#I cannot sit in bed and work because bed is where Phone Time and rest is

[charonean]

There is a ghost haunting my room and he sits at my desk and he is preventing me from working.

[b3ach-bunn7]

NONSENSE (1/3)

You're horrible at technology, and find yourself fliriting with you university's IT customer service.

University!au, noquirk!au, fluff

(side note i love shinsou hitoshi)

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

You’re sure your stupid shitty laptop could break world records with how useless and slow it is.

You don’t think you’re much better. You study veterinary medicine so you can name every bone in a cat's ass but it would take you ten years to figure out how to send a Word document to somebody. The only up to being so horrible at technology, is your university has an IT customer service. 

It’s weird and you don’t really understand how it works, but according to the front page, you can call anytime from 10am to 3am. With the clock ticking minutes before your submission date, and with an essay due tomorrow, you decide it will be less embarrassing to confess you have no idea how to work the university’s submission system, than not submit at all. You dial the number quickly, biting your thumbnail as it rings a couple times before it picks up. The person on the other line barely said their hellos before you started rambling.

“Okay, I know this is really stupid, but I cannot figure out how to attach my submission to this stupid fucking- I mean, this stupid system. And I have like, twenty minutes before my submission date, so I’d really appreciate any help you can give me.”

“Why would you leave your submission so last minute?” 

You frown. You’re unaware that customer support could be so sassy. And also attractive. At least his voice is. It’s smooth and soft, and you press your phone closer to your ear to hear him better. 

“Uhm. I don’t need the sass, thank you, I need the help.” You drawl, clicking at your laptop aggressively.

There’s a little chuckle of amusement on the other end of the line. “Apologies, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?”

“Would you prefer sir?”

Your face twists in annoyance. “I’d prefer you to help me.”

“Alright, alright. Okay, so enter the module the work is for, scroll to the bottom.” He pauses slightly so you can follow his instructions.

“Okay.”

“Then click the three dots on the top left. Where it says enter, click that and select your file, then submit.”

“Oh. Why doesn’t the button say submit. Instead of fucking enter.” You grumble, quickly attaching your work and handing it in.

“Not sure. I’ll let the university know.” He says, faux sympathy coating his voice.

“That’d be nice.” You glanced at your phone. You’re not sure what exactly happens now.

“So. Is that it?”

“Is what it?”

“Do I just. Hang up? Now that you’ve helped me?”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks again. “Unless you wanna keep me company for the rest of my shift?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

You hang up, trying to ignore the small smile on your own face as you do it. You don't have to miss him for long though, because you find yourself calling them back only a few days later after the wifi in your room refuses to work. 

You turn it off, then on. You carry your laptop all around your flat and hold it up to the ceiling knowing it won’t make a single difference. You ask your roommate and she is having no issue. It’s only when you’re about two seconds from snapping your laptop in half before you realise you’re not even connected. And after you find out your roommate is fine once more, you find yourself scrolling through your call history to find the IT number.

“UA University IT Services, how can I help?”

 You gape. “It’s you again!”

“Hey, it’s submission girl.” He grins. “You forget it’s called enter again?”

You roll your eyes. “Ha ha. I’m not calling for your horrible comedy, I'm calling because my WiFi isn’t working. You can help me with that, right?”

He groans into the phone. “Do I have to?”

“Yes you have to. It’s your job, IT guy.”

“I suppose. Since you asked me so nicely.”

You sit up in your bed. “Okay. What should I do?”

“Are you sure it’s not just the WiFi being shitty?” He asks.

You hum questionably. “No, I don’t think so. I asked my roommate and she said that hers is fine. And it’s also saying disconnected.”

You pause for a minute. “Wait, how do you know the WiFi is shitty?”

He snorts a laugh. “I’m a student too, idiot. I have to deal with shitty wifi as well.”

“Oh.”

You’re not shocked per say. He certainly doesn’t sound like a middle aged man you’d imagine working in IT. It’s nice to confirm though. And the fact that he is probably around your age means you can keep finding his voice hot.

“What, do I sound that old?”

Definitely not. “Yeah.”

“Shut up. You sound worse.” He mumbles and you tut. 

“Horrible customer service. I’m filing a complaint.”

A small laugh is heard from the other line. “I’d rather you didn’t. Rent is not cheap here.”

You lay back on your bed, dragging your laptop up on your knees. “You live in the student dorms?”

“Well, duh. I am a student, after all.” 

You roll your eyes. “What year are you?” “Second.”

“Hey, me too! How old are you?” “Should I be concerned by these questions?”

“Not if you answer.”

He replies that he’s nineteen, just like you. You wonder if you’ve seen him around before. Maybe he’s even in the same course as you. You could ask for his name, but you think that might be a little weird. That, and you sort of love the mystery around the man. Who knew being so useless at technology would lead to such great things?

Your laptop flickers off, and it’s only then you remember that you called him for a reason. You tap the keyboard and it lights back up, and your anger flares up once more. You huff, and IT guy seems to remember why you called too.

“Right, your wifi. You said it’s working for your roommate?” He asks.

“Yeah. And it’s working on my phone, it’s just my laptop.”

He hums, and you can hear the faint sound of clicking on the other line. “What building are you in?” You raise an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned by these questions?”

“Not if you answer.”

You smile. “I’m in 4A.”

He takes another few seconds, and you lean your head back on your bed as you wait for him to say something.  “Alright. Your password should be, ‘uab4a’. You wanna try type that in?”

You groan, sitting up again. “I have, like six hundred times. But okay.” You huff, doing it once more.

Nothing. You sigh, defeated. All you want to do is watch some Netflix. 

It takes about five tries before IT guy finally starts to get stressed out with you. He tells you to click different things, turn your laptop on and off, restart it. You follow all his instructions to no avail, and you shake your head.

“You know what, maybe I’ll just watch Netflix on my phone.” You sigh, said phone now on speaker and thrown on your bedsheets.

IT guy tuts. “None of that talk. I just don’t understand. We’ve tried literally everything. The only way I-”

Suddenly the other line goes quiet. You grab your phone to check he didn’t hang up and you see that it’s now been 18 minutes of you two on the phone together. 

“Why have you gone all quiet?”

“Is your caps lock on?”

You bark a laugh. “Right. Like I’m that stupid to-”

You look down. The little light next to your capslock button is flashing, and your face heats red and IT guy starts cackling down the other line. You write the password once more, in lower case this time, and you let your face fall in your hands at the sign of four wifi bars flashing back at you.

“Oh my god.” You mumble, and IT guy just keeps laughing.

“Oh- Oh my god, you idiot.”

“Shut up! I dont- How did I not realise?” You cry, slamming your laptop shut.

IT guy takes a deep breath. “I really don’t know.”

You shake your head, putting the phone back up to your ear. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” You mumble.

“Aw, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I think you’re the only person that calls this line, anyway.”

You decide to ignore the nickname, and the tingle it leaves in your gut, and nod. “Good, then. I’m keeping your job for you.”

“So kind. Alright, go watch your show.”

“Night, IT guy.”

“Goodnight.”

Over the next two weeks, you end up calling a handful of times. Your password needs resetting, you accidentally deleted a file. Each inane task ends up with the two of you sitting on the phone for ages afterwards. You learn that he’s an insomniac, and that’s why he always works the night shift. He also lives in building 5B, which is about a ten minute walk from your place. The fact he’s so close, that you could go see him right now, taunts you in the back of your mind everyday. The fact that he was in your university, that he could be your classmate or someone walking around campus. 

But, like all things, your horrible internet habits mellow out. After a few days of no problems, you find yourself missing him. You’ve only spoken a handful of times, but he’s funny. He’s sarcastic and a little mean, but in a good way, a way that makes you a little giddy. And of course, now that you want issues, it’s so much harder for you to find some.

Over wine poured in mugs and reruns of you confess to your roommate your situation. She’s a little skeptical of the lack of identity, but she thinks you should just call him again. It couldn’t hurt, right? Worse case scenario, you hang up and the two of you never have to speak again. But best case scenario, you can have a conversation that’s actually about something meaningful. And you can get called sweetheart again.

It takes another two days for you to build up the courage, despite your friend’s support. You wait until it’s late, remembering that he told you he works the night shift, and anxiously dial the number.

“UA University IT Services, how can I help?” His voice sounds bored, automated, but you recognise it immediately.

“Hey, IT guy.” 

You hear a shuffle on the other end. “Hey, it’s my favourite customer.”

“It’s me.” You say nervously.

“So, what is it today? WiFi on the fritz again?” He teases. 

It takes a second for the words to get out. “Uh, no, I. I actually don’t need help with anything today.”

“Okay. So what’s the call for?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

Silence. Oh god. You immediately cringe, and you are never listening to your roommate again, because she’s always wrong and stupid.

“Really?” He says quietly.

You swallow. “Really really. Don’t sound too excited.” You joke and he laughs.

“Trust me, I am. I wanted to talk to you again too, but I had no way to. The numbers on our end don’t get saved after every call, so. I was waiting for you.”

You perk up at his words. “Really?” “Really really. I also couldn't ask around. I doubt you go by submission girl in your everyday.”

You walk into your room, hopping into bed. You lay down on your stomach, and place your phone in front of you, resting your face on your arms.

“No, not particularly. Wouldn’t it be weird, though? If we actually knew each other in person this whole time and we never knew?” “Nah, I doubt it. Think I’d remember a pretty voice like yours.”

Your face flushes. “Shut up. ” You say, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool you down.

He snorts a laugh. “What do you study?”

“Veterinary medicine.”

“Wait, that’s sick. Do you get to see cats?”

You grin. “Yes! I volunteered at a shelter last summer, they were so cute.” 

He hums. “I love cats. I have one, you know.”

You eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Here? On campus? Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Nobody knows about her. We won’t get caught. She's a good girl, she isn't loud or anything. And my roommate in under sworn secrecy.” He says.

Good girl. There's no way he isn’t talking like that on purpose. You nod your head even though he can’t see you.

“Okay, and what if she came to live with me?” You ponder, and he scoffs.

“I’m not co-parenting my cat with you.”

You’re lucky enough that your room faces the setting sun and now, a soft orange glow covers your room. It’s just cold enough that you’re wearing a hoodie and your fluffiest socks, but your window is still open to freshen the air. There’s a vanilla scented candle on its last life on your bedside table, and you prop your phone up against it and lean back in your bed.

“I could report you, you know. They’ll kick you out the uni.”

IT guy pouts. “You don’t want that to happen. Then you’ll never see how beautiful I am in real life.”

You snort a laugh. “Well, what do you look like? So I know what to avoid on campus.”

He hums thoughtfully for a moment. You yourself have spent countless minutes wondering. Is he tall? Short? Blonde, or brunette, or maybe he’s bald. You have no idea. 

“Well. I’m like, 6’1.”

“Yum.”

“Shut up.” He chides, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “And I have like. Kind of long hair. And I always look sleep-deprived, 24/7.”

“Night shifts will do that to you. What colours your hair?”

“Hm. No.”

You protest. “What do you mean no?”

“It’s a dead giveaway! I want to keep some of my mystery.”

He asks you what you look like. You give him the same cryptic descriptions he gave you. 

“Wow. I can find you easily now.” He drawls and you grin.

“No matter. We’ll meet one day.” You say.

The two of you end up staying on the phone for hours. It’s unfair how easily you find things to talk about. He tells you about his course, Psychology, and you listen as he rambles in your ear about studies and experiments. As it gets later his voice gets deeper, lacing deliciously with sleep as his voice rumbles in your ears. The time wears on and your eyes start to blink heavily. You look at the time and it’s been three hours.  Unfortunately, you are not like IT guy, and not only do you have classes tomorrow, but you need sleep to function. 

You yawn heavily. “Look, I hate to be a buzzkill but I gotta sleep. I’ve got a ten am tomorrow.” 

“Boring. But fine. I’ll, uh. Talk to you later.”

You nod sleepily. “Night.”

You reach your phone over to hang up but IT guy’s voice rings out, scratchy through the speaker.

“Wait! I- Can I give you my number?”

That’s enough to wake you up.

You sit up on one elbow, rubbing at your eyes. “Your what?”

“Phone number? It’s those numbers you dial in when you wanna call me.”

“It’s too late for sarcasm.” You scowl.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s just I’d like to have a way to communicate with you. And call you. And text, or whatever.”

You smile slightly. “Okay. Yeah, of course you can.”

He reads out his number and you jot it down. He hangs up soon after and you send him a quick text.

September 17th 

01:20 am

You: goodnight IT guy 😁

IT guy: goodnight  💜

Life gets much easier with his phone number. Now you can text him during your lectures, during the walk to and from your work. He calls you during his shifts and you keep him company for as long as you can before you fall asleep. Which you have embarrassingly done a few times.

He sends you pictures of his cat. A cute black one called Pesto. You ask for the meaning behind that and he said he was eating pesto pasta when he got her. There’s one picture where you can see his hands in the corner, fingers long and slender and you have to stop looking before your thoughts take a dangerous turn.

Theres a time, maybe a week in, that things between you shift. The playful flirting is upped, and the conversations between you become more meaningful. You start anxiously awaiting a text back, face flushing at the stuff he says sometimes. Maybe it isn’t the smartest idea to fall for a guy who you don’t really know, but you don't care.

He knows Denki, for one. You’d mentioned the name and he’d perked up. Denki was an energetic guy you met at a house party once. And if IT guy is friends with him then that's more than enough confirmation for you that he isn’t a freak.

You tell him more about what you look like. You haven’t sent a picture, but you think he might know enough to catch you on campus. He still hasn’t told you much else, and he confesses to you one night that he’s nervous about it.

IT guy: I don’t wanna be a buzz kill but I’m scared ur gonna be disappointed

You: literlaly shut up

You: idc if u look like a troll

IT guy: right

You: or an ogre

IT guy: is this supposed to make me feel better

You: YES

You: look what im trying to say that i genuinely don’t care because i like u regardless of all that

You: ur smart and ur funny and ur mean but ina good way

You: and u hace a cute cat called pesto

IT guy: so ur using me for my cat?

You: duh..

It’s been two days since that conversation, and IT guy has been much more active ever since. You’d like to think you’ve given him a little boost of confidence, but you don’t care why it’s happening. You’re just happy that it is. 

You wish you could reply to whatever he’s sent you right now, but your boss might fire you if he catches you on your phone again.

You like the coffee shop you work at. It’s a quaint little hippy spot that’s a ten minute walk from your place. The pay is good enough, and you like your coworkers. Specifically Tokoyami. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but he lets you chatter away to him every time you’re on shift together, and he always has good music recommendations for you.

Today, it’s the both of you on shift. You’re wiping down the coffee machines in the back and you can see him talking to someone at the counter. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s rare you see him talking so animatedly. So you try to get a closer look. And wow.

You don’t know who he’s talking to but you’d like to. His hair is purple. That’s the first thing you notice. It’s a lavender and it looks so soft and fluffy you want to reach out and touch it. His eyes are a deep brown, and there’s heavy bags under them, but they somehow make him look even more beautiful. He’s got a lazy smirk on his face as he says something to Tokoyami and you’re itching to reach forward and eavesdrop. But you can’t. You’re on cleaning duty. Of course you are when a cute guy comes in.

You feel a pang of guilt suddenly, when you remember IT guy. You don’t think you should be thinking about any other guys. Even really cute ones. You get your head down and keep wiping. It’s only a moment later when you hear a crash and your head shoots up. Something happened out in the shop, and a moment later Tokoyami pops his head in the kitchen.

“Someone spilled some shit on the floor. Can you take Shinsou?” 

Shinsou. Tokoyamis told you about him before. A friend from university, or something like that.

“The purple haired guy?”

“Yep.”

“Gosh, the famous friend I’ve heard so much about. You never mentioned he’s so cute.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, sorry but. He’s got a little girlfriend texting thing going on.”

You tell him you were only joking and he just pushes you out to the front. You peek a look at Shinsou and he’s looking off into the distance. Deliciously so.

You check his order and it’s just a black coffee. Simple enough. You make quick work of the drink, humming something under your breath as the machine whirls to life. You write his name on the cup in sharpie, and fill it up, pressing the lid and slipping on a cover so he doesn’t burn his hands.

You walk up to the counter. “Hiya. You’re Shinsou? Tokoyami’s friend? He’s mentioned you before. All good things.” You smile as you slide the drink over.

And Shinsou looks back at you like you’ve got two heads. Or like you’re the most shocking thing he’s ever seen in your life. You step back a bit, slightly nervous at the shocked expression on his face.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, your smile falling a little.

“No. I mean yes! It’s-“ 

And it’s as he’s stuttering through his words you hear it. That voice. That same deep, smooth voice you’ve been flirting with over the phone. And you’re sure your face now looks like Shinsou is the most shocking thing you’ve ever seen in your life. Your face heats up and he doesn’t look shocked for much longer because that same unfairly attractive smirk graces his face.

He leans forward slightly. “Is this submission girl in the flesh?”

“Oh my god. IT guy?” 

His smirk widens into a grin. “I go by Shinsou, but. You can call me that too.” 

You roll your eyes to the side but you can’t help but keep them on him, an incredulous look on your face. “You were worried for us to meet? You’re fucking hot.” You say.

And he looks even better when the tops of his cheeks dust the slightest red. You smile, leaning forward on the counter. 

“Thank you. And you’re beautiful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Even in my gross work apron?”

“Especially in your gross apron, sweetheart.” 

You feel like giggling like you’re fourteen with a crush again. You brush a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“You’re not working tonight, right?” You ask.

He shakes his head and purple locks of hair dance around his face. Slender fingers grab the cup and take a sip. 

“Perfect. We’re going out.”

Shinsou tilts his head to the side. “Shouldn’t I be asking you out? Seems much more traditional that way.”

“We met on our uni's customer service number. I don’t think anything about this is traditional.”

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

guys i LAAAAUUUVVVVV shinsou and like he does not get enough attention or love or fics....... it makes me wanna scream

also this nearly took a steamy turn... with that cellular device.... but i did not because i cba

also i noticed that jason todd fics do so wel compared to my other stuff?? maybe cause hes not as popular but i will keep that in mind my people.

i hope u all enjoyed this! <3

[luvst4rc0r3]

can you write clingy!jinx x reader headcannons?

YOU ASKED AND I WILL GIVE!!!

Clingy!Jinx x Reader Headcanons

Jinx is basically your shadow. If you’re moving, she’s moving. If you’re standing still, she’s draping herself over you like a human koala. She does not care if you’re in the middle of something—she needs to be attached to you at all times.

Physical touch is her lifeline. She’s always touching you in some way, whether it’s holding your hand, resting her head on your shoulder, or straight-up lying across your lap like a cat. If you try to move, she’ll groan dramatically and pull you back like,

“Nooo, stay! You’re comfy!”

Hates waking up without you. If she wakes up and you’re not there, expect her to hunt you down immediately. She’ll shuffle out of bed, half-asleep, hair a mess, and wrap herself around you wherever you are.

“You left me to suffer alone?”

Gets whiny if you ignore her. If you’re busy, she’ll throw herself onto the nearest surface and dramatically sigh, making it everyone’s problem.

“Oh nooo, my lover doesn’t love me anymore… woe is me…”

Follows you even when it’s inconvenient. Are you fixing something? She’s sitting on your lap. Are you cooking? She’s hugging you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder, commenting on everything you do. Are you talking to someone else? She’s suddenly glued to your side, staring at them like they’re taking her time away.

Gets jealous of inanimate objects. If you’re on your phone too long, she’ll try to take it away.

“Why are you paying attention to that thing when you could be paying attention to me?”

If you’re working, she’ll lay on your desk like a cat and make it impossible to focus.

Absolutely melts when you give her attention. If you wrap your arms around her first? If you kiss her without her asking? If you play with her hair while she’s lying on your lap? She’ll go silent for once, eyes half-lidded, soaking up every bit of affection like a starved puppy.

Has zero shame about PDA. Whether you’re in private or out in public, she’s going to be all over you. She’ll kiss your cheek randomly, pull you into a hug mid-conversation, or just hold onto your arm while you walk. If anyone dares to comment, she’ll just grin and say, “Jealous?”

Needs constant reassurance, but won’t admit it. Sometimes, her clinginess isn’t just because she loves you—it’s because she’s scared of losing you. If she’s extra attached one day, just pull her close, kiss her forehead, and tell her you’re not going anywhere. She’ll scoff and play it off, but she’ll cling a little tighter.

Hates when you have plans without her. If you tell her you’re going out without her, she’ll sulk and give you puppy eyes.

“Babe, don’t leave meee… I’ll die without you.” If that doesn’t work, she might just invite herself. “Oh, you’re going out? Cool. Lemme grab my jacket.”

Loves being carried. If she’s feeling extra clingy, she’ll jump on your back and expect a piggyback ride. If you pick her up bridal-style? She’ll melt. Expect giggles and exaggerated swooning.

“Oh, my hero!”

Clinginess level 1000 when she’s drunk. If she’s tipsy, good luck. She’s clinging to you like a second skin, nuzzling into your neck, giggling, and refusing to let anyone else even look at you.

“You’re mine. Miiiine.”

Literally cannot sleep without you. If you try to go to bed without her, she’ll follow you like a lost puppy and flop onto the bed dramatically.

“You wouldn’t abandon me in my time of need, right?”

Demands attention 24/7. If you’re focused on something else, she’ll dramatically drape herself over you like a damsel in distress. “Ughhh, I’m suffering. Only cuddles can save me now.”

Throws herself at you after a long day. The moment she sees you after being apart for too long, she’s sprinting into your arms. Doesn’t matter where you are—she’s jumping on you, wrapping her arms and legs around you, and refusing to let go.

Falls asleep on top of you. If you’re lying down together, she will drape herself over you like a weighted blanket. If you try to move, she’ll grumble, tighten her grip, and mumble something about you being too warm to let go.

Steals your clothes. If she can’t be physically attached to you, the next best thing is wearing your hoodie or jacket. Bonus points if it smells like you. If you try to take it back, she’ll pout.

“Nope, it’s mine now. You want it? Come and take it.”

I want food

[letters-with-notes]

P1HARMONY TAKING CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU'RE SICK

💌 GENRE: fluff 💌 READER: gender neutral

A/N: my own work reposted

KEEHO:

“Okay, this is fine, I know what to do.”

He’s internally panicking but still manages to remember what his mom did for him and his siblings, when they got sick.

After he finishes lecturing you about how you need to take better care of yourself, he also tries to remember what he usually did when he had to take care of his little brother.

Absolutely refuses to let you do anything, you’re only allowed to stay in your warm bundle of blankets and rest.

“Where are you going??” “Um, to the toilet?” “Oh... oh okay, you can go there.”

He feels like he can’t do anything to help and he hates that feeling.

He’s also very distraught because he hates seeing you miserable and he can’t even kiss your or give you a hug to make you feel better.

God forbid you ask for a kiss or a hug.

He’d have the biggest crisis of his life because ew, he doesn’t want to catch your cold but he cannot say no to you.

Holds your hand until you fall asleep and kisses your forehead anyway, in hopes that it will help you get well sooner.

THEO:

“Wow, you look like shit.”

Shakes his head and tsks because he told you that you’re going to catch a cold if you don’t dress warmer.

But did you listen to him? No. Of course you didn’t. You never do.

And now what? He has to take care of your sorry ass.

You better be super thankful to him once you get better and repay him for his efforts.

He’s only frustrated because he doesn’t like seeing you in such a bad state, it really hurts his heart.

He also blames himself a tiny bit because maybe he should have been firmer and not let you go out without a jacket.

If your condition is very bad, he will definitely tear up when you can’t see him.

But wipes his tears right away and forces all of your meds and a bowl of soup and a mug of tea down your throat.

Strictly enforces self-care.

Sings and talks to you so you won’t get bored, and because he knows that you like to fall asleep to the sound of his voice.

JIUNG:

Forces you to take all the vitamins in the house before going to the drug store and buying some more, as well as some medicine.

The best person to have around when you’re sick.

Makes you chicken soup and chamomile tea and a healthy meal, depending on what you’re able to swallow.

He knows all the tricks and the traditional folk remedies for colds, runny noses and sore throats.

Half of them come from his grandparents, half of them from various internet searches because obviously, he’s the one who takes care of his members too.

He doesn’t scold you, at least not until you get better, but he looks at you with that disappointed gaze and sighs, and that’s almost worse than a scolding.

He will never let you forget about this, he will bring it up all the time. “Remember when you got sick? You don’t want to repeat that, do you?”

He will literally not touch you.

May or may not comes into your room with a face mask on.

But he still fluffs your pillow up and pulls your blanket over you when it falls, because you were tossing and turning too much.

He also collects and throws out your used tissues then wipes your face with warm water so you won’t feel so terrible in your skin and environment after you wake up.

INTAK:

Continuously on the phone with his mom.

Asks what you feel and conveys everything through the phone because he sure as hell doesn’t know what to do and he doesn’t want to accidentally poison you with the wrong medicine or smth.

This is just a lot of pressure on him, he really wants to take care of you, not make your condition worse somehow.

It’s like he never in his life had a cold, his brain just shuts down.

After feeding you the medicine and making you go to bed, you fall asleep.

He hovers around your bed awkwardly like a lost puppy, not knowing what to do.

He sits down on your desk chair and just... stares at you. Not in a creepy way, he’s just observing if you’re okay so he can jump up and run to your help at the slightest hint of discomfort.

You start to stir and he’s already by your side with a cup of water or tea because he knows your throat must have dried out while you were sleeping.

Refuses to go home even if there’s really nothing he can do for you anymore.

Doesn’t care at all if he’s going to catch your cold or not, if it were up to him, he’d rather it was him being sick instead of you.

He hates seeing you like this so much.

If you don’t let him stay and cuddle you, he’s going to cry. He just needs to be there for you, with you.

SOUL:

Clueless and lost but he definitely won’t overreact.

Half thinks that this is just a cold so you’ll get better after some rest.

But also, when he sees you suffer, his heart is just in pain.

He knows that you’ll be just fine in a couple of days but still, he wishes those days could pass a little faster.

Keeps looking stuff up on the internet to find something he can help you with.

Which was a bad idea because now he’s overreacting.

“This article says, you might be dying... you’re not dying, right?” “...” “Right?” “No, I’m not dying, it’s okay, I just need some rest.”

Thinks that getting sick together would be a good couple bonding activity and it’s up to you to convince him that no, it is not.

Stays a respectful distance away but doesn’t really want to leave you.

He just knows that colds suck and you must be super bored with all that sleeping and resting so he takes your tv over and binge watches something the both of you like on low volume.

That way you can sleep when you want to sleep and watch the show when you wake up.

And he can also bring you whatever you need, help you and take care of you while entertaining himself.

Insists on holding your hand all the time, and the better your condition is, the closer he moves to you.

Before you notice, those few sick days already passed and you're cuddling all healthily again.

JONGSEOB:

First of all, he gives you a scolding through the phone while already putting on his shoes and collecting things you might need.

His heart sinks when he sees you in your bed, weak and surrounded by tissues but then gathers himself together and starts nagging.

Gives you a thousand kind of vitamins, explaining what each of them is for and how it’s good for your body, you should always take them not only when you’re sick. If you take them regularly, you won’t get sick in the first place.

Interrogates you about your symptoms and only eases up when he’s sure that you only have a common cold.

When he sighs in relief, it hits him just how deeply he cares about you and how worried he is.

He then takes on a softer tone and attitude, making sure that you have everything you need and you’re as comfortable as possible.

Runs home for his laptop so he can work from your bedroom.

He practically makes your desk his own and he does his usual things while you sleep.

He regularly checks your fever and makes sure that you stay hydrated too.

He knows that he could just leave you alone, it’s not like you need 24 hours supervision but he kind of doesn’t want to leave.

Finally, he decides to just sleep on the couch and makes you a nice breakfast in the morning.

[missmurbertime]

Sans can’t sleep in silence. I mean. He can. But it’s hard. Oftentimes he has music playing softly or a video on his phone he fell asleep to. But he can’t sleep in silence very easily.

Red sleeps easiest when he can hear his brother snoring. Edge has always snored out loud. Louder than most. That is the best thing to put him to sleep. Mostly to remind himself that he is safe and not alone.

Blue sleeps in the dead silence. He doesn’t get worked up or need any noise. The quiet is perfect. Especially after a good workout or house keeping chores.

Horror cannot do quiet. Not at all. Bring back too much. He chose a fan when he first got there. A loud industrial fan that they use in wear houses. The loud fan is the perfect white noise to him. Grounding him and making him sleep easier

Dust is very similar. The silence brings too many demons. His favorite is thunderstorms. He has a little white noise box that plays the sound of rainstorms too. A gift from you. He adores it.

Killer can do anything. Lucky jerk. He can sleep at the drop of a hat. Anywhere and every where. The couch? Easy. The chair? Doable. A damn park bench? Dude we were gone for a minute how did you pass out. Noise or no noise he is fine

Error needs noise. Something. Anything. He isn’t good in the quiet. Most of the time he stays in the room next to edge or horror. The sounds are enough to coax him to sleep. But sometimes he plays classical music too

Nightmare prefers silence. It helps him center himself. No noise. No expectations. Just himself and his thoughts. It is relaxing to him

Fresh likes a fan. Simple as that. He doesn’t need it per se. But he likes it. It’s is soothing. But he sleep like a princess with silky sheets and fluffy pillows in a huge mound and a fan. Black out curtains too so he can get up when he wants to, and yes. He sleeps in long sleeved purple silk pajamas

Ink doesn’t care. Honestly. Because when he is ready to sleep he simply does. He just uses a bit of a cocktail of pain to relax him and he will nod off. But he likes to just relax in from of the tv and sleep too.

Dream is a little different. Because he loves white noise. But not one you’d think. You didn’t notice for a long time, but there is a fireplace in the basement. And during the winter dream sleeps on the couch in front of it. The crackling sounds and warmth always make him sleepy and happy

Papyrus is used to the silence. So he doesn’t mind it. It’s comforting in a way. But he worries for his brother. So he often times will sleep near him if only to make sure he is feeling ok. Which leads to him sleeping to the sound of the science videos he watches

Edge is a beast! He doesn’t need anything! Well..maybe one thing. Maybe just..a little noise. Like the air conditioner or heating to kick on. Something soft. Low. Not too much noise. But a tiny bit

Sweets it’s pretty similar to horror. He knows they are both messed up from their time in their broken world. And the silence brings back too much pain and hurt and HUNGER. So he get the industrial fan too. Just like horror.

Stretch wears headphones to bed. He is a music junkie. He is always playing something. For sleep it’s something soothing but sometimes if it’s a bad day, he will choose metal or alternative just to relax

Sci most times sleeps in his lab. The beeping and fans of the machinery more than enough to relax him on the days he lets himself take a break. Even if that isn’t often until you show up and demand for him to sit down and take care of himself

But for each and every one of them, the prefer your breathing. Your heartbeat. You. Because nothing helps them rest more than you in their arms.

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (8)

—  Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 6.4k

—  Warnings: Reluctant allies to lovers, Implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied non-con, physical abuse, spousal abuse, stalking, violence, Angst

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(Previous Chapter)

(Yoongi, 113 days before)

When Yoongi first being taught the ropes of the family, the last beta, now dead- took him aside and taught him the ways of business.

She taught him how to think and how to breathe, how to manipulate and most importantly- how to lie. Her hand digging into his neck, her scent dulled by age but still stinky in his nose, something metallic, something like silver that he struggled not to pull away from. Her lips brush his ear. Yoongi never understood why she needed to get so close.

“Name the facts of the situation, and order them by level of importance, the solution should reveal itself to you without you having to do much more work.”

“What should I consider most important?” he’d ask, childlike eagerness, a willingness to be good- a weapon in her hands.

Her voice had gone low. “Whatever you want to consider important is important. Say what you want and the others will follow.”

Now, sitting on the bed in his hotel room, Yoongi thinks should count himself lucky. He’s the one person that your husband cannot refuse a request from. The one person from whom Geumjae cannot keep you.

Even Yoongi cannot deny that it sends a good message to the rest of the family. He can almost imagine the words that Geumjae might say. See the beta is checking in not only on me but on the people closest to me, she’ll vouch for my character because my wife knows best.

She’s a pretty thing your wife, your mate to be.

No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s all in good fun dude, don’t take it too seriously.

Yoongi insists over texts that the two of you go alone to look at jewelry. Yoongi wonders if you know that it’s just a simple ploy to learn more about you, to figure out the newcomer, and that he’s not really interested in anything beyond that. Geumjae need not waste his time with the affairs of an omega, he surely has more important things to do than go with you and help Yoongi pick out pretty things that sparkle.

He taps out the message on his phone, looking out over the city in the hotel room, bag packed on the bed a mess of torn through clothing that hardly smells like the pack at all. Not anymore.

New Number (11:32am): Thank fucking god, you know how boring all that frilly omega shit is to me.

New Number (11:32am): What’s mine is yours little bro

New Number (11:32am): Just not her.

Yoongi looks at the text for a long time, and then tosses his phone away.

The city is always rainy in the fall. The towering skyscrapers pierce the metallic clouds like a knife, and the rain hangs low. The rain is the only thing he can smell when he steps out of the taxi and into the street where you’ve agreed to meet. The scent of rain, cold and humid. You are already there on the sidewalk waiting. Peeking out from under the edge of your umbrella.

Yoongi did not bring one, he stands underneath the deluge of rainwater until you step close.

The heals you wear do little to provide you any real height, Yoongi still has to look down at you, but they do keep you out of the puddles, dark and reflective. You look every picture of a rich socialite. Designer bag, gaudy jewelry that clangs together when you reach to shake his hand. Your wedding band cold against his finger. Your introductions routine, formal. Your drop waist dress billows out from your hips gathering rain splotches.

It looks so out of character, so ill fitting, the dress several sizes bigger than would look flattering. You can’t be warm in it.

You’re still wearing the bracelets too; Yoongi wonders if you ever take them off- if Geumjae ever lets you. You smile at Yoongi when you see him, slow, it does not show your teeth.

Just not her.

“Did you have anywhere in particular you wanted to go, or is just the Cartier on 5th avenue fine for now Mr. Min?” You say, idly, your tone gentle, your words perfectly pronounced an enunciated. If you have any sort of accent, Geumjae has trained you out of it.

“Yoongi, you can call me Yoongi, I don’t mind.” Water drips onto the back of his neck. Yoongi feels like he’s under a microscope even though he’s only just next to you. You have your hair tied back again this time with a silk scarf- red with a dark blue boarder. Tiny cherry blossoms speckling it in an indistinct pattern. The only splotch of color on your entire outfit. The only thing that isn’t black.

Everything but your lips. There is a ridge across your bottom lip where you must have bitten them and bitten hard. Yoongi can see it through the lipstick, the family’s usual shade of crimson. Presented to all omega’s after presentation- or in your case- your marriage.  Yoongi wonders if it’s an anxiety tick or otherwise. But there is a tiny imperceptible gash there where it’s split, at the corner.

Your eyes widen, the perfect picture of coquettish surprise. Yoongi doesn’t believe it for a second. Yoongi knows you know better. He pauses on the sidewalk. He is not sure that he can trust you.

He offers his arm, and you are in no position to deny it. You wrap your arm around it gently, like you’re warry of putting too much of your body within reach. You fall into step beside him and Yoongi keeps his tone mild-mannered.

“Tell me, what’s it like being married to a psychopath?”

You pause, looking up at him, making eye contact without fear, Yoongi watches you breathe, watches you force yourself to make it slow.

“You’re the one who grew up with him. Why don’t you tell me?”

You step up to the front of the store and hold open the door for him, the front steps have red velvet on them, and a doorman holds open the interior for you. If you didn’t know what he’s like- you wouldn’t be asking me.

Yoongi steps past you.

“Don’t say it’s all bad.” He says, once a sales associate has been properly greeted and immediately dismissed. Your jewelry all but guarantees you entry and allowance here. Yoongi feels a little grubby by comparison in his ripped jeans and jacket. He gestures to the diamonds on your wrist, the one on your finger. The designer bag on your waist that costs more than what most people make per quarter.

You hold out your wedding ring to show him. You are not smiling. “I guess it’s not bad if you like expensive things.”

From anyone else, it would sound bratty, but you just sound tired. Yoongi takes it in, the ridge on your lips that must be from where you dig in your teeth, the bags under your eyes dotted with off color concealer, a similar discoloration he can see on the back of your hands and your throat when you look to some of the glass cases.

Yoongi moves with you, staying at your side. Gazing down at the things in the cases, the miniature serpents crafted into necklaces, bracelets, the flowers carved into earrings. All of it the finest that money can buy. All impressively ugly.

“Expensive is one way to put it.”

You breathe, and Yoongi watches it hitch. You look up at him, Yoongi sees the impulse to look away when you meet his eyes, sees you give into it.

“I don’t like it, not anymore. You don’t seem like you like fancy stuff either you’re not-” you cast an anxious glance at him, as if you realize who you’re talking too. Someone the family talks about with a hush under their breath. Both a myth and a man. But you do not have to look to far to see that Yoongi is not like his brother. “Like them.”

His fingers tap against the glass, the rhythm on it, a song in the back of his head, “Why would you say that?” He should be asking, if not out of curiosity than to make his mask better. You’ve barely been in his presence what? 3 hours? 4? And yet you’ve figured him out easily.

A little too easily.

You shrug and turn away, “call it a hunch.”

Yoongi has never been able to quite temper his gentleness, he might sneer and scowl like them, might curse like a sailor and walk like one too, but he’s never able to touch things with violence. Everything, everything since he’s stepped foot Infront of you- has been gentle. Yoongi should be more surprised that you’ve called him on his bluff, but he can’t feel anything other than impressed.

His hands move slow, dancing across the glass cases that hide things far rarer and more beautiful than you. You should know, your husband has told you it time and time again hat putting you in diamonds is like putting a tiara on a pig. Yoongi looks at you, his eyes asking you to explain.

“You don’t come home often; you don’t like it. You didn’t do-” You sniff hard, mimicking it instead of saying it, “-after dinner. And you don’t like my husband. Even though he’s your blood.”

Yoongi sucks a breath through his teeth and wonders why he feels a willingness to be honest with you.

“No, I do not.” 

Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice that your jewels are quite so ill fitting, he does not polish his words sharp. Just like at the dinner the other night. He speaks slowly and gently, the sound of rippling waves or the feeling of warm water.

You like the way he speaks.

The door jingles, Yoongi looks over your shoulder. Your hang grips his wrist, hard and cold fingers. Making him turn back out of the very shock of it. You wrap your arm around his elbow and look up at him, your expression almost coquettish. But Yoongi can tell that you’re shaking.

“You have a pack? Across the city?” Yoongi does not comment on your change of topic.

The man in the doorway taps off his umbrella on the marble floor, getting water everywhere. You notice the bulge of something under his arm, the way his eyes slide over you and Yoongi, the leather shoes. Expensive. The way he speaks to the attendant, softly- so as to not draw attention to himself.

Yoongi sees your spine straighten.

“Not across the city, up north. Just outside of…” He knows better than to make eye contact with the man, his hat pulled low.

“Would you tell me about them?” Yoongi closes his eyes just briefly. The memories of them rush over him like a tidal wave.  

The feel of Jin’s hands on his abdomen, splayed wide. The sound of Hobi’s laugher, the tuck of Jimin’s chin when he falls asleep during movie night, the listless way his hand tangles in Tae's sleeve over and over again the same sensation until it goes slack with sleep. The spiky feeling of Namjoon’s hair- shaved short in summer and the sound of Jin’s voice as he counts the grey hairs. The clack of plates at dinner time and the smell of the apartment when they’re all happy. Sugary and sweet. 

But he opens his eyes, and it’s raining outside. No- it’s not the outside that smells like rain- that is your scent. Rainy, wet. Like petrichor only a tad bit sweeter. It’s a melancholy scent, one that doesn’t quite fit your soft practiced smile.

“I’ve got 6 packmates.” Yoongi swallows past the lump in his throat.

“Two alphas and four omegas’?” You guess, walking from glass case to glass case barely pausing from one to the next. The man follows, mirroring your and Yoongi’s position on the exterior of the store. You see him through the displays of cut glass. Yoong passes a chandelier that’s polished so perfectly that he sees a hundred reflections of you and him in it dancing as they twinkle.

“No, the other way around actually.”

“So many alpha’s,” you comment. Whistling low. “They must give your omega’s a run for their money.”

Yoongi snorts and you turn, not expecting humor, not expecting the honesty that Yoongi offers. “No actually they-” Yoongi should remember who he’s talking too but it’s surprisingly hard to resist the urge to talk about them, his pack. Missing them pulses dully in his chest, a deeper wound than any knife could carve. A deeper danger than being honest to you.

You’re hardly the most important person in the family, what harm could honesty really do?

“The idea of anyone giving Jin or Jungkook a run for their money is laughable. They’re-” Yoongi should be more careful, he shouldn’t even be telling you their names but-

You look up at him, eyes brighter than they were at the dinner or at the start of today. They reflect the rainbow of the chandelier. Your scent warms, sweetens, loosing it’s damp edge.

“Disobedient?” Your finger dances across a dangle of crystal.

“No, Jin’s our pack omega, he keeps us all in line, but he also likes to laugh. He takes good care of us and Jungkook,” Yoongi hums. “Jungkook was raised by alphas, practically acts like one himself. He’s the one who gives us a run for our money, sometimes literally.”

You huff, and Yoongi sees real confusion on your face. “So he’s disobedient but you like it?” He knows what it’s like- being in the family where ‘good’ and ‘obedient’ and ‘pretty’ are practically the only thing that matter when it comes to omega and the gold standard. The fact that Jungkook is only one of those things doesn’t make sense to you.

You turn, and the light catches your face, youthful cherub cheeks, not hollow, not yet. Yoongi is reminded of how young you are. How little you understand and how the family must have twisted your mind so to parrot these ideas and yet doubt them.

Geumjae is 35, you can hardly be older than 20. Something about the math, you being married two years ago, doesn’t add up.

“No- Jungkook’s sweet- he just likes to have fun.” Yoongi pauses, then can’t resist adding. “He smells like honey.”

You look up at him, drinking in his soft smile. How is it that he’s smiling. You wonder, who are the people who have charmed this brother’s heart? The better brother. Geumjae and Yoongi look so much alike, so alike that they could be identical where it not for the scar marring your husbands face. You know Yoongi is a few years younger than your husband. He doesn’t have the crinkles by his eyes yet.

Of course you chose the wrong one. That this man, an unseen Jungkook gets what you so desperately want but are denied, safety and a gentle man. Yoongi is surely gentle; you could smell it the second you met him. like blood to a hound, gentleness beacons to a heart as needy as yours.

But perhaps there are still choices to be made.

Your nose wrinkles, but then the man in the hat steps closer, behind the two of you. And Yoongi remembers that he’s being watched and followed. Remembers to be careful with his words.

“I think his style is a little different than this. Less gold. Less diamonds. Jungkook already sparkles enough.” You don’t look behind you, pointedly. He holds out his arm for you to take. Trying to be a gentleman.

“Should we try Tiffany’s?”

You and Yoongi keep your pace slow until you’re out the door. Yoongi grabs your elbow and tugs you along at a quicker pace. You immediately struggle to keep up with due to your height and your heels. The weather has gotten worse, it’s coming down so heavily now. The kind of rain that soaks you through in just a few seconds.

“We’re being followed.” You hiss low, Yoongi doesn’t say that’s obvious. He pulls his hood up but your coat doesn’t have one and you left your umbrella back at the store. The rain comes down hard, catching in your hair like a constellation of little diamonds, little stars. You turn one way than the other, deliberating, but Yoongi is still holding your elbow, tugging you, quickly now.

“Come on, before he spots us.”

Yoongi knows this area well- knows it by the back of his hand because the family has several fronts on this block, these are his alleyways and backstreets. He can pick out the business that the family owns from the sidewalk.

Rent is hard to make. And any real type of protection is even harder to come by. Yoongi’s family provides it for a reasonable fee that quickly becomes unreasonable once minor requests like money laundering or selling drugs out back door come due. But Yoongi does not concern himself with the petty squabbles of the underclass- not in this city, not right now.

His hand fists in the sleeve of your coat and he tugs you along.

Yoongi learned the ways of the family better than Geumjae or the omega tailing the two of you. Because Yoongi was offered an unaltered view of the scope of their operations. No family lines that needed to be maintained. No secrecy separates him from the truth.

He tugs you into the restaurant that he’s brokered many a back deal in, pulling you past bowing chefs, an angry man in a puffy hat that pulls a smaller looking woman down and says, “stay quiet,” voices hushed with the kind of deference offered to gods and not men.

You knock over a pot, and it sloshes, spilling dark bubbling liquid. Narrowly managing not to get it on your coat. “Sorry.” You say, but Yoongi Is already pulling you.

“It’s no problem Mrs. Min,” says the bright-eyed sous chef, all but trembling in her shoes.

You pop out into a back alleyway, tripping over your heals and the uneven step and old cobblestones but Yoongi’s hand goes from your elbow to your waist under your coat. You breathe, and your ribs push against his fingers, he lets go of your waist but not your arm, ignoring it as he pulls you. “Come on.” 

Yoongi doesn’t stop, aware of distant shouting. “I’m sorry sir but customers aren’t allowed back here.”

You sink out into the alleyway and slow your walking, only because it’s raining, and you’re quickly soaked. Yoongi watches as you catch your own eyes in a reflective pein of glass, watches as you tuck your hair back behind your ear, eyes flickering over your cheeks and down.

He scoffs, and you turn to him.

“What?”

He rolls his eyes, turning away to walk down the street, quicker. “Omega’s and their preening.” It’s scornful, and it’s out of character. But Yoongi has not had the easiest week.

You turn, a sharpness on your face that Yoongi hasn’t seen so far.

“If you haven’t figured out that beauty is currency by now, then there’s nothing I can do for you.” Your gaze is so intense that Yoongi has to look away, a tightness in his chest that he cannot name. Shame, or maybe embarrassment.

That’s because you weren’t just checking to see if your makeup was undisturbed, no- you were checking to make sure the bruises on your face weren’t visible. But they are now- wiped away by the rain. They’re a conflagration of purple and blue over your cheek. Pretty like spread ink. They’re going yellow on the side. They must be a few days old. Yoongi watches the rain melt away the makeup.

Yoongi hates them the second he realizes. Hates himself a little too for calling what you were doing ‘preening’. 

His hand comes up, fingers pressing into your cheekbone, it must be tender. It must hurt to put makeup on.

“Does he beat you?” You flinch. Moving your face away from his hand. For the first time you don’t say anything. You just keep fussing, turning back to the window and untucking your hair so that it hides the left side of your face.

“Yoongi” you say softly, almost chiding. It’s the first time he’ll ever hear you say his name. But he’s going to hear you say it thousands of times more in his lifetime. Countless times until the word feels less like his name and more like a promise (If only promises weren’t dreadfully easy to break.)

You look almost sad as you regard him. Pitying. Shoe scuffing on the cobblestone as you step up to him. “Don’t you know by now? There are worse things an alpha can do to an omega than just beat them.”

Yoongi hates the way that there’s pity in your face for him. He doesn’t know why it bothers him but he’ll stay awake thinking about it for hours after. Later tonight once he’s dragged you both across the city to the beta’s residence. Once he’s solidified it in his head the two facts he learned from today.

One, that you are not a bad person.

And two, you need help.

Yoongi stands there in the downpour, looking at you. The two of you spend a few breaths like that. Looking at each other. Sizing each other up. Yoongi watches the bruises become more and more visible; the cloudy water tainted with makeup dripping from your temple to your chin.

“We’re both soaking wet.” Just speaking makes the water move from his lips, like he’s spat it. At least the mascara you’re wearing is waterproof. “We need to get out of the rain.”

There is a yellow cab on the side of the street, and he pushes you into it, you slide across the seat to let him in after you. The cabbie in the front hardly looks up until you’re settles. Yoongi watches carefully. Looking for even a fleck of recognition in his face.

He can never be too careful.

Your wet hair drips onto the leather seat, and Yoongi reminds himself to leave a hefty tip. You lean forward and give the cabbie the address for your and Geumjae’s brownstone and finds his stare similarly blank. The timer on the meter says you’ve got 30 minutes until you reach your destination. Yoongi wonders if Geumjae had instructed you to bring him home to talk.

Yoongi’s long hair tickles his forehead wet, and he slides the partition between you and the driver shut with a shlick of plastic against plastic. Your eyes dart from him to the cabbie, and he keeps his voice hushed.

Your phone slides across the seat and hits him in the thigh, when he hands it back to you it’s faintly warm in his hands. Like the flashlight has been left on in your pocket.

Yoongi doesn’t let his suspicion show. The screen stays dark.

“There. Now we’re not being followed or listened in on we can talk about what matters.”

You eye the driver warily. “There are 1,305 people in our organization, not including law enforcement on payroll, give or take a few, you can’t possibly know them all by name.”

Yoongi blinks, “I do not,” he admits after a careful moment. He glances once again at the cabbie. He makes eye contact with Yoongi before quickly glancing away. “You know an absurdly large amount of information about my family.”

“Am I not supposed too?”

Yoongi chews his words before he says them. “Careful.” You don’t reach to buckle yourself in, hands tight in your lap. Wary again, in a car with this man, in a car with someone whom you do not know, if you can trust yet.

Yoongi reaches over and does the buckle for you, hand brushing your hip. It’s the softest touch- the tenderest touch that you’ve known in weeks, months maybe. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so gently.

Your hip burns from it. Yoongi clicks the buckle closed.

Instead of acknowledging it you ask. “Why did you help that omega the other night? The one at dinner? The server.”

“Was I not supposed too?” Yoongi raised his eyebrow, “if you haven’t figured out that kindness is currency by now then there’s nothing I can do for you.” You roll your eyes at him, at having your words thrown back at you. Yoongi sees the bravery it takes in you, the way you watch and wait for him to get violent.

Violence with words has always been easier for Yoongi so he changes the subject. “Did you leave the other night because you knew something would happen to Jongho?”

“No, I didn’t know for sure.” Yoongi reads beyond your words.

“Was it Geumjae?” 

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But you won’t tell me who?” Yoongi feels more and more like he’s bickering with a child, compared to him you probably are. You must be 10 years younger than him, maybe more?

“I have my suspicions, as I’m sure you do.” An enigmatic answer.

“There are 1,305 people in my organization, there’s enough suspicion to go around.”

“And yet, you agreed to meet me.”

“In public, we’re not in private yet.”  

He leans forward opening up the plastic partition, now dewy with condensed air. He opens it.

“Actually, I think we have to change our final destination.” When he flops back against the seat, he watches the way your mouth moves, the corners lifting up a little at the edges.

Trust or no trust, Yoongi can’t imagine that he’s making a bad decision.

~-~

Not much has changed at the Beta’s lodgings. It’s less of an apartment and more of a safehouse carved out from the city, a slice of suburbia among the concrete. It’s probably worth fucking millions because of its location- but Yoongi’s never been quite sure who owns it. It’s always belonged to the beta in charge, always. 

And now, that beta is Yoongi, so it’s his.

The small yellow cottage has been owned by the family for almost longer than the city has been a city. Shoved between two apartment buildings and a 7/11. Hidden in an alleyway that’s barely wide enough for a car; most people wouldn’t even know it was a driveway with all of the shrubbery and the high cinderblock wall. The decorative potted plants that line the driveway are cracked in places- no doubt from the late beta’s poor driving.

Yoongi makes the taxi pull all the way up, just so the two of you (and your bruises) won’t be spotted. Yoongi knows the beta’s residence is constantly watched, constantly minded, constantly protected. It doesn’t feel like protection. To Yoongi, having the eyes of the family close feels like a threat.

At night, the street has a large amount of foot traffic, perfect to disappear into if you needed it, It feels like the cottage barely exists on the same plane as the rest of the city. Set far enough back that the sounds of people and cars just seem to melt away.

It’s considered as good as hallowed ground in the gang world. No blood can be spilled there or else an instant hit will be ordered on the person who has. It’s law, people need a safe place to come and seek council. The beta’s safety needs to be preserved.

Most of the late betas belongings have been moved out already, put in storage for however long it takes for someone trusted to go through it and burn anything that might be telling. There isn’t anyone to inherit their things nor much value to them otherwise. Their beta wasn’t a fan of designer clothes or fanciful trinkets that were paid for with blood money. Anything of value and any secrets have died with her.

A small shred of crime scene tape gets pinned to the slate pathway from the water, soaked and strewn about within the dying garden. Once lovingly maintained, it has already started to show signs of neglect in the form of heaps of leaves strewn about. One of the shutters hangs off it’s hinges and Yoongi wishes someone would repaint the whole building. A darker color maybe.

The yellow always shows the mold.  

If you have ever been inside the beta’s residence, you don’t show it on your face as Yoongi leads you inside. They’ve left most of the furniture at least. Yoongi would hate to have to furnish it himself. It’s only got one bedroom, but combined kitchen and Livingroom space has a bunch of windows. Yoongi tells you to sit and is unsurprised to find the bedroom clean with fresh sheets. A whole new bed and an open linen closet full of bright fluffy towels. Someone probably knew he was coming and set the place up for him. The heat’s even been turned on.

You were right not to trust the cabbie.

There are shadows on the wall where pictures hung, stripped of almost everything in the bedroom and bathroom. All of the clothes and trinkets collected in a lifetime stripped from the place. Yoongi wonders if the late beta would be disturbed or pleased. She was always picky with her evidence.

Yoongi’s going to have to get some shampoo from the hotel when he goes back to collect his things. And then maybe pilfer or borrow a bug sweeper from one of the families to double check that there’s nothing amiss here. From the bedroom, Yoongi can just see the neon lights from the street, the glowing seven just over the trees. It’s an interesting mix of quaint old world and blinding toxic neon. It has drafts under the windows and bad heating, the green velvet couch in the living room sags from the weight of years of use.

Yoongi retrieves two of the new towels from the bathroom ripping off the tag on the way through the house. He rubs the first one over his own head, mopping up some of the water and hands the other out to you. You’ve parked yourself on that green sofa, looking out the window at the rain. Your jacket discarded nearby on the back of a chair. Water dripping slowly out of it and seeping through the cracks in the uneven floorboards, warping with age.

Yoongi doesn’t sit down, even after you tentatively take the towel from him and start to dry your hair. Taking it out of its fastenings. Your silk scarf, once colorful. Sits on the nicked coffee table. Flaccid and soaked. The colors dull.

“What did Geumjae tell you?”

Your hair makes a gentle squish noise as you dry it. “About you? Or about the situation?”

About me, did he tell you to be afraid of me? I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Yoongi quiets his tongue around the words and focuses only on the necessities. The thing that will get him out of this city and back to the pack as soon as possible. That’s his priority.

“About the secession.”

Your eyes flicker up and down Yoongi’s body.

“He told me he’d do whatever he had to become Don. That the secession is up to you but that he can’t kill you because you’re on the no kill list now. And-” Your eyelashes are sticking together because of the rain, big globs of it. Yoongi looks at it instead of your eyes, intimidated by your beauty even though he’d sort of scorned you earlier. Your eyes are too open, too vulnerable, too pretty.

“-The next beta in line is like 4 years old and fucking hates his guts. You’re by far the better option.”

Yoongi huffs, as close to a laugh as he can get these days and sits back against the couch.

The kill list is an old and informal piece of information. There are only 3 names on it as far as Yoongi knows, his name, the past Beta, and the past Don. All current and past packmates of the ruling Beta and Don get put on it, to prevent extortion and retribution. The family doesn’t have many rules, but to kill someone on the kill list is as good as suicide.

The list is handed out to everyone connected to the family at the start of every year. Every assassin, even the low-level drug smugglers. Yoongi knows for a fact that Namjoon and Jin and the rest of them are not on it yet- because he hasn’t officially become the beta and he hasn’t announced them as packmates. After he names Don this will change. Yoongi slumps in the couch, sinking into the cushions.

He thinks of bringing them here, thinks of Jin and Jungkook in black with their lips painted red like you. Thinks of gentle Joonie and anxious Hobi. He thinks of Jimin stuck in a room with so many scents making his instincts go haywire. He thinks of Tae holding a gun and cannot stomach it.

Yoongi tamps down on it, cutting to the chase. There’s no real reason to beat around the bush. “Are you going to do whatever you have to do to see your husband on the throne?”

“No.” You reply with a snap, then sigh, tired, leaning your head back against the seat. So much about you is that- tired. Yoongi wonders what about that exhausted you so and why you replied as quick as you did. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to be manipulated without finesse.”

“And would you say finesse is something you lack?”

This is feeling more and more like a job interview. Your bracelets tinkle against each other as you reach up to tuck your hair behind your ear. And your wedding ring catches the light. It’s a true monster; three carats and glittering under the light, more stunning than half the pieces you saw back in that shop. Pretty due to its simplicity but ugly due to its size.

You look too young to look so sad but too old to look so scared.

“What I lack” you choose your words carefully because you don’t know how to not be careful- just like you don’t know how to not be afraid. “Is the motivation.”

Yoongi can’t help but laugh at that. A real laugh, deep and chuckling. And he misses the way you turn away. Hiding the smile on your face is harder and harder with every moment. If you’re not careful- your smile might be used against you.

You and Yoongi. You remind yourself. You’d hate for something bad to happen to him just because you can’t keep your expressions tamed.

“You might be the only person in this whole fucking city that doesn’t want to manipulate me.” If I believe you.

Now it’s your turn to laugh, and it makes Yoongi quiet, it’s high and clear- it’s a pretty sound, the kind of sound that makes the birds pause. The kind of tone that makes intro’s good and outro’s sentimental. Yoongi cannot stop the traitorous flutter of his heart.

You avoid his question and cock your head, and Yoongi thinks you’re angry until he sees your lower lip quiver.

“You act like I have a choice, like I’m like them- this isn’t-” you gesture between the two of you. “Even important. He told me about the succession and the only thing I thought was ‘If he’s got his throne maybe he’ll finally forget about me. Manipulation isn’t anything I’d do if it wasn’t necessary, I don’t like it.”

“Where would you go? If he did forget about you?”

You turn away, looking out the window at the rain, your face leaning on your hand. “I don’t know. Probably somewhere quiet.”

Yoongi’s answering hum is that- quiet. And he lets the silence still for a moment. The inside of the cottage is warm, and the two of you are no longer shivering.

“What do you like to do anyway, plan parties? Shop? Or is fancy jewelry and polite scheming your only hobby?”

“You don’t think I’d take these off if I could?” you hold out your wrists, the bracelets jangle against each other. So they actually are shackles then. Yoongi hadn’t been sure. You swallow, looking down at them. “If I had to choose one thing though, I like to-”

Before you can say anything else. Your phone dings, A different ringtone, a loud one. Yoongi doesn’t mean to look down at it but it’s hard not too since your phone sits between the two of you on the couch.

Yoongi doesn’t mean to catch a glimpse of the text on your phone, the contact at the top is devoid of any emoji’s or hearts. He finds his blood going cold at the sight of the message he sent through.

Husband (5:54): If you don’t come out here in the next 30 seconds, I’ll slit your fucking throat and use it as a new hole to fuck.

The silk scarf you used to tie your hair up still lies wet on the dinged coffee table, so your hair stays down as you bolt to your feet. And grab your jacket, heaving open the door without even putting it on. “Sorry I have to go- I have to-”

There is someone standing at the edge of the driveway underneath the bleed of the neon sign, the purple neon light bleeds onto the wet concrete. The light behind the man turns red. Silhouetting his figure. And Yoongi doesn’t have to look twice to know who it is.

You hurry out the door without offering him much of a goodbye. And Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, even less what to do.

Geumjae waits there at the end of the driveway. And Yoongi takes him in. His pursed lips, the umbrella he holds- the same one you left in the shop, and his hawkish eyes as you hasten in his direction. The black car is non-descript, but Geumjae still shoves you into it, uncaring of your comfort or who might see him do it.

You hit your head on the metal frame. And Yoongi see’s you gasp in pain from far away, clutching your forehead.

His fists tighten at his sides. Geumjae gives him one long look and then walks around to the driver’s side. Yoongi walks out onto the patio, the slate steps, not running but half jogging, bare feet smacking against the wet slate. Re-drenched in the downpour.

But by the time he’s gotten to the end of the driveway. The car has already pulled away.

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Tbh, I don’t think Yoongi will ever realize that he was groomed. I’m trying my best to show that his worldview has been skewed a little, I think it’s very telling that when we first see him with Jin he calls omega’s docile and then when he comes home- it’s pretty evident that he doesn’t view omega’s quite that terribly anymore.

- Omega’s that are not in the family that is, the omega’s in the family still get his derision because they uphold the same values and reinforce the very structures that subjugate them- but as the m/c says in this chapter. Beauty is the only way for any of them to gain any safety and she especially is in the position where safety is more important than freedom. I feel the need to unpack this because I think at face value you could easily think that Yoongi’s just an asshole. But he’s not- he’s just hyper critical of the systems that his family imposes.

- Yoongi and the m/c’s dialogue in this chapter is some of my favorite additions to the story that I’ve made with this edit. To me it feels like we really get to see her character before she goes quiet. Like obviously this doesn’t change what happens to her or how traumatized she is when the pack sees her, but I think I did a good job of building up her character a little.

- I know it’s stereotypical, but the scarf that the m/c has in her hair is actually one that I own. I’ve had it forever and I love it a lot. I can’t remember where I got it but!! I have pictures if people really do want to see <3

-The first ever girl I had a crush on had that ridge on her lips, the same one that I describe the m/c having in this. I remember looking over at her during class and just being hopelessly crushed, hopelessly in love. I wish I’d been brave enough to understand it. Jenny, if you ever read this, Ni hao!! 你好 and I hope you’re still making 3 pointers! I am still very bad at Chinese but thank you for letting me practice <3

- In my mind, the m/c and Yoongi Walk through the restaurant in the bear! that’s just what my brain does! Tbh, I think the ‘bright eyed sous chef’ could be Sydney!

- I do think it’s up to interpretation if the mc is manipulating Yoongi or not BUT If we’re getting into the nitty gritty of it, I think that the m/c purposefully wore non-waterproof makeup so that Yoongi would see that she has bruises. Her intent is to make herself a sympathetic character and every so subtly try to manipulate Yoongi to see Geumjae in a poor light. A subtle way for her to make sure Yoongi knows, that someone knows what he’s doing to her.

- Is the m/c’s phone recording them or is it being tracked? What do you think? Why is it warm? I personally think it’s being tracked by Geumjae- but Yoongi in the moment is unsure what’s going on. Like even he’s confused if he should trust or if he should suspect the m/c.

- (tw) When she talks about the ‘worst’ thing an alpha can do to an omega, that is rape. She’s talking about rape.

- (SPOILER) When Yoongi says “he thinks of Tae holding a gun and cannot stomach it.” Yeah, that’s a direct reference to how the story ends and the fact that Tae kills the assassin.

- The bracelets she wears are the cartier love bracelets, if that wasn’t clear! They run about 7k a pop. I do think Geumjae has used them to tie her down before. They are small enough that she can’t pull them over her knuckles and can’t take them off or remove them. They were some of the first gifts Geumjae ever got her.

[janeyseymour]

Won't You Be... My Neighbor?- pt 6

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

Summary: Melissa is released from the hospital, meanwhile, JJ is located.

WC: ~1.65k

The little boy ends up falling asleep in the car, adrenaline leaving his body and pure exhaustion setting in. When he wakes up, he wakes up to nearly being thrown out of the seat of the car again. This time though, the seatbelt catches him, and while it burns like hell on his neck- because he shouldn’t be in the car without the seatbelt, he does not repel forward. He slams back into his seat with a loud yelp, and he hears a loud bang.

Joe just crashed the car. Joe just crashed the car into a tree on one of the back roads he was taking, and the airbags deployed- saving his life. With the fire-retardant that comes out of the airbag in a big cloud, they’re both coughing, gasping for breath. Neither of them are found by the time the sun comes up.

Almost as soon as day breaks, Melissa is awake, and hellbent on getting out of the hospital. She cannot lay here idly by while her four year old son is God knows where with her jackass of an ex-husband.

“I do not care!” she’s shouting at you. She winces is pain, but she doesn’t let the aching in her ribs put out her fire. “We have to find JJ!”

“What we have to do is get you to recount what happened last night, and then I need to find out how I’m supposed to take care of you while you recover,” you tell her as you lay a hand over hers.

“When are they going to get here?!” the redhead shouts.

“Hun, it’s…” you glance over at the clock. “6:45 in the morning. Give it time, and try to get another hour’s sleep, because once we get out, you won’t be getting the rest you need to anyway.”

She, in a fit of rage, slams her hand down on the call button on the remote attached to her bed. You close your eyes and take a deep breath at that action- so defiant. You wonder how she’s a second grade teacher sometimes, and this is a prime example.

The nurse comes in, and you just give her a sympathetic look as she’s yelled at in both English and Italian.

When the nurse leaves, somewhat terrified of what she just witnessed, Melissa just taps away on her phone before answering a call.

“Tommy, you better get your ass over here now to take my damned statement before I rip you a new one,” is what she hisses into the phone.

“Mel,” you grumble as you open one eye to look at her sleepily.

She just rolls her eyes and continues on her tirade in her second language. You don’t understand any of the words she’s saying, but you do know that she’s all but threatening this man’s life if he isn’t here in a flash.

And he is. Melissa gives her statement while the doctor comes in and explains to you her recovery plan.

“Three broken ribs is no joke, but there’s also unfortunately not a lot that we can do to help the healing process along,” he sighs as he rubs at the back of his neck. “For the first few days, icing it will help. As ridiculous as it sounds, we usually do recommend a frozen bag of peas because they’re easy to move and manipulate.”

You nod, taking notes on your phone.

“She shouldn’t sit or lay for extended periods of time, sleep sitting upright for the first few days- it’s best for her to keep moving when possible to help her breathe and clear the mucus from her lungs. If she has to cough, she should not suppress it. It will be painful for her, but we do suggest holding a pillow to her chest while she does to help absorb some of the blow. If we can prevent a chest infection, we should. And when her son is located, she should refrain from holding him as much as possible- straining herself is only going to make the recovery time that much longer.”

“How long is recovery time?”

“With the damage he did to her? I’d say four to six weeks, but that would only be if she’s taking care of herself. What does she do for work?”

“She’s a second grade teacher,” you sigh.

The doctor frowns, lines drawn into his forehead. “So I guess I should write her a doctor’s note to excuse her from work for the next few-”

“She’ll never agree to that,” you tell him. “She’s a single mother who is just doing her best to make it all work, and I can guarantee that she will want to leave her kids for that long.”

“If she’s constantly straining herself at work-”

“I can get attempt to get her to agree to teach from her chair,” you argue. “But that’s probably the best I can do.”

“I suppose that will have to do,” the doctor reluctantly agrees.

Meanwhile, JJ has woken up and is in the backseat crying, Joe passed out, who’s to say whether that be from the accident or the alcohol in his system, when a kinder gentleman who occupies the land takes note of the truck on his property. He slowly approaches it, but upon hearing the little boys wails, he picks up his pace, calling for his wife.

The woman runs up alongside of him, also speeding up when she hears the little boys loud cries. They glance into the car, and while the older man clocks the open bottle of vodka right away, the woman’s eyes go right to the little boy cowering in the backseat.

“Oh my god, Jerry,” JJ can hear. He all but curls into the backseat, terrified that whoever this is might take him even further from his momma. The door opens, and the little boy can feel a warm hand on his back- on that reminds him of his nonna’s. “Hi, sweet boy. You’re okay. You’re alright.”

JJ looks up, tears still pouring over his face, a thick trail of snot falling from his nose and into his mouth. “I want Momma!”

“Okay, honey,” the woman says softly. “We’ll get you to your momma. Can you tell me your name?” When he doesn’t respond, she says as gently as she can, “I’m Bev, this is my husband Jerry.”

“JJ,” is all the little boy offers up. She gives her husband a look and mouths, ‘9-1-1’. He trails a little further up the driveway to make the call.

“Is JJ your nickname?” Bev asks him. He nods. “What does it stand for?”

“Joe Jr.”

“And how old are you, sweetheart?”

“Four,” he whimpers out, but he holds up three fingers. The little one uncurls just slightly.

“Can I pick you up?” At JJ’s nod, she smiles softly and lifts him out of the seat. He cries out in pain at his shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispers.

“Daddy pulled my arm,” JJ reveals softly. He lays his head on the woman’s shoulder, hoping to find some warmth and comfort- any warmth and comfort.

Jerry walks back up to the two. “They’ll be here as soon as they can.”

It’s a bit later that the police along with an ambulance show up and speak with the elderly couple and JJ. The older couple insists on riding to the nearest hospital with the little boy and his father.

Upon getting there, they ask the little boy basic questions. 

“What’s your name?… How old are you?… Do you know these people that brought you here?… What happened?”

While all of this is happening, a few others work on Joe- and they find his license. Joseph Schemmenti… that name sounds-

“Is this the man that kidnapped his son after beating the living shit out of his ex-wife?” one of the cop’s eyes go wide.

“Oh my god,” another gasps softly.

“Melissa,” you say softly as you drive the two of you back to your apartment complex.

“I. Am. Fine,” she grits out as she holds an icepack- one from the hospital, to her body. “I don’t even care right now. I just need to find JJ.”

“And we will,” you promise her. “We will find him.”

The redhead in the passenger seat starts to crack as she looks over to you. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

You take a shaky breath at that before uttering the words, “It won’t be.” She can tell that you’re trying to convince yourself just as much as you’re attempting to convince her. 

By the time that they’re able to locate where the little boy is with the elderly couple, JJ’s shoulder has been set into place, they’ve tended to the burns from the seat belt, and Melissa has been contacted.

“Tommy, you better have-”

“We found him and Joe in a small town out by Lancaster,” the officer gets out quickly. “They’re at Lancaster General Hospital.”

The redhead nearly jumps off the couch, and you have to catch her as she stumbles. “Y/N! they have JJ! In Lancaster! We have to-“ she wheezes for breath, gripping at her ribs. “We have to go!”

“That- that’s over an hour away,” you tell her. “You can’t possibly make that trip right now- not in your-”

“We’ll be there,” Melissa says quickly into the phone before hanging up. She’s grabbing her keys and slipping her shoes on before you can get another protest out.

“You are not driving,” you practically rip the keys out of her hand. “And you are not-”

“This is my son we are talking about!” the woman shouts at you. “I do not care!”

Knowing you aren’t going to win this fight, you grab a pillow and guide her out to the car slowly.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[ellieswrldd]

college gf!vi hcs!

college girlfriend vi headcanons (sfw & nsfw below the cut!) a/n: did this with ellie a while ago and now my brain refuses to think of anything other than vi so...

sfw: ✧ college gf!vi who calls you the most ridiculous pet names she can think of just to tease you and catch you offguard "c'mon babycakes," "babycakes? who says that?!" ...but you know you secretly love her dumb nicknames for you ♡ (even when she calls you mamas.) ✧ college gf!vi who will always hug you from behind when she gets the chance ✧ college gf!vi who will walk with you with a thumb in the belt loop of your jeans in public she claims that it's just comfortable but in reality...she does it because it makes it easier to pull you into a kiss ✧ college gf!vi who steals your phone whenever you’re not looking to change your background from the cute picture of her you had to one of her making a silly face just to mess with you ✧ college gf!vi who will shamelessly start doodling on your arm in class if she's bored you'd look down to see what she's drawing and see horrible drawings of the two of you two kissing ✧ college gf!vi who will agree to study sessions in the library to keep you focused, but will stare at you the entire time, a small smirk on her lips as she fiddles with a pen ✧ college gf!vi who loves to sleep in sooo late and you literally have to spam her with texts and calls when you see she isn't in class five minutes early like you always tell her to be ✧ college gf!vi who would prefer to spend her friday nights in your dorm, but will accompany you to any party if you ask because she cannot sit still knowing you're partying alone nsfw:

✧ college gf!vi who will text you as soon as her roommate is out, begging you to come over and help her "relieve some stress" ✧ college gf!vi who is so loud in bed, whether she's the one giving you pleasure or the one receiving (because that girl is a switch at heart) vi is whimpering and moaning your name you worry that she'll bother the people in the dorms next door but they always seem too intimidated by her to say anything ✧ college gf!vi who is always desperate to fuck because both of your schedules are so busy with school and work that she can't control herself around you :( ✧ college gf!vi who will fuck you so hard in the bathroom of a frat house during a party because she's so ticked off by all the looks you're getting in your cute outfit imagine she's got you bent over the sink, facing the mirror while she pounds her strap into you, your slick dripping down your thighs as you near your third orgasm she's whispering incoherently in your ear, gripping so tightly on your hips you're sure there's going to be bruises of her fingers, all while some overplayed party song from the 2000s is blasting throughout the frat house "look at yourself, so fuckin' pretty-" she says in between low groans and directs your gaze to the mirror. "you're m-mine, all mine..." vi would mumble as she rests her head on your shoulder and when you whisper "all yours, vi" in between choked moans, well, she cums so hard she forgets where you are

✧ college gf!vi who offers to help you study for a test you've been stressing over for weeks and says that if you get the right answer, she'll reward you, but if you're wrong, she'll edge you until you have the term engraved in your memory ♡ "sorry, that's not the right answer.." she sighs looking up from the flashcard she was quizzing you with "w-what? i could've sworn that-" "well, it's not what you wrote, so," vi whispers as she runs a finger up your aching slit and tossed the flashcard to the floor you stuttered out a different answer and looked up at her with wide, teary eyes. "please, please let me cum, please..."

despite how much she wants to make you cum, she shakes her head. vi said she was here to help you study, and you got the answer wrong, you wouldn't be allowed to cum until you got it right. "i can't let you cum until you get it right, cupcake, guess again," she mutters and starts rubbing your needy clit again just to stop as soon as she sees you nearing your orgasm :(

tags: @ellabsprincess

[magicalcelestialgem]

The Smiling Critters - CatNap Headcanons & AU info

Heyyy! I have drawn CatNap in my style/AU! I suck at poses still. And following below is some CatNap headcanons/AU info.

A little info before looking at the headcanon and AU info below:

The Smiling Critters are young adults in the AU (currently unnamed). This is CatNap as a young adult (20 years old). Art of him in his younger years will appear later in the future.

The AU will be focused primarily in the cartoon universe, with a few elements from the game.

Because the AU is still in the works, some of these planned infos/headcanons will change.

There will be ships involved, especially CatNap x DogDay.

And that’s it for now! Next would be our favorite sun dog!

Toon/Cardboard CatNap Headcanons (Game)

Headcanon Voice: Benjamin Diskin

Sounds like: Jack from Beastars, Haida from Aggretsuko

Headcanon cardboard cutout lines:

Hey, there! My name is CatNap! Have you been getting enough rest?

Oh. You haven’t? Well, sleep is very important for you!

I can help you go to sleep.

I can even you make your dreams come true!

All you have to do… is follow him…

*soft exhale*

🌙 AU Info 🌙

CatNap and DogDay lived pretty far away from each other when they were young.

CatNap is the quiet and reserved type and rarely talks. But when someone asks or tells him to talk, he talks. He talks a little more when DogDay is with him. He is only more talkative when he’s alone. Example:

🌸 CraftyCorn 🌸: Hey, CatNap! What do you think of my lavender painting?

🌙 CatNap 🌙: *thumbs up* Good.

☀️ DogDay ☀️: Hey, CatNap! How are you doing?

🌙 CatNap 🌙: *tiredly, but still smiling* I’m doing alright, DogDay? And you?

CatNap was DogDay’s very first friend. They met in elementary school. CatNap was a loner and many kids did not want to hang out with him because he was “too creepy.” DogDay was the one who insisted that he will be CatNap’s first friend. Ever since then, the dog and cat have been inseparable.

CatNap and DogDay kept in touch when they were in high school. Unfortunately, the two were in separate high schools, but they never stopped talking to each other. It’s mostly through letters as they did not have phones at the time. 

CatNap slowly began to develop feelings for DogDay throughout his high school years. He gave the dog small hints and signs, but DogDay was so oblivious and dense.

CatNap left with DogDay to their new homes because not only did DogDay request he come with him, but CatNap also felt like he was ready to move out and be on his own. Not to mention weird dreams he had of a voice telling him to go with DogDay.

When DogDay and CatNap went to the mysterious land, they found their new homes. And their new pendents.

After he walked into the mysterious land, CatNap was secretly happy that his new house and DogDay’s new house are close to each other. And also the fact that his house is a cat tree and he is allowed to scratch on it.

Ever since he moved into his new house, he spent most of the day, sleeping in his new comfortable bed.

Every time CatNap visits each one of his friends’ homes and sees where they sleep, he feels tempted to save up all of his money and buy every single one of them a comfortable bed or something that can be like a bed.

CatNap, just like what his bio says, enjoys watching his friends sleep. He makes sure everyone has a good night’s rest. That includes making sure they have a nightmare-free sleep, and as he stays up, he keeps watch over his friends. Protecting them through the night. And when dawn breaks, he turns in for the day.

He loves to knead DogDay’s belly. His fur is so soft and smells of vanilla, he cannot resist making biscuits.

CatNap acts like a cat a lot. He even loafs, sleeps in such strange (yet cute) positions, and even has cat body language (slow blinking at DogDay, tail up to show he’s happy/friendly, dilating white pupils once he spots a perfect target to pounce on). And he can land on his feet.

CatNap likes to sit and sleep in boxes, sit in anything he can fit in, and pretty much sit where he wants. Why? Because he wants to and it’s comfortable.

He even said one time, “If I fits, I sits.”

One time, Bobby BearHug just hugged DogDay while CatNap was nearby. After Bobby let him go and left, CatNap just quietly went to DogDay and rubbed himself against the dog’s side like how a cat rubs itself on things, mixing his lavender scent into DogDay’s vanilla scent.

Add onto the fact that CatNap can smell who hugged/touched who. PickyPiggy is a bit of a tough one since she eats many different foods, even peppermint candies and vanilla dessert. 

Ever since CatNap walked into the land that will soon become his new home and neighborhood, he has been given two breath abilities. One is lavender, but the red gas came as a last resort if someone keeps staying up late, but it also comes out if he has ill intent, negative emotions, or is under stress. Following that is magical powers, since he was chosen to represent the Moon and all of its aspects (Night, Sleep, Dreams, and Darkness).

[wantingsobad]

step on me | l.mh x reader (a)

masterlist

pairing : toxic!lee minho x reader (y/n)

content : angst, incredibly toxic minho, delusional reader, horrible established relationship (DO NOT BE LIKE Y/N PLEASE)

word count : 0.9k

“oh, i think you’re holding the heart of mine

(my heart is yours)

squeeze it apart that’s fine…”

Lee Minho is your first love.

From the day you fell head over heels for him in high school to now, where you sit sobbing on the floor of your disheveled apartment bathroom, finding homage in the crumpled clothes and towels that are scattered along the cold tile flooring.

The fight was almost a week ago.

You can barely even remember what had sparked the downward spiral into screams and tears, but you do remember Minho mentioning how you “never clean and live like a slob.” Clearly, this statement pushed some buttons in you because he knows damn well that you work your ass off every day to get money to help support both of you while also taking classes for school. Yes, Minho also has a tight schedule, but the expectation that you should be cleaning instead of him shoved you over the edge.

Minho hated when you called him out for his mistakes. This was one of those times considering how he called you an “ignorant bitch” who “doesn’t deserve the time of day” as he grabbed anything he pictured to be of importance, shoving it all into a backpack. At this point, you had already been crying, upset by Minho’s reaction, as if you never expected this to be his response.

This was normal for you two. Minho would bitch about something, you would stand up for yourself, and he would leave. It was a routine at this point.

Minho had gathered his things and left the shared apartment, leaving you alone to sulk and cry for the next week.

The thing about this routine is that Minho always comes back.

Your phone now buzzes from where it is sat up on the bathroom counter. You really should not check it, but the itching hope that it’s him cannot be easily overpowered.

The screen is too bright for this dark bathroom, hurting your eyes for a moment before adjusting and reading the notification.

min min : let me back in, i left my key here before.

You practically scoff at his words, feeling completely defeated by his lack of apologies or even care for your feelings. It’s been a week and this is all he has to say?

You shuffle out of the bathroom, not really understanding why you are even giving him another chance to come back.

The door swings open and you freeze.

He looks…. okay. Not a single flaw is able to be seen in his appearance, leading anyone to think that he had no issues in his life right now. This is in wild contrast to you, who had fallen apart without Minho this last week, with his old t-shirt, boxer shorts, and a raggedy bun that sat atop your head.

You can feel the judgment in his stares as he gives your broken appearance a quick look before pushing by a little harshly to get inside of the apartment, not muttering a single word.

Just like the routine.

You knew what would come next, and some would think that you should know better. That you should know that you deserve better.

But when it comes to Minho, you really don’t know any better

A quick glance at the clock up on the wall shows that the time is 2:15 in the morning, and your body suddenly is craving a deep restful sleep.

You pad your way over into to the bedroom, unsure of where Minho went when he came inside. You come to find that he is in the bathroom that is connected to your bedroom, shower running with the overhead light seeping through the bottom of the door into the poorly-lit bedroom.

You take no time to try and change into new clothes for the night, just barely gathering up enough energy to get under the bed sheets and make yourself comfortable, or at least as comfortable as possible with the insistent pain coming from inside of you.

The shower stops and a few moments later, a freshly-washed Minho steps foot into the room, quickly looking at you before heading to the closet to pick out an easy outfit, showing that he is also heading to bed.

As you watch him rummage through the array of hanging shirts in the closet, you think about all of the pain you have dealt with by being with Minho, with the constant fighting and borderline manipulation from the man you claim to ‘love’.

What even is this ‘love’ anymore?

Does he even see this as ‘love’?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the shift of weight in the bed, redirecting your attention to Minho, who is shuffling around under the covers, leaning over the flip off the dimmed lamp that is next to the bed. Now, the room is in pure darkness and silence, leaving you feeling almost… calm?

Just knowing that he came back has brought you some peace of mind that maybe he does care about you, at least enough to make him stay home.

Minho still has not said a word, but the quick shuffle of him in bed to face your back doesn’t surprise you. You could practically predict what his next move would be.

As if it was clockwork, Minho’s arms come up to wrap around your torso, settling himself in at your backside, as if nothing had ever happened.

You think this may be why you stay. Why you put up with his tantrums.

It’s because it seems like he still cares. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

Clearly, he still loves you, right?

This man may have battered and broken your heart to the point of no return, but at least he attempts to put a bandaid on it for healing.

It all works out okay though, because it’s the thought that counts…

Right, guys?

a/n : ok this one was a little rough for me to think of what to write, but this song kills me everytime i listen to it so i had to share it somehow. toxic minho is such a douchebag smh. hope this is enjoyable and you all had a good day! - eb

[verdemoun]

can I get some timewarp Charles or Dutch? I love your au 😭

cracks every bone in my hands lets fucking gooo

charles blessed and beloved. he died of illness in 1908 but it was so peaceful he died in his sleep in a warm bed and as got sick he accepted it with a very similar flare to hosea talking about bessie where he was quietly hopeful he would get to see arthur again and instead of being jolted to the present like the more violent deaths he just woke up peacefully to an arthur that got to age and looks healthy and is smiling at him so affectionately because he missed him so much

they're in love, your honor

arthur already has his own place (very close to hosea's, of course) so charles immediately moves in with arthur and they fall into domestic bliss without actually having the conversation of 'i know we were close friends and confidants with unaddressed feelings in the past and it's been almost a decade and you had to mourn me but do you want to be my partner for the rest of our natural lives btw i have an adult son'

charles is still awkward though he didn't understand life and people in 1899 sometimes modern era is just too much they'll be grocery shopping and someone will say a new sentence so stupid he has to go sit in the truck and just disengage with society for a while.

he has zero social media presence and cannot handle the constant depression of tv news media. what do you mean people are still fighting over civil rights and racism back in my day you could throw a stick of dynamite at a kkk meeting or shoot a eugenicist in front of the law and no one cared. if he's home alone he's listening to cds on through an actual cd player

charles smith would absolutely fuck with a home depot helping john build beecher's hope awakened something in him. the garage is almost as big as their house on one side you have arthur's eclectic collection of passing interests including the car he's working on and on the other side you have precision organised charles's expanse of every kind of tool you can imagine. hand tools power tools different kinds of wood organized by tree and then grain

he might be a little in love with the customer service guy at the tool shop who is similarly awkward and accidentally blunt with a flat sense of humor. no small talk. just 'this is my project' 'you will need this. this is the brand we're meant to promote but this is just as effective with more attachments and it's cheaper' 'thank you' 'it's literally my job'. sometimes they go to each others workshops to show off their projects he is charles 'doesn't drain my social battery' friend

charles' job title is just 'decent guy with a truck' every construction company in the local area has his number and will send him a text asking him to help out on a job or if they can borrow some obscure power tool only charles smith would have. it suits charles really well because it means he can just turn off his phone and go on a spontaneous three week hunting trip with arthur and isaac without needing to communicate with anyone. people know if you don't hear back within 15 minutes he's turned off his phone and you will hear from him when he gets back from whatever adventure he's gone on with his family find someone else to do the job

for a lot of the gang they almost have to get to know charles again like he became a lot more comfortable with himself as a person between 1899 and 1907 the first time he cracks jokes or acts downright silly they almost don't recognize him. like yass charles be happy.

admittedly he is the guy they call to help build furniture charles doesn't follow ikea instructions he just rocks up with a drill and assembles it the way that makes sense

eliza and charles are besties and arthur lives in constant fear. they go out for coffee and gossip about whatever the latest antic is. she talks to charles honestly more than arthur and takes charles to functions when she needs a plus one because they are both just wallflowers who talk shit about everyone else quietly. isaac sitting patiently in the principal's office having gotten in trouble for something stupid with the most passive aggressive slight smile on his face as he hears charles and eliza pull up (arthur got banned for threatening the principal)

i may need to part 2 this for dutch

[house-on-sand]

trick or treat (fic writer's addition?) Whichever fandom you like!

hii!!!! you're getting two short things, one that's nonfandom & the other is for dc!

this first one is nonfandom! it's from a wip i might never finish & it's about my oc akira disassociating after killing someone (it was self defense). but he really does feel like his entire world is falling apart bc the person he killed had been in control of his life for a long, long time

Time is fragmented. In one moment you’re in her office and the next your two best friends in the world are undressing you, pulling off your bloodstained shirt and tossing it aside. They handle you gently, like it’s you that’s breaking apart and not the very basis of everything. You want to tell them, you want to open your mouth and speak for once but then — Hands in your hair and against the back of your neck, water runs slowly down your shoulders. Your best friend, the only one who knew your secret, works soap into your hair, her touch the most gentle she’s ever been; she doesn’t say anything when you jerk away, a whimper escaping you. You wonder if she knows, if she knows that time is falling apart and it’s all your fault. If she knows what your head is telling you as you sit here, bare in front of the two of them, that it is not their hands on your skin but hers. Your best friend, the one who carried the weight of your shame, takes your hands in his, pressing your foreheads together, not caring about how wet he’s getting. Time is the broken glass on the floor of your best friend’s bathroom after you send your fist through the mirror, desperate to stop seeing your reflection staring back at you.

this is for a dc oc i have! it's from an rp lmao bc i really liked it.

people often asked them if being so caring ever got tiring, as if loving life and extending kindness was some impossible task that weighed heavily on them. they were never sure how to answer, because the part of them that cared too much wanted to lie, to put on that smile they get complimented on so often, and tell them that no, its never exhausting to love the world and the people in it. but the part of them they hide under lighthearted words and pretty grins – all big and bright and showing off their dimples – wants to tell the truth. they want to say that yes, it can be exhausting. yes, it weighs them down. yes, sometimes it is so heavy that they cannot get out of bed, no matter how much anyone tries. they want to explain that sometimes they are gripped with such fear of the world and the people in it that they sit frozen on their bathroom floor, legs drawn up and arms wrapped around themself until they are as small as they can be, their phone in their hand with their messages open, waiting for someone to text back so that they might break free. so they can pick themself up off the tile – that is faded and cracked in places and will never ever be replaced until they move – and go on with their day. instead they say nothing, they’ll smile and move on, offering up a distraction to steer the topic away from them and their fears. it was more important for them to be the person everyone can rely on, than it was for them to open up about their issues. still, despite how exhausted they may be some days, it has never stopped them from reaching out. just like they did for helena each and every time she visited them at the café. she, much like them, hid her true self under a mask – though where their’s was a light in the dark, hers’ was forged from tragedy and designed to protect her from the rest of the world. dove liked to think they could see through that, at least a little.

[belle-of-a-time]

An executive dysfunctionists guide to tricking your body into getting restful sleep:

Turning slow tigers into fast tigers

Old tumblr trick for insomnia/anxiety. Clench your whole body really tight for like 10 seconds to a minute and then relax. Tricks your body into thinking the tigers are gone

Wet box sleeping beauty

This is my personal favorite but it takes some spoons so it’s not always the best

Start at like dinner time: eat food that is safe and happy and valuable, no bird snacks, no snake meals, no girl dinner, eat some high value safe food.

Either change your bedsheets or if you don’t have enough spoons for that lay a spare sheet over your stuff and just change your pillowcases

Fill the tub and take a bath or take a shower if you don’t have a tub

For a shower, make sure you can reach the controls while sitting down, and spend the last rinse of your shower on the floor or in a shower chair if you have one. Try to really connect with your body if you can. When you’re done turn off the shower and let yourself feel how heavy your bones are for a minute. Then get up get ready for bed and beeline don’t rush but try not to get sidetracked, climb in, set your alarm (if you need one), and relax.

For a bath, take your bath like normal until you unplug the tub. Right after you unplug the tub lay back and get comfortable. Make sure your whole back is on the bottom of the tub and don’t move until the water is all gone. And just sit for a minute in touch with your body and the weight of gravity. Then same thing, get ready for bed and beeline to your bed.

A clean bed and a clean body will do wonders for this method and your mental health

Bedtime clock

This one is more about once you’re already in bed

Have an alarm clock that shuts off at a certain time. Mine goes off at 10pm and die come back on until 6am.

If you can’t see what time it is you can’t be anxious about all the sleep you’re missing

If you can’t sleep and it’s distressing you, get up and get a glass of water or go to the bathroom and brush your hair or something. Just get up do an activity and then go lay down again.

MythBusters proved that you don’t even actually have to sleep to rest. Just lay down and close your eyes in a quiet dark room and you’ll be way better off than having not rested at all, it’s not a permanent solution but it’s definitely better for you than nothing.

Soothing noises

Rain sounds and white noise etc etc

I personally HATE looped sounds if I can hear where it loops I’ll start counting seconds between each loop so a lot of white noise doesn’t work for me

There are full YouTube channels dedicated to recorded monsoons. My personal favorite is TexasHighDef shout out for real, gets me through every single uncomfortable/loud/new sleeping environment

I fully cannot sleep without my rain sounds anymore so this one is Kind of a double edged sword.

Putting away the evil box

People harp on this one all the time but it works.

Set your alarm for the morning (if you use your phone) and set an alarm for at least half an hour before when you want bedtime to be.

When the bedtime alarm goes off, Turn Off Your Phone. Plug it in do all the things you need to do to get ready for bed and pull out an activity that has no screen. And just hang out until bedtime.

Put away your evil little box and once it’s away don’t pull out a different evil box. If you have a kindle or tablet and you want to read make sure it has a paper white setting. Meaning it’s not glowing.

Try to avoid activities that will suck you in so for me no reading and no starting a new project. I have a blanket that I’ve been working on for over a year now because I usually only get about a row done before I put it down to go to bed.

Bedtime calculator?

I’ve never personally used one but it’s a thing that can Calculate REM cycles and tells you “if you need to wake up at X time then you should aim to go asleep at A,B,C, or D times”

There’s a very old post on tumblr about it that I can’t find and I also can’t find the website so idk but people in the notes of that post were very pro calculator if someone has a link to that feel free to add it.

That’s everything I’ve got, feel free to add anything you think of.

[yakuzacanons]

A little night goblin ask, ya know, for the boys 👀 how would they be with an s/o who is a major and I mean, MAJOR night owl? Maybe borderline insomniac? It's not from anything traumatic (or so they think) but hey, what's the deal?

(pls +thank oh gracious god)

As someone who is awake at almost 5 AM as in hasn't gone to bed yet, I FEEL THIS and yes I can. It won't be caused by anything dramatic, they just be up late. Maybe they gamin, who knows. Headcanons below da cut, mwah. Last one for today, goog nite.

Kazuma Kiryu

He's a morning guy so he tries to get to bed at a reasonable time. At first, he would be concerned for your health and wonder if something is wrong. Once he realizes you are just like THAT, he'll more or less return to normal but it'll take some getting used to for him. You might accidentally wake him up in the middle of the night if you're too noisy and that might startle him at first.

Majima Goro

ALSO a total night owl and will only encourage your bad habits. Total enabler and will use it as an excuse to spend time with you, saying things like "Well, since we're both up, may as well do somethin'!". Once he finds out you stay up late, he will take you out on at least ONE all night bender so watch out.

Akiyama Shun

This chronically sleepy dumb dumb cannot understand how you possibly stay up so late. The man doesn't go 5 hours without taking a nap so he'll totally sit up, yawn and stretch before saying "Ah, you're still up?" before getting up to do whatever he was about to do. You'll likely still be awake when he comes back for his next nap, to which he'll say "You're STILL up?! How??". Honestly he's just fascinated.

Saejima Taiga

He's not a night owl but he can be prone to the occassional night where he can't fall asleep, in which case he will simply join you in whatever you're doing. In these cases, he loves nothing more than to just drink some tea and read a book next to you in silence until the both of you get tired enough to go to sleep. Otherwise, he's unphased and just tells you to make sure you remember to turn off the lights whenever you're done.

Tanimura Masayoshi

Also a night owl but not by choice as sometimes it's just because he's getting dragged into work. In these times, he'll keep you company from afar by checking in on you via text or even dropping a quick phone call if he can. However, if it's an off day, he'll definitely be snoozing. If he's super tired, you being up won't disturb him at all but if it does manage to wake him up, he kind of wakes up as if he was startled by a weird dream and just goes "Huh??"

Ryuji Goda

He doesn't know the meaning of a sleep schedule and just sleeps whenever he feels tired. This means he's sometimes just up with you and sometimes he's in his bed spread out like a starfish going honk schnoo. When he does stay up with you, he usually asks what you want to do. He would definitely ask you what's up the first time he realizes you've stayed up super late but he won't act like something's wrong with you as he trusts you to sleep when you need to like he does.

Nishikiyama Akira

He has a pretty average sleep schedule. Typically, he'll only be up late if he's had a couple drinks too many or by losing track of time at karaoke, in which case you're probably doing the same with him. At home, he's a relatively light sleeper, so if you make a noise that wakes him, he'll kind of roll over and sleepily ask what you're doing without so much as opening his eyes while his blanket is pulled up to his chin.

Mine Yoshitaka

Probably the only one of the boys who's got your insomnia thing beat. Who knows if Mine ever actually sleeps fully, he honestly just naps strategically. Like Akiyama but with a plan this time. You'll find him resting intermittently through the day and night at specific times. If he happens to be awake at the same time as you, he kind of just goes about his business as this was already normal for him. He'll take the time to talk to you and see what you're up to though. Otherwise, Mine is just puttering about his day or night depending on what time it is.

Daigo Dojima

This poor boy is so sleepy exhausted. Running the Tojo Clan is difficult difficult lemon difficult. Doesn't really mind that you're a night owl though as it would take an earthquake or a Tojo Clan emergency to wake him up. Secretly loves falling asleep with his head in your lap while you read a book or tell him about your day. No matter how tired he is, he always manages to wake up before you do. You might stay up later than him but you somehow always get more sleep than he does.

Shinada Tatsuo

This man doesn't know what a schedule is, period. He can barely keep his job together so he just gets sleep when he can. You might catch him bolting upright in bed at 11 PM before he shouts "Ah I forgot to turn that in!" before he hasilty throws on his clothes and shoes before running out the door. Other times, he'll be conked out by 5 PM. It doesn't matter how long he's known you, he'll always be kind of impressed by how late you stay up, although you insist to him that it's really not an impressive thing. Always tells you to make sure you get enough sleep whenever you do decide to go to bed.

[harri-etvane]

In lieu of the next sharing-a-bed chapter, I wrote 1k words of angst instead because I couldn't get this video of Vova at the Kharkiv printing press out of my head.

Let me know what you think? x

For the first time in a long while, Maks isn’t sure what to say; the words he wants to automatically rely on feel trite and useless - 

You’re not okay, are you? I’m sorry. It’s awful. Tomorrow will be better. Let me hold you. I know. I know. You're doing the best you can-

Sometimes, more often now than at the beginning- there is anger, rage; a vicious snarling fury that comes out at night. It’s something he knows how to handle, he knows what to do when there are no other thoughts than revenge like a razorblade; he’ll roll with the punches in the gym at whatever hour, with the barely controlled force that comes and then just as suddenly - goes. He picks Vova up off the mat and holds him quietly as he trembles. This time, he doesn't see the rage come, or go- just the aftermath in all its brittle fragility.

The office is dark now, too dark. The day is at an end and Volodymyr is a silent, faceless figure, bowed beneath the burden he carries, the Ukrainian flag at his back.

“Volodymyr- I think it's-”

“What?”

Volodymyr's rough-edged voice cuts through Maksym like a knife, leaving him flayed open suddenly- a quiet, lone syllable drenched in barely concealed bitterness; what do you want from me now? I have so little left to give.

“Talk to me.”

He doesn't say anything; still staring at his desk. The papers have been filed away, his phone sits silent; there is nothing for him to work at; but he sits, motionless. Maksym bites down on the inside of his cheeks until he can taste blood, his own body aching to reach out, to gather Volodymyr to him and take him away from all this hurt. But he can't. Not yet. Not now. He thinks about the possibility of - one day; of pulling Vova away from this, the moment when he will hand his precious, beloved country to another. He thinks about a quiet, warm cabin in the Carpathian Mountains, or a small, private place by the sea, below the endless blue sky, somewhere he can see his country whole and entire and blossoming. Somewhere he can heal, where he can rest - finally.

But that will come later; Maksym tells himself. It has to. What they have is here and now. He takes a breath in.

“Please. I know today was-”

“Books. Maksym. Children's books-” his voice cracks over the words, one hand clutching hard at the edge of his desk as though if he were to let go, he would shatter irreparably. The pain in his voice runs deeper than water, than blood. His raw, unfettered grief is for more than material as it always is; for the lives lost, the loves fragmented, the families shattered. For the children's books and all they represent - their future as a nation, their hopes for a peaceful and prosperous democracy no longer under the shadow of war. Ukraine's children and all their unchecked, still unrealised promise, waiting to bloom in the sunlight.

“I know.”

The look on Volodymyr's face feels like someone has reached into his chest, pulled out his heart from behind his ribs and crushed it beneath a steel-toed boot. He wishes more than anything he could have been there to try and help somehow; the image of Volodymyr amongst the ruined printing press and damaged books, his face like an open wound will stay with Maksym for a long time. He thinks of the way Vova had folded his arms, gripping onto himself as he listened silently to the manager- another senseless tragedy among hundreds that seem to occur without pause. He doesn't know what to do, what to say to make this hurt lessen somehow.

Vova's quiet inhale is half a sob, some strangled cry from within dragged to the surface and Maks cannot bear it.

“I don't- I don't know how-” 

“I–” the words for a reply are stuck in his throat, lodged there. I know, love. But he doesn't know. 

It is not for want of trying, painfully evident in each quiet attempt Maksym makes to take some of the weight from Volodymyr with varying degrees of success. Sometimes they get little moments together - an hour here or there to read, to drink coffee, to watch the football or listen to the radio. They feel like miniscule victories to be treasured wholeheartedly. Other times, there are days, weeks in between the tiny moments. Countless nights where Maksym places an arm around him and pulls him away from his work at an ungodly hour in the night because he has worked for eighteen, nineteen hours - too exhausted to do anymore. There are weeks on end where he travels through several time zones and speaks myriad languages, until he is too drained to talk, to think, to do anything.

Maksym moves forward and gently turns Vova's chair to face him, placing a hand on his cheek, guiding those dark, tired eyes to meet his, before pulling him to his feet, guiding him to rest against his chest. He swallows hard, but his voice is firm, steady as he speaks, one hand rubbing quiet circles against the knots, the hard grooves of tension in Vova's back

“You're doing everything you can. No-one could ask anything more of you.”

“It's not enough-” Vova’s voice cracks in two again, something desperate about it, agitated.

“It is.”

It has to be - because this country, your most beloved Ukraine; she will swallow you whole if you are not careful and you would let her because you love her; because you would give her anything. You are giving her everything. 

But we cannot lose you. I cannot lose you.

“I promise you. It is.”

In the dark of the office, Maksym feels the weight of Volodymyr in his arms and knows that in the morning, these shadowed minutes of raw, broken misery will be shoved aside in favour of work, of action- always moving forward because if Volodymyr stops, he's never quite sure if he could begin again. But, for now, Maksym can stand here, hold on to him and let the moment pass through them.

[timaeusterrored]

Wip Whenever

Tagged by @peaches-n-screem @katsigian and @kharonion 💕💕💕

Working on a story called Early Morning Kisses. Was making it for someone then got worried it wasn’t good enough, finally decided to pick it back up

Kerry was up first. The night had been filled with tossing and turning and swearing, and he just gave up. When he finally saw the sun, that was his cue to slip out of bed, after one final kiss to V’s forehead. The merc had just shifted a bit and fell back into his deep sleep.

The Rocker rubbed his eyes, aggravated with his lack of sleep as he started on coffee. He thought he was getting better sleeping through the night. He also knew V would notice, and be concerned. And Kerry fucking hated his concern, not that he didn’t appreciate the fact that his partner cared about him, but it felt like Kerry had gone two step forward, and three steps back.

He knew he was overthinking it, V would never think or say that Kerry’s progress didn’t matter, that he had gone backwards. V also had shit nights where he tossed and turned in a huff then got up to go smoke. Kerry would usually join him, because when V didn’t sleep, Kerry didn’t either. He didn’t expect it to go both ways though, V needed sleep.

He didn’t even hear V coming down the stairs, too lost in his mind to notice. He felt hands slide over his hips and lock together in front of his stomach. Kerry almost immediately melted back into him, resting his head back on his shoulder. The thoughts had melted away with V’s warmth around him. It never ceased to amaze him how much he had grown to truly love this man.

College Au, obviously 💕

“I got Fox and Smidt first period, uh… actually I really need to go. I’m gonna be late- I love you too, mama- Yes I’ve eaten- she has- Mom!”

Vincent loved his mother, but she worried too much. And River had been honking for the better part of ten minutes, with Mike blowing up his phone. He knew! Trust him, he was well aware of the time! Them honking and texting him wasn’t going to make Guadalupe let him go any faster. It was a mother’s duty to make her child late.

“I CANNOT BE LATE TO VIKT’S CLASS AGAIN BECAUSE OF YOUR DUMBASS NOW GET IN HERE!” Mike’s whole upper body was basically out the window of River’s truck. It had been about a week since their run in with Vincent’s ex and both Mike and Vincent’s faces had healed quite nicely. Thanks to Vik’s magic of course.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’! You wanna tell my mother to not call me before class then be my guest!” Vincent had to squish himself into the back, his own bag and Judy’s in between the two. Mike got special treatment because he was River’s gay awakening despite the constant denial. Vincent had bets going with Panam and Aaron about it.

And some mini things: Vax losing his shit and Vampire Au

Vampire Au:

“I see…”

A vampire stood at the window, hands tucked in his pockets.

“That’s an issue.”

He turned, sitting on the two couches was a young vampire, rubbing his thighs with his palms. His nerves were obvious, and a sign of fear. Fear that could not be left to fester any longer.

Vax losing it:

Vax had always been a shadow. Willingly so, he didn’t mind being Jackie’s shadow back in their merc days, or the few months he was Kerry’s shadow. The difference was he was never in someone’s shadow.

Tagging: @moderndaycirce @vincentmatthews @elvenbeard @wilxfyre @theviridianbunny @vince-linder