sigh, your tears slowing down as they fall past your cheeks and down your chin.

You’re going to have to be happy without me now, okay?

I can’t stay here with you, Y/N.

Even when I’m gone, I’ll always be here,

I’m never going to truly leave you behind, Y/N. But I need you to be happy even without me. Can you promise me that?

It’s going to be hard, but can you do it? For me?

I love you, always remember that.

His last words ring in your ears, your hands coming up to clutch your chest as you feel your heartbeat. The wind blows softly, your hair fluttering in the wind as you wait for the usual shiver to come.

But you don’t feel it. Instead, you feel a blanket of warmth envelop you and you stop crying.

It’s barely there, but you can feel it. You can feel him.

“Jeongguk.” You whisper softly, your breath raspy from crying so much.

“I told you you’re going to get sick if you keep crying in this weather, angel. Why do you love crying in the winter?” His gentle voice rings in your ears and you bite on your lower lip to prevent yourself from crying again.

“I miss you.” you answer simply, and a gentle breeze blows again as you feel a soft kiss on your hair.

“I miss you too. But please be happy, okay? Don’t blame yourself. I never regret saving you that night, not even once.” He says gently as you nod rapidly. “I’ll see you soon, I’m going to wait for you. I love you, I always have, I always will.”

You’re scared he’s going to leave again like last time without hearing you say the words back, but his warmth still surrounds you. “I love you too.”

And as the words leave your lips and form into clouds of smoke into the cold, dark night, the warmth surrounding you slowly disappears, leaving you with the familiar, stinging, cold winter air. Jeongguk always calls you angel but you realize that after all this time, he was your angel. From the moment he saved you that night, to piecing your broken heart back together, up until his last ‘I love you’, he’s been your angel.

And he always will be.

#jungkook scenarios #btsboulangerie #btsghostie #btsghostiebingo #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts x reader #nise writes

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nightsongalchemy · 3 years

Text

Wow! It’s been a long time since I’ve done any sort of health update. I actually started to write this post *months* ago, but honestly between all the ups and downs of life, I was either too busy, depressed, or chronically ill to be up for sharing. Roller coaster! Whoo!🎢

Catching Covid last year for three and half months really set me back health wise, as it has for a lot of our chronically ill friends. With severe allergies and a sinus/ear/throat infection immediately following; I developed damage in my throat. Talking and singing became VERY painful. After playing a couple of gigs last summer that ended in tears from the amount of pain I was enduring, I was forced to stop singing for awhile. 😔

After ANOTHER sinus/ear/throat infection that followed yet another bad allergy attack then in September - I broke. I couldn’t speak at all for about three weeks. Unfortunately, this second infection made the issues in my throat SO MUCH WORSE. Talking on a regular basis became unbearably painful without even bringing singing into the mix. The damage was now set up to be long term… 😞

After all of this, I sank into yet another dark depression. Singing was the only creative passion I had left after my disabilities wouldn’t allow me to do all the other things I love; playing the harp, tattooing, drawing, or painting on any kind of consistent bases. Many evenings and nights I wished I had a friend who could hold and cuddle me tenderly saying things like, “This is so fucked up, and this isn’t fair. You don’t deserve any of this you poor, sweet girl.” 😞

Shortly after, one of the many hands surgeons I’ve seen over the years ordered an MRI for my thumb after telling me surgery wasn’t going to be an option for my tendinitis. “I’m afraid it's going to make it worse.” He couldn’t offer any sort of answer or hope for the situation. “At least we can see if we’re missing anything with your thumb.” 🙁

The MRI was a nightmare... I came out of it with my arm practically twisted and ripped out of its socket while enduring multiple seizures due to the excruciating pain. (Pain that had nothing to do with my hand!?) It’s been eight months since that MRI, and I’m still suffering with pain under my right shoulder blade and socket. When its flared up I’ll get nerve pain that runs down my arm into my fingers. About a week ago I was diagnosed with bursitis due to the MRI injury. Sweet baby Jesus… 😩

Honestly, after that, there was only a dim flicker of a light left where the fire in my heart and soul used to be. Between the Mirena IUD causing a Pseudo Tumor Cerebri, Stage-4 Epstein Barr Virus (Fibromyalgia,) and a plethora of other un-healing injuries, traumas, symptoms, and conditions I finally broke. Not being completely consumed by the numbness and dark was nearly impossible, and I could only faintly remember a time when I was always positive, smiling, and filled with cheer and love. Beaten, chewed up, and spit out, I was traumatized over and over again. I felt like just as I would start to get better, something else would beat me down. I wanted to die. 😢

Now, I’m not going to lie, things are still hard. I still suffer daily with chronic pain, etc., but after a long plateau, there have finally been some good forward movements with my health.

I’ve been slowly regaining the ability to digitally draw and paint! :’) This was how I was able to create that beautiful little winter solstice night elf illustration back in December and the poster for the Faerie Garden Party. Now, after months of slowly working on it bit by bit, I’m happy to share this symbolic painting, “Loosing Hope.” I started this while I was in one of the deepest parts of my depression last year. Each break symbolic of the physical pain and various injuries, my inner light escapes through all the cracks.

Sadly, it takes me INCREDIBLY longer to create and finish a piece with the limitations of the chronic joint pain, tendinitis, and fibro, some days I can’t even draw at all since things get flared up so easily… but even though my abilities are very much more limited then they were before, my heart still cries for me to be an artist, so I will continue to fight to do what I love. I’ll keep following my dreams, and I’m incredibly grateful for what I can do… I sincerely just wish the pain would fully heal.

On another good health note, my seizures are slowly becoming even less frequent still and all my digestive issues have been getting better too!!! I saw the most improvement when I finally was able to go completely radical fat free on my #medicalmediumprotocols

Although my throat and voice are still on the mend, I was very grateful that it was just well enough that I could sing at the Faerie Garden Party in Berkeley Springs, WV this past weekend. I hope it continues to heal so I can sing all the time again on day. :’)

I feel so blessed that there have been laughs and good times along the way, such as when Robbie and I had our engagement photo shoot last October (I’m so excited to share the photos!) or when we traveled to #Moresca in New York together to pick out some garb for our future wedding reception. The “Bringing in the May” art show and the Faerie Garden Party in Berkeley Springs, WV were absolutely amazing memories as well! 🥰

I work as hard as I can every day to continue to run my business, follow all my Medical Medium protocols perfectly, keep my band moving forward, and take care of my home and family. I sing and work as much as I can before the pain makes me stop. Every day I’m doing the very best I can to keep my hope for healing and restoration alive. I still get depressed, but I’m still healing. I’m not at the finish line yet, so I still get really sad, but I’ll continue to fight. I still haven’t given up, even though I’ve been enduring for years. Thank you to all the precious friends who have supported me through all of this. I don’t know if I would still be here without you. Thank you for taking the time to check in and read my stories. I love all of you and miss you so much. Thank you.❤️

#whowantstocuddle #imissallofyou #learningcompassionthehardway #healthwarrior #healingchonicillness #fibromyalgia #medicalmedium

#drawnwithlove #paintedwithlove #art #pennsylvaniaillustrator #pennsylvaniaartist #fantasyillustration #fantasyart #nightelf #elf #mangaillustration #digitalpainting #animeelf #manga #mangasketch #mangaart #digitalart #artistofinstagram #anime #animeart #healingwithart #healthwarrior #waccom #clipstudiopaint #elvenspirit #fantaastart

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entitynumber5 · 3 years

Text

hurt never meant

Chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723250/chapters/73101963

Summary: Jon and Martin enter a battle of wits regarding the hiding of injuries.

Content warnings: paranoia, blood, injury, canon-typical worm mentions, descriptions of wounds and scars, stitches, needles, internalised ableism, swearing, arguments, toxic work environment, nausea, food mention.

It was very fun to write Martin being petty and stubborn but my god, having Not!Sasha in this fic was PAINFUL!!!!!! Hopefully the second chapter will be finished soon. Full text below the line. I hope everyone’s having a great day <3

The Tube is choking with artificial heat, pumped unregulated through the vents so that inside in late November, cocooned in coats, the passengers shift and sweat and mumble in discomfort. Martin tries to remember the mundane cycle of complaints and platitudes he follows in circles every morning: the air is drying out my contact lenses. At least it’s not summer. I wish I wasn’t wearing a coat. You’ll be grateful when you get outside.

Each circle is broken, just before he completes it and begins again, by the sensation of heat crawling beneath his skin, a tingling upwards motion. It ripples across his face, inducing a drowsiness like fingers dragging his eyes closed, before the prickling across his scalp sends him spiralling into discomfort once again.

He tries to force himself back to his commuter’s hymn, but the heat feels internal, spreading outwards as if attempting to meet the warm air of the Tube. It’s different from the normal unpleasantness. It’s too distracting. He shifts his weight between bursts of dizziness—he gave up his seat three stops ago for a person with a tiny baby strapped to them, and now he is squeezed against the door by the passengers who have joined him since—and a fresh wave of stars burst across his vision at the sharp slice of pain through his left foot.

Martin clings tighter to the bar as the pain wraps around his ankle and flares up the outside of his calf. For a moment, he thinks his whole leg might collapse beneath him and he is almost grateful for the way they are all shoulder-to-shoulder in the compartment.

Perhaps he should have called Rosie and told her. But a deep-rooted part of him cannot bear to take time off, remembers the times he had dragged himself to work feeling much worse—smiling from behind the till even during a bout of flu that made his entire body ache, carrying plants to cars at the garden centre a few days after he dislocated his shoulder helping his mother up after a fall. At least, at the Institute, he has a desk and a chair and very few opportunities for heavy lifting. Given time to take some weight off the injury before lunch, he is sure no one will even notice. And by tomorrow, he will be fine.

The next stop is his. Outside, the cold air takes some of the unbearable flush from his cheeks and he walks the rest of the journey with his coat open to counteract the heat of the train. He resolutely ignores the throbbing in his left leg as he joins of the parade of commuters, bustling in tandem along narrow pavements. The Institute isn’t far.

Martin fights the instinct to immediately make Jon a cup of tea. He knows it takes Jon a while to warm up to him each day, withdrawn and nearly always absent in the mornings. By the afternoon, Jon is slightly more receptive after enough time co-existing without incident, slightly more willing to drink the tea offered to him even if he always smells it beforehand. Morning tea is fed to the plants; afternoon tea, Jon tolerates.

He should stop by the staff room, anyway. The first aid kit inside is well-stocked. He knows this because he did it himself, spreading the task out with extensive research on the empty, boring workdays before Jon and Tim had returned from their leave. There are painkillers inside and the sort of durable bandages Martin doesn’t have at home. But the urge to sit down drags him past the door and straight to his desk.

“Morning, Sasha,” Martin says, supressing a loud exhale of relief when he lowers himself into his desk chair.

Sasha glances up distractedly from her computer and pulls out one of her earbuds. “What was that, Martin?”

Martin tries to fight an unfamiliar nervousness, an old friend from his early days in the Archives where he wasn’t sure where he stood with Tim and Sasha. “I was just saying good morning.”

“Of course.” Sasha smiles, although her expression is blank, almost cold. “Good morning to you, too.”

Martin gives her a tight-lipped smile in return. Sasha pops the earbud back in and returns to whatever work she is doing on the computer. He wonders if she can hear the noise of the repeated error notification over her music, wonders what she is doing to make the computer so combative.

Before Prentiss, he has a vague memory of there being a radio on Sasha’s desk. She wouldn’t turn it on everyday—sometimes, she could only get work done if she was wearing noise-cancelled headphones—but whenever she did, she and Tim would sing along to cheesy ’80s hits. He thinks he remembers them dancing together, the middle of the open plan office becoming a makeshift dance floor, but he cannot hold the entire picture in his mind. It’s like a reverse polaroid, fading out of view rather than in. Perhaps he only dreamt it.

He shakes himself out of the fuzziness filling his mind and tries to focus on checking his emails. He left leg throbs dully beneath his desk, but the pain becomes peripheral as each email dredges up the irritation he tries to avoid indulging on weekends. Elias has sent a motivational Monday email about the importance of teamwork and rallying together, especially after a difficult few months for all of us. Rosie has forwarded a fundraising form from his old supervisor in the library, who is apparently raising money for Dementia UK. He tries not to think about how difficult it had been to explain to the aforementioned supervisor why he needed time off to help his mother settle into the care home in Devon. And there is no email at all from Tim, who has stopped bothering to even send his apologies for being late with each new blow to his and Jon’s relationship.

“Martin.” Jon’s voice, slightly raised to catch his attention.

Martin looks up. Jon’s door is open just a crack. Before he can reply, Jon adds stiffly: “My office. Five minutes.” And then he closes his office door firmly once again.

Martin resists the urge to groan and lower his head to his desk. While he’s glad that telling Jon about his faked CV seems to have been a small but significant turning point, he isn’t sure he can manage another complicated conversation dredging up old anxieties today. He doesn’t want to reveal each shameful, painful secret he has in a futile attempt to make Jon trust him.

He can’t concentrate for the next five minutes. He alternates between watching the second hand on the clock across the office and refreshing his emails. He resigns himself to giving a fiver to the library fundraiser and eating the leftover takeaway in the fridge for lunch rather than getting a meal deal. He tries not to think about where Tim might be or what sort of mood he will be in when he finally arrives.

As soon as five minutes have passed, Martin stands. But with his stomach twisting in anxiety and his thoughts spiralling, he has managed to relegate the pain in his leg to the bottom of his mental priority list. Now that he’s standing, it’s demanding first place again. He has to grab the edge of his desk, almost sending his nearly-dead office plant and pot of pens flying across the floor. His monitor, still displaying emails, wobbles dangerously with the desk. He stands completely still for a moment, trying to breathe around the wave of nausea induced by the pain.

The prickling hotness is back. He hopes his face isn’t red when he finally plucks up the courage—and energy—to knock on the door of Jon’s office. It wouldn’t be the first time, he supposes. No matter how hard he tries, he finds himself blushing quite often whenever it is just him and Jon in the latter’s office.

“Come in,” Jon mumbles from behind the door.

Martin creaks open the door carefully and steps inside, trying very hard to make himself smaller, non-threatening. Jon sits behind his desk, staring at his computer screen. He doesn’t look away, but he waves Martin into the spare chair opposite him.

Martin has a feeling that sitting down would be a dangerous decision. He clears his throat. “Actually, I’ll—I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

This finally draws Jon’s eyes away from his monitor. “Alright. Although I can assure you that, unlike some of its brethren in Artefact Storage, that chair doesn’t bite.”

Martin tries to smile. Jon has been doing this more since the confrontation and subsequent reveal over his CV—trying to make jokes, or some approximation. An attempt to diffuse the tension, even when Jon’s body language is nearly always screaming: I see you as a threat.

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Martin replies, “But I, um—I was just reading this article about the impacts of sitting at a desk.”

“A productive start to your workday, then,” Jon mutters.

“And so I’m gonna try standing up a bit more,” Martin continues, deliberately ignoring Jon’s comment, “Around the office.”

“Around the entire office or my office specifically?”

Martin can feel the irritation—stirred by the emails, deflated initially by Jon’s joke—rising inside of him again. “Does it matter?”

Jon sighs. “I suppose not.”

“So, what did you, um, what did you need from me?” Martin asks, trying not to shift with nerves. He knows it will aggravate his leg.

“Sasha still appears to be having difficulty with her computer, so I was hoping to delegate the task of digitising the disproved statements from 1995 to 2000 to you,” Jon says.

Martin tries not to visibly bristle. Jon has been doing this a lot lately, too—far more frequently, in fact, than the half-formed jokes. He hoards the statements that won’t record digitally, combs them again and again for details rather than delegating this task to any of his Assistants, and only asks for very vague follow-ups.

But Sasha had volunteered to digitise the disproved statements. She said she liked the clear structure it gave to her day, always able to take a full hour for lunch to visit her new boyfriend, and how it led her to different places within the Archives. Besides, she has a transcribing qualification, although she had asked Martin the other day how to insert line numbers into a document. Brain fog, she had explained with that same thin smile.

Martin is quite happy to do whatever minuscule tasks Jon would sporadically trust him with, as long as it meant he had some idea of what Jon was currently putting all of his energy into. He doesn’t want to digitise statements from the ’90s.

“Will that be a problem?” Jon asks after the silence drags on.

“Nope. Not at all,” Martin lies, “It’s just that…”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I thought I could perhaps… do some follow-ups on the statements you’ve been reading.”

Jon sighs again. Distractedly, he lifts his left arm, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, and scratches at the slightly-raw but almost-healed wound along his forearm. The stitches have dissolved, but Martin can see the pink scarring where they were placed across the wound, which is raised in comparison to the flat worm scars surrounding it.

“Don’t scratch it,” Martin tuts, “You’ll reopen the wound.”

“Martin,” Jon replies, exasperated, “It’s almost completely healed.”

“Completely healed? It’s not—it’s never going to be—you needed five stitches!”

“Yes, as you keep reminding me.”

“Because I—” Martin splutters, trying to find the words. “Because I worry about you.”

“Your worry is entirely unnecessary.”

“Is it? Because I think you’ve given me more than enough reasons to be worried about you lately.”

Jon’s jaw twitches angrily, but his expression is level when he forces his eyes to Martin’s. “I didn’t call you in here to have yet another pointless conversation about my mental or physical health.”

“Of course not. You called me in here to…” To do a completely meaningless task because you don’t trust me with anything else. He takes a deep breath and knows he cannot say that. “Digitise the 1995-2000 disproved statements.”

“Well remembered.”

Martin manages not to roll his eyes. “I’ll get started right away.”

Martin turns to leave. The first step is easy. The pain arrives on the second, taking him surprise, a direct strike to his ankle. He stumbles and has to steady himself again, this time against the chair Jon had offered him at the start.

“Martin,” Jon says, a hint of something like surprise—or worry—in his voice. He is half-standing from his own chair when Martin looks over his shoulder at him.

“I’m fine,” Martin insists.

“You’re clearly not fine. Are you injured?”

Martin leans into the chair so he can turn to face Jon again. At this angle, Martin catches only a glimpse of the healing wound where it snakes behind Jon’s wrist. But even with a limited view, the memory of the first time he had seen it grips him.

It had been near the end of the day. Martin went to use the toilet before he headed home, but the moment he was inside, all he could smell was blood. And for a moment, all he could think was the worms, they must have missed some of the worms, where did I last see Tim, oh, god, Jon hasn’t left for the day yet, is Sasha still in the office, the worms, worms again, always worms, it was only a matter of time. It was like walking through the Archives after the siege to give his statement: the musty smell of the worm carcases and the metallic hint of blood beneath. Jon and Tim’s blood.

He had lifted his sleeve to his nose to block out the smell and tried to gather some semblance of calm. The blood was in the sink. One of the bathroom stall doors was closed but not locked, a shadow just visible underneath. When Martin called out a cautious hello, the door creaked open at the behest of the occupant’s foot and Jon stood sheepishly inside, pressing a wad of red-stained tissues against his arm.

“Ah. Hello, Martin,” Jon had said. And then, “Heading home?”

Martin had shouted. He can’t remember what. His voice was always higher than it was loud when he was upset. After that, it had been a blur of the same lies. “I’m fine,” as Martin tried to apply pressure to the wound. “I don’t need stitches,” when Martin insisted on taking him to A&E. “It’s really not that bad,” while the doctor was injecting the anaesthetic and stitching the wound. “Why would I lie, Martin? For the last time, I cut myself on a bread knife,” repeated in the days after, again and again, no matter how much Martin pushed.

“Martin,” Jon says again, interrupting his train of thought, “Are you injured?”

Jon is lying to him. Jon is playing a game. Perhaps unintentional, perhaps well-meant, but nonetheless—two can play and Martin has thrown his hat into the ring. The irritation scratching against his ribcage is replaced with a petty sense of satisfaction.

“I sprained my ankle on the way to work. Tripped while I was getting off the Tube,” Martin tells him, “You know me. Clumsy as anything. It’s nothing serious.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like nothing,” Jon snaps.

“It’s fine.” Martin smiles. “I’m sure it will clear up on its own,” he adds, since Jon had something to that effect to him while bleeding profusely in the bathroom stall.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be digitising the statements, after all,” Jon murmurs, almost to himself, “Sasha hasn’t yet transferred them to the office and the boxes can be rather heavy.”

“Honestly, Jon, I can manage,” Martin interjects. The satisfaction has faded slightly, replaced with that desperate urge to prove himself, to show he doesn’t need time off work. He won’t go home. And he won’t be a liability while he’s here. “Besides, what else is there for me to do? Unless you want me to follow up on that statement?”

Jon looks down at his desk. A flash of panic crosses his face when he realises the statement folder is open and Martin, at any time, could have read it. He closes it, deliberately slow, as if trying to hide the reason why. “I’m sure I can find you something else to do at your desk.”

Martin knows this has become a different point of pride now. A dangerous point of pride. He doesn’t want Jon to fuss over him. He doesn’t want to be handled. He will do his job as usual and no one will know he is in pain, no one needs to assume he is anything other than fine.

“I’ll digitise the statements,” Martin says, “In fact, I’ll get started right away.”

“Martin, I—”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Then…” Jon hesitates. “Have a good day, Martin.”

Martin almost folds at the softness in Jon’s voice. For a moment, he considers taking it back—the stubbornness, the bitterness, the insistence that he’s fine. Would it hurt to give in, for a day, to the urge for rest? But it would. He knows it would.

“You too, Jon,” Martin murmurs, dismissing himself from Jon’s office and managing to make it out of the door without flinching every time he puts weight on his left leg.

Jon refreshes his emails. He deletes Elias’s aggressively positive bulletin before panicking that he will somehow know and transferring it back to his inbox. He flips through the statement on his desk. He makes sure the pages are in order, properly aligned. He takes the tape recorder from the drawer. He takes a sip from the sealed water bottle he keeps in the same locked drawer as the tape recorder. He lifts his thumb, letting it hover above the button to start recording.

Martin, he thinks. And he can’t begin the statement.

Martin is not fine. Jon is going to prove it. He had decided this before the emails, the statement, the water. But at the crossroads of burying himself in work or investigating Martin’s denial, he realises that it was never really a choice. He needs to know.

Perhaps Martin is hiding an injury related to Jon’s clandestine investigation. The tunnels are dark and, in places, littered with debris. A person visiting without the right equipment—or, at the very least, without a torch—could easily hurt themselves. Or likewise, if the tables had somehow turned, Martin could have lost his balance in the station while following Jon. The best lies always held some element of truth.

The worry eating at him is for this scenario, Jon tells himself. Not for Martin. He is not worried for Martin.

Jon props his door open slightly with his shoe. Now that he has taken to working in his office, door closed, he no longer worries so much about working in only his socks. He never liked the feel of his firm work loafers, and it’s easier to sit comfortably in his chair when his feet aren’t covered. He checks to see if any of them have noticed him, but in the bullpen, Sasha doesn’t look away from her malfunctioning computer, earbuds in. Tim has yet to arrive. And Martin’s desk is empty.

He goes back to his own desk and sits down. From this angle, he can see through the small gap where his shoe is holding the door open. A direct view towards Martin’s desk. He will know when Martin comes and goes, will be able to examine his reaction to movement and pain. Jon begins a timer on his phone—he should keep a record of how long Martin takes, that might give him an idea of the extent of the injury—and then throws himself into scouring the evidence that Basira left the last time she visited.

Jon keeps stopping to check the timer. At fifteen minutes. At eighteen. At twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-four. Martin has been gone for far longer than Jon had expected.

At thirty-seven minutes, Jon steps out of his office.

Sasha gives him a brief wave as he passes, but the other two desks are still empty. Jon feels himself frowning. He checks the staff room, but it’s empty and the kettle is cold when he touches his fingers to it. Next, he forces himself to walk slowly to the stacks where the original statements, even disproved, are stored. It is light and temperature controlled here, adjacent to the room where Martin had once stayed for months while they waited for Jane Prentiss’s attack. Because he knows now that was what they were doing: waiting.

Jon keeps his pace slow and measured. He realises he’s still not wearing shoes, which makes it easier to walk quietly along the stacks looking for the right dates. 1980-1985. He’s getting closer. He stops just before 1995-2000, listening for any clue Martin is there.

The first thing he hears is heavy breathing, every other inhalation hitching in pain. Jon grips the shelf behind him, digging his fingers into the wood, focusing on the sensation of the grain. He grounds himself, refuses the first and overwhelming urge to check on Martin. And then, shifting his weight very carefully, he leans forward so he can see through a small gap in the shelving.

Martin is sitting on one of the wheeled, plastic stools used for reaching the higher shelves. His left leg, the one he couldn’t put weight on earlier, is extended in front of him. The hem of his left trouser leg has hitched up slightly, revealing Martin’s sock—covered in tiny dinosaurs and padded as if hiding bandages beneath. His body trembles, almost like a slight blurring around the edges. He is gripping his thighs tightly, digging his nails in as he squeezes is eyes shut.

Jon’s heart clenches. He knew, in his office, that Martin was injured. But this is something else entirely. Beneath the sickly lighting, Martin is pale, almost grey, his skin shinning with a thin layer of sweat. Jon recognises the tightness at the edges of his mouth, the way his throat works against a rising nausea.

“Martin,” Jon says, stepping into view before he can think about what he’s doing.

Martin leaps off the stool, but the motion sends him immediately careening into the opposite shelf when his left leg won’t hold his weight. He catches himself before he falls fully, but he lets out a breathless “shit” that Jon attributes to both the pain and the shock. He tries to pull himself back up to his full height, but Jon can see the toll the sudden movement has taken on him.

“Christ, Jon,” Martin gasps, struggling to regain his breath.

“You’re lying to me,” Jon says. He stops himself before he adds: again.

Martin’s eyes widen slightly in alarm, a look of panic washing out his features further. “Jon, I—I thought we—I’m not—”

“About your injury.”

“Oh.” Martin deflates. “Oh. That.”

Jon is so angry he doesn’t have energy to spare on being embarrassed by his lack of subtlety. “Martin, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” Martin mutters.

“You should take the day off, at the very least.”

“Jon, I’m grateful for your concern, I really am, but—”

“If you say you’re fine again, I swear I will—”

“It’s a sprain,” Martin interrupts, insistent, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Jon sighs. His anger leaves him, replaced with a sort of sadness he can’t quite place. Nothing I can’t handle. That sentence implies a comparison, a time before that hurts Jon to think about. “Let me get the boxes, at least.”

“No,” Martin says quickly.

“Martin, you clearly—”

“I’ll get them,” Martin insists, “Your arm—”

“Is almost healed. The same cannot be said for your allegedly sprained ankle.”

Martin rolls his eyes. “Allegedly?”

Jon doesn’t dignify his echo with an answer. “My physical therapist says I’m ready to start—”

“No, see, that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here!”

“I know my limits, Martin. You, apparently, do not.”

Martin laughs humourlessly. “Oh, for gods—”

“What?” Jon bristles. “I attended physical therapy, didn’t I?”

“Because I texted you every day to make sure you went. Because I sent you home when you tried to come back into work too soon.”

“I am more than capable of looking after myself.”

“You stabbed yourself with a bread knife!”

For a moment, a rebuttal sits on the edge of Jon’s tongue. He almost reveals the truth—the door, the blade of Michael’s finger tearing through his flesh when he tried to go after Helen. But no, that would be too much. That would be giving Martin exactly what he wants.

“So you finally believe me,” Jon says calmly.

“I’m finally starting to believe you’re never going to tell me the truth,” Martin replies.

“I’ve already told you the truth.”

“And so have I.” Martin looks him in the eye, unwavering. “I sprained my ankle. I’m fine. I can do this.”

Jon sighs. He rubs at his eyes, wishing he had gotten more sleep for the past—well, the past year. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Jon echoes, although he has no idea why, and leaves before Martin can question him.

Back in his office, he paces. He checks the timer on his phone. It’s been an hour. He sits down, glancing between his computer and the door, the computer and the door, the computer and the door. Eventually, he hears Martin drop a large box of case files on his desk, far louder than he would ever usually allow himself to be. Jon sighs again. He is not sure what battle they are locked in, but he knows it is going to be long and hard-won.

Jon goes back to scrutinising Basira’s evidence. A collection of statements taken from people in the vicinity of the Institute during Jane Prentiss’s attack. A profile on some of the employees who had frequent contact with Gertrude, including Martin’s old supervisor in the library. He had sent a reference of thinly-veiled insults across with Martin’s employee record and, for some reason, Jon had never liked him since.

He is disturbed by conversation outside.

“Afternoon, Tim,” Martin says.

“Afternoon, is it?” Tim replies bitterly. “I didn’t realise.”

Only then does Jon realise it is after midday and Martin still hasn’t badgered him about getting lunch.

“Can I get you anything?” Martin asks, his tone much softer. “A cup of tea, maybe?”

“Thanks, but I prefer coffee these days.”

Martin laughs, a small, quickly fading sound. “Believe it or not, I do also know how to make coffee.”

“I guess I…” A loud, exhausted sigh from Tim. Then, in a smaller, kinder voice: “A coffee would be great. Thanks, Martin.”

Through the half-open door, Jon watches as Martin grips his desk and uses it to leverage himself up. The change of elevation clearly makes him dizzy and he stands for a moment, breathing deeply while he reaches an equilibrium. But when he walks, he is mostly managing to mask the pain, at least until he leaves Jon’s field of vision.

Jon listens. He hears the familiar squeak of the staff room door swinging closed. After a fortifying breath, he forces himself out into the main office. Sasha’s desk is empty; she’s probably on her lunch break with the boyfriend who works at the wax museum. Tim is sitting in his chair, hands in his lap, staring blankly at his computer. The screen isn’t on.

Tim blinks. Pulls his dull gaze away from the computer. The shadows beneath his eyes are deep and purple, and he doesn’t even attempt to smile. “Can I help you with something, boss? Must be big if you’re willing to leave that office of yours.”

“Have you noticed Martin behaving strangely at all?”

“Oh, bloody hell, Jon, not this again,” Tim hisses, “I’m not helping you spy on—”

“No, no, not that,” Jon interrupts, “I believe Martin injured himself on his way to work, but he won’t tell me how severe it is.”

“Wow. Sounds kind of like someone else I know.”

“Tim.”

“I suppose he learnt from the best.”

“Tim,” Jon snaps, “Did you notice anything?”

“No.” Tim sighs. “No, I was a bit distracted, to be honest. I was sort of hoping Sasha would be here. I, uh, I need to talk to her about something.”

“Will you keep an eye on him?”

“I already told you, I’m not—”

“It’s not spying.”

“It’s as good as!”

“It is not.”

“You would know.”

“Tim,” Jon says, lowering his voice for impact, “If you are not going to do any work, at least—”

The staff room door whines open. Martin walks out backwards, holding the door open with his shoulder as he shuffles into the office a mug in each hand. One is the novelty mug with a celebrity and slogan on it that Jon doesn’t recognise, no matter how many times Tim has tried to explain; the other is the plain, sunny yellow one Martin always gives to Jon.

“Oh,” Martin says, pausing when he sees them both, “Is… everything alright?”

“Fine,” Tim replies, “Jon was just interrogating me about why I was late. And I was just telling him how I was passing by London Zoo when I heard a scream and I immediately began running—”

“Alright,” Jon interrupts, “I’ve heard enough.”

Martin lifts the hand holding the yellow mug slightly. “I made you tea.”

Jon tries to push away the warm feeling that unfurls in his chest, every time Martin says this. “Thank you, Martin. Let me take those from you.” He adds, firmly, “Both of them,” for good measure.

With some manoeuvring, Jon manages to relinquish Martin of both the mugs. He places Tim’s down on his desk, receiving a mumbled thanks, before walking the distance back towards his office door. Martin lingers in the doorway to the staff room, looking casually at Jon, but there is a stubborn set to his shoulders.

“How are the files?” Jon asks.

“Terrible,” Martin replies with a slight pout, “I’ve already read five statements about three separate Oasis concerts.”

Jon shudders. “I never liked the ’90s.”

Martin chuckles. “Yeah, well, at least they weren’t getting up to anything actually spooky.”

Jon hesitates. He knows, if he moves first, he will have lost this particular battle. But the war is still all to play for. He assesses the determination on Martin’s face and decides that, on his occasion, he will concede. Just this once.

“Well,” Jon says, clearing his throat, “Good luck with the rest.”

“What, you’re not going to make him put a quid in the jar for saying ‘spooky’?” Tim interjects.

Jon startles. He had almost forgotten him and Martin were not alone. “It’s a first offense.”

“It is not,” Tim calls after him, but there’s something playful in his tone, at least, “That’s preferential treatment!”

Jon goes back into his office without replying. He keeps the door open.

For the rest of the afternoon, Tim doesn’t exactly keep his word, but he does do everything in his power to prevent Martin from getting any work done. Tim isn’t subtle about it, but Martin tries to resist. He only plays two rounds of online Battleships with Tim before insisting on returning to the disproven statements. Tim then attempts to throw pens from his pot into Martin’s, scattering most of them around the office. When Sasha comes back, he quietens slightly and they all fall into some semblance of productivity. Jon does catch Tim playing solitaire when he passes his desk on the way to the bathroom, though.

Sasha is the first to go home. She leaves without stopping by Jon’s office and the absence scratches at his consciousness, some long-buried sense of rejection that he soothes and smothers with the knowledge that this is what he wants. He wants space to work. He wants to snap the lines of connection that might lead him towards betrayal.

Less than twenty minutes later, Tim is next. And he tries to take Martin with him.

“Come on,” Tim whines, his voice carrying through the barely-open door to Jon’s office, “Just one round. On me.”

“Tim,” Martin replies, his voice gentle but holding his position, “I really can’t. Not tonight.”

“We could grab something to eat instead? I’ve been meaning to try this sushi place right near—”

“I can’t eat—”

“Oh, right.” Tim clicks his fingers in remembrance. “You’re allergic to fish.”

“Not all fish,” Martin adds, like an apology.

“Not all fish,” Tim echoes, “But no sushi, just to be on the safe side.”

“Yep.” Martin sighs. “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologise.”

From his office, Jon can hear Tim shifting slightly. The floors are hardwood, carefully maintained over the years, and despite taking some damage during Prentiss’s attack, Elias insists on keeping them. They creak. He remembers Martin mentioning it once in passing, when he was staying in the Archives, how sometimes he thought Jon was there even on the nights when he left before it got dark.

“At least let me walk you home,” is Tim’s last attempt, “A sprain is definitely not nothing. I sprained my wrist years ago climbing and it still plays up sometimes. Especially when I’m caving, actually, but that’s a story for another time.”

“Well, um… I won’t go climbing any time soon, then?”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” Tim says in his most flirtatious voice.

Martin laughs. “I appreciate it, Tim. But I’m—I just want to finish this off. Before I leave.”

Through the crack in the door, Jon sees Tim raise his hands in surrender. “Well, I tried.”

“I’ll be alright,” Martin adds, almost guiltily.

“You better be.” Tim hesitates again. Jon watches him pat the pockets of his coat, searching for his phone or perhaps his keys. “You got my link? The NHS website one about strains?”

“I did. Thank you.”

“And you know about calling 111?”

“Also yes.”

“And you can call me if you need me?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Tim says, resigned, “Just—take care of yourself.”

“You too, Tim,” Martin replies softly.

Tim heads off, again without stopping by Jon’s office. And it’s habit, by now, it’s not unusual for Tim to do this, but Jon taps the desk lightly with his fingers to try and dispel the feeling of wrongness sitting on his chest. He watches Martin go back to the computer, a tension around his eyes that suggests at a headache and the same pallid, nauseous look visible even in profile.

Jon considers the work he has left. The work he knows, realistically, he will never quite finish because every statement, every piece of footage, every lead, only stirs up more questions. He could stay. He could push himself on into the night, as he has done so many times before. He could find another reason to go into the tunnels. But deep down, he is exhausted—by the need to know, by the itch at the edge of his knowledge where uncertainty lingers and festers. He wants to rest and he thinks if he leaves now, Martin might, too.

Jon gathers his things, stuffing a few statements inside his messenger bag before shrugging on his coat, his scarf, his gloves and his hat. The cold air hurts his scars and dries out his skin until they become tight, small movements made increasingly uncomfortable without intervention, so he’s resorted to wearing more layers. Finally, he puts his shoes back on, retrieving the left one from the door and then closing it behind him when he steps out into the main office.

Martin glances away from his computer. “Heading home?”

“Yes,” Jon replies, as casually he can, “I thought I would call it an early night. Would you—I thought—perhaps you would like to join me?”

Jon tries not to notice Martin’s cheeks flushing pink. “Oh, um, I—I was actually—I think I should stay. Just for another half an hour or so. It’s just, I’m nearly finished with October to December 1999 and I know it will bother me if I leave it.”

Jon quirks an eyebrow. “That interesting?”

“Hmm.” Martin shrugs. “Mostly just a lot of people worried about the turn of the millennium.”

“Ah. I remember that.” Jon doesn’t let on that he spent October to December 1999 researching that very phenomenon obsessively, walking the line between intense curiosity and deep dread at the possibility of catastrophe. There are some things—many things—Martin doesn’t need to know about him.

Martin smiles. “Well, I… I better get on.”

“Martin,” Jon says, trying to keep his voice measured. He feels like he is wavering between an offering and an argument. “I know I stressed the importance of digitising those files this morning, but there is no reason to spend overtime on—”

“There is, though,” Martin interrupts, “A reason.”

“Oh?”

Martin looks him in the eye and almost smiles. “I want to.”

“Right,” Jon sighs.

“Right,” Martin echoes.

“I suppose I’ll—I’ll be going, then,” Jon murmurs, tapping Martin’s desk just once in deference to the slight tremble in his body, the way he isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. “See you tomorrow, Martin.”

Martin smiles, this time. A full smile. “Bye, Jon.”

Jon turns. He begins to walk away. In his mind, he sees an alternative: going back, asking Martin to walk with him to the station, an offer he knows will, at least, make Martin think again. The both of them squeezed among commuters, hands stuffed into the pockets of their coats because of the cold, elbows knocking against each other every so often as the crowd tightens and expands. The awkward, protracted moment of goodbye when they part to separate platforms, the glimpse of the other walking away and the pang of sadness that comes with it.

It’s manipulative to ask, a cruel trick, and yet—is it? Is it, if that is something Jon wants, too?

Jon doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, even though he knows—somewhere deep and hidden and insistent—that he will regret it.

#cw paranoia #cw worms #cw injury #cw blood #cw nausea #cw toxic work environment #cw internalised ableism #cw food mention #cw needles #i feel really shy about posting this?#idk why #it was genuinely hard to write not!sasha that might be it #my confidence might be low right now but my love for martin increases daily #so i will write him no matter what 😤#my writing #love to eveyone #thank you for reading #<333

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

Text

For @imashittalkingmushroom who requested some Tim content. Excerpt from one of the seemingly endless WIPs I toil away at in my downtime because me pace myself, in this economy, hah. This one’s called “The Vienna Game” and is Batfam ensemble versus a new rising threat, which Tim has a revelation about here. This part is just a rough draft for the moment, but you get the idea.

THE VIENNA GAME

Chapter Five: Pawn Storm

Barely five minutes after Tim’s head hit his pillow, he sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering in his throat.

“They’re all connected,” he said, wide-eyed to an empty room. The lack of a response bequeathed by his surroundings was a bit, well, lacking, so he leaped to his feet and raced down to the hall to the Batcave’s nearest access point.

“They’re all connected,” he shouted again as he took the rough-hewn stone stairs three at a time. His words bounced and rattled off the walls of the cave, winging upwards into its darkest recesses and rousing the bats from their nests overhead. They scattered in every direction, deeper into the darkness, as they reacted to his urgency and intensity with shrieking complaints.

If only his actual family could be similarly moved. But no, they had to suck instead.

“Whozit whatzit howzit?” Dick swiveled in his chair, just enough to shoot the younger boy a quizzical eyebrow but not enough to necessitate removing his feet from next to the Batcomputer’s keyboard, where Bruce was currently drilling holes into them with a patented (and thus wholly ineffective) Batglare.

“What is it Lassie? Did Timmy fall down the well again? One bark for yes, two for no,” Jason said brightly. He bent at the waist and braced his hands on his thighs as though actually talking to a dog; it had the unfortunate side-effect of making his stupid brother a stupid firmly planted rock that did little more than shift the merest micro-meter when Tim rolled his eyes and brusquely shouldered past him.

“That doesn’t even make any sense. I’m Timmy,” he said irritably. Too late he realized the trap he’d blearily wandered into as his jackass brother practically cackled with glee. Tim reddened and quickened his pace to the Batcomputer. “Oh shut up.”

Jason swivelled, but whatever his intended follow-up, he abruptly cut off as an apple core arced out of the shadows and bounced off his head. The second eldest pivoted sharply once more and scowled in the direction it’d come from as Tim absently took note of the several other apple cores scattered around Jason’s feet.

“Would you stop that?”

Cassandra, target of his ire, merely contemplated him for a beat before shaking her head.

“No thank you,” she politely declined, and she bit into a fresh apple with a loud crunch.

“You will be cleaning those up, not Alfred,” their father said, wearily enough Tim got the sense this had been going on for quite some time. His sister just shrugged.

“Worth it.”

Bruce exercised the better part of valor and shifted his attention back to Tim. “And didn’t you say you were going to bed?”

“I did say that,” Tim said agreeably as he barreled forth unto the Batcomputer. He batted (hah - oh no, the sleep deprivation was real) Dick’s feet aside and rebutted Dick’s injurious expression with an apologetic one of his own; apparently appeased, Dick just lithely shrugged and lifted his linked legs straight off the desk’s surface and then just never stopped. Instead he kept lifting his legs up, up and away until he’d transitioned into a perfect handstand on the seat of the chair, which he then transitioned out of by gracefully flipping over the chair’s back and onto his feet. Because see, Tim’s eldest brother’s middle name was not in fact ‘John,’ it was ‘Just That Extra.’

“I even did that,” Tim continued as he set his fingers to dancing swiftly across the keyboard. “But then I realized something.”

“You look ridiculous when you pop your collar,” Steph said knowingly.

“What? No. Wait, when have I ever done that?”

“Umm, the last time you were drunk, duh.”

Tim paused just long enough to shoot his ex an absolutely baffled look, over where she was lounging bonelessly next to Cass.

“When was I drunk?”

Steph tilted her head to the side and squinted in thought. “Drunk, concussed....whatever. It was definitely one of those two. I have pictures. They’re not good.”

Perhaps sensing his impending spontaneous combustion, Bruce interceded, raising a hand to quiet the perpetual storm of sibling (and Steph) nonsense.

“What’s this about, Tim?”

“Our newest Rogue, the one we just finally caught last week,” Tim reported, turning his attention back to the Dance of the Keystrokes. “We have a problem.”

Their father frowned. “Desperado? What’s the problem?”

“His name,” Tim said grimly. He finished pulling up the string of files he’d only minutes ago linked together in his own mind. Flashing into existence on the wall to wall screens before them were all the notes the various members of their family had compiled on the new villain in town, as well as a number of other files for a good dozen or so other relatively new or unknown villains scattered across the globe, with these latter documents pulled from the digital archives of various superhero teams and law enforcement agencies worldwide.

Blitz, a speedster located in Southern California, their indistinct form pixelated and blurred virtue of the crackling halo of electrical energy they seemed to wear like a cloak of St. Elmo’s Fire.

A Filipino man and woman purported to be fraternal twins operating out of a number of hotspots throughout Southeast Asia, with a combined name whose translation from Tagalog roughly amounted to ‘Double Check.’

A young brunette woman seemingly barely out of her teens, with eyes hidden behind an overly large pair of sunglasses, linked to a series of crimes in Argentina and Chile and allegedly going by the name ‘Swindle.’

A black man in his mid to late twenties, moving across the Iberian peninsula, with no reported name given, just a strange adherence to a symbol that appeared to be of a windmill, of all things, and that had local press dubbing him ‘Don Quixote.’

King March, a white man in his late forties to early fifties, with black hair and greying temples and a stern but smug disposition in all the files Interpol had compiled on him due to his frequent appearances as a person of interest throughout Eastern Europe.

A short, acrobatic Latino teleporter who offered up only the name ‘Castle’ in his sporadic run-ins with various hero organizations across the globe.

Tempo, suspected to originally hail from Sri Lanka, and last sighted in Hong Kong of all places...and by no means the only one of this assortment of individuals engaged in criminal enterprises in a city known for its Batman Inc presence.

Undermine, a masked man so far content to operate just out of Australia.

Flag Fall, another masked individual largely spotted in the Southeastern U.S.

An unseen person or persons known only by a calling card left in various Saharan regions, identifying them as someone named ‘Tabia.’

And lastly, a mature black woman out of the UK, sporting a wry, enigmatic smile in the only known picture of her, alongside her alleged pseudonym: Zugzwang.

“It was pretty much total coincidence I put it together,” Tim said as his family gathered more closely behind him to survey the assembled files over his shoulder. “I’d come across most these files over the past couple months, just in passing, as I like to familiarize myself with the various players in most Batman Inc. operating cities, and I was just reading this last file before bed, just to kinda wind down, y’know....”

“That sentence makes me so sad I don’t even have the heart to make fun of you,” Jason interrupted. He frowned. “Wait, that implies I have a heart. Hang on, that doesn’t sound right. And is this, what, sympathy I’m feeling right now? Eww, that is not the emotion I ordered. Take it back.”

Tim glared at him briefly, and then foraged on. “Anyway, as I was saying, I happened to be reading this last file before bed, and her name stuck out for me and from there I just started connecting some dots. See, alone, none of these names stand out as particularly significant, but put them together, and what happens?”

“They all have multiple meanings,” Damian said, scowling at the screens with focused intensity. “Mostly innocuous, but they’re also all....hmm. Chess terminology.”

Tim nodded enthusiastically. “Bingo! Ten points to Stabby Smurf.”

He bent over the keyboard again and started pulling up various video files, catching sight of reflections out of the corner of his eye as he did so. Duke seemed to be mouthing “Stabby Smurf” with a kind of horrified awe and Damian himself seemed unable to decide if he was offended or not. Whoops, that part hadn’t been meant to come out aloud. Tim coughed to cover a grimace slash smirk and hastened back to his point.

“For instance, based on geographical location alone, Flag Fall seems to be an obvious reference to an actual flag, but the term also refers to timed chess matches, when a given player has run out of time to make a move. Swindle isn’t just a term for cheating or fraud, but in chess, refers to when a losing player tricks their opponent into falling for a decoy move that ends the game in a draw instead of a loss. King march is a term for when you advance your king up the board, tempo is a single turn or move, a double check is when two different pieces put an opponent’s king in check simultaneously, and undermining is when you capture a defensive piece of your opponent’s and leave their king undefended.”

He stopped for a breath and Damian quickly stepped into the breach and picked up where he left off, seamlessly following the train of thought. “And Tabia comes from the Arabic for ‘essence,’ but in chess is a key point, specifically a point of departure from which you can perform any number of signature moves. The windmill symbol utilized by this individual in Spain and its surrounding regions most likely then does not reference Don Quixote, but rather a looped series of moves, usually brought upon by a rook and a bishop, which forces an opponent’s king to ‘windmill’ back and forth between just two or three squares in order to keep out of check.”

“And then Blitz of course refers to a specific opening gambit, that can bring about checkmate in four moves or less,” Tim resumed. “And while Castle has so far been assumed to be nothing more than a surname according to various heroes who have encountered him, largely no doubt due to the fact that he doesn’t affect any kind of costume or disguise, when you consider that pretty much all his demonstrations of teleportation utilize a kind of ‘switching’ of two persons’ relative placement in space/time, either as a signature or an actual staple of his power, its far more likely his name is a reference to ‘castling.’ Which of course then just brings us back to Zugzwang, which is a German term that loosely translates to ‘compulsion to move’ and specifically denotes any scenario in chess in which a player has no choice but to move, even though all moves available to them are inevitably going to worsen their position.”

They all took a minute to absorb that then, speed-reading their way through the various files with all the quickness that made it an actual possibility one or more of them might someday make it all the way through a read-through of the entire Wayne Manor Library, even taking into account the minimal time any of them allotted to the having of actual ‘hobbies.’

It was Cass who found something new to seize upon next, though she never once flicked her eyes away from where they tracked the movements of one videoed individual to the next, screen by screen.

“It’s not just the names,” she reported, scrutinizing each figure intently. “They move alike. When they fight. Its not a lot. But enough that they probably trained together, or at least shared a teacher.”

Tim nodded again. “I thought so too, but I wasn’t sure. I don’t have your eye for that, but it seemed like they might.”

“Reeet, record scratch,” Steph jumped in then. “Not to be all ‘talk nerdy to me, baby,’ since we don’t do that any more and whoops, totally forgot for a second that your dad is legit standing right here, wow, awkwaaaaaard, but for those of us still waiting to buy a vowel, why is this a problem with that Desperado dude specifically?”

“Because we’ve been operating off of the assumption that he chose his name as a more obvious reference to simply being some kind of outlaw,” Bruce said. “But in terms of chess specifically, a desperado piece is any piece that is trapped or in danger, and then sacrifices itself to achieve some kind of maximum damage or compensation that greatly outweighs the loss of itself.”

Steph nodded and pursed her lips. “Cool, cool. Okay so first off, let me just say how glad I am that it was you in specific that decided to follow up on that. Definitely the best of all timelines there, like just so, so absolutely stellar, that. It in no way compounded the awkwardness of the moment or contributed to my pending death by mortification. Secondly, oh, like. Yikes, so that’s not great, huh.”

“No, its not,” Bruce said seriously, with only the barest of twitches in the proximity of those things other people use to smile, aka lips. “If all of this turns out to bear fruit, as I suspect it will, the relative ease with which this Desperado was captured is nothing short of ominous. But luckily, we now have a chance to get ahead of whatever else might be in the works there. Excellent work, Tim.”

Tim squirmed, digging deep into the well of his bodily mastery and various techniques for exerting mind over matter. Don’t blush, don’t blush, you’re a super cool crime-fighting dude, not a total dweeb. “Like I said, it was mostly just dumb luck.”

“Hey now, none of that, Baby Bird,” Dick said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You still had to spot the pattern and connect the dots no matter how circumstantial you feel happening across the first dot was. That’s all you, kiddo.”

“Dick, I’m almost eighteen,” Tim whined. Ugh, his brother was the worst. He was going to be calling him Baby Bird when he was eighty at this point. And there went all his attempts at bodily mastery. Insult was added to injury when he stumbled to the side, then, though that had more to do with Jason hip-checking him out of the way so he could take over at the Batcomputer’s keyboard.

“Hey! What the hell was that for, Jay?”

“Umm, saving your ass, duh,” his other older brother said. Tim narrowed his eyes.

“That tracks how, exactly?”

“You were well on your way to immolation by way of embarrassment thanks to all the attention, so I’m stealing your thunder, double duh. Like I said, saving your ass. You’re welcome,” Jason said distractedly, busy with whatever else he was doing aside from being King of the Assholes.

Correction. That brother was the worst.

“Gee, thanks ever so much,” Tim intoned acidly.

“Don’t mention it, brat.”

Tim was still working on a return volley when Jason found whatever it was he was looking for and called up some more files onscreen.

“Okay, so check it out. Remember back in March, when we caught wind of some ‘new talent’ looking to establish a foothold in the local underground, and once we routed them, the only head honcho we could seemingly trace all of that back to was someone we assumed to be named Cassie or Cassandra based on what little we could decrypt of her communications? So now I’m thinking what if we filled in the gaps there wrong, and her name actually was Caissa?”

Tim looked around, but the name didn’t seem to be ringing any bells for anyone else either.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who the hell is Caissa?”

“The fictional regurgitation of some plagiaristic hack from two hundred years ago.”

“Jason,” Bruce sighed. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Fine, whatever. So there’s this poem by this untalented dumbass named William Jones back in the 1700s, about a made-up Greek goddess of chess, named Caissa. But really, its just a rip-off of a much older poem from the 1500s by an Italian dude named Hieronymus Vida, in which the character of Caissa was originally named Scacchia. So I mean, I’m just saying, if this chick was going by the name Scacchia, I would have pegged what that was a reference to right away, because like, I have taste and so I’m way more familiar with the original version than the ode of a derivative hack. But I guess you just can’t count on bad guys to default to the superior take,” he lamented with a mournful sigh.

“But wait, aren’t you a bad guy?” Duke inquired, all bright eyes and fake innocence. Jason shot him A Look.

“Not this week, duh. Keep up.”

“Oh, sorry, my bad. I forgot to look at the calendar again.”

“You’re forgiven,” Jason said magnaminously. “Anyway, might just be a hunch, but worth looking into, I’d say. If her name really was actually Caissa, this Desperado could be working for her, and he might actually just be Round Two.”

Cass nodded. “Makes sense. Also restores my good name. Thanks little brother.”

“Any time, little sister. This mean you’ll stop throwing shit at me now?”

“Nope.”

“I hate you.”

“I know. Keeps me up at night.”

“You’re nocturnal, you bipedal asshat.”

Cass just smirked some more and sashayed away. Then flipped into a handstand and started walking away on her hands because clearly, she’d been spending too much time with Dick.

Which reminded him - Tim turned his attention back to his oldest brother, mortification forgotten or at least put on hold for the moment.

“Hey, so, a lot of the files noted that several of these people are likely polyglots,” Tim said. “Since Cass thinks they have some kind of shared combat instruction in their background, I’m thinking there’s a chance we could get a better idea of what regions they all might have been in, in order to get that shared instruction, if we could isolate what languages or dialects or even accents they might have in common, y’know? You’ve got the best ear for languages, what do you think?”

Dick nodded thoughtfully as he perused several of the files. “Its a good idea. I’ll get into it. First though, I’ve gotta make a few calls.”

Their father shot him an appraising glance. “Harper?” He asked.

Dick nodded again. “Yeah, Roy, but also Helena and Tiger. Can’t hurt to have all three of them read in on this. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, and where there’s chess, there’s bound to be Checkmate. I’d find it way too big a coincidence if there’s not a connection there somewhere, and if there is one to be found, I’d say those three are our best chance of finding it.”

Bruce made a sour face. Dick arched a challenging eyebrow. Bruce sighed.

“I’m not disagreeing, I just don’t like it.”

Dick laughed. “Well, you don’t like anything, so really we’re all just in awe of your dedication to your Brand, Pops.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed again, before turning his attention back to Tim. “As for you, I think you’ve contributed enough for one night, don’t you? Why don’t you get back to what you were doing before this....what was that again....oh right, getting some sleep?”

Tim made a face of his own. He was way too keyed up now - again - still - to go back to bed now. And again, must he reiterate, he was almost eighteen, helloooooo.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“Oh good, I’m so glad that’s what’s catching on as the family motto.”

“Don’t see you going to bed,” Tim sulked in a most mature fashion. The absolute height of maturity. Nay, the apogee, the zenith, we’re talking orbital here.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,” Jason interrupted in a thunderous facsimile of their father’s impressive baritone. “This is a Do As I Say, Not As I Do household!”

“This from the son who makes an art form out of never doing either,” Bruce said dryly.

Jason shrugged and buffed his nails against his chest, blithely unconcerned. “I go my own way. Its part of my charm.”

“Oh cool,” Duke cut in excitedly. “Are we playing that game again where we just make up our own definitions that have nothing to do with the actual words we say?”

Jason gasped and pressed his palm flat over his heart. “Et tu, Daisy Dukes?”

Duke nodded gravely. “Et mi, Sweeney Todd.”

“Boys,” Bruce said wearily.

Both stopped and shot him expectant looks.

“What?”

“I actually have no idea, to be honest. It just feels like one of those things I should attempt to say periodically. Never mind. Carry on.”

Jason snorted and rolled his eyes at Duke as the two of them wandered off towards the opposite end of the cave. “As if we were ever going to do otherwise. He’s so weird sometimes, I swear.”

Duke hummed in agreement. “I think its on account of him being an ancient eldritch being.”

“I’m only forty-two,” Bruce called after them, aggrieved. They ignored him.

“Did you know, he was actually there to witness the actual dawn of time,” Jason said. “And yet, wake him up before noon and its like you’ve committed murder. And I would know. I’ve actually murdered people.”

“That’s true, you have.”

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Note

I'm sorry you've had a rotten day D:! If it's not too much to ask could you do Fireman Tony losing a bet and having to pose for a calendar set to raise money for a charity (perhaps Peter is the photographer and in charge of said charity)???

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

That’s very sweet of you, nonnie! This was the perfect way to cheer me up, so thank you for that, too! It got a little porny - I hope you don’t mind :P

warnings: NSFW blowies and firefighter Tony goodness

Around the firehouse, frat rules applied. Which meant that toilet seats were never safe and bets were ongoing and made frequently. As the Chief of the station, Tony got to be the facilitator of many of the things that went on around the firehouse. When he set up the calendar photo shoot to benefit the local children’s home, he never figured he’d be actively participating – but that’s what he got for being a hot head and betting on something he never should have.

It all started when Bucky brought UNO in during one of their lull shifts. It took a lot of convincing, because most guys hadn’t played the game in years – but once it got started, things got nasty very quickly. Give men the ability to get competitive and it’s fucking on. They were playing last man standing rules – so everyone with cards in their hands kept playing until there was an ultimate loser.

The round that Tony decided to sit in on was one of the biggest yet. They jammed together six decks of cards and let the game goes at it might. Steve had already bet Bucky that he wouldn’t give the crew a show on the pole, and Clint stood in his boxers for the rest of the night. Aside from all the laughs and the sore stomach muscles, Tony was starting to get a little worried. He’d been hit with three ‘draw four’ cards in a row, and the lack of organization of the cards in his hand made it hard to play quickly – or intelligently for that matter. He held so many cards, it was a wonder that most of them were total shit.

One by one, the guys checked out until it was Rhodey and Tony left – the two leaders of the station going head to head. There were shouts and cheers all over the place, both men starting to lose their cards quickly now that there were only two people and the deck was pretty small. “What’s the bet?” Tony heard when there were only four cards left between them. Looking up, Tony blushed when he saw the look in Rhodey’s eyes – the four years of college they spent together reminding him that his best friend could be ruthless when he wanted to.

Finally, Rhodey filled in the rest of the class – the room going quite when he lowered the deck and looked straight at Tony. “Loser poses for all twelve months of the charity calendar,” Rhodey said, a smirk on his lips. The two of them spent a couple hours planning out the poses just days ago – there were some a couple of very questionable ones that he all of the sudden regretted choosing. Sucking in a breath, Tony did the only thing he could and accepted, his head already hanging in defeat – he was sitting on two yellow 7’s.

It didn’t matter that Bucky slipped Rhodey a ‘draw four’ card in the end, Tony already figured he was doomed to his fate. The men broke into applause when Rhodey slammed down his last card – a triumphant look on his face. “I can’t wait to see this,” he exclaimed, his smile reaching the shit eating territory pretty fast.

Which is why, a week later, Tony found himself being fitted into the outfit and put into a chair that would inevitably lead to him being made up into a shiner, more glistening version of himself. Though he felt resigned to his fate, it would have been nice to be on the other side of this situation, laughing at the fool getting his picture taken – instead of being the one getting laughed at. Either way, he spent a little extra time in the gym over the last week, so he and his body were more than ready.

Walking out into the mostly cleared out station in just his suit and nothing else on underneath, Tony felt himself flush – there were less people in the room than he figured and the whole thing seemed way more natural than some of the other shoots that went down in the firehouse over the years. There weren’t any fancy lights or loud assistants bullying him into this position or that – simply a man, a camera, and the computer the images would manifest on.

For the first time, Tony noticed the younger man – and he was obviously younger, the shine of youth still diligently clinging to molten brown eyes. He was a bit on the shorter side and very lean – though he could immediately recognize the bulge of a bicep when he raised his hand in greeting.

His hands were big – like they were made to be wrapped around the priceless piece of equipment he was holding (or other things – but now wasn’t the time for those sorts of thoughts.) The most important thing for Tony was his smile, though – when it broke, his lips spread until they were practically touching his ears – and his cheeks colored, that fire engine red so beautiful; a swift reminder of the thing he loved the most.

“Hey, Chief Stark,” the photographer started, long legs carrying him over until they were standing face to face. “I’m Peter Parker – I’ll be doing your photos today.” He stuck a hand out between them, that smile on his face spreading a little bit more when Tony finally caught his eye. He carried an air of confidence that not a lot of people his age could even think to achieve, let alone project.

Taking his hand, Tony felt himself smile, too – his customary resting bitch face slipping for just a second. “Nice to meet you, Pete – I hope you’re planning on making me look pretty,” Tony replied, his brow quirking, the smile on his face shifting from soft to playful. He even let himself chuckle when Peter’s blush deepened – the red taking on more of a maroon tint to it now.

“I don’t think you need any help from me,” Peter remarked without thought, his own eyebrows raising in challenge. And who was he to fight with such a thought like that? Especially when it was being delivered from that of an beautiful individual. Nodding in answer, Tony let his thumbs slip under the suspenders of the fire suit, his eyes wide.

“Good answer, Peter Parker – good answer.” He shook his head, turning it after a second to give himself a visual break. It was going to be hard to focus on looking at the camera with anything other than hunger, this kid was too gorgeous for his own good. “So, where do you want me?”

The next hour flew by without Tony noticing much of anything other than the softly spoken cues and explanations of the poses that Peter wanted him to go through. He wet himself with the hose and leaned against the 141 engine, he climbed the ladder with one of the suspenders slid off his shoulder and his suit dragging down until it was almost too obscene – he even let Rhodey throw a bucket of sudsy water on him. Despite some of the humiliating catcalls he got from some of the guys, Tony enjoyed every single second of it.

At the end of it all, Peter finally came up for air, his eyes no longer seemingly like a secondary attachment to the camera in his hand. The kid was talented – there was no doubt about that. Tony didn’t need to see the photos to know just how good they were going to turn out. The natural way he took in the light and allowed Tony to be himself spoke of experience and understanding.

He caught a smile from the young photographer and saw his hand beckoning him over – the kid’s eyes wide with what seemed liked excitement. “You’ve got to check a couple of these out,” Peter proclaimed, his fingers already clicking through the digital roll on the computer. Tony watched them all pass across the screen in hyper speed – the poses moving from one to the next like a flip book. He settled on one and turned the computer so Tony could see it more fully.

Tony immediately recognized the moment – the water was just splashed on his face and he raised a hand to get it out of his eyes – his fingers were tangled in his hair and the water was flinging back off the strands, his face completely lit up from the shock and excitement of the moment. His jaw dropped a little – in all of his time participating in something like this, he never encountered a picture of himself he liked so much. His instincts were absolutely correct – Peter Parker was immensely talented.

“Damn, I look amazing,” Tony couldn’t stop himself from mumbling. Peter’s answering giggle had him turning his head, his cheeks on fire. Peter was looking at him funnily, a hand over his mouth to stop the further chuckles from falling out, probably.

“You’re the hottest person I’ve ever taken photos of, Chief,” Peter whispered. His hand moved from his mouth into his hair, the strands standing on their end after fingers were dragged through them. His bright eyes were mostly pupil and if Tony were reading the room right – it appeared that Peter Parker did in fact like what he saw.

Looking around, Tony noticed that most of the guys were occupied – half of the crew out on a call and the other outside in the gym or playing pick up on the court. He wet his lips and went for it – what could it hurt? “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that, Parker. Want to see the rest of the station? I can show you where the five-time fire station chili cooking championship winning chili was cooked, if you’re interested.”

Peter took the offer for what it was and followed Tony further into the station – the older man pointing out the couple things of interest on his way through the bunks into his office. There was no time for Tony to formulate his next move because his back was hitting the door – the force of impact closing it the rest of the way. Tony smirked when fingers gripped the still wet suspenders, Peter’s eyes totally taken over by the blown pupil now – the invitingly warm brown completely gone. He managed to drag in a chocked off breath before lips were descending upon his own.

How Tony ended up pressed against his office door with the photographer on his knees in front of him, he never would have guessed. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he didn’t spend too much time worrying about it, either. His fingers were tangled in the thick curls of Peter’s hair, his hips doing their best not to give in and thrust into the delicious suction. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the moans from slipping from his lips – Peter’s attention on him too damn good.

The younger man’s hand was wrapped around the base of his cock, his fingers tight in their grip. His mouth slid down until his lips were bumping against the fingers there, his cheeks hollowing out to smoothly suck as Peter pulled his head back up and lavished the tip of his cock with his tongue. He would pull off every couple of passes and let the flat of his tongue run from root to tip, Peter careful to spend several agonizing seconds lapping at the ridge right at the head.

There was drool dripping from his chin onto the floor below them – the whole sight absolutely indecent. Tony let his head rest against the heavy oak of the door, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. “Pete – you have the dirtiest little mouth,” Tony babbled, his hips finally giving in to the temptation to press forward into the last couple inches of Peter’s throat. The slight gag had a bead of precum dripping from his length – the feeling a glorious prelude to the lewd pulse of orgasm. Peter moaned around him, the vibrations adding to the deliciousness.

“You were meant to choke on a cock, weren’t you? You look pretty doing it – your eyes a little watery, drool dribbling down your chin. It’s fucking filthy – wonderfully salacious. And you like that, don’t you? Dropping to your knees like this, letting me gag you with my cock.” Tony emphasized the words with a change in the grip of Peter’s hair and a sharp thrust of his hips.

At that point, Tony could do nothing other than hold on for the ride, his body moving on autopilot – mind so strung out from the suddenness of having his brain sucked out through his cock and the severely pornographic sight of Peter unzipping his pants and fisting his own raging erection. A part of him wanted to draw away and spend a little time watching the scene – but he was too far gone, his balls already drawing up with his impending orgasm.

“Fuck, Pete- I’m close. So close,” Tony panted out, his hips coming to a stuttering stop when Peter took him all the way down his throat and swallowed around him. Pulse after pulse of warm cum slide down the boy’s throat – the tension of Peter’s constricting throat muscles pulling even more from him.

Through the haze of his afterglow, Tony watched Peter pull back and gasp, his hand flying over his cock. Watching him cum all over himself and the floor had Tony’s belly clenching with renewed arousal – everything about what was in front of him absolute perfection. Leaning heavily against the door, Tony loosened the grip of his hand in Peter’s hair – his fingers moving until they were resting lightly against the back of his head, instead. “Fuck,” he muttered again, his entire body on the verge of falling over from too much stimulus and a whole lot of fatigue.

After a few minutes, Peter looked up at him, eyes shining – “Will you fuck me against the truck next?”

Suddenly, thoughts of sleep were the furthest from his mind.

#starker #peter parker/tony stark #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #firefighter tony stark #photographer peter parker #ironspider #ask prompts #bobbie writes #nonnie #anonymous

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okayto · 4 years

Text

Mini-Review: Toilet-bound Hanako-kun

Look, I get it: that’s a weird title and does not sound appealing at ALL, I thought. But I kept seeing it mentioned as a good series that people were enjoying and so I though, sure, I will give the potty anime a try.

Good thing I did! Turns out it references a Japanese ghost story, Hanako-san/Hanako of the toilet (Wikipedia link). In this anime, there’s a rumor that if your go to a particular bathroom and say her name three times, Hanako-san might appear and grant your wish. When occult-loving Nene does so in hopes of getting her crush to notice her, she discovers that Hanako is a boy!

There are some Shenanigans™ and Nene is linked to Hanako. Now she helps him handle supernatural problems that pop up in the school.

Look, the only flaw in this series is that it’s only 12 episodes. If a second season isn’t made, I WILL RIOT. There’s reason for hope: this is a 2020 series so it only just wrapped the first season two months ago as I type, and the manga is ongoing (and being released in English both digitally and in print).

The first thing you’ll notice about the anime is how visually stunning it is. It’s a distinct, often rounded style of drawing that makes its high school characters look about 10 years old. But hey, it’s consistent across the board.

After character designs, the colors! Bright, warm, rich colors abound. I can’t think of another series I’ve seen that comes close to the gorgeous eyecandy of this one.

I also loved how it frequently it overlaid panels, like a manga. Sometimes for comedic effect, sometimes just to show a change in expression. Combine that with the colors--I swear they must’ve added a subtle texture because so often there’s an aspect to the animation colors that looks like it was colored with markers--and it feels like a manga come to life.

But beyond the visuals, the story itself is really fun. Hanako is in charge of keeping supernatural things in line at the school, which is positively bursting with spirits, so Nene, as his helper, gets drawn in. Hanako himself is mystery: Kind, dangerous, silly, strict, gentle, all in turn. He’s the leader of school spirits, with a lot of responsibility. He’s also the ghost of a child murderer. He is extremely reluctant to let Nene get close, or to explain his past.

I watched the Japanese, so I can say that his voice actress, Megumi Ogata, is amazing, able to portray his different aspects and moods while keeping it all the same person. (If Megumi Ogata’s name is familiar to you, she’s been the voice of a bunch of popular characters including Kurama from Yu Yu Hakusho, Haruka/Sailor Uranus in Sailor Moon and Yukito/Yue in Cardcaptor Sakura.)

The story is a good mix of supernatural one- and two-shot adventures, and Nene and eventual third-party member Kou getting closer to Hanako and starting to understand his past, and his personality, better.

Overall, I was just immersed in this show like I haven’t been in a long time. It’s so charming, so funny, so much action and adventure. I am desperate for more, and will probably rewatch the entire season pretty soon.

Verdict

English dub? Yes, although at the time of writing (May 2020) the last 4 episodes haven’t been dubbed due to interruptions from the pandemic.

Visuals: Holy crap I love them SO MUCH. It’s so visually distinct.

Worth watching? Yes. So much. Yes.

Where to watch (USA, as of May 2020): Hulu (sub), Funimation (sub and dub)

Click my “reviews” tag below or search “mini review” on my blog to find more!

#toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #reviews #recommendation #I gotta go find all the manga now #so enjoyable

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heanv · 4 years

Text

lowkey

genre: angst, romance, enemies to lovers! au, secret lovers! au

BASED ON A BOOK! “ Letters to the Lost” by Brigid Kemmerer

warnings: typos,mentions of death, car accident, cursing, smoking

words count: 8k.

song: lowkey by Niki

requested by: @deniiiloves

“Me too.”

Everythings was shaking.The words, the sheet of paper you were holding was shaking,your hands.Your eyes burned in the sight of the foreign handwritting.You closed them tightly and tried to take a deep breath.

Someone read your letter.

It’s been two days since you last came here on the cemetry.The letter should have been taken by the wind or animals.But now it is in your hands once again and not only this but someone felt the need to put on a comment.This was unacceptable.This was private.Between you and your mother.

It was a boy.You were absolutely sure.There were greasy fingertips on the edges and the handwritting was ugly.It radiated arrogance.How could he even think about it. To insert himself out of nowhere into your grief and to have the guts to claim that he knows how it feels. He does not. He doesn’t even have the slightest idea what kind of pain this is.

You showed up late for school, with reddened,running make up and shuddering breath.Again.It was late September, months after your mother’s death but your desparate tries to get yourself together weren’t so successful. After school you went there again.After all you weren’t in the mood for homework nor to go at home and lock yourself in your room.There was something different this time.You feel colder than usual.You feel exposed,too vulnerable.Every single thing you want to say could be seen,read,judged.So this time instead writting to her, you wrote to him.

‘‘Privacy is an illusion.

Obviously you know this,since you read my letter.It wasn’t addressed to you.It wasn’t for you.It had nothing to do with you.It was between me and my mother.

I know she is dead.I know she can’t read the letters.I know there is very little I can do to feel close to here anymore.

Now I don’t even have this.

Do you understand what you’ve taken from me?Do you even have an idea? What you wrote implies that you undestand what agony is.

I do not think you do’‘

This was the first weekend you didn’t go to the cemetry.But you are glad you did this morning because you found a letter.

“What is this?” asked Mina.

“A letter.”

She said no more because she ptobably thought it was for my mother.I let her think that.

“I don’t think you understand agony yourself.If you did, you wouldn’t have interfered with me.

Did you ever think that my words weren’t meant for you to read,either?

Are you getting crazier than you already think you are? When you read the letter for the first time this morning instead of crying, you found yourself getting angry and you wanted to punch this damn loser in the face.The silence was making you even more furious because it only caused you to overthink even more.

The bell rang.You needed to move, you didn’t want another detention.Mina escorted you to your class not asking why you suddenly looked worse than normal, which you deeply appreciated.Of course during classes you were just physically attenting.Nothing really sparked your interest anymore, you notes were messy and you didn’t even feel bad.After the teacher dissmised the class you wanted to exit the classroom as fast as you can and so you did.

You felt a sharp burn and let out a cry as the hot liquid makes contacted your skin and clothes.A cup of coffee has exploaded over you and unconsciously you fell on something solid and you see scuffed black boots.

Lee Donghyuck, with his shirt and jacket were soaked also with coffee,was “shinning” in front of you.The star quarterback that had got a criminal record and a frequent seat in detention.He’s tall,amazingly handsome but mean enought to keep all the girls away, and not only.He was simultaneously trying to help you up and pull you away from him.He looks at you with face with absolute derision and with his rough voice half whispers.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

You are definetely not afraid of him,who does he think he is?

“You ran into me”

“I wasn’t the one running” he takes a sharp move forward which causes a great intensity humiliating and horrible.

Okay, maybe you were afraid of him, a little.

“Lee Donghyuck.Late.Again” Mrs.Kim,my freshman biology teacher.

“I wasn’t late.She ran into me”

Mrs.Kim pursed her lips, looked at us,probably notice the coffee stains and sighed.

“No food is allowed outside the cafeteria-“

“Coffee isn’t food” interrupted Donghyuck.

“Mr.Lee I believe you know the way to the principal’s office”

“Yeah, I could draw you a map.” his voice sharpened and you start wondering if he is going to hit the teacher.” But as I sad this is not my fault”

Then he left the conversation,throwing the paper cup into the trash can.

———————————•••———————————

“You are right.

I shouldn’t have interfered with your grief.I’m sorry.This doesn’t mean you are right to read my letter and I still kind of hate you for that.I have been thinking about your “me too” and what it meant and whether your pain is anything like mine.

Not that it is any of my business.”

———————————•••———————————

It was Sunday afternoon and you were sitting in the sunlight for two hours.It’s a popular day at the cemetry and you’ve been watching mourners come and go all after noon while re-reading your answer.

“I’d say you are kind of dark but I’m writting to a girl who leaves letters in a cemetry, so I guess that’s given.

You said you were wondering if my pain was like yours and honestly I dont’t know.

You lost your mother and I haven’t lost mine.Don’t you think it’s funny how people say “lost” as if they are just misplaced?

My sister died four years ago.My father killed her.She was ten. People assume we spent her last days in a hospital surrounded by doctors but we didn’t even know they were her last days.

Cancer didn’t kill her.My father did.And I could have stopped it, but I didn’t.

My dad is in prison now, and my mum is married to a dumbass.’’

I’ve read the letter seventeen times and I read it one more.

“Me too”

He’s lost his sister. Four years ago. She was ten so now she’d be fourteen. Is the Letter Guy an older brother- or a younger one? Your conversations were too mature there is no way you were writting to a twelve-year-old.Just no way.

———————————•••———————————

“I’ve started a 35 notes to you and they all start with “I’m 17” and no more.

I sound like an idiot.I just don’t wanna loose it . I don’t even know you but I understand you.

And I feel like you understand me. And that’s what I like so much about it.”

I couldn’t believe I actually did write this.But what I couldn’t believe more was the response.

“I don’t wanna loose it either. But maybe we could take it digital, so we are not at the mercy of the elements?

I set up an anonymous accont

[email protected]

your move,Cemetry girl.”

Wow.

The moring breeze qas chilly, and it ruffled the paper.You read it again.

Wow.Wow. Suddenly you needed to move. You kissed your palm and slapped it to the gravestone.

“Sorry Mom,gotta go.”

From: Cemetery girl <[email protected]>

To: The Dark <[email protected]>

Date: Wednesday,October 2 ; 7:17 AM

Subject: Going digital

The Dark? Don’t you think that’s kind of ghoulish?

———————————•••———————————

Mina was waiting for me while I was hopelessly seaching for one book of mine and that’s when I overheard the conversation of two girls next me.

“Do you know him?”

“Lee Donghyuck.Duh, who doesn’t?

“Is it true that he stole a car?”

“Yeah and not only he stole it but he ran it into an office building”

I did not heard the last asnwer and I honetly didn’t really have a choise because Hendery, a friend of Mina approached us.

“How are you girls doing?”

“We are fine, what about you?” Mina asked, while trying to hide her huge smile, failing miserably.

“Never been better.So...” he put his hands on his waist and gave me and Mina a glance “Are you two going to the homecoming tomorrow?”

Mina nudged me with her hip feeling my uncomfortable state.

“It doesn’t have to be a date. Just hanging out”

A dance? Now? Maybe it wasn’t that bad idea i neee some distraction.

“Sure”

“Really?” the both look at me,not believing what they heard. Honestly I didn’t beleive it either.

“Yeah,of course”

———————————•••———————————

From: The Dark <[email protected]>

To: Cemetery Girl <[email protected]>

Date: Wednesday,October 2 ; 8:16 AM

Subject: Ghoulish

We met by exchanging letter in a cemetry so I don’t think either of us is in position to call the other ghoulish.

Are you going to the Homecoming? I am. I know you probably don’t feel doing such a thing but I think that you deserve to feel something else beside grief, you deserve to have the normal life of a teenager.

You felt yourself blushing. He cared about you. And he was right, you felt guilty going to the Homecoming When you told your father that you were going, he looked like he was having a stroke and then he handed you his credit card and told you to get whatever you wanted. He seemed releived that you started opening up but you felt almost as if you are faking it.

———————————•••———————————

A blue-silver party factory exploaded in the school gym.Ballon bouquets hang everywhere,along with crepe-paper rosettes and streamers crisscrosedin every direction. It is so cheesy but secretly you really liked the way the tiny mirrors throw spots of light around the darkned gymnasium.

You haven’t seen Hendery yet, instead you were clinging to Mina. Then your eyes rake over the crowd. The Dark is here and he could be anyone.

“Are you looking for Hendery?” Mina leaned in close.

Not at all.

“Yes.Have you seen him yet?”

“No.Let’s go over by the food tables so he can find us.”

/ Wonder what I'll do when the cops come through/

Along the black wall,six long tables that have been set up were filled up various kind of snacks and bottled water. You picked up a cup of a punch and lifted it up to your lips,prepared to scan the crowd again. But you choke on the drink and almost cough it all over Donghyuck. I didn’t really expect him to comply with the dress code of the Homecoming, but he did. He was wearing a white shirt,khaki trousers, and blue-and-green-stripped tie. You did your best to get your heart rate under control.

“Stalker much?”

“Yeah” he says with his voice rough low and full of sarcasm. “ I’m stalking you at the food table” He moved to get past you.

“Looking to spike the punch?”

/ And the whiskey's run out/

That was a mistake and you realize it as soon as the words leave your mouth. You shoudn’t have said anything. Donghyuck looks like a dog ready to bite. With eyes made of ice he looked at you.

“No.” Then he moved past you again and walked away. You saw him how he gave a bottle of water to somebody, but it took you a moment to make out who it was.

It was Mark Lee, Donghyuck’s best and probably one friend. It was the first time for you to see him not wearing a hoodie and he is actually a very decent-looking guy.

‘‘ You guys look NICE” Hendery appeared all of a sudden.

“So do you” said Mina.

You spent some time trying to dance with Mina and Hendery but eventually you got tired and you didn’t wanted to ruin the fun the other two were having.

‘‘ I’m thirsty” you excused yourself.

You stepped off the dance floor and moved to the bleachers. There was a gap in the riser there,backed by the emergency doors.The lights didn’t reach there. You almost felt as if you are in a cave, all by yourself.

“ I don’t want to scare you” said a soft voice behind you and someone moved from the shadows. It was Mark Lee.

“It’s okay”.

Mark smiled softly at you and then you thought about it. If you had to compare Mark and Donghyuck, they’d be like white and black or day and night. You and Mark talked how was the night going and then you aked him if he had a date.

‘’ I don’t really date, I’m more like wingman’’ then he looked at the darkness behind him.

‘‘For who?’‘

‘‘No, for Hyuck.He’s outside,grabbing a cigarette.’‘

Then you heard steps.Donghyck freezed when he saw you and his eyes iced over again.

‘‘Stalker much?’‘

‘‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you that smoking will kill you?’‘ you told your cheeks not flush.

‘‘You are kidding. They should write that on the package.’‘

‘‘How can you be so mean?”

He’s closer suddenly you could smell his cigarette-stinking breath.

‘‘You know nothing about me”

You speak with thinking as fast as he takes one step back.

‘‘ I know you are a loser with a record.’‘

And here we go again. The guilt. How could he make you feel so guilty? You looked up and saw Donghyuck’s colder than normal. He made a sign to Mark and they both turned back to going back to the party. You ran after them, not sure why, and you shouted at them to stop, no of them actually doing so.

“What?” a sharp turn was made by Hyuck.

The apology was burning inside you throat but never came out.

“ I think it’s time for you to go back to the dancing floor, princess. Wouldn’t want anyone to catch you slumming with the losers?”

This felt like a slap. Everything tonight was a mistake, You shouldn’t have come here in first place.

———————————•••———————————

From: The Dark <[email protected]>

To: Cemetery Girl <[email protected]>

Date: Friday,October 4 ; 10:04 PM

Subject: You owe me,Cemetry girl

I hope you are having better night than I am.

The cemetry is well of silence. It was dark but you could find the way to your mother’s gravestone even if you were blind.There was nothing really to do there especially this late.You just sat, thinking you could handle the very chilly weather but the more time was passing the colder you felt.

You are not completely sure how to answer The Dark’s email but eventually you started typing but you stopped as some raindrops landed on your screen.Cold pours down from the darkness. You ran towards the car, shivering and then you put the key ready to go home.

And then the car won’t start.

What.The.Hell

Beat this, The Dark.

You breath shuddered. You flipped every dial you saw, killing everything.Then you inserted the key and gave the ignition a try again.

The car gives a pathetic rum-rum-rum sound but then flares to life.Victory! You kept both your hands on the wheel and peer into the darkness But a loud clunk sounded from beneath the car then the vehicle lurched sideways and began to spin.All you could see was darkness.

Help me, Mom.

It took you a while to unwrap your fingers from the steering wheel and then you noticed that your entire left tire is gone. You tried calling your dad.Three times but he doesn’t pick up. Then you called Mina.Straight to voice mail. You had no choise so you clicked the mailing app and told everything The Dark about you night.

He replies almost immediately trough chat.

The Dark: Are you OK? Cemetery Girl: That depends how broadly you are defining OK.

The Dark: Seriously. Please tell me you are not standing on the side of the road.

Cemetery Girl: I am in the car and the doors are locked.

The Dark: I am still in school. Do you want help?I can come to you.

Oh my God.

You didn’t know how to answer on such a thing. Did you want to see him? Defenetly. But you really liked is as it was.Anonymous. But you were desparate and stuck of the middle of nowhere.

Cemetery Girl: Yes.Please come and help me.

———————————•••———————————

Inbox: No new updates.

It’s been almost twenty minutes since you last messaged him. Where is he? Did he saw you from far and got disappointed ? You were already overthing what could have happened. The headlights had gone dim for minutes ago, which must be a sign the battery is getting ready to give up. Before you realise you were sobbing in your hands.You don’t stop the tears.

Knuckles rapped on your window. You gasped and jerked your hands down.There was a guy beside your car.

He’s here! Oh,he’s here! Thanks, God.

But then your vison started to clear. It’s not The Dark. It’s Lee Donghyuck.

/ 'Cause I've been lookin' at you since half past two/

‘‘Are you broken down?” he said loudly.

‘‘No, I’m fine.” you yelled back.

He didn’t particularly believed you.

‘‘Did your tire blow out? I saw the rubber on the road’.‘

‘‘I’ve already called s-someone.And he should be here any m-minute.”

‘‘So you don’t want my help?’‘ his eyes went darker.

‘‘No, I’m fine’‘ you suck a shaky breath through your teeth.

He looked up at you,standing there in the rain.

‘‘Suit yourself’‘ he swang your door and turned away.

You had two options. to sit there all night,shaking and freezing OR asking Donghyuck for help.

Damn it.

‘‘Wait!’‘

He turned to you and just stared.

‘‘Is your battery dead?” he said after a minute.

‘‘Yes, I haven’t replaced for a long time.’’

‘‘Shoking.’‘he jerked his head towards the car.’‘ Come and sit in my car, so you can warm up.’’

And so you did.

You expected his car to smell like cigarettes and to be some kind of miserable but it’s totally the opposite. It’s clean and smelled nice and it was kind of cosy? He slided into the driver’s seat and started the engine and than you let your your body welcome the warm feeling. You both sit in silence for the longest time untill he spoke up.

“Are you afraid of me?” for the first time his eyes weren’t as cold as ice , instead they were soft and unexpectidly beautiful. You just stood up there, thinking of possible answer.

“If I say yes, are you going to use it against me?”

“No” his voice was even.

“Then yes,a little.’’

/ Wanna take this downtown?/

He didn’t say anything. Silence,again.

“What happened? Why are you wet and how long have you been waiting?”

“I still don’t know this whole time I was trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“From the look of your tires, you are luck it wasn’t all four.”

“You are kidding. I was so busy memorizing the latest copy of Car and Driver before showing up at the Homecoming!”

He looked amused.

“You are kinda funny when you are not so busy being judgmental.”

/ This liquid courage got me way too honest/

Everything about him was so unexpected. He’so prickly and then he’ll startle you with words that sound dangerously close to concern. You watch him in silence fixing somethings in your car and when he was ready he told you he’d follow you home so he is sure you were okay and you couldn’t even say “thank you” because he never stopped as you reached your house.

From: Cemetery girl <[email protected]>

To: The Dark <[email protected]>

Date: Friday,October 4 ; 11:32 PM

Subject: Home

I wanted to let you know that I made it home safely. I hope you are okay.

By the morning the rain had moved out,leaving the temperature even colder.

From:The Dark <[email protected]>

To: Cemetery girl <[email protected]>

Date: Saturday,October 5 ; 01:06 AM

Subject: Tonight

I’m sorry I was late tonight, I had to drop a friend off first. He was flipping out about curfew. By the time I came to you, you were already gone. But if I’m honest, I’m glad we haven’t met yet.

———————————•••———————————

“Tell me again how he kissed you!” you said,smilling widly.” You must have left out some detail.”

Mina giggled and blushed. Then she started telling you the story again.

“Look. There is Hyuck’s weird friend.”

You followed her gaze and saw Mark, back in his hoodie. You hezitated for a moment but you went for it.

“Hi,Mark!”

He looked up in a surprise and almost seems to shrink into himself untill he located you,waving at him and his whole frame relaxes and he changes his course across the stree and up into Mina’s driveway.

“Hey.” he said.’’How’s your car?”

DongHyuck must’ve told him about yesterday.

‘‘It’s okay.My dad let me trade yard work for new tires and a battery.’‘

‘‘Your dad sounds like a nice guy.’‘ his eyebrows go up.

‘‘He is.’‘

‘‘ I’m glad you got you car taken care of. Hyuck said it was in pretty bad shape.’‘

‘‘It was...and tell him thanks.No one else stopped.’‘

Mark’s expression leaked out some tension but he nodded once.

‘‘I will.’‘

‘‘Come one Y/N’‘ said Mina.’‘We need to go inside for dinner.’‘

‘‘One sec,’‘ you said but when you turned Mark was on the sidewalk,moving away,heading home.

After Mina fell asleep you decided to write an email to The Dark to tell him about Lee Donghyuck because if he didn’t help you, you honestly did’t what could’ve happened.

———————————•••————————

During one of the breaks between the classes you were hanging out with Mina in the yard of the school.

“I have to go to the homeroom,” you said. “ I don’t need another detention.”

“Okay,see ya.”

You ended up in the path of Lee Donghyuck. You considered ducking away and losing yourself in the ocean of students, until you realised that he seemed to be considering the same thing.

“Hey.” you said.

“Hey.” His voice was quieter than you expected. You knew you were going to be late, but for a heartbeat, you didn’t want to move.

/ Be as quiet as you can, 'cause if anyone sees,they'll just blow shit up/

A breathless Mina caught your arm. “Y/N, what are you doing?” Her eyes flick dismissievely at Donghyuck. “I thought you didn’t want to be late.”

“Just a second.” you looked at her in a begging way and she let you arm free but when you turned Donghyuck was already gone.

It was absolutely killing you that you didn’t know who The Dark is. You could’ve just ask him who he is but you didn’t if you were ready for that. Maybe the mystery us part of what’s so attractive about him. Maybe you’d meet him and he’d be horrible.

He wouldn’t be. You just knew it. You found him fascinating.

———————————•••——————————

The parking lot is only half full by the time you left the building. The only cars left are students with sport or club obligations, of which you had none.

Oh, and Mark and Donghyuck.

There were standing behind Hyuck’s car ,leaning on the tailgate and Donghyuck has a cigarette between his lips. You didn’t really anticipate seeing them right now but you didn’t have a choise.

“Stalker much?” Donghyuck calls, but his voice isn’t cruel, he is teasing?

/ No one's gotta know, just us and the moon 'til the sun starts wakin up/

“You know you are not allowed to smoke on school property.” He took another drag and blowed smoke rings.

“You seem to be awfully concerned about my smoking habbit.”

“ I hate it. It’s disgusting.”

The words came out of your mouth before you really considered them. Donghyuck looked startled , and he tosses the cigarette on the ground and stoomped it out.

“Sorry I didn’t know.”

He could sprout wings and you’d have been less shocked right now.

“Thank you, I hate them too” Mark made a small clap.

“Stup up,Mark.By the way should we go?”

“Yeah,maybe”

“Where are you going?” you didn’t even know why you were asking them.

“ At my place,” said Mark.” Wanna come?”

‘‘Scared?’‘ taunted Hyuck,his eyes challenging.

‘‘Not at all,’You lied.’‘ Let’s go.’‘

———————————•••————————

Mark’s house was like a mirror image of Mina’s.Nothing about it is surprising.Mark said his mother would be working for the afternoon. She had a bright,welcoming smile,radiating so much warmth that I felt lucky to be invited inside. Then we went downstairs.

‘‘Do you want something to drink?”

You inhaled to asnwer- but your throat caught.Being in the pressence of a loving mother remended you of how much you’ve lost,Your brain locked up as a grief tangled up the gears inside your had.

You haven’t visited her for days.

Guilt punched you in the chest. It became worse when his mother same downstairs with a plate. You had to turn, inhaling deeply,bliking your tears away. Your body felt like it was on a hair trigger. You needed to get it together. You cannot have a panic attack when somebody asked you if you wanted a drink.

‘‘You are okay.’‘ You heard a voice beside you. Hyuck was there with his voice all soft that you’ve never heard of it. You blikned uo at him.

/ Wizard with words tellin' me my energy's so bewitchin' /

‘‘You are okay’‘ he said again.

You liked that, how he was so sure.Not Are you okay? No question about it.

‘‘How did you know?’‘ you slowly turned to face him.

He pursed his lips as if he was hesitating.

‘‘ I know...the signs.’‘

‘‘I’m going to get some sodas,’‘ said Mark.’‘ I’m going to bring you one.Blink once if that’s okay.’‘

You smiled, but it felt watery around the edges.He was teasing you, but it was a gentle teasing. Friendly. You blinked once.

This was okay. You were okay.Donghyuck was right.

‘‘Take it out on the punching bag’‘ said Hyuck after Mark went upstairs.

‘‘Really?’‘ your eyes went wide.

You weren’t a violent person.but hitting something sounded really good. You drew back a hand and swing,throwing your whole body into it.

Ow.

‘‘Whoa...,’‘ a hand caught your arm’‘ I don’t want to be sexist but I didn’t expect you throw a punch like that. For a moment I was worried you’d break your wrist.’‘

This whole moment with Hyuck was meaningful and you wanted to see more of that side of him.

/ So I'll go first, there's an open bar, let's close this distance /

Then his phone rang.

‘‘It’s my stepfather,’‘ he seemed hesitant to pick up.’‘ I don’t really get on well with him.’‘ But he did pick up.’‘ What happened?’‘ he seemed worried.’‘ I don’t care Alan,I’m coming.’‘

Mark was coming down the stairs when he saw his best friend leaving.

‘‘What happened?” asked Mark.

‘‘My mom collapsed while making dinner, I’m going to the hospital.’‘

Soon after Donghyuck left you excused myself and went back home.

———————————•••————————

From:The Dark <[email protected]>

To: Cemetery girl <[email protected]>

Date: Monday,October 7 ; 10:22 PM

Subject: Story Time

Marrige laws are funny. If you want to get married, you can go down to the courthous , sign a few papers,and be married in less than 15 minutes.But if you want to get divorces,you have to wait a year.Even if your husband is in prison. A dumb part thought Mom would wait Dad’s 10 years of sentence. To my know ledge she never visited him either, and I can understand her, he killed her child afterall.

After the first year my mum started dating. no one really lasted long until numer six.He tried to win me over and of course I didin’t let him and since then he hates me up to this day. How should I be grateful that yet another guy was swooping in to ruin my mother’s life?

Sometimes i wished I had died in the car with my sister. They got married last May. And now my mom is pregnant.

You were sitting in the dark,staring at his email and your heart is pounding like crazy. I sense that ‘’Congratulations’’ isn’t the right thing to say. You wanted to ask him more but he probably wan’t in the mood right now. Then something hit you. Donghyuck and The Dark were very similar. They both had stepfathers that they didn’t get along with shared an atittude. But if Donghyuck was The Dark why didn’t he tell you in the night of Homecoming? Also you’ve never heard Donghyuck mention a sister but then again, you haven’t mentioned your mother in front of him.

If The Dark is Donghyuck, is it a good thing? you could still hear the rasp in his voice. You are okay.

Then another thought tamped your heart down. If this isn’t Lee Donghyuck, what would that mean?

———————————•••———————————

From: Cemetery girl <[email protected]>

To: The Dark <[email protected]>

Date: Tuesday,October 8 ; 6:24 PM

Subject: Mothers

My mom was always on assignment ,so we never really had the opportunity to have a ‘’girls talk’’ althought I could’ve emailed her. When I was younger she encouraged me to send her letters, Most of the times a letter with a lot of foreign stamps was the highlight of the week. But in my letters,sometimes I lied.Her letters were full of grand advantures and she had photographs to prove every single one of them. ‘’Ian is sending me to Malaysia this week’’ or ‘’I’m going to be a few more days in Iran, Ian wants me to get some shots of those protests.’’ Ian is her editor. So I’d lie, like I’d tell her a photo of mine got and award from the city council and thinhs like this.Anything that could grab her attention. But know all of this was meaningless. I wish I’d just told her the truth. And now I lost her. So talk to your mother and tell her how you feel.

———————————•••———————————

Mina had to skip lunch becuase of her french teacher and you went to Donghyuck and Mark’s table.

‘‘Would you like to join us?’asked Donghyuck.

‘‘I will, thanks.’‘ you sat next to Mark.’’ Woah,Mark what’s all this?’’

‘‘Mom’s obsession.She always packs up enought to feed an army.Here,help yourself’‘ he pushed a small plastic (sorry!) plate to you,full of caprese salad.

You felt Donghyuck’s heave glare on you.

‘‘How’s your mother?’‘

‘‘She’s coming home this afternoon and what they are telling me is that it was just a dehydration.’‘

‘‘So you are seeing her today?’‘

“‘Maybe, I have a community service on Tuesday nights?’‘

Oh, you were curious.

‘‘What’s it like?’‘

‘‘I ride a lawn mover.’‘

‘‘And how long do you have to do it?’‘

‘‘Probably forever”

“90 hours’‘ corrected him Mark.

‘‘Is it okay if I ask you if they put you in jail for you know?’‘ you asked hesitantly.

‘‘Yes.’‘

‘‘Was it scary?’‘

‘‘Yes. I was there two nights.’‘

‘‘Your mom left you there?” your eyebrows went up.

‘‘Yes, maybe Alone made her. No one really bothered to get me out but whatever?’‘

You felt some tension in the air.

‘‘Can I say something?’‘ Mark spoke ,visibly trying to surpress feelings.’‘ Hyuck do even hear yourself sometimes? No one bothered to get you out? I would have gotten you out, my mum but you deicded to stay in a jail cell and pity yourself,calling no one,acting like a martyr.’‘

Hyuck’s hands tightened on the edge of the table.’’What’s your problem?”

‘‘You made choises to be there,so stop acting like such a damn victim.May twenty-fifth was one day.There are three hundred sixty-four ones.”“

‘‘I am the victim?” Hyuck looked like a thunder.’‘Who’s the one hiding in hoodies when it’s eighty degrees outside?’‘

I am frozen in place,my mind repeating that one sentence,my heart tripping along.It takes my a moment to get my voice to speak up but you achieved to whisper.

“What’s May twenty-fifth?’‘ you demanded.

‘‘The day I wrecked my father’s truck’‘ Donghyuck swalloed.

‘‘The day you got drunk? The day you crashed into a building? The day you barely remember?’‘ You were screaming,yet you couldn’t catch your breath. He doesn’t utter a word. The room started spinning. A hand cathes my my arm ‘‘ Y/N, Y/N’‘ a familiar male voice is speaking to me but my vision is not working properly.

May 25. The day my mother died in a hot-and-run crash.

———————————•••———————————

From: Cemetery girl <[email protected]>

To: The Dark <[email protected]>

Date: Tuesday,October 8 ; 3:28 PM

Subject: I need to know

Are you Lee Donghyuck? If you are, I don’t know if I can ever talk to you again.

———————————•••———————————

Your dad knocked on your door and you were so tempted to pretend you were sleeping but you call him to enter the bedroom.

‘‘Do you feel like company?’‘

No, you felt like crawling under you bed and sleeping there until you die.

‘‘No, Dad, I’m really tired.’‘

‘‘Okay then, I will tell them to leave.”

Them?

Your first thoughts are Hyuck and Mark and your heart skipped to quadruple time. ‘’Wait! Someone is here?’’

‘‘Yeah, Mina and some boy Henry...?

‘‘Hendery.Can you send them up?’’

‘‘Darn,we are coming in,’‘ Mina yelled from somewhere downstairs.’‘ You can ignore my calls, but you can’t ignore Nachos BellGrande.’‘

They showed up in your room,looking like they have just stepped out of a novel, an angel and a hipster sidekick. Your phone lit up suddenly.

The Dark: What happened are you okay? Cemetery Girl: I’m okay,Friends are over. Will write back latter.

‘‘So what was all this about?’‘ asked Mina.

You inhaled slowly.

‘‘Lee Donghyuck wrecked his car on the same night my mom was killed. That’s why I got so upset . I thought that maybe he can be involved because he was drunk and he blacked out.”

Mina stopped eating with a chip halfway to her mouth.

‘‘ I haven’‘t talked to anyone.I don’t know what to d-.’‘

‘‘Do you have a computer?’‘ asked Hendery.’‘ I could look it up.’‘

‘‘How?’‘you straightened.

‘‘I have the password to the local beat crime feed.From my internalship.We could see the both cases and the details.’‘

It doen’t take Hendery long to log on to the system.

‘‘Date?” he looked up at you.

Your mouth went dry. Could this be happening?

‘‘M-May twenty-fifth.’‘

He quickly tapped at the keys, then frowned at the screen.’’ I see hit-and-run report,but the victim’s last names as Wong and Kim. Who are they?

‘‘Maybe the drivers.She was taking a taxi home from the airport. Wong would have been the driver.’‘ You whispered.

Mina took your hand.

‘‘The accident took place on Hammonds Ferry Road, that’s weird because it isn’t on the way to the airport.I mean it’s not far but still.’‘

That’s really weird.

‘‘There is nothing really much more about this case.Let’s see that loser’s police report,and we’ll see if anything mathes up.’’

He is not a loser.You almost said it outloud.

Hendery was tyoing something when he said.’’ I don’t know if this is good or bad thing.’’

Just tell me please.

‘‘It’s not him.’‘

You were so relieved.’’ Just turn it off,okay? ‘’ And so did Hendery.

‘‘Is that your mothe’s gear?” Asked Hendery,nodding at a pile in the corner.

‘‘Yeah, her editor is trying to get it from us...-’‘

‘‘Did the cops search her memory cards? Like what if your mum was able to take a picture of the vehicle?

Your breath hitched.’’Do you think that’s possible?’’

‘‘I don’t see why not.’‘ answered Hendery,reaching for a bite of his taco. Then he looked at you a litle worried,as if he is afraid to say the next thing.

‘‘Say it,don’t worry.’‘

‘‘So, it’s written she died from internal bleeding,probably from the seatbelt. So there might have been time ,especially if she had her wits with her.’‘

Holy crap.

You picked up her digital camera but Hendery took it away from you,making things easier. He slided the cards free and then returned to the computer.When the program loaded you had the chance to see youe mother’s talent once again.All the photos were amazing just like always. But there was nothing connected to the crash.

‘‘Did she have more cameras?’‘ asked Hendery.

‘‘Just two cheap back-ups.’‘

‘‘What’s that?’‘ Mina pointed to where light glinted off a lens,poking from a canvas back.

‘‘Ít’s her film camera but we don’t have a dark room.’‘

‘‘But Mr.Geradi does.Do you want me to take it. I can develop it if you want?’‘

‘‘No’‘ you shook your head.’‘That’s her pictures.I want to do it.’‘

‘‘Okay’‘

You look up,inhaling deeply. ‘’Thank you guys for coming over.’’

———————————•••———————————

Cemetery Girl: I’m okay,False awarm. The Dark: What’s with the false alarm? Cemetery Girl: Lee Donghyuck didn’t do what I thought he did. The Dark; What did you think he did? Cemetery Girl: He got drunk and wrecked his car on the same night my mom died.I was worried he was involved somehow. The Dark: And he is not? Cemetery Girl: No.

Some minutes passed before he asnwered.

The Dark: How do you know? Cemetery Girl: My bestfreind’s boyfriend did an internership in a newsroom over the summer.He still has access to their crime beat database.He looked both cases up and the times don’t match.Mom died before he even got in his car. The Dark: Are you okay? Cemetery Girl: I don’t know what I am. Anyways did you talk to your mother? The Dark: No.Because I got home late from work, and my stepfather was practically standing sentry outside her door. Cemetery Girl: And you can’t tell him you want to talk to her? The Dark: It’s complicated. Cemetery Girl: It’s only as complicated as you make it. The Dark: Well, I guess I’m good at making things as complicated as possible.

/ So pick your poison, love, let's go somewhere a little more exclusive /

And with that he ended the conversation.

———————————•••———————————

From: Cemetery girl <[email protected]>

To: The Dark <[email protected]>

Date: Tuesday,October 8 ; 11:45 PM

Subject: What happened?

If I upset you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.Please don’t stop talking to me.

———————————•••———————————

From:The Dark <[email protected]>

To: Cemetery girl <[email protected]>

Date: Wednesday,October 9 ; 07:22 AM

Subject: Talking

I don’t think I can do this anymore. You know nothing about me,nothing about the real me.You only know what I’ve shared,,only a snapshot and you’ve made a judgment of me , based on the little you’ve seen, and I think it’s all wrong.

I’m not a good person,Cememtery Girl.

You don’t need me.

You deserve better.

/ Tension so intense like an asteroid /

You quickly closed the email and went to the chatlist but there was no green light- his name had disappeared entirely.

WHAT.

You tried to type a email to him but the immeadiate respond wasn’t what you were expecting.

This user does not have a Freemail account.Please try again.

He couldn’t do this. Your chest was collapsing,and you started shaking.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” asked Mr.Gegardi. Your mom’s canvas bag with her film camerawas lying in the pile beside you,while you were trying to make your heart beat again.

‘‘Yeah,’‘ You cought.’‘I’m fine. But I came here to ask something.’‘ Mr.Gegardi nodded at you to continue,’‘Can I use the Dark Room?’ I know how to do it.”

Mr.Gegardi nodded once again.’‘ I am pretty sure you can.’’

Your heart was beating so fast that your chest ached.

‘‘Do you know what’s on the film’?”

‘‘Not really,maybe some graphic war zone shots,or they could be anything’‘

‘‘Oh’‘ he continued nodding while pouring chemicals.’’So this is your mother’s film?’‘

‘‘Yeah’‘

He set the bottles down and turned to face me fully.’‘ Do you want to start from the end? Like maybe the last 5 shots?’‘

‘‘Um.Sure’‘ your heart was still jumping around.

He cut the film and holded it up to the strip but it was impossible to tell what might have been on it in that moment.You put the strip into the enlarger,shined it onto the paper,then floated the paper in chemicals to bring the images out.

‘‘I could be wrong, but I don’t think these shots involve a car. It looks more like a person.’‘ said your teacher.

Maybe it was the person who hit her! Maybe she did take a picture of them!

‘‘Mr.Grgardi can I finish developing them alone?’‘

He seemed to hesitate for a moment but then he sighs.’‘Okay,I will walk down to the teacher’s room to get a coffee’‘

You nodded and looked down, the images were becoming clearer.And then you are alone.

The images had processed.

You blinked.And then you blinked again.

It’s my mother on the photos.Smilling.

Naked.

An arm covers one breast,but the other is unashamedly bare.

You stopped breathing.

The next tray developed.Another one of my mother,still naked ,a tangle of arms ,a blurred neck,some dark hairand the edge of a jaw.

The tears went cold on your cheeks.

These features are not my father’s.

The next tray..This one caught them both.You seized the picture with your hands.

It’s Ian.Mom’s editor.He is shirtless,holding her against him.

You thought of your father for the past mounths.She was cheating on him.Cheating.

It felt like she was cheating on you too.How could she? You stood there,sobbing into your hands. You see something else. Her boardng pass,laying on the ground, probably it had fallen from the bag.

Right there the boarding pass was a wet mess but the date was in huge letters, right in the middle.

WEDS MAY 22.

Wait.

You blinked a few times,as if your tears had somehow turned ‘‘SAT’‘ into ‘‘WED’‘ or ‘‘25′‘ into ‘‘22′‘.

Your breath hitched again. Three days ealier than we expected her.Three days before she died.

All of a sudden Hendery’s voice echoed in your head.

‘‘Hummonds Ferry Road isn’t on the way to the airport’.‘

She came home early,exactly like you’d begged her to do.She came home three days early. Just not to be with you.

———————————•••———————————

You were running. And you couldn’t stop. You were out of your mind.You reached the cemetry and ran even fast to reach that gravestone.You were screaming. You fell into the rough grass and started punching the gravestone really hard. You saw your fingers were bleeding but you didn’t care.You were furious. Tears were streaking down to your face and you didn’t understand exactly what you were screaming but you punched the gravestone again.

Then something happened. Someone grabbed you,pulling you against them.Instead of fighting,you collapsed against the persone,sobbing into their chest.

‘‘It’s okay’‘ he whisperes and you know exactly who he is.’’Do you wanna sit down?’‘ he asked you.

‘‘Not near her.’‘ you both sat a few yards back to an old gravestone.

You leaned into him and after a while he asked.

‘‘Do you wanna talk about it?’‘

‘‘No’‘

He brushed a strand of your hair awat from your eyes and then you lose it.

‘‘She was cheating’‘ you whisper.

‘‘What?’‘

‘‘She was cheating.On me father.She came three days earlier than we thought.I developed the photos in her film camera. They were shots of her ans her editor in the bed’‘

His eyebrows practically hit his hairline.’’Wow’‘

You grasped your hair.’‘Gosh, what am i’m going to tell dad.’‘

‘‘Do you have to tell him anythng?’‘

‘‘I don’t know.’‘

Silence fell for a while.

‘‘‘How did you know I was here.” you asked him.

‘‘I didn’t.I saw you.I work here,sort of.’‘

‘‘Community service’‘ you whispered and he nodded.

‘‘Y/N!’‘ you saw your father running to you’‘ Y/N I was so worried. Your teacher told me you ran out leaving a mess, and we’ve been searching for you.’‘

You started crying once again.’‘I am so sorry’‘He was hugging you tightly and that was all you wanted in that moment.

‘‘It’s okay.’‘ your father patted you hair.’‘Let’s go home’‘

You saw how Donghyuck was making steps backwards , fetching his globes.

‘‘Wait!’‘ you pulled away from your father and once again you were standing ,breathless in front of Hyuck. You closed the distance and pull him over to whisper. ‘‘We were wrong. You make your own path.’‘

The spell is broken.

———————————•••———————————

When you got at home you and your father had a long talk. You told him what you knew and what shocked you was the fact that he knew it already.

‘‘Y/N , please don’t doubt your mather’s love, she loved you so much that she stayed with me.Your mother was just- a bit of a free spirit.’‘

‘‘How long did that go on?’‘

Your dad shruged.’‘ I don’t know.Forever,probably.But I didn’t know untill a few years ago.’‘

You continue the painful conversation and sadly you were really disappointed in her.

But you had your father.You threw yourself into his arms and it was the best feeling in the world.

———————————•••———————————

From: Lee Donghyuck <[email protected]>

To: Y/N Y/L/N <Y/N.Y/L/[email protected]>

Date: Wednesday,October 9, 10:27 PM

Subject: Making new paths

I thought i’d be spending the night at Mark’s tonight. I had a huge fight with Alan and mum in the morning.Forget making a path- this morning’s conversation was like aftermath of nuclear bomb. But Alan’s car broke down and I helped him fix it and we talked, we’ve never done this before.

It feels harder to write under my own name but here I am,not hidding anymore. I should have told you at the Homecoming night but I wasn’t ready to let go of what we had.

———————————•••———————————

From: Y/N Y/L/N <Y/N.Y/L/[email protected]>

To: Lee Donghyuck <[email protected]>

Date:Tuesday,October 10, 5:52AM

Subject: Letting go

I’m glad you never told me. I didn’t want to let go either. In fact I’m still kinda sad that It’s over. I keep thinking about our conversations and I probably will never stop.

There is a lot you don’t show the world,you know and I think you should.Give them a new snapshot.Show them what you showed me.

And on that note...what now?

———————————•••———————————

INBOX - Y/N Y/L/N

No new messages.

By lunchtime, he hasn’t writtien back. You had no idea what that means.Neither he nor Mark were in the cafeteria.

You were sitiing with Mina and Hendery who were feeding or kissing each other and it was hard for you to keep yourself from sighing heavily.

Then a denim-clad leg swung over the bench, and weight droped beside you. Somehow surprised,yet not at all, Donghyuck was straddling the bench.

‘‘Feel like taking a walk?’‘ he said and you nodded eargerly.

And then he surprised you by taking your hand and you went out in the school yeard.

‘‘You didn’t email.’‘ you started.

‘‘I wanted to talk to you.’‘ you hardly noticed the pink tint on his cheeks.’‘And now that I am not The Dark I don’t really know what to say.’‘

‘‘It’s okay’‘ you said softly.’‘We don’t have to talk’‘

He was thinking.

‘‘Wait,’‘he said.’‘I have an idea.’‘

He turned to you, and before you were ready for it,he moved close.Very close.So close that his cheek was against yours and one of his hands was on your neck.His breath tickled his ear.

‘‘Is this okay?’‘he whispered.

‘‘More than okay.’‘

His thumb brushed against your neck in a soothing rhythm.’‘I like you.’‘

‘‘I like you too.’‘

‘‘You were the first person to see all of me,Y/N. The first person to make me feel like this. The way you saw me as The Dark was worth more than a reputation and a record.I don’t know if anyone will ever see me the way you did.’‘

You drew back and put both of your hands on his cheeks.’‘I see all of you, and I’m looking at you that way now.”

He took your hand and put it on his heart and closed his heart.’‘You are killing me ,Y/N.”

“Look at me’‘ you teased.’‘You cannot mae your own path with your eyes closed.’‘

‘‘Watch me’‘ then he leaned and captured you mouth with his.

/as long as we keep it lowkey/

masterlist

———————————•••———————————

so hello guys! this is the first scenario,based on a book. I highly recommend ‘‘Letters to the Lost’‘ , 10/10. If you want to know how the book actually starts, or to see the things from Declan Murphy’s (Lee Donghyuck) POV and a lot of more interesting moments , you should definetely read it. Than you so much fore reading this! <3

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thisnorthernboy · 4 years

Text

Off the radar

Hi all, apologies for the lack of blog posts in the last few months. I've become a little disillusioned with social media lately and that's meant I haven't been posting content as frequently. I'm not sure if that'll change too much, algorithms and the like are taking a bit of the joy out of it. When you post something and it gets half the engagement a similar post was getting a couple of years ago, despite having more than twice the number of followers, it's a bit discouraging.

Anyway, here's what I have been up to since summer.

Patreon. I've continued to work on my Patreon project - Weird Field World. There's a bit of info about it here. I'm really enjoying fleshing out the world, adding background, history, little stories and characters. The engagement with my supporters there is great, and it's very energising to have people to discuss the project with. You can support me here.

Inktober. I failed to finish Inktober this year. I think I just ran out of steam and enthusiasm for the project after a couple of weeks. My plan was to draw a series of little building based, loosely, on the play Under Milk Wood, by Dylan Thomas. I started off OK, but there wasn't, perhaps, quite enough to go on for a whole month of building drawings. I think I managed 14 or 15 in the end. I was reasonably happy with most of them, and I might add one or two more at some point. A bunch of the illustrations are available to buy, so I'll add a separate post soon.

Illustration work. This year has been a disappointment compared to last year. Working on a couple of books, plus work in a couple of magazines, some t-shirt designs and a little concept art work meant that 2018 was by far my best year for paid illustration work. 2019 by comparison has been awful. I've had a steady flow of private commissions this year, but no major commercial work at all. I've worked on concept art for a couple of clients, but both of those projects fizzled out due to publishing or financial issues. It has made me realise that I need to be much more proactive in seeking work, so in the last few weeks I've been getting organised. The year has ended brighter, a few little commercial projects have come in over the last two weeks, and I've had enquiries about a couple more.

Digital Illustration. A year or so ago I bought myself an iPad Pro and Apple Pencil, hoping to dive in to the world of digital illustration. One of the main reasons for doing so was to be able to produce super clean linework that would reproduce well in print. I have found working digitally a huge, and difficult, leap. The simple act of drawing on something other than paper, even with a matt screen protector on the iPad, has taken a huge amount of time to get used to - and there were many times when I thought it simply wasn't going to be possible for me. The turning point was a suggestion from Rob McCallum on Twitter that I simply give up working on paper for a while, and only sketch on the iPad. It might seem like an obvious solution, but to draw digitally, and not get the results you want, for even a day was quite a task for me. Gradually, over the course of a couple of weeks things began to feel more natural. I got used to the feel of the stylus on glass, to the way digital lines worked, how to tweak brush settings to suit my way of drawing. Now, although I still have huge amounts to learn, I really do feel comfortable working on the iPad. I even enjoy it. Part of that is down to just how good the iPad and Pencil are, and how great a piece of software Procreate is. Together they are really quite formidable. Adobe and Wacom should be worried, particularly with the lacklustre release of Photoshop for iPad.

Parklife. I've continued to get out for walks as often as I can, if not as often as I'd like, in Bushy Park. Getting out in to the fresh air, and out in the open is hugely important for me, particularly if I've been stuck at my desk for a few days. I still get a thrill from seeing the variety of wildlife in the park - Red and Fallow deer, woodpeckers, kingfishers, and a huge number of other different bird species. I can't recommend getting out in to the countryside enough. Make the effort if you can, you won't regret it.

Reading. I've struggled to find moments to read this year. Not commuting in to London at all has been one factor - the only good thing about a three hour commute each day is that it gives you three guilt-free hours to read each day. Apart from that I just don't seem to have been in the right frame of mind. Perhaps it's a feeling of guilt - spending time reading when ideally I'd be working - even if I haven't had the work to do this year. I've tried to put things right in the last month or so. I read and thoroughly enjoyed Gareth Powell's sequel to Embers of War - Fleet of Knives. And Ann Leckie's Provenance, set in the Imperial Radch universe she introduced us to in Ancillary Justice, was a great read. Currently I'm reading Wilding by the appropriately named Isabella Tree. It's the story of how she and her (affluent) family set about rewilding large parts of their 1400 acre estate in Sussex.

That's it for now. I'll do my best to post more often. Do let me know if there's anything in particular you'd like me to write about.

You can find prints of my work here

I also have a Patreon page

And you can find more of my work online… Twitter Instagram Facebook Blog

#blogging #blog #illustration #thisnorthernboy

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moonlit-seren · 4 years

Text

Cuddly Fumbles Pt.2 || Kang Seungsik x Reader

Summary: Being in a relatively new relationship, you constantly find yourself in fear of being overly clingy, but your boyfriend loves every side of you and wants you to know that.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: This is part 2 of @aveluant1a’s Cuddly Fumbles piece, which I received her permission to continue. Here’s the link to part 1 if you guys haven’t read it yet:

https://aveluant1a.tumblr.com/post/617245383008157696/hello-love-i-see-you-write-for-victon-which-has

It’s really cute, and I’d highly recommend checking out her other Victon content!

(By the way, I’m experimenting with a new way to do my photos, does it look okay or should I just stick with what I’ve been doing prior? ;-;)

꧁Masterlist꧂

“Hyung, they’re both asleep still.”

“Let’s let them sleep for a few more minutes then. We still have around twenty before our dance practice starts.”

The younger male nodded in understanding, his eyes never leaving the sight of the two sleeping figures in the center of the room. His companion raised an eyebrow at his troubled expression, prompting him to share what was on his mind.

Getting the nonverbal cue, he glanced down at his feet before hesitantly speaking up again. “Hey hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you… Think that I’ll ever find someone too?”

Seungwoo laughed, gently nudging the maknae out of the way so that he could close the door to Seungsik’s room again.

“Of course, you will Subinnie.”

You stirred a little, hearing two whispering voices fading further away. Opening your eyes, you blinked slowly a couple of times to adjust to the pitch blackness surrounding you.

“Where am I?” You thought, looking around to the best of your ability without lifting your head off of the pillow it was laying on. Due to the limited lighting in the room, you could only make up the vague shapes of the furniture decorating the space.

It was only then that you realized that the bed you were laying in wasn’t yours at all. Goosebumps rippled across the skin of your arms at the daunting epiphany as the fear coursing through your veins fully woke up your sleep dazed mind.

Slowly sitting up, you glanced to your left spying a digital clock sitting on the nightstand. The small device blinked back 6:36AM at you, the crimson light casting cool red shadows across your face.

You squinted a bit at the sudden brightness, a sense of nostalgia hitting you as you examined the clock a bit more carefully. Hadn’t you given that to Seungsik for his birthday?

Right. Seungsik.

Memories of the night before flooded the forefront of your mind from the casual movie night to the way you fell asleep wrapped securely in Seungsik’s embrace. It seemed that you had wiggled your way out of his grip sometime ago, most likely having found it too hot given that you hadn’t changed before falling asleep.

Turning your head to your right, you spotted the man in question sleeping sounding on the pillow laying next to yours. A soft smile made its way on your face as your eyes traced the outline of his features through the receding darkness.

The first glimpses of the sun flickered past the partially closed blinds on the window, scattering soft golden strips of light on the covers and on your lover’s slumbering body. You instinctively reached your hand out to catch the warmth of the rays, slowly rotating your wrist as you watched mesmerized at the shadows your fingers left on his face.

Suddenly hit with the strong craving for touch that regularly frequented your mind, you hesitantly reached down to brush the silky strands of hair off of Seungsik’s forehead before ghosting a soft kiss on the exposed expanse of skin.

Carefully sliding out the bed, you walked up the window while making sure to keep your footfalls as quiet as possible. Glancing behind you to make sure that Seungsik was still deeply asleep, you gently lifted the binds to let in more light as the sun languidly crept further past the horizon.

Taking in a deep breath, you allowed the faint aroma of the room to completely take over your senses for a few moments before giving in to the need to exhale. This was the first time that you had stayed the night at Victon’s apartment, yet despite that, you felt right at home surrounded by the familiar scent of Seungsik's cologne.

CRASH!

Suddenly the loud clanging of metal resounded from somewhere nearby, followed by a hastily shouted apology. You flinched, sighing tiredly when you realized that all of your efforts to stay silent were now wasted.

“The maknaes must be trying to make breakfast again,” mumbled a drowsy voice behind you. Moments later you felt a pair of arms slide around your waist followed by the weight of a head resting on your shoulder.

Having been caught off guard, you stiffened briefly before relaxing into the backhug. You hoped that Seungsik couldn’t see the faint blush coating your cheeks, though you doubted that he wouldn’t spot it once he drew away.

“Good morning,” he whispered, a teasing lilt in his voice. You looked up, realizing that there was a pretty clear reflection of the two of you in the window you were standing in front.

Crap.

“M-morning,” you stuttered back, knowing without a doubt that your blush had worsened. Finding the need to hide it, you slowly turned around to bury your face in the velvety material of Seungsik’s sweatshirt.

Your boyfriend laughed, planting a lingering kiss on the top of your head.

“Why are you so cute?” He asked, trying to pull back so that he could see your expression. You whined softly, tightening your hold on him before relenting and letting go. Seungsik took a small step back then reached up to cup your face with both of his hands.

You blinked in surprise, wide eyes meeting his to try to decipher what he was planning on doing next.

“Love, there’s no need to be shy around me,” Seungsik teased, leaning forward to nuzzle your nose with his.

Despite still feeling a bit flustered, you smiled brightly at his words, nodding to let him know that you’d try your best to feel more comfortable initiating and reciprocating skinship.

Deciding to start now, you closed your eyes and placed both of your hands over his before leaning further into his welcoming touch.

Seungsik beamed at your actions, an action that you couldn’t see but you didn’t have to in order to feel the warmth of the expression. You could feel his face getting closer as the proximity of his breath decreased until you were inhaling and exhaling the same air.

Just as you were sure that his lips were about to touch yours, the door to the room abruptly swung open causing your eyes to shoot open in surprise.

“Hyung, we have to g- oh… Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Both of you turned to see who had barged in, well, more like Seungsik glanced over his shoulder and you had to peer around him given the fact that his hands were still holding onto your cheeks.

That aside, you found Sejun awkwardly shuffling by the doorway with the tips of his ears burning bright red in embarrassment.

You opened your mouth to assure him that he didn’t do anything wrong, but Sejun seemed to misinterpret what you were going to say and quickly blurted out another apology.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll leave now! Hyung, we’ll be in the car, come down once you’re, uh… Done.”

With that, the frazzled male dashed out of sight, leaving you and Seungsik standing in a confused, albeit slightly amused, silence.

“You should probably go, they’re waiting for you,” I suggested, gaze wandering away from where Sejun had stood moments ago back to Seungsik.

“Yeah, I probably should,” he mused, finally retracting his arms back to his side. Yet despite his words, he made no move to leave as his eyes continued to search yours with an over exaggeratedly lovestruck expression.

Giggling, you lightly shoved him in the direction of his closet with a sharp ‘Then go!’ before exiting the room. Two months is by no means a short amount of time yet Seungsik’s heart fluttering sappiness still left you a flustered, bumbling mess.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you headed to the kitchen to prepare a slice of toast for Seungsik to eat on the drive to practice as a way to occupy yourself while you waited.

Humming to yourself as you walked around, you completely missed the sound of approaching footsteps and the proximity of the person they belonged to.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?” You responded absentmindedly, slipping the warm piece of bread into a ziploc bag. You spun around, only to have your lips captured by Seungsik’s before you even had the chance to face him properly.

Gasping inaudibly, it took a second for you to understand what had just happened, but the shock eventually dissipated and you tentatively reciprocated his actions.

The kiss ended just as quickly as it started, with Seungsik drawing back with a goofy smile on his face.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” You protested, once again finding yourself blushing furiously as you swatted at Seungsik’s arm. He laughed, easily skirting away from the half-hearted attack.

“Are you saying you didn’t like it?” Your boyfriend asked with a playful grin, grabbing a hold of both of your wrists before you had the chance to try again.

“What?!” You exclaimed indignantly, struggling to release yourself from your restraints. Giving up rather quickly, you pouted childishly, unwilling to answer the question as you deemed it unfair.

Seungsik chuckled, pecking your lips again as your silence told him exactly what he needed to know.

“How long is practice going to take?” You asked, deciding to change the subject before he had the chance to tease you again.

“A couple of hours I think, my schedule’s free after that though,” Seungsik answered, a fond smile remaining on his lips as he looked down at you.

“Will you cuddle with me once you get back?” You asked cautiously, still getting used to the fact that Seungsik was fine with your clinginess despite how many times he’s reassured you that he loved it.

He nodded without hesitation, engulfing you in one final hug before he headed toward the door.

“Of course, anything for you.”

#Victon #Seungsik #fanfiction #imagine #oneshot #romance #fluff #Victon Seungsik imagine #Victon Seungsik oneshot #Victon Seungsik fanfic

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