#There were cubicles and then a row of sinks

[suchathrilltobeagirl]

From my FIRST Book(!), 'Night and Day' ...

My First Date with a Guy - Part Four

As we neared the door to his office, I could see our reflection in the glass; I still couldn't believe that I was with a guy and that I was his girl! Harry unlocked the doors and we made it over to an elevator. The elevator was brightly lit and had a mirror in it. As the doors swung open, as had happened in my driveway earlier, I was bathed in light and I became very conscious of how short my dress was! But I was with Harry, I still found it hard to believe we were doing this and that he wasn't running away!

We took the elevator up (can't remember how many floors, I was in a daze) and the familiar 'ping' and the doors opening announced our arrival. I stepped out and found myself in a large, open-plan office. Again, this was well lit, and again, I was conscious of how I looked. Harry led me towards a conference room and asked me if I wanted something to drink. I asked him if I could have a coffee and, wanting to look my best for him, I asked him if there was a bathroom nearby. Harry escorted me to the ladies' bathroom.

The LADIES! Wow, this was a new experience for me. I had never been in a ladies bathroom before but this one was all that I had imagined. Unlike the 'gents', this bathroom was clean, the air smelled of perfume. There were no urinals, of course, only cubicles. Across from the cubicles was a row of sinks behind which was a huge mirror with lights above it and to the side. By the door there was a full-length mirror, with similar-sized mirrors on each side. I could see myself from the front and from each side; instinctively I pulled my tummy in! I had worn knee-length boots for my journey down in the car. I did this in case I had to get out and walk anywhere.

Generally speaking, girls don't wear high-heeled shoes and short skirts unless they are 'out on the town’. Hard as it is, I always want to 'blend' and not draw attention to myself. I have observed that, generally speaking, if a girl wears a short skirt, she will either wear boots or some very thick tights. I had no intention of wearing thick tights with Harry! So my first task was to change out of my boots and into my strappy high-heeled shoes.

As I pulled my knee up to unzip my first boot, I suddenly realized that, at the other end of the bathroom, there was a window looking out onto other buildings. I was well lit and it was clear that there were people in these other buildings, so I was very visible. I would put a show on for them! I removed my boots and put on my heels. My legs felt bare but I was wearing 7-denier, sheer/shiny tights; I felt vulnerable again and I liked it. Now I did look the part! I examined my makeup in the mirror, touched up my mascara and lip-gloss, and flicked my fingers through my hair. I was ready for Harry.

TO BE CONTINUED

Katie xxx

[chaotic-on-main]

Summer Event! 💕

Matcha Green Tea Ice Cream,

Kitchen Sink option but make it a surprise!

Thank you for being so understanding & sweet, I get really anxious if you can't tell haha. You're a dear💕✨

Order up!! One matcha green tea cone with everything but the kitchen sink for Eri!!

Sky's Summer and 250 Follower Event!

☾ Pairings ➼ janitor!Levi Ackerman x fem!people-pleaser!Reader

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ modernAU, meet-cute(kinda?), familial trauma, hurt/comfort, fluff, accidental therapy (for me), corporate ick

☾ Author's Note ➼ Hi Eri!! Thank you so much for sending this request in. I was a little worried with the whole "make it a surprise" because I struggle with lack of structure BUT I'm so proud of how this came out. I couldn't stop writing, as you can see. This might be a little self-indulgent and I hope I got the emotions right since I struggle with them. I just want Levi to call me out on my shit, okay?? Anyways, I hope you enjoy!! love you k bye *smooches*

☾ Word Count ➼ ~7.6k (oops)

“Hi, you’re the new hire right? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Carol from a few rows down. Listen, I hate to do this to you since you’re so new but you’re the only one I can ask. Would you be able to do the data entry on the Sina job? I can’t stay past closing tonight due to my set plans and unfortunately it’s due tomorrow morning. Could you help me out? I’ll pay you back!”

The voice of your overly excited brunette coworker reverberates through your skull as you type away at your desk, the bright light of your monitor biting at your eyes just like the migraine you feel in the back of your head. You had a feeling that this is not the first time the people in the office have picked on the newcomers, and you bet it wouldn’t be the last. You chalk it up the fact that you were still in the office past seven in the evening doing someone else’s work because they dropped the stack of papers on your desk before you could say anything back, but you knew better. Damn your pathological people pleasing tendencies.

Your chair squeaks as you lean back in it, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose as you sigh heavily. It’s a handful of days into your first week and you’re already daydreaming about your next vacation. An office job was not your first go to, but as all struggling artists do, you needed this job to supplement your income until your art took off – if that ever happened.

Thoughts of how much longer you’d have to be here swirl through your mind when you’re interrupted by a loud thunk a few cubicles down. It startles you so much that you jump up as your eyes shoot open, hand over your heart in an attempt to calm it. You weren’t aware of anyone else in the building so you can’t help but think there might be a mass murderer just feet away from you. Steeling your resolve, you push yourself up from your chair and carefully peek over the half wall to see what had made that noise.

At first you don’t see anything as your eyes adjust from seeing nothing to the semi-lit office floor from the setting sun and dimmed overheads. Down the row, you see the back of a man in what you assume to be a gray janitor’s suit. An undercut peeks between short raven locks, neck lines sharp giving away to a clean cut. It doesn’t seem like he notices you’re there as his attention is focused on the waste basket in front of him.

You sit back down slowly, heaving a heavy sigh from relief that it was indeed not a mass murderer – well, that you know of. He didn’t seem threatening from far away at least. Your hands hover on the keyboard as you do your best to blink away the tired. Only a few more pages now, you reassure yourself.

An hour later, miraculously you find yourself down to the last page. The miscellaneous words and numbers swim off the page as you force yourself to focus. With the promise of a late night treat, you finally make it down to the last line. Just as you’re about to hit ‘enter’, something kicks the back of your chair causing you to yelp loudly and slam down on the keys harder than you meant.

“What are you still doing here?” A deep voice grumbles from behind you, making your ears twitch at the sudden volume difference. You twist around in your chair to see who the voice belongs to and you’re surprised to see it coming from the janitor you saw earlier. What’s even more surprising is how young he looks, and handsome to boot - despite the look he’s giving you. Stark gray-blue lidded eyes stare down at you as he scowls, eyebrows pinched together. He doesn’t look pleased.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m working on some…” Your voice falters when his expression turns into annoyance.

“You’re in my way.” He simply states as he leans against a vacuum you only now notice sitting under his arm. Was your focus so strong that you completely missed the sounds of him cleaning around you?

“Oh, uh. Yeah, let me get out of your way then.” You say timidly, pushing yourself out of the chair. You’re face to face with him at standing height, even in your work heels. This was a very intimidating man despite his short stature.

“I’m not going to clean with you breathing down my neck.” He grumbles, eyes narrowing at you like you asked him the most offensive question known to man. Your lips part as you struggle to find your words, but nothing comes out as you find yourself low-key panicking.

“I c-can just-”

“Just finish what you’re working on, I’ll just come back.” He rolls his eyes before walking away, leaving you and the vacuum illuminated by your computer screen. You ball your hands in fists to keep them from shaking.

Exhaling a weak breath, you sit back down and force yourself to focus on the last line of data instead of the glowering expression of your office’s janitor.

.

You slam your forehead into the vinyl coating of your desk, not hard enough to leave a bruise but enough to hear the echoes of contact through the whole floor. It’s nearing seven at night again and you’re still in office catching up on yet another coworker’s workload.

When they asked what plans you had tonight, you didn’t think that saying you were going home to watch TV would bite you in the ass. If you were completely honest, you had quietly hoped they might be asking if you wanted to go out for drinks with them. After all, they were the only ones that had really talked to you in the past few weeks but you’re starting to wonder if they were just trying to butter you up to get you to say yes to their requests.

Who were you kidding though, you would have said yes anyways because the word ‘no’ didn’t exist in your vocabulary. You wish you weren’t so aware of that fact because not only are you stressed out, you’re full of self loathing. A groan escapes your lips.

“Still doing other people’s work?” You hear a familiar voice grumble from behind.

After lifting your head up from the cool desk, you swivel around in your chair to see the janitor – this time in dark blue. A white handkerchief wraps around his face, covering his mouth and nose so that all you see are his tired eyes. A same-colored bandana adorns his head with some of his bangs falling into his eyes. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from asking what the point of the bandana was if it didn’t keep his hair out of his face.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, partly from not using it for so long but also because of the steady unfriendly feeling radiating off him. He raises an eyebrow at you as you stare up at him almost dumbfounded.

“I- who said I was doing other people’s work?” You finally make out, voice trembling.

“You’re new, right? The office goons do that to every newbie that comes in.” He folds his arms over his chest and you see that his sleeves are rolled up to show his toned forearms, muscles popping up from the position they’re in. Your eyes flicker back up to his, blinking slowly.

“I’m sure but they needed the help, so...”

“Because they would rather slack off than do any work. They’re taking advantage of you and you’re falling for it? You’re an adult, right?” There isn’t malice in his words but they still sting.

“Of course I am! I work here, don’t I?” Your eyes widen in emphasis, sweeping your hands around you.

“Tch, that doesn’t make you an adult. I’ve been here for years and I’ve seen my fair share of children.” His scowl reappears at those words. You’ve never met someone so grumpy.

You close your mouth at that, not sure what else to say. He clicks his tongue and flips a small towel over his shoulder. Turning on his heel, he sets off down the aisle without another word, the sounds of his heavy boots getting quieter.

You don’t get done until 10:30 that night. On your way out, you pass by the janitor who was currently on the inside of the board meeting glass walls, wiping them down with what you suppose is glass cleaner. His eyes meet yours as you walk by and you offer a small wave and smile even though his short words still sting. You think he’s going to ignore you but instead, he gives you a curt nod.

.

The janitor’s words swim through your mind the next time you’re asked to stay behind to help out. You spent the last couple of weeks doing your best practicing in the shower on setting boundaries with your coworkers but when the person who came to you next was your supervisor, how could you say no.

You were in the middle of packing your bag while lost in thought of your weekend plans when she came to you. You’re thinking you might stop by the evening market by the river before heading home with some food from the local vendors when a finger taps on your shoulder followed by your name coming out in a honey-laced voice.

“Hey, I just wanted to stop by and commend you on being such a team player in the last month. It’s something we find rare in someone as young as you and of course we’re grateful.” Your red-haired boss beams down at you while she talks. The feeling of ice pricks in your veins at what you know was coming next.

“I’m really sorry to come to you so last minute and on a Friday no less, but because of your wonderful work ethic, you’re the only one I can trust to complete The Warrior Project. It’s been extremely slow going and we need it done by Monday. Do you think you can stay behind and help us out?” She offers you an apologetic smile, eyes boring into yours with sincerity.

You wished you could have said no but the words died before they made it out of your mouth, instead agreeing meekly with a fake smile.

So now here you sit at your desk with the dying rays of light rising higher against the back walls as the sun sets, fingers flying across the keyboard. You suppose you’ll have to stop by the late night convenience store on the way home for some dinner; your face scrunches up at the thought of your very limited choices.

“If you type any harder, you’ll break it.” You don’t bother to turn around at the voice, knowing damn well who it was.

“I’m sure they’ll get me another one. They need me to finish this, after all.” You mutter the last part under your breath. The smell of something sweet and tangy hits your nose and on contact, your stomach rumbles loudly.

Swiveling in your chair, you’re met with the janitor who’s simultaneously holding a feather duster as well as a bag of what looks like Chinese take-out. Your eyes widen at the sight, bouncing back and forth between the objects in his hand.

“Are you here to eat or dust?” You ask, finally looking up to his face. There’s no expression on his pretty face. You still haven’t gotten over how stunning he was, with his pointed nose and pouty bottom lip. Today he has his janitor uniform half on, the sleeves of the suit tied around his waist so that it’s only pants. Tucked in is a black t-shirt that shows more of his muscular arms. He’s not ripped by any means but it’s very obvious he exercises on his time off.

“I’m here to dust. This is for you to eat.” He says dryly, shoving the bag in your direction. Once again, you find your words stolen as you stare at the brown paper bag that sits curled in his pale fingers. Your eyes shift back and forth between his face and the food.

“F-for me? Why?”

“Whenever I see you here late, you never eat. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I eat when I get home.” You retort back softly. A late night meal for you consists of a single serving bag of chips and whatever looked edible at the convenience store – but you wouldn’t tell him that.

“Just eat it.” He pushes it forward to you again, the warm smells of food wafting past your nose. It smelled like heaven.

“I- no. I can’t take that, it’s yours!” You wave your hands in front of your chest in a dismissive manner. A dark eyebrow shoots up his face.

“So she can say no.” He reaches over you and places the paper bag down on your desk. Along with the smells of delicious food, the scent of clean laundry and musky pine tickles your nose. It’s a very pleasant combination, and one you were not expecting. “Eat it, throw it away, I don’t care.” He says casually before turning around and walking off. Your hand reaches out in an attempt to stop him, but he’s long gone.

Twisting your chair around, you eye the paper bag for a moment before finally caving. Your stomach is about to eat itself and he had paid for it, so you don’t want to waste it. Why he would care enough about you to order food is a mystery, though.

Upon opening the contents, you’re greeted with a small foil dish with a plastic covering holding what you believe is orange chicken. A little white box off to the side contains sticky rice and in the little plastic package next to it holds some spring rolls – all still steaming hot and smelling wonderful.

You spend the next half hour scarfing down your dinner while thinking about how you’d pay the janitor back. The flush that started creeping up your cheeks at the end of your encounter with him stays even when you go to bed late that night.

.

The week after, you intentionally slow down on your daily work so that you had a reason to stay late and finish it. But much to your dismay, you don’t see the janitor anywhere. You’d leave each night a little embarrassed at yourself for being so excited for someone you’ve talked to a handful of times, but to your benefit you had a reason for your madness.

Finally, you gather enough courage to peep your head over your half-wall and grab your coworker’s attention – whose attention was on a mobile game in his hands and not on the spreadsheets in front of his face.

“Ryan?” You whisper-shout down. Your brunette coworker’s eyes shoot up to yours, almost in a panic.

“What? Is the boss lady making her rounds?” He asks back. You sweep your eyes around the office floor and finally find your supervisor who was currently in a meeting with other board members.

“She’s busy, you’re fine. I actually had a question?” You didn’t realize how soft you were speaking until he stood up to meet you, towering a good foot above you with his ear down to you.

“What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you knew when the janitor might be back? I haven’t seen him in a few days.” You subconsciously start picking at your nails – a nervous habit.

Ryan stares at you as he processes your words before throwing his head back in bellowing laughter. You’re quick to shush him and duck your head down from the glares aimed your way at such a loud disturbance.

“Not so loud!!” You whisper-shout again.

“I’m sorry, I’m just curious why you want to know? He doesn’t like anyone, and no one likes him.” He shrugs his shoulders. You so badly want to tell him to shut up and that you like him, but instead you settle on trying to get him to answer your question.

“Well, what’s his schedule?” You narrow your eyes in hopes of getting the message across that you were serious.

“Well, that’s the thing, he’s always working. Sometimes even on the weekends. From what I heard, his cleaning routes are the same every week. He doesn’t get to our floor until late in the week. He has a thing for cleaning, so I heard, and that’s why there’s only one janitor contracted. He’s so weird.” Ryan rolls his eyes as he rests his chin against the top of the wall.

“What’s his name?”

“Why do you care so much about the janitor?” It’s Ryan’s turn to narrow his eyes to you. You’re asking too many questions and he’s getting far too nosy about your business. It’s best to retreat for now.

“Uh, it’s nothing. Thank you.” You squeak before plopping yourself down at your chair and pretending to click around on your word documents until you no longer feel the pierce of your coworker’s stare.

So he’s always here, you think. You’re just missing him on your way down. You bite back a smile as you glance down to the clock at the bottom corner of your screen. The time reads 4:37pm and it’s a Thursday which meant that he would be around your floor this evening. Perfect. Your eyes sweep over to your bag in your excitement.

In the time it takes for you to wait for the gray-blue eyed janitor, you’ve finished half of the next day’s work. A part of you starts to wonder if he isn’t coming tonight, that it may be tomorrow instead, and weirdly you find yourself hoping one of your coworkers would ask you to help them out again so that you had a reason to stay.

“That’s so stupid.” You say out loud as you stir sugar into the black tea you had spent the last 5 minutes steeping. You’re standing in the office break room, lost in thought.

“I’m sure the mug doesn’t feel that way.” That voice makes your heart flutter, and you bite back the smile that threatens to curve into your face. Instead, you pinch your lips together and turn around.

The janitor is there alright, uniform zipped up tight as he holds a spray bottle and a rag. He’s leaning against the doorframe of the break room, arms folded across his chest. His black hair falls into his face, almost kissing the corners of his heavy-lidded eyes as they watch you intently.

“Ah, there you are!” You exclaim, pointing your spoon at him.

“Here I am.”

“I have something to give you as payback for dinner last week.” You muse, grinning at him. His eyes widened briefly before going back to normal.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I’m grateful for it, dummy.” Carefully, you place your spoon next to your mug and walk towards him until you’re face to face. It takes him a moment to realize you were waiting for him to move, and carefully he backs away so that you have room to escape.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” You order before dashing off to your cubicle.

When you come back with the gift in hand, you see that the janitor hadn’t moved an inch. His intimidating eyes follow you as you stop in front of him, slightly breathless from speed walking back. An eyebrow raises at you as he waits for you to catch your breath.

“I-ah. Okay. So. I made these for you. I ended up having to make a fresh batch because I didn’t see you for a bit and I didn’t want to feed you stale cookies so. Anyways, here. Thank you for feeding me last week.” You beam up at him as you hold your hands out to show him your gift.

It’s a small plastic bag wrapped with a pastel bow. The contents of the bag include bite sized cookies that you spent all last night remaking in hopes you would see him again. They’re pale yellow in color, dusted with a light coat of cane sugar. His eyes widen again at your gesture, this time staying big as they stare at the bag in your hand like its gold.

“You… made these for me?” His voice is low.

“I did! I don’t know if you like sweets but these are my mother’s recipe and her cookies were never that sweet. Pretty much the sweetness comes from the sugar on top. The rest are just buttery goodness.” You gush as you stare off in thought, the happy memories of your mom making these cookies for you flooding your brain.

When your eyes fall back to the raven-haired man, you’re almost tempted to run away in embarrassment. His neutral expression stares back at you and you take a small step back.

“I’m sorry, this is probably weird. You don’t have to take them actually. In fact, I’ll just le-“

“No, you’re fine. I uh, I appreciate it.” He quickly reaches out and grabs the bag, the sound of crinkling plastic taking up space in the nearly empty mess room. You offer him a small smile, grateful that he accepted the gift. His eyes trail past you and onto the kitchen counter behind you. He purses his lips as he thinks but finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Pour that disgusting excuse for a tea out and follow me. Bring the mug.” He says tersely before turning on his heels and out the door. You blink hard a few times as your brain processes his words but quickly you find yourself dumping out the tea and chasing after him down the cubicle aisles.

Soon, you’re sitting on the ground with the janitor as he pours steaming amber liquid from the thermos he pulled out of his cleaning cart just mere moments ago. It splashes into the bottom of your mug and fills it quickly, then he hands it over to you as he starts speaking.

“So are you a workaholic or…” He gives you a side eye.

“I should be asking you that. I’ve been told you work practically every day, even on weekends.” You hold the mug by the handle as you stare down into the cup. “Is this…?”

“It’s tea and no I didn’t poison it.”

“What was wrong with the tea I had?”

“Stale tea leaves don’t make for a good cup of tea.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No, I’m not a workaholic. I like to clean, and I get paid for it. Plus, I’m left alone. Usually.” He grumbles the last part, but you don’t detect any hostility in his voice.

“Well, I’m not either. A-a workaholic, I mean.”

“No, I suppose not. Just a people pleaser then?” His statement makes you splutter on the tea you had just sipped on. Despite it going almost everywhere, the bitter taste of the dark leaves bite at your taste buds. It’s unsweetened and you can’t keep the slight look of distaste off your face. Luckily, it’s covered up by the glare you shoot his way.

You don’t say anything back at that, knowing any denial would have been a lie but you didn’t want to confirm it either. However, you can’t hold back the annoyance that simmers in your chest at such a presumptuous statement, from someone you hardly know, no less.

“Beats being disliked by everyone.” You mutter finally, setting your mug on the floor next to you. Your eyes drift to the floor-to-ceiling window you were both sitting in front of. The last dreg of golden sunlight warms your face as you stare out into the bustling city as they prepare for the evening.

“You say that like it should bother me.”

“Shouldn’t it though?”

“Why would it?”

“Don’t you want people to like you?” You whisper softly, dragging your gaze over to his face. There’s no readable expression on his face as he sips his tea out of the top of his thermos lid. He’s holding it in a way you’ve never seen before – long fingers gripping the metal from the top rim and tilting it back into his mouth.

“I don’t give a shit if they like me or not.” He says finally as he gives you a side eye.

You’re not sure if your surprise at his callous attitude is warranted or not. Your interactions with him have been few and far in between but that night he got you dinner, you thought maybe he was a little more caring than that.

“Why do you care if people like you anyway?” He leans back on a hand, his other cradling his cup.

“I just- well. I don’t know.” You say simply. You do know.

“I read this thing about people-pleasers. It said that they’re great manipulators. They bend and break just so that others tolerate and like them, pretending to be something they’re not. Are you trying to get something out of it?”

Your eyes snap to his, feeling the heat behind your stare at his insinuation. Where did he get off calling you a manipulator? A pretender? Despite the subtle rage dancing in your eyes, you give him a smile and push yourself off the ground, grabbing your mug on your way up.

“Thank you for the tea. I really must be going now.” You say politely, voice coming out higher than you meant.

“Tch.” Is all you get back.

With that, you turn on your heel and head back to the break room to pour your tea out and rinse the mug, leaving it out on the rack to dry. You’re quick to gather your things before practically running down the aisles to the elevator, down to the front door, and towards home. A lump in your throat stays even after your shower and still when you lie down for the night.

.

After your last encounter with the janitor, you find that you’re rushing home as soon as you can. You aren’t necessarily mad at him for telling you a hard truth, but the rumination of having someone being annoyed at you doesn’t go away.

Your evasive tactics work for a while. Your office was in between projects and jobs so no one had come to you for help for anything. But of course that didn’t stay that way for long and your luck would run out as it always had as the quarter was about to close. Your supervisor came to you early on a rainy Tuesday morning to tell you that some freak accident had happened to the last reports which made the data you spent days organizing completely disappear.

You don’t know what was more frustrating: the fact that your hard work from the last week had completely vanished or the fact that no one in the office offered to give a helping hand when you needed it the most.

Your supervisor apologized and said the entries needed to be done by the next morning so they could be submitted in time for the quarter review. With a forced smile and false-positive voice, you agreed and got started on it right away.

This was about 12 hours ago.

The only thing that brings you solace is the knowledge that the janitor was not due for your floor for a couple days so at least you could work on it without worrying about running into him. And thankfully for you since you were semi-prepared for being held back, you ordered pizza for dinner before the front doors locked for the evening.

For some reason, you find yourself sitting on the floor in the same spot you had shared bitter tea with the janitor. You’re lying on your back with your phone hovering as you scroll on it mindlessly, a more than half filled pizza box next to you with the lid propped open slightly. There’s a vacation photo that pops up from one of your acquaintances that makes your chest tighten from envy.

“You’re in my way, brat.” A voice from above rings out. It startles you so much that your fingers loosen on your phone, and it comes smacking into your face with a loud slap. Your eyes scrunch shut from the stinging pain radiating from your nose as you groan softly.

You sit up from your position, making sure to grab your phone before it falls on the ground, and turn to narrow your eyes at the perpetually scowling janitor. You hear a subtle pop in your back as you do.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice comes out more accusatory than you meant, and you end up clearing your throat before giving him a forced smile.

“I’m working. That’s more than I can say for you.”

“You’re not supposed to be on this floor today.”

“Says who?” An eyebrow quirks at your statement.

The words die on your tongue because even you knew that one person’s word was not enough to be reliable. You reach over to close the pizza box and gather your things to leave. He doesn’t say anything and only stares while you push yourself up onto your feet.

“I’ll just get out of your way, then.” You mumble, bending down to grab the pizza box in one hand and your empty cup in the other. As you brush past him, you can’t help but wonder if he’s still mad at you, though you can’t logically find a reason why he would be mad in the first place. And if he was, then what did you do? These thoughts are jarred as a vibration in your back pocket alerts you to a notification. Upon more buzzes and the start of your soft ringtone, you realize it’s a phone call.

Stepping over to the nearest desk, you set your stuff down and pull out your phone. On the screen is the caller ID for your mom, her faux-happy face staring straight at you as the lights around it pulse. You don’t fight the grimace that etches into your features. Hitting the green button, you regret it immediately.

“Hi mom!” You exclaim, forcing another smile on your lips.

“There you are! I really thought you had died on us.”

“Of course, I’m not dead. Just busy!” You state happily, turning around to face the windows again. A relieved sigh escapes when you notice the janitor is no longer standing where he was.

“You should call us more. You know I was talking to our neighbor about you recently! Remember Donna and her kids? Apparently her youngest just got engaged. And it got me thinking…” Your mother’s words trail off as your eyes glaze over. Your pulse is steadily picking up speed with every word, and you grip the edge of the desk tightly to keep yourself grounded.

“Anyways, both of your sisters are coming to visit with their little families. When are you planning to come by? It would be nice to have everyone home again. Maybe this time with a man on your arm?”

“Oh, I don’t know, mom. I just started here, so getting the time off will be a little hard to do right away. But I will ask my supervisor, and see? I want to see everyone too.” Your voice wavers a little as the muscles in your face start to hurt from your smile.

“Your grandmother is asking about you, you know. I had to come up with some excuse about why you’re so far away, and single no less.”

“I’m working on it. I’ll give her a call soon.” Tears prick in the corners of your eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you are, honey. Oh, your little sister is calling, I need to go. Please call us more!” And just like that, the line goes silent as she hangs up.

“I’ll call tomorrow, I guess.” You whisper down at the blank screen. Setting your phone down, you press the heels of your palms into your eyes to get rid of the wetness that threatens to overflow. You practically feel your heart beating right out of your chest as your mom’s words float around your head.

“I see where it comes from now.” The janitor’s deep voice comes from the right of you. When you pull your hands away to look at him, he’s holding out a steaming mug to you. Hesitantly, you take it. The color of the liquid is lighter in color and smells slightly floral. A mile’s difference from the last thing he shared with you.

“Where what comes from?” You mutter before bringing the cup to your lips. It’s hot but not unbearably so. The taste is gentle and has a touch of sweetness to it. It’s pleasant, and not something you were expecting.

“Your people-pleasing tendencies.” He leans against the half wall next to him as he eyes you.

“Please do enlighten me, as I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” You reply back in a monotone voice. You were tired in more ways than one. Slaving away at this project that you were only 80% done with. Staying late, lack of sleep, and now your mother calling. You were tired and you can’t mask anymore.

“Let me guess.” He raises his hand and taps a finger against his chin in thought. “Middle child. Your parents always apologized for what you lacked. Always felt like you had to put in extra effort to be seen and walking on eggshells so that when you are seen, no one pulls away. You’re starving for real, positive attention.” Again, none of his words come out malicious but they really sting. This man hardly knows you and yet he’s spreading your entire childhood out like it was nothing.

You’re tired.

“Yeah. Exactly that. And it’s infuriating. Not to drag on my sisters because they’re doing their best and they have the same parents I have but it’s like…” You take another sip of the honey liquid before continuing, feeling the heat of not only the tea but also anger burning in your chest. Your eyes drift back to the front window.

“I can’t stop myself from doing above and beyond on the off chance I might be liked and appreciated. I’m putting in all this hard work and still it doesn’t matter. I’m just so tired.”

The sun is all but gone and is replaced by the city lights that illuminate the indigo sky above. The janitor stays quiet through all of this as he takes in your words. You’ve never told anyone any of this before, and part of you feels liberated. The other part feels guilty for putting something so heavy on someone who probably doesn’t even care.

“So, what if it doesn’t matter? Why are you putting so many expectations on yourself? You’re just one person.” He stands up from the wall and walks around it so that he’s face to face with you. His arms are folded across his chest again as he eyes you warily before continuing.

“I spend everyday cleaning after you shits and no one sees that. And yet, what I do matters because otherwise this place would be a shithole. You do not have to bend over backwards so people can see your accomplishments, they still exist whether they see it or not. But, say they approve of your help, then what?”

“What do-” Your fingers grip tight on the handle of your mug.

“They say thank you for doing what they asked you to do, then what? Do you keep up with their demands?”

“If I have to.”

“And what do you gain from that outside of exhaustion?”

You want to lie so bad. You want to say that you get a lot of enjoyment from making others happy. That you gain happiness for making others smile because you did what they ask of you. But you realize that putting yourself out there for the sake of others is wearing you down. And you aren’t actually happy.

“I don’t.” Your voice cracks and when you blink next, your sight is blurry.

“That’s what I’m saying. You bend and you bend for these short bursts of attention but you don’t need it. The only thing that should matter to you is your wellbeing. The rest comes after.” His voice retains the same dryness as it had before, but there’s an unmistaken lilt of tenderness.

You look away from his gaze and wipe the corners of your eyes with the back of your hand as you take a shaky breath.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why do you care so much about me?” You offer him a small smile to hopefully deter any ill will that statement could bring up.

“Tch, don’t get me wrong, you’re still annoying. But, I can’t stand watching people tear themselves down for the sake of others. You’re here to live for yourself, not for them.” His steely eyes roll to the ceiling before landing back on you.

“Right. Well. I’ll keep that in mind.” You smile at him, a genuine one that squeezes your eyes closed. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, even if your words are a little rough.” He huffs at that then nods curtly, tapping his foot on the ground.

“On that note, I need to-“

“Will you stay with me?” Your words come out faster than you can stop yourself. A sudden burst of warmth blooms into your face. “I-I mean, if you want. I just have this pizza left and-“

“Do you want me to stay?” He stares hard at you as he reads your reaction. You have a feeling he’s testing you.

Do you want that?

Yes, you do.

“Please stay?”

He considers you for a moment before relaxing, his arms falling to his sides.

“Okay.”

Once again, you find yourself on the floor with the janitor, knees tucked into your chest as you’re lost in thought. He sits a few feet away, slowly chewing on a just heated up piece of pizza while he stares out into the night. Your eyes never leave his face, watching the way his long eyelashes tickle his cheekbones and the way his hair falls in his face. You notice the dark circles that bruise the underside of his eyes.

“Do you ever take time off?” You ask softly.

“I never needed to.”

“You look really tired.”

“That’s just my face.” You laugh at that and he gives you a side eye. He wasn’t expecting that from you.

“Where would you go if you ever took time off?” You ask despite the fact he might ignore you as he didn’t seem the type to indulge such stupid questions, but he surprises you.

“Home.” He says without skipping a beat.

“Home? Really? Are you not home that often that you miss it more or something?”

“It’s quiet and all of my things are there. Where else would I go?” He stares at you with a perturbed expression. His dry voice adds to his comment and you find it very endearing. You think you see his lip twitch, but it might have been your imagination.

“What about you?”

Leaning back on your hands, you stretch your legs out with a soft groan and stare out the window. By this time, it’s well into 9pm and you still have work to do. But with the janitor staring at you, you find yourself pushing the thought of work away for now.

“Don’t laugh. But I really want to experience a day in that park off of Centennial. I heard it’s really nice in the afternoon because of the trees and little river that cuts through it. I would love to just sit out on a blanket and draw for a bit.” You say wistfully. You can already feel the heat of the sun against your skin.

“You’re an artist?”

“Yeah, struggling and starving as most are. But I draw when I can.”

He hums softly. “That sounds like a good day.” He says, wiping his hands on the towel that was tied to his utility belt around his waist.

You beam over to him at that. You again think to yourself of why people don’t like him. He was blunt and a little tactless, but he was caring and empathetic. Something you wouldn’t see from the outside. You liked him for just being himself with you.

Realization dawns on you at what his words meant earlier. Just being you was enough. You matter.

“Thank you.” You say simply, a toothy grin pointed his way.

.

A month passes and you find yourself steadily settling more into your job. You haven’t seen the janitor much since that one night. When you got home after that conversation, you made a promise you would only do things that you wanted to do for the sake of yourself and not others. The next time your coworker came to you for help, you were able to put your foot down and tell them no. Your voice and hands shook the whole time, but since then you haven’t been bothered. Unfortunately, you helped your supervisor when asked but you are proud of the progress that you made with your boundaries.

And now, here you are on a blanket in Centennial Park on a Thursday, lying on your stomach with your sketchbook propped open in front as you pop grapes into your mouth. There’s dark charcoal smudged along the side of your hands but you can’t find yourself caring as you finish a hooded eye with a flourish. It’s a nice day with a light breeze that helps keep you cool and soft music flows through your ears from your earphones, quiet enough so that you can be aware of your surroundings.

You’ve been at the park for so long that you’re almost done with your drawing and you’re thinking you should have brought a book to read when something kicks your foot. It makes you jump and your head twists behind you to see who or what it was. You assume it’s a child that kicked their ball too far as that happened earlier, but instead you scrunch your eyes to make sense of the figure in front of you.

Your eyes trail up to find it's a man dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt, with a pair of oversized headphones circling his neck and sunglasses covering his eyes. The shades are dark but you can only assume he’s staring down at you. In his hands are two hot to-go cups.

“Can I help you?” You ask up to the mystery man, not hiding the annoyance in your tone.

“So she does take a day off. It’s nice to see you away from the computer screen.” The voice is familiar and you find yourself scrambling up to your feet, staring at him hard. He’s the same height as you and you notice his lips are all too familiar. They’re the same ones belonging to the drawing you just finished.

“You’re the janitor! What are you doing here?” Your annoyance quickly changes into surprise.

“Took the day off and I’m meeting a friend.” He raises one of the cups which you assume must be his friend’s. “And you can just call me Levi, by the way.” He grumbles the last bit. You only now realize you never asked for his name in any of the interactions you’ve had with him. Your face flares in embarrassment.

“I- yeah. I’m sorry, that’s so rude of me to have never asked.” You tell him your name as well but he just nods.

“I know who you are, and it’s fine.” He shrugs, tone dry as ever.

“You know my name? But how?” You don’t remember telling him your name. Nor has he ever been around to hear it be said. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You have a plaque on your desk.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fair.” You run a hand through your hair as you laugh at that. You don’t notice the way his eyes flicker from your sweet face to the sketch behind you on the ground. He huffs softly at that.

“Well, I can’t keep them waiting so. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmurs before turning on his heel in the opposite direction.

“Wait, Levi!” You yell, taking a few steps towards him. His head tilts back in your direction so that you see his blue-gray eyes side-eying you from behind his sunglasses.

“What?”

“Would you like to get some tea with me sometime?” You ask quickly. Your voice wavers slightly with anxiety as you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Are you sure you don’t have other people’s work to complete first?” You laugh at that.

“No. I don’t think that will be a problem.” The sides of his mouth twitches.

“Then sure. Only if you bring your mom’s cookies again.” He raises his cup at you before turning his back to you and walking down the hill.

You sit back down with a grin, staring down at your finished sketch of Levi leaning against the doorframe of the break room.

Doing things for yourself has never felt so good.

I'm adding my taglist to this bc I'm actually quite proud of this one?

-> taglist: @averysmolbear @humanitys-strongest-bamf @youre-ackermine @notgoodforlife @roseofdarknessblog @missamity @levis-squishy-cheeks @icansmellsouls @dkbktk420 @elnyrae @romantichomicide95 @sckerman @secretmoneybearvoid @apolloshaiku @sujiroses @jadam724 @kamyru @highgoon69 @missyasma @nube55 @svftackerman

The link to my taglist is in my pinned post on my blog!!

[fanficsfromyesteryear]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘❜𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄

⟶ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ////////////////////////////////////

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prologue | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 synopsis: there’s a new monster terrorizing the small town of hawkins, indiana, and it’s not one from an alternate dimension. with halloween quickly approaching and everyone’s nerves already on edge, the last thing anybody wants is a prankster serial killer running amuck, but alas, hawkins’s residents aren’t exactly known for getting what they want, are they? warnings: major(??) character death, mentions of animal death, violence, language tag list: @maackiimoo​

         “What are you looking at, creep?” Carol snapped, gaze trained on the hunched figure across the hall.

         Jonathan’s gaze slid from Nancy, just beyond Carol, to the accusatory redhead with furrowed brows. He opened his mouth to stutter out an excuse, but Eddie stopped him.

         “Don’t listen to her,” he muttered, barely paying Carol any mind as he scribbled in an open notebook.

         With a nod, Jonathan pulled another textbook from his locker and shoved it into his bag before focusing on Eddie again. “What’re you working on?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

         “Campaign stuff,” Eddie answered with a shrug, but as Jonathan leaned over for a peek, he angled the paper away. “Top secret campaign stuff.”

         Carol scoffed. “You saw what happened to Billy,” she told Tommy H., who flanked her. “No way he killed himself. Everyone was at that party, too, so it could’ve been anybody, but my money’s on one of them.” Her gaze was still trained on where Eddie and Jonathan were now turning to leave, and Carol moved as if to follow them, but Tommy grabbed her arm.

         “You think they’re cold-blooded killers, and you wanna go start something with them?”

         “Well—”

         “Carol!”

         Y/N and Tina pushed their way past Tommy, Y/N throwing her arm around Carol’s shoulders as they neared. “Meeting in the bathroom,” she announced, already beginning to urge the redhead toward the ladies’ restroom.

         Tommy H. started to trail after them, but Tina interjected, palm to his chest as she nudged him back. “Girls only,” she clarified, grinning mockingly before joining the others as they pushed through the bathroom door.

         Carol stood at the mirror, rifling through her bag on the sink for her Chapstick, while Y/N checked beneath the row of stalls in search of any indication that they weren’t alone. At last, she announced, “It’s clear,” to which Tina smiled and produced a cigarette from her pocket, bringing it up to her lips. Y/N passed her a lighter and entered the nearest cubicle, taking up post against one wall and leaving space for Tina to follow suit.

         “You should really be more careful who your friends are,” Carol said, at last breaking the silence that had settled over them, save for the sound of Tina exhaling a cloud of smoke before giving the cigarette to Y/N.

         It had been the elephant in the room for weeks now, that Y/N had taken a liking to Eddie Munson. Carol and Tina didn’t think he was good enough, but they’d bitten their tongues for her sake—it wasn’t their business what Y/N did when they weren’t around to stop her, but Billy’s death had struck fear and an odd sense of determination into Carol, and the mysterious phone call she’d received was the kick to the pants she needed to meddle in what she considered “problems” that weren’t even hers to solve.

         “What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N asked, peering around the door at Carol’s reflection, the warning glare that Tina sent the redhead going unnoticed. “I’m friends with you—is there something I need to know?”

         “I’m serious, Y/N! You know, I’m surprised you can stand to be around Eddie after what he did to Billy.”

         “Woah! Back up.” Y/N shoved the smoking stick into Tina’s grasp. “Eddie didn’t kill anyone. I was with him, like, all night. Just because someone has different interests than you, doesn’t make them a murderer or give you the right to call them one.”

         “I don’t know,” Carol pressed. “He likes that weird game they’re always talking about in the news. He could be a Satan-worshipper, for all we know—he sure looks like one.”

         Y/N scoffed. “Nancy’s Wheeler’s little brother plays D&D. That doesn’t prove anything.”

         “He’s probably a freakshow, too, then.” Carol heaved a sigh, fingers working to fluff her hair. “Back me up, Tina.”

         Tina had fallen silent for the duration of the exchange and wasn’t looking to get involved now. While she’d agreed with Carol’s points a couple of days ago when they’d first talked about it after Eddie had dropped by her house to pick Y/N up, Carol had no tact. It was one thing to be concerned for a friend but another to point blame and confidently accuse someone of stabbing another classmate to death, and personal biases aside, Tina couldn’t bring herself to do such a thing. As Tina waited for a half-assed excuse for an exit to the conversation—at the very least, a change in topic—to come to mind, she flicked the cigarette into the toilet, foot lifting to press the handle. The water swirling in the bowl reflected her turbulent thoughts, but at Carol’s insistent, “Well?” she started, “I—”

         The door of the stall next to theirs flung open, effectively cutting Tina off before her embarrassment could, and Y/N reached out, grabbing the closure to their own compartment and yanking it closed in the case a teacher had entered their midst.

         “What the hell are you supposed to be?” Carol asked. “You’re a little late—Halloween was last week.”

          Y/N and Tina exchanged a quizzical look, but before they could voice their curiosity, Carol said, “Hey! What are you doing? Get away—” Her angry words fizzled out into a pained screech, though the noise was muffled—by what, the girls didn’t know, and they didn’t dare ask. Instead, they waited with bated breath, hands clasped over their mouths and panic clawing at their throats like a wild beast desperate to break out of its cage as they listened to their companion struggle against her assailant. At last, Carol’s body slumped to the floor with a soft thud, and Y/N and Tina expected to be next, both of them shifting their weight to lean on the door in a poor attempt to keep it bolted shut, but the threat never came.

         Only silence.

         “Are they gone?” Tina whispered, her voice shallow and broken.

         Y/N nodded. “I think so.”

         Timidly, Y/N stepped out of hiding to find that they were alone. Carol laid on the tile, a red puddle oozing out from beneath her limp form. Behind Y/N, Tina’s scream alerted her added presence, but Y/N was hardly able to muster a reaction—all she could do was stare. This wasn’t her first dead body, and at the rate things were going, it probably wouldn’t be her last.

         As Tina ran out into the hallway, calling for help, Y/N ambled along numbly in her wake. Several people rushed past, knocking into her, and she nearly fell if not for the strong hand that reached out to steady her.

         “You okay?” Eddie asked, dark eyes blown wide with concern.

         Y/N shook her head. “Carol—somebody killed her.”

         Eddie’s brow furrowed, and his mouth fell open to speak, but down the hall, Chrissy called Y/N’s name, her words accentuated by frantic footsteps and a bouncing, blonde ponytail. Once she was within reach, Chrissy clutched onto Y/N’s arm, pink fingernails digging into the thick fabric of her sweater’s sleeve. “Let’s get out of here,” Chrissy urged. “This place is giving me the creeps.” Then, sensing she’d interrupted something, she turned to Eddie. “Do you need a ride? I’m sure Jason won’t mind.”

         Jason scoffed as he walked by, clutching Chrissy’s shoulder and tugging her away. “He doesn’t need a ride,” he countered. “I’m sure the Freak can take care of himself.” Jason glanced back to his girlfriend’s prior companion with an impatience in his cold gaze. “Y/N, are you coming?”

         Y/N hesitated, gaze darting between Eddie and the couple. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry. I’ll call you later, okay?” and jogged to catch up with the pair of jocks.

                                           ────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

         The shrill tone of the telephone went unnoticed by most in the room, save for the woman sat at her desk, flipping mindlessly through a magazine. At the first ring, she exhaled, pushed the book aside, and slid her small notepad over into its place, pen already poised in her grip to jot down a message by the time she answered, “Hawkins, P.D.”

         Florence rose to her feet, shuffling around the corner of the table in front of her, and diligently strode down the dimly lit hallway. She paused at the shut door of the Sheriff’s office, knocking once out of forced politeness, then entered without an invitation.

         Jim Hopper’s muddy boots were propped precariously on the corner of his messy desk, chair leaned back as he licked off the donut glaze that had crusted onto the fingertips of his right hand, his left prying open the blinds for a clearer view of the tree line behind the station. He started at the woman’s sudden arrival but gained composure quickly with a dissatisfied grunt. “What is it, Flo?”

         “Carol Perkins is dead.”

         “Shit,” Hopper muttered, righting his seat. He threw back the rest of this morning’s coffee—cold from lack of attention—and stood, grabbing his coat and hat. “Where is she?”

         “They found her over at the school.”

         Hopper burst out of his office with Florence in tow as she returned to her spot in the office. The man threw on his coat as he strode toward the door, drawing the attention of some of the others as they took in his hurried state.

         “Where ya goin’, Chief?” Powell asked, hand slowly creeping toward his hat as an unspoken question of whether or not he should be accompanying Hopper.

         “The high school,” Jim answered. “A student died.”

         “Jesus,” muttered Officer Callahan. “Another suicide?”

         Hopper paused his movements, fingers stalled on the doorknob. “I’m not so sure it is.”

                                          ────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

         “I let it happen.”

         The muted strumming of guitar strings halted as Eddie shifted on the floor to get a better view of Y/N. “What?”

         “Carol,” Y/N explained. “I was there. I heard her getting attacked, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

         Eddie tilted his head, studying her. Y/N was perched at the edge of his bed, her fingers fiddling anxiously with a loose thread at the hem of her sweater. If she didn’t stop, she’d unravel it, but she didn’t appear to care. A deep furrow had taken up residence between her brows and didn’t show any signs of budging, the corners of her mouth turned downward to match. She stared at the space beside Eddie, one of the only bare sections of his wall, as if afraid to meet his eyes, that the information she’d just revealed to him would somehow negatively alter how he viewed her.

         Setting aside his instrument, Eddie hesitantly scooted over until he was sitting crisscross on the carpet in front of Y/N. “It’s not your fault,” he began. “You know, I can’t think of anyone outside of a comic book that would’ve done anything other than what you had. We’re only human, and there’s nothing wrong with being scared.”

         “That’s all I am, though,” Y/N answered, a tearful crack in her words. “Every day now, I’m scared, and I don’t even know what I’m scared of.” She inhaled sharply. “Maybe Carol was right. We shouldn’t be friends.”

         No matter how much Eddie had braced himself to hear Y/N utter that sentence, it hadn’t done anything to soften the blow. He’d allowed himself to become too comfortable, something he’d always been wary of when it came to letting new people into his life, and she’d stolen his breath with a punch to the stomach when he wasn’t looking. No. Eddie had been punched in the stomach before, and this felt worse.

         “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

         Y/N gave a helpless shake of her head, strands of hair catching in the dampness that now coated her reddening cheeks as her sadness overcame her. “I think I’m cursed. Everyone close to me keeps dying, and I can’t—I don’t want you to be next.”

         Eddie’s lips twitched. Oh. “Don’t worry about me,” he assured, risking a timid smile. “I’m tough. I mean, you heard Carver today—I can take care of myself.”

         “You shouldn’t have to.”

         “Well, sweetheart,” Eddie said, “that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He reached up, hand finding purchase on the side of Y/N’s face. His thumb brushed away water droplets as they trailed along her skin, urging her to meet his eyes. “If you’ll let me.”

         “I can’t ask you to do that.”

         “I know.”

         He was going to anyway.

         As the sun sank toward the horizon, the shadows cast through Eddie’s thin curtain grew longer, reaching toward the opposite wall of his room and threatening to creep down the short hallway toward the kitchen. The seemingly endless lull in conversation that had settled over the duo was ended only when Eddie pointed out that it was getting dark. “C’mon, I’ll take you home,” he said.

                                         ────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

         The front door had barely slammed into place when the phone started ringing, its demanding calls bouncing off the walls of the dark, empty house.

         “Jesus Christ,” came an irritated mutter.

         Steve had been with Dustin Henderson for hours of his life that he’d never get back, spent in a vain search for the boy’s supposed cat-eating lizard. He was tired—the teen wanted nothing more than to take a shower, scrub the dirt from his hair and wipe the grime from his face, and crawl into his inviting albeit cold bed.

         “Hello?” Steve asked, pressing the receiver to his cheek.

         “Remember me?”

         “Look, buddy, I don’t have time for your bullshit tonight.” Steve moved the speaker away from his ear, phone angled back toward its cradle, but the voice crackling from the other end was still audible, and what it said stopped him in his tracks.

         “I’ll take that as a yes. It’s a good thing, too, because I haven’t forgotten you. That future deadbeat and the girl were just bumps in the road, but your time will be here soon enough. Better keep that bat handy, Harrington—never know when you might need it. Not that it’ll do you any good, of course. You won’t see me coming, just like poor Barbara in that swimming pool of yours. At least you’ll deserve it.”

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober #30

@lady-jane3 @venusthepirate @lunarpansexual @bratdoll666 @tangerinesgf @white-wolf-buckaroo @zuzusoo @earth-elemental18 @northerngalxy @underratedboogeyman @basementsoup @insanitia @tommysproperty @felhomaly @malar-region​

30) Non Con/Dub Con // Public Sex // Latex (this one is x m!reader, as most of my prompts have been f! or gn! readers!)

He bumps into you on the way into the train. You frown, but he shoots you a look you don’t want to mess with. He has a friend nearby, and the two of them are carrying a third man between them: looks like he’s passed out, probably drunk. 

You ignore them and head to your seat. 

Turns out you’re in the same carriage. Facing opposite the man; a couple of rows back. You don’t want to look at him but curiosity killed the cat. 

Your eyes keep flitting up over your paperback. And he’s watching you. Every time. You feel your body heat up under his gaze, have to shift in your seat. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you. Something… primal. 

You’ve got a situation you need to sort out. 

Quickly, you hurry to one of the smart toilets in the bullet train, half-hard already. Christ you’re pathetic. The man hasn’t even said a word, and here you are, considering knocking one out in the bathroom to calm yourself down. 

You splash water on your face. Breathe. You’re a grown man for fuck’s sake. 

There’s a knock at the door. You furrow your brow. 

“Occupied.”

“I know.”

Oh. Oh. 

You heard his voice earlier, when he and his brother were getting their mate settled. English. And now he’s followed you. To the bathroom. 

Carefully, you slide open the lock and go to look through the gap in the door - but your plans are foiled when he muscles in and slams it behind him. 

The cubicle is small. You’re practically pressed chest to chest with him. 

“What do you want?” you manage. What a stupid question. 

“I think you know the answer to that, handsome,” he says with a grin. The stranger’s mouth crashes on yours, and you open your lips willingly to invite in his tongue. He pushes you up against the tiny sink and you search blindly for his belt, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. 

He’s throbbing when you pull him out. You’re not sure how he’s gotten this hard so quickly. Maybe he’s just as thrilled about the idea of an illicit encounter as you are, because you can feel your own cock straining at its restraints. 

“Good boy,” he says against your lips as you start stroking him, and you almost come from that alone. He works on your fly and pulls you free too, pressing your shaft against his. One of his hands covers yours, forcing you to hold you both together and pump them at once. It’s a struggle, he’s big, and it’s hard to concentrate when he keeps kissing you. 

And fuck, how he kisses you. Tongue, teeth; everything to make it err on the side of vicious. You moan into his mouth as he bites your bottom lip and tugs it out, only letting it spring back into place when you fear he may draw blood. 

His hand is warm and calloused over your own. You can see why he prefers for you to be the one doing the work. Yours is softer, sweeter. He stops your ministrations just long enough to spit on your palm before encouraging you to continue. 

“That’s it, handsome,” the stranger growls into your ear, “like that. Fuck.”

Your strokes get more erratic as you near the edge, and so do his kisses - you come at once over your hand, your spend mixing with his as it drips down your knuckles. 

The two of you take a moment to catch your breath. 

“What’s your name?” you manage. The stranger huffs as he grabs some toilet paper, cleans you both up. 

“Tangerine.”

You think it’s best you bite back your laugh, and don’t ask: “really?”

[fruity-phrog]

Chapter Three - Nancy Here is the post that started it all off, and chapters 1 and 2.

(Yes I know this is the second chapter in a row set in the mall, fight me)

“Hey Nancy, I think I’m gonna go with this.”

I examine the outfit Erica’s found - a wide belt with a shining buckle, a pink short skirt and a off-the-shoulder pink tee. I squeeze her shoulders as we look in the mirror together. “You would look so badass.” I say, and Erica smiles slightly. I know she pretends like she doesn’t care about other opinions, but she does. Luckily, this girl can actually pull off any outfit. 

“Bitchin’.” Eleven confirms from a different aisle, as Max takes another shot at landing a hat on her head - she misses, and it hits another customer. The woman in question stutters indignantly, looking down at Max and her wheelchair with obvious distaste. Max and El watch, stifling giggles.

“Move along, lady.” Robin says, bracing her elbows against the back of the wheelchair, “Just because Max here is infinitely cooler than you doesn’t mean you get to gawk.”

“Yeah, never seen a zombie before?” Max adds, and Eleven sticks her tounge out. The woman turns heel, aghast.

I watch as Robin sticks two middle fingers up to the woman’s retreating back, drawing laughter from the girls. She ruffles Max’s hair.

“You ok, Max?” she asks. Max shrugs.

“I’ve had worse,” she says, “and you were awesome.”

“Why thank you. Now let's get back to what’s important.”

Robin grabs a bowler hat from a nearby shelf and sends it flying like a frisbee, landing nowhere near Eleven’s head. She shrugs and mouths no coordination at me. I chuckle.

“Oh my god,” Erica says from somewhere below me - I’d completely forgotten she was there, “Just kiss her. We wouldn’t care. In fact, I’m praying for it so the mutual pining would stop.”

I flush a deep red, very noticeable in the mirror, as I gape at the girl, “I-We-You-We’re not dating!”

Erica rolls her eyes, adjusting the buckle on her choice belt, “Not yet. But please start soon, this is painful.”

My eyes widen even further, “I-I don’t like Robin, Erica!”

She looks up at me, not impressed, “Who are you trying to convince? I’m not a kid.”

“I know that, but-”

“Nancy, everyone likes the same gender every now and again.”

“Erica, you-”

“Please stop. You’re bad at lying.”

“I’m not gay, Sinclair!”

I wince the second the words leave my mouth. Erica stares, a slight hurt evident in her eyes. What the hell, Wheeler?

“Erica, I-”

“What’s happening?”

Robin bounds over, slinging an arm over my shoulders. I glance at my girlfriend, then at Erica, then back at Robin, then back at Erica. Erica raises a single eyebrow and addresses Robin only when she says, “I’m gonna buy this outfit.”

“Yeah, you’d look great!” Robin encourages as the girl stalks off. Then she looks at me. “What happened?”

“Hang on,” I mutter, then direct my voice to Max and El, goofing off in the Shoe aisle, “Guys?”

They look up.

“Me and Robin are going to the bathroom, ok?” I say, “Don’t hurt anyone, no matter how annoying they are…that’s aimed at both of you, because I don’t know which one is scarier.” Eleven and Max laugh and as I turn, I hear Robin whisper, “Just don’t do any lasting damage, ok?”

“So…?”

Robin leans against a sink, arms crossed but face simply inquisitive. I lean against an opposite cubicle.

“I messed up, Rob.” I say, “It’s just - Erica knows I like you.”

Robin stands up straighter, “As in, she knows we’re dating?”

“Well…no.” I say, “But she’s been watching me watch you for a while now, I think, and she thinks I have a secret crush on you. Apparently, it’s painful watching me pine over you so much.”

Robin laughs, “And that’s with us actually dating? God forbid she was around when you actually had a secret crush on me.” she says.

I don’t laugh, “Yeah, but she pressured me. I lashed out. I kinda snapped, and said I wasn’t gay. And I called her Sinclair instead of Erica, and I hurt her, and she’s only twelve, she was just trying to help in her Erica way, and now she thinks I’m just some homophobic piece of shit-”

“Hey, hey.” Robin tips my head up so I’m looking her in the eyes, “Don’t you dare beat yourself up about this. People do stupid things when they’re threatened. And someone trying to out you? Pretty damn threatening.”

“But she wasn’t trying to out me, Rob.” I moan, “She actually said she wouldn’t care and that everyone likes the same gender every now and again. Robin, I think she’s gay too and now I’ve scared her and she won’t feel safe around me anymore!”

Robin stays silent for a moment, contemplating this. “Nance, I-”

The door opens with a bang, A woman with a platinum perm enters, carrying a neon blue purse. She looks around the same age as my mom, and she watches us with pity. “Break up, sweetheart?”

I smile exasperatedly at her, and she tutts pitifully. The woman walks over to a mirror and, styling her lashes, tells me, “Boys are so horrible these days. But I promise you, you’ll find your guy one day, hun. Don’t lose hope.”

Despite the motherly woman having completely the wrong idea, my heart actually warms that she seems to care about a stranger’s happiness. Robin smiles in a half-disbelieving, half-humbled way.

The woman leaves, muttering about how nice it is, how “that lovely girl’s there for her”, and the knot in my belly resumes its gnawing at my brain. 

“So,” Robin resumes, “you’re scared that Erica was only trying to help and, accidentally or on purpose, outed herself in the process, and you made her feel hurt and that she won’t trust you again?”

“Right on the money with that, Robbie.” I mutter.

“Well…I don’t know how to help you with that.”

I look up in shock, “But you’re my girlfriend!” I whine, “That is not how you’re meant to act!”

Robin shrugs, “You could, A) come out to her, B) let her hate you and feel unsafe around you, or C) implement some awesome Nancy scheme. I suggest you try option C, because I don’t have a Nancy brain and therefore can’t implement a Nancy scheme.”

I sigh, fiddling with the rings on Robin’s fingers, “This is why I love you.” I tell her. She stares at me for a few seconds, in which I realize what I said and gasp.

“I-I-” I stutter, but Robin silences me with a quick kiss.

“I love you too, Nance.” she says, and I forget how crap I’m feeling for a second.

Max tilts slightly as Eleven props up her wheelchair, using her powers to get rid of some gum that’s been sticking up her wheels and slowing her down.

“Ew, gross.” Max laughs, handing El a napkin for the thin trickle of blood reaching her lip. I obsessively stir my drink, staring into the icy contents. Robin sits next to me.

“Talk to her,” she whispers, “Awesome Nancy scheme?”

I sigh and stand up. Erica is sitting alone by the window, staring into space. I sit next to her.

“Hey, Erica.”

“Hi.”

The anger is palpable. I gulp slightly.

“I never meant to snap at you,” I start, “I just felt…put on the spot.”

“Yeah?” Erica says icily, “Well I’m sorry if being gay is so much of an issue for you.” God I hate myself.

“Look, I’m so, so sorry. Ok?”

“Whatever.”

Silence elapses, but I cough, forcing myself to fill it. “Erica, I need you to know I’m not homophobic. I-” I turn to look her in the eye, but I’m thrown when I see they’re tearful. I forget anything else and hug the girl tightly. To my surprise, she reciprocates. We stay like this for a few moments, but I think I need to do this.

“Erica, I snapped because…” I sigh. Honestly, I’ve known I have to say this since Robin first mentioned it, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. Even if it is just for a woke twelve year old girl. “I snapped because it’s true. I do like Robin, I-I’m bisexual, and I’ve gotten so used to hiding it from everyone I forgot that not everyone will take it negatively. I’m really sorry that you got caught in the crossfire.”

Erica sits up, staring into my eyes, hazel to blue. “It’s ok.” she says quietly, “I was being super pushy.”

“That’s just your way.” I say kindly, “The Erica way.” Erica looks down at her hands and I go to stand up, but stay where I am for the time being and place my hand on hers.

“And, Erica?” I say, and she looks up at me, “I’m in no place to put anything on you, but not everyone likes the same gender every now and again.” 

Erica wipes her tears, nodding and smiling slightly. “I know…” she whispers.

“And I’m here.” I tell her, “No matter what. And so is Robin. And Max and Eleven. Us girls need to stick together, right?”

Erica nods. 

“Wanna rejoin the group?”

She shakes her head, “Nah, I’ll…I’ll stay and collect my thoughts for a moment.”

“Got it.”

When I get back to Robin, she takes my hand. “How’d it go?” she asks, and I’m filled with happiness at the simple gesture that she didn’t eavesdrop. I made the right decision loving her. “Yeah, she’s…she’s ok.” I say, still kind of shell-shocked at coming out to someone that wasn’t my girlfriend, “But she still doesn’t know we’re dating. I just said that I have a crush on you.”

Robin beams in a slightly bemused manner, “You didn’t out me? Just yourself?”

“Yeah, that’s the only decent thing to do!” Honestly, I’m surprised she’d expect anything else.

Robin hums for a moment, thinking only thoughts she knows, and examines the cafe. The waiter’s gone to the back and Max and El are preoccupied playing tic-tac-toe. Robin smiles and dips low, kissing me. It’s only for a second and I’m still shocked when I come back up, hair slightly messed up. Robin beams at someone over my shoulder, and I turn to see Erica watching us, her signature eyebrow raised and a large grin cracking across her face.

Tagging @bvleraddict @middle--fingering @remarkablelightening @rel312 @dasnagon @uwujinniee @bethhiraeth @canarygecko. I’ve had “don’t forget to post new chapter” written on my hand for three days, so enjoy.

[vvatchword]

So I had a dream last night that I got a job at Wal-Mart. My cubicle was in the middle of the store, where there was a swamp, for some reason. My desk was a beat-up 40-year-old antique covered in dirt, and there was an old PC on top. I had a partner in my cubicle whose desk was in similar straits. We spent a while setting everything up and just cleaning shit off. The legs of the desk were sinking into the muck of the swamp and I was like, Man, this is bad for the wood. It's gonna swell up. Is it swollen? How could it not be? I need some tile or a plastic 2" folder or something. I'll go talk to whomever is in charge, I guess.

My shift ends and I wave goodbye to my compatriot and slog through the mud to find the exit to the store. (I was dressed in business casual so the shoes weren't appropriate.) I try to swipe my keycard to sign out and it's like, You did not sign in, what are you doing? And the grumpy lady at the exit (customer service was back there as in the old days) says, "You have to fix that on a computer in the back."

Well, I just want to go home. So I was like, I'll fix this tomorrow, I'm covered in mud and I'm tired. So I head for the front door.

I find out that the front door I'm heading for is closed with a detour. I could hop over a small plastic gate through a Subway to go out the door, but I decide that since it's my first day at the job, I should probably go out the designated exit so I don't piss off any higher-ups.

So I follow the stream of coworkers heading out of the store and it turns out the exit is through the deli section and down into a dark, winding warren of tunnels where workers are prepping hanging rows of vegetables. At one point one of them shoots me with water on purpose, then laughs in my face (true Walmart behavior). I follow this shiny path winding through the blackness and it's taking forever. At one point I have to hop over a series of ledges hanging over a rolling river of sewage and one of the ledges gives way and I go straight in.

At first I was like, AAELJLGJL:JAEQ

Then I realized, oh, well, I'm in it now, might as well just get out, I guess. So I swim through the waste toward the shore, which hangs above me about ten to twelve feet. An old coworker named Dana is there and she throws me a rope. I heave myself out. Dana is dressed in business casual too, and I guess she's headed out. I realize I'm missing my keycard and she points to it hanging on the ledge. I'm like thanks man I couldn't get here without you. And she laughs and waves and heads off. I realize she took a route that didn't need to go over a river of sewage and I'm mad about it, like, WHY did I need to hop ledges like Mario?

I manage to head over the same graded bridge as she does--they're building one out of the supermarket for employees to leave--but somehow I get turned around and forced back into the store again to escape and the floor collapses and I ended up falling into ANOTHER pit of sewage, as one does.

I was pretty mad about it and I think I was going to quit, but then I woke up.

Anyway, I feel like this is a pretty good metaphor for the job search, don't you

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Die for you

Pairings | Thomas (tmr) x f!reader

Warnings | smut, swearing, hate sex, death/violence, vaginal fingering, handjob, vaginal sex, slapping (once), degradation (slut)

Word count | 2.5k

Summary | you and Thomas would never die for each other

A/n | the plot is switched up a bit in this

Masterlist

"You just had to come and ruin everything!" You exclaimed, hands balled into fists as you chided Thomas.

You both met in the Scorch. The gladers bumped into you - a lonely immune - whilst they escaped WICKED. Figuring that you'd stand a better chance in a group, you accepted their offer to join them in looking for the safe haven.

It was only once you got to know Thomas, and his irrational behaviour that only ever clashed with your own stubborn mind, that you regretted that decision.

"Oh really? And where would you be without me, huh? Still fighting off those shank cranks I reckon." Thomas glared at you, "you should be thanking me." He added in a mutter.

You scoffed, before saying, "Thanking you? Well that's a load of shit if I've ever heard it."

"Well that's what you should be doing." Thomas stood by his statement and crossed his arms across his chest defensively. You made a sound of anger before storming off.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Minho snickered as you stomped over to where he rested against some empty food crates. "Is it your boyfriend again?" The boy teased.

You smacked his arm. Hard.

"Ow, that hurt." He whined, rubbing the spot you hit, and you rolled your eyes.

"He's not my boyfriend." You scoffed.

"Whatever you say." Minho hummed with an innocent whistle. You groaned and rested your head back against the crate.

"You're insufferable." Minho only chuckled in response.

You both sat in a comfortable silence for a while, heads lolled back against the wooden crate as you picked at your nails and Minho kicked at the tiny rocks and stones littered in the gravel under your feet.

In the week you'd been travelling with the gladers and Jorge and Brenda, you and Minho had grown close due to your similar sense of humour and snarky attitudes that drove everyone else insane.

By the time you two were heading off to find somewhere to sleep in the run-down building you'd all searched, there was no sign of Thomas around.

Signing in relief, you rolled out your coat so it would cushion your body when you slept, and tucked your pack up close so you could use it as a makeshift pillow.

But before you could attempt sleep, you needed to refill your water canteen; you may as well make the most of having an unlimited, running water supply for the next 12 hours.

You stood up, canteen in one hand and torch in the other, before heading out of the main room where the others - Newt, Frypan, Teresa, Jorge, Minho, Brenda - were all setting up their own 'beds' for the night and into the adjoining room; you all assumed it must've been a public bathroom from the rows of sinks and lines of toilet cubicles.

"Night, y/n." Newt mumbled as you passed him, and you tossed him in unconvincing smile.

"Night." You all stopped saying 'good' a day into your time with them, when you all realised that the only good thing that could happen now would be to reach the safe haven, unharmed.

You huffed a heavy breath as you filled the bottle, tapping your foot against the cracked concrete.

"Finally." You muttered under your breath when it was full. You screwed the cap back on after taking a long swig and shut the tap off. "What the fuck, Thomas!" You exclaimed as you turned around, coming face to face with the boy.

"I'm fed up of this." He whispered, eyes searching yours.

"Of what? Can you move? I want to try and get some rest." You dismissed, moving to step around him. He grabbed your arm, keeping you locked in between him and the old sinks.

You gasped sharply as he pressed you against them, your metal canteen slipping from your grasp. It hit the floor with a resounding clank.

"Y/n? Thomas? Are you two okay?" Brenda called from the next room. Thomas gave you a piercing glare that told you he didn't want anyone to walk in on the scene.

"We're fine!" You called, if a little shakily.

"Y/n's water just slipped from her hand, you know how clumsy she is. Get some sleep, Brenda." Thomas added.

"Okay. Night." Brenda's reply came, although you couldn't find yourself looking away from Thomas's raging eyes.

"We need to sort this out, y/n." Thomas stated simply and you sighed in relief.

"We do. It's impacting on the others. Bringing moral down." All facts.

"Exactly. Now, it's not like I'm going to die for you or anything-"

"Definitely not." You nodded in agreement.

"And I absolutely wouldn't hold your hand if you were scared-"

"Or if you were injured."

"Exactly. But, I think we should shuck it out." You were stunned by his words. Sure, he was hot, but did he really want to fuck with all your companions in the next room?

"What's in it for me?" You asked, all business. Thomas huffed a sarcastic chuckle.

"I'll make it worth you while." He murmured, dropping his head to nip at your neck. You held back a breathy moan, fingers wrapping themselves in his brown locks. "What do you say?" He whispered into your ear.

"Just fuck me already." You breathed, ripping his head away from your neck to smash your lips to his. The kiss was bruising, more like teeth clashing together.

His hips canted forwards, pressing you back painfully into the sink. You whined against his mouth and Thomas grinned slyly.

"Shut up." You whispered against his lips and he chuckled.

You nearly squeaked when his hands tugged your trousers down your legs, so that they rested around your thighs. He hoisted you onto the lip of the sink, your legs pushed back to expose yourself to him.

"Little slut." Thomas observed, fingers pushing greedily into your cunt. You cringed at the wet sounds of you sucking his digits back into you with every thrust. "Did arguing make you wet? Or are you always this ready to go?"

"Oh, fuck you." You moaned, rolling your hips up into his touch. You still had your hands in his hair, and Thomas' teeth were clenched at how hard you were tugging.

"I think you'll find it's the other way round, sweetheart." Thomas grumbled into the skin of your chest before he was unbuckling his own jeans and ripping them down his thighs.

He hissed as he hard cock made contact with the cool air, and your hand found itself around him as quick as you could manage.

"Fuck. That's it, right there." Thomas moaned as you flicked your thumb over the tip. He bucked into your hand twice before pulling his fingers from your entrance.

He held them up, as if to observe, then shrugged and wiped them on your cheek to dry them off. You could barely find it in yourself to care at this point.

You lined him up with your core, and as soon as you had, Thomas was pushing forwards with a strained groan. You mouthed curses as he began to grind into you, his cock long enough to brush that spot inside you with every stroke.

It didn't take long for Thomas to start pounding into you, and before long your fingers were playing with your clit in order to pull yourself over the edge.

When you did, Thomas covered your mouth with his in another sloppy kiss, muffling your cried as your hips rutted against his.

He pulled out slowly, and didn't even help you as you sunk to your knees. He started to stroke his cock at the same pace he was fucking you.

His free hand tangled into your hair at the roots, and he pulled your head back so that when he came it coated your mouth and chin in long stripes of sticky white.

"Shuck, that was good." He sighed as he tucked himself back into his trousers.

You stood up on trembling legs and turned around. You used the sink to wash the come from your face before pulling your own jeans back up.

"Night, Teresa-" you eyes widened the second Thomas uttered another girl's name. Sure, you hated him, be he just fucked you and didn't have the decency to even say the right name?

"You asshole." You whisper-yelled, conscious that the others were probably asleep, and raised your hand.

The slap left a red mark on his face and a sound bouncing around the room. All Thomas could do was give you a vulgar gesture before trudging off into the other room.

You sighed, leaning down to pick up your discarded canteen before stumbling back into the other room.

You tried to be quiet as you shuffled around, getting yourself situated on the floor before Minho whispered beside you,

"I'm glad you got that out of your system. It was driving the rest of us nuts." He grinned and you merely scoffed, too tired and creeped out at the fact he knew what you had been doing with Thomas to do anything more.

...

The tears that gathered in your eyes when you realised Minho was captured were the most genuine they'd been in weeks.

You and Newt both screamed for the WICKED guards to let go of him, but they didn't budge. And they were even less inclined to listen when Thomas piped up with his own protests.

"Give him bloody back, you shanks!" Newt was growling, and it was down to your quick reactions alone that Newt wasn't sprinting after them as they stuffed Minho into a Berge.

Your own aching arms wrapped around Newt's slender waist, keeping him pinned to you as he thrashed and fought.

You surprised yourself with your own strength - Newt must've been worn down if he was unable to escape your hold.

When the Berges were finally out of sight, you released him. Newt instantly fell to the floor, face in his hands and shoulders shaking as he wept over another lost friend.

You allowed your gaze to drift, landing on Thomas as his face glowed red with anguish. His fists were tucked to his sides and balled so tightly his fingers were going pale, the rage over Teresa's betrayal evident in his entire body language.

You couldn't help but mirror his emotions. You still disrelished him, and the fact that he'd barely spoken three words to you since you two fucked didn't help, but you could finally find something you were sure you could agree on: you all needed revenge.

...

"Newt, watch out!" You called as you sprinted down the halls, the tall, blonde boy only just dodging a bullet as one of the guards pulled a gun on you two.

"We need to find Tommy!" Newt shouted over the chaos, and you held back a scoff at the boy's name. He had been separated from you two during the search for Minho.

"There he is!" You said with a grunt as you shouldered the wall in an attempt to swerved a launcher, sending your own flying back in response. The pained cries let you know you reached your target.

You both turned a corridor, and your breaths were coming out in heavy pants as Newt limped to a stop.

"You good?" You asked, brows furrowed as Newt leant back against a wall. "Newt?" You pushed, watching as the boy scratched at his arm.

"Klunk, it hurts so bad." He muttered, tears clustering in his brown eyes.

"Newt?" You asked again, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. You gasped when you say the dark lines streaked down his wrist. "When did it happen?"

"Weeks ago - this bloody thing kills." Newt groaned before pulling his sleeve further down his arm to cover the streaks of inky black. "We need to find Minho and Tommy." He said matter-of-factory before breaking away from the wall and continuing in a sprint.

You grimaced at what you'd just witnessed, but continued after him nonetheless.

"Tommy!" Newt shouted as the brunet came into view, and Thomas' head snapped around to see you running towards him.

"This way!" He called, and both you and Newt gasped in relief to see Minho file out of the door Thomas had been blocking.

"Minho!" You exclaimed, barrelling into him and wrapping him in a hug before quickly parting to follow Thomas and Newt. "It's good to have you back."

Minho winked at you in response before picking up his pace, so you did the same. The four of you darted around corridors, firing your launchers at the attacking guards that filed in from dead ends and other rooms.

"The lift!" Minho exclaimed, pointing ahead, and you all made a break for it, racing across the bridge to reach the glass-covered elevator.

Just as you skidded to a stop before it, Thomas tugging Minho in with him and Newt following closely behind the pair, a familiar voice rang behind you.

Shit.

Janson had found you all, and was stood with a gun to Teresa's head.

"Stop!" He yelled, but you all continued. "Stop or I shoot her!" He added, and you all froze.

Despite her betrayal, Teresa was still very close with Thomas and never said a bad word to you in the short time you were all on the run together.

"That's it." Hanson grinned and Teresa stiffened as he pushed the barrel against her head harder.

"What do you want?" You spat and his eyes seemed to glow as they locked onto Thomas.

"Him."

"No way!" Newt shouted, followed by the protests of Minho. You swallowed the lump in your throat, considering your makeshift plan quickly.

With only one foot in the lift, you could easily pull back and shut the doors before Janson and his crew could reach the boys.

"Come with me, and she's unharmed." Janson bargained, but Teresa shook her head at you. You knew what you had to do.

"I'm sorry." You whispered to Minho, and his eyes bugged in realisation as your foot slid back past the threshold of the elevator.

"Stop moving! Move again and I shoot!" Janson threatened. You took a deep breath, and as quick as you could you slammed the button to close the door.

"What are you doing, y/n?" Thomas shouted through the glass, and Newt's face was one of terror. Minho was already throwing himself against the glass in protest.

"Dying for you." Was your reply as you spun around, smashing your fist into the last button that would send the boys down.

The gunshot was the only sound that followed for a short while.

You screamed at the sight of Teresa's limp body, her blood splattered across the marble floors.

Janson smirked as he lifted his gun to you, and before you could run, he pulled the trigger.

[minshookie]

All Play, No Work.

Pairing | CEO!Yoongi x reader

Genre | yandere,angst

Summary | “your secret relationship with Yoongi is all smooth sailing,until Mrs Kim gets in the way.”

!warnings! | mature language, workplace bullying, gossip, and infidelity. Also some pretty steamy scenes, for readers 18+.

| this is not in anyway shape or form a true depiction or representation of BTS, this is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. For entertainment purposes only.|(this is my work, please don’t repost or steal)

Requested [open for request] words: 2k.

A/N | “I’m so happy you enjoyed “meetings at midnight.” I never really expected over 100 notes that’s crazy! I may have gotten a little carried away with this one but I hope you don’t mind & enjoy it as well. I’ll probably be making a part 2, please take any mistakes as love ❤️”

The disturbing rattle of the air conditioner served as white noise while you toyed with the drooping noodles swimming in the savory sauce placed before you. A few of your coworkers droned on about their plans, their kids and undeserving husbands leaving you alone in the corner of the depressing break room to think about what to expect when getting back to your cubicle. Which was a little less depressing than the powder white painted room you resided in now.

“Y/L/N, Min is asking for you.” The conversations stopped and all three of us looked up into the door frame. Jimin,Yoongi's assistant stood with his hands buried in his stiffly pressed pants pockets. “I-I’m on lunch.” You slowly went back to your lukewarm meal, taking a few noodles into your mouth. Chewing, You waited for the heavy pitter patter of his polished leather loafers to exit, but You never get what you wish for.

“Y/N, please don’t make me have to run back up there just to run back down here and tell you the same thing….c’mon.” He came closing your tupperware, sighing as you pushed it into your lunch bag, embarrassment growing on your features as he stood over you. The stare of nosey coworkers followed as you stepped out of the bland break room. The clacking of Jimin’s shoes found your nerves rather quickly, closely he walked behind you like a school principal making sure you went where instructed.

Taking you past your cubicle to leave your lunch you could almost taste the jealousy being thrown at you like missiles. Disapproving and confused whispers and glares followed you out the area. Reaching the stairs, out of sight of your colleagues you out ran Jimin, the looks, noises and scoffs getting the best of you. You practically threw yourself through yoongi's door, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Hey! hey! Bunny, got here quickly didn’t you?” He walked over locking his loyal assistant out. Falling back on the couch struggling for your breath, closing your eyes, you heard him walk around you. “I told you I’d see you after work, we’d have all night together.” Sighing, he pulls you up by your arms. With a grunt he sat down and replaced your head on his lap. “I know what you said, but did you really think I was going to wait...why should i?” Opening your eyes you met his soft gaze. “Tell me you love me.” He whispers, almost ashamed in himself. Needy, needy,needy,always needy. “This can’t be why you called me in.”

“Why should I?” You laughed, obviously he didn’t share your sense of humor as he tugged harshly on a strand of your hair. “Well if I didn’t love you I’d quit Yoongi.” Rolling over you cuddled into his soft tummy inhaling his masculin scent, this here under him locked in his dim office was your safe place. “No you wouldn’t, I pay you too much.” He murmured petting your back with his large hands. “As if!” You giggled into his tummy, pulling back to look up at your lover. His signature smile displayed on his features, moving his hands from your back he places his limber fingers at the back of your knee. Locking eyes he slid skillfully under your skirt to massage your ass over your panties. “Who were you hiding from today hm?” Groaning you rolled your eyes, you hate how he knows you so well.

“Kim?” “Mrs Kim is the least of my worries now.” You grimaced playing with his buttons. “Mm good, can't be the new girl, maybe her boyfriend?” Your eyes shot open, “boyfriend?! Who?” He planted this topic in the conversation, knowing your interest in the drama of your workplace. “Yeah, she’s running around with the coffee boy.” Laughing, he cut himself off “Jungkook.” He laughed almost uncontrollably. “That’s so cute since when?!” He hums calming down, “uh since about last month, I’ve been watching them get all close and flirty jeon puts extra cream in her coffee, she blushes blah blah. And you know Jimin is the nosiest person in the population of this place.”

You chuckled Nodding in agreeance “learned that way before you did, he was my cubicle neighbor before he was your assistant.” Sitting up you go to his drink cart to grab a bottle of water. “Yeah they’re cute as long as they stay on task, Answer the question though, who’s bothering my baby hm? I hate seeing you that way.” He comes from behind gliding his hands around your front pulling you into his embrace “you have a whole cafeteria in the next wing, I made sure they served your favorite today, and yet you chose the shitty break closet.” His rambling turns into background noise as you look through the one way window. Watching as your coworkers attended their duties, Jungkook balanced coffees in his arms with skill the new girl watched in admiration...I wonder what he’s actually here for.

Yoongi’s breath fans your neck causing you to shiver against him. “I’m sorry what’d you say?” “You’re ok.” He turns you around swiftly kissing you passionately against the glass obviously you’ve missed something. Though unseen the act feels extremely dirty. Dropping your water you cling to his shoulders, legs around his Slender waist. “You're not paying me to make out with you I hope.” He pecks your nose, gnawing his bottom lip. “Huh looks like I am.” “Ah, as tempting as that sounds Yoongs-” “don’t ever call me that.” He nips at your neck in retaliation. “I have a stack of papers on my desk that Mr Jimin has been beating me over the head about.” Groaning he loosens his grip around you. Letting you gather yourself before going to his door.

“I’ll see you tonight yeah?” Pouting,he came kissing your lips once more. “I’ll be waiting.” He opened the door and watched you strut down the stairs.

Getting back to your respectful area, you notice something was off...where’d your lunch go? You could’ve sworn you threw it on your desk. Pulling out the rolling chair to take a seat, “I’ll find it later.” You whispered to yourself,taking a seat, directly in the cold remains of your lunch. “What the fuck!” A wave of laughter was given with your ill response. Noodles dangled from your backside as you turned to look at the mess on your office chair.

“Okay! What are we a bunch of middle school virgins?” Jimin shouted, his face turning a dark shade of peach. “I’m sorry y/n.” Rolling your eyes you tried to keep back tears of utter embarrassment turning away from you colleagues. “Uhm...it’s pretty bad, do you have anything to change into?” He takes off his styled coat and hands it to you. You can’t process over the harsh giggles and whispers, “yeah like I have a closet in my car, Jimin I don’t have shit to put on!” You hiss making him pull an offended expression.

“I could give you something.” Your head snapped in the direction of the quiet new girl in the far corner. “I have a few dresses in car I-I I’m in the process of…” she scans the room unsure of her words “moving.” You offer a smile to cover how distraught you are, unable to respond correctly. “Thank you luci, we appreciate it.” Nodding she smiles softly grabbing her bag going to retrieve the clothes. “Go to the restroom, please.”

Tying the coat around your waist you rushed with your head down to the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself roughly. Taking off the grey coat Turing to examine your soup covered ass. You brushed the cold noodles letting them splat onto the tiled floor. Pulling coat off the conjoined sinks you found the spacious stall at the end of the row, stripping off your soiled skirt. Nothing better to do, but to sit on the cold stool and wait.

The creaking door of the bathroom cut your silent thoughts short, isn’t Luci a quick one? You chuckled to yourself getting up, about to tell her of your whereabouts…“maybe if the bitch didn’t have her head so far up Min’s ass she woulda saw it coming.” The unknown voice stopped you in your tracks. Her friend snickers. “Shh she could be in here.” “As if I give a fuck, she needs to know!” Peeking through the side of the stall you could see them in the mirror touching up their makeup. “Min’s probably got his head up hers too!” The quieter of the two spoke up.

“Ha that would explain my recent hours, I heard they fuck in the office, I wonder if the sluts any good.” She cleaned the edges of her lipstick, “I’ve fucked him, I know he’s good, really into all the rough shit, he’s crazy.” She tossed her makeup into her bag fixing her hair, “why’d you guys stop?” You felt your chest ache, yoongi never told you about him and Mrs Kim, what kind of fucked story is this? “Little miss pasta booty got the job, and Joon finally proposed...guess he didn’t want me any-” “y/n are you in here?!” Luci’s softened voice searched for you.

“I’m in here.” Responding slightly above a whisper, the soft steps of her pumps were trampled by the clicking steps of the two mud slingers who quickly bursted from the restroom. “I didn’t know what you would like, I have this blue one, it’s a cute summer dress.” She hung it on the door of the stall for me to see. “Or this white one, it’s a bit tighter but I think it’ll look great on you.” Randomly choosing you stripped of your top pulling the dress over yourself. “Thanks Luci, I owe you one.” Collecting your clothes and Jimin’s coat, you left the stall. “No no, I’m sorry Kim did that to you...I should’ve stopped her.” She coyly hangs her head, “not your fault...thanks Luci.” She smiles politely, leaving me alone in the bathroom.

Eunji That jealous bitch, yoongi has much explaining to do. You smooth out your dress bracing yourself for the environment behind the door. only to be pushed back. A deep blush pink shade covering his face, yoongi brings you back in, “you can’t be in here, this is the ladies.” He scans your body before looking at the dirty laundry in your arms. “This is my building. I can be anywhere in any room I want.” Scoffing you attempt to leave, grabbing your forearm he pulls you back. “What’s going on with you I’m here to check and see if you’re alright and here you are acting like an ass y/n” his face held a concerned stare.

“Yoongi the last thing we should be doing is huddling in the bathroom, we’ve drawn enough attention to ‘us’ already.” Unable to look him in the eyes you examine his posture, he propped your chin on his pointer finger bringing your face up. “And since when did you care?” “Ever since your ex painted my ass with my lunch.” He giggled darkly, “what?” Again you attempted escape, only to be overpowered and lifted with ease. “Okay sit the fuck down.” Placing you down in the sink like a child he took your skirt looking at the back. “And this just had to be the one I bought?.” He shook his head like a disappointed father. “What are you acting so mad towards me for, who’s supposedly my ex huh?” He took the skirt under the faucet scrubbing it harshly together with soap.

Why can’t he ever just leave you alone, drawing attention to your relationship was the last thing you needed today. It’s not like nobody knew, it was hard not to. But you hated the unwanted attention the favoritism brought you. “Who lied to you?” “You did.” He stopped the water, “y/n now you know I’d never.” He folded the cleaned wet skirt along with your shirt. “Yoongi, I heard Kim Eunji talking about it. She told her little follower about it while I hid in the stall.” You answered blandly, ready to be freed from the bathroom. His face shifted shades, “what? I’ve never fucked that bitch, all she does is lie and get into shit she has no concern for.” He gripped the sink roughly.

Like a switch, when the right buttons were pushed Yoongi’s temper was quick to strike….though never thrown at you. It can have harsh outcomes and you've seen it first hand. “She runs her mouth about you too much, I’ll have to help her out.” Aggressively released the marble counter, “Yoongi w-what, calm down.” He walked to the door, unsure of what to do. Naive of his wrath you followed behind. “She wants to get fucked? I’ll give her something that’ll fuck her up, something that’ll make her piss off for good this time.”

Not my image

[bondsmagii]

same person who asked about spelunking (sorry i binge your blog every now and then and keep finding things i wanna hear about this time!) But you mentioned one of your most terrifying experiences involved dolls, I'd love to hear about it if youre comfortable :>?

oh it's fine, don't worry! I can always appreciate a good old fashioned bit of curiosity. I suppose it's only fair that with all the creepy experiences I take from other people, I finally give a statement of my own. buckle up, though, because this one is a long one.

So, this all happened in 2011-2012, and it began in Belfast, Ireland. A friend of mine, Caoimhe, had started studying at Queen’s University, and she had moved in to student accommodation in the student district nearby. I was studying in Scotland at the time, but thankfully the summer and winter holidays provided me with three months off each, so I would frequently return back to Ireland and catch up with the people who’d stayed there. Caoimhe’s place, being situated in the city and in a university district, was obviously the place to hang out and party, but before I even arrived Caoimhe warned me that the place was… odd. Now, as anyone who’s ever met me knows, I absolutely love creepy stuff and I have a tendency to bring it out in places and in people; naturally I asked for details, but Caoimhe said she wanted to see what I thought when I got there. Considering I was going to be there that evening, I was able to have a modicum of patience.

I get there in the late afternoon. It’s summer and everything is still bright and lively, and the street looks normal. Parking is only on one side of the street; on the other side is a row of buildings, three floors high. Most of them are split into houses, but there are a few businesses there, too – a nursery school, a hairdresser’s, that kind of thing. I get out of the car and go and knock on Caoimhe’s door, which is between two businesses. She opens the door, and immediately tells me she cannot wait to hear what I think of the place. I have no idea what to expect, because Caoimhe was always the sceptical one and it takes a lot to get her even remotely excited about anything spooky, but I realised what she meant within about five minutes of being in the house.

It was the weirdest layout of any house I have ever seen.

Upon entering, I was in a small porch area. Going through the interior door brought me to the bottom of a set of stairs; to the right was a short hallway, containing a bedroom and, at the end of it, a spacious kitchen. Going up the stairs, I came to a small bathroom on the half-landing; turning and ascending the second flight brought me to a small landing area and, directly opposite, a colossal living room. Turning up yet another flight of stairs and there was a larger bathroom on the half-landing, practically industrial – like a large school changing room. There were about eight showers all lined up in cubicles, toilets lined up in other cubicles, and a row of old, almost Victorian-looking sinks. There was no door to the bathroom, either. Just an open archway leading to tiles that looked as though they should be on a factory floor in the early twentieth century. After this, there was another flight of stairs and then a small landing, this time with nothing ahead of it but, to my left, a long hallway. I mean, a long hallway. The longest hallway I’ve ever seen in any residential building, ever, in my life. It went on, and on, and on. From beginning to end, at a normal walking pace, it took about two minutes to walk. There were other doors, but they were few and far between. Only three people lived on that floor, and the hallway just stretched endlessly on. Caoimhe, of course, lived in the absolute furthest room from the stairs. We walked, passing the occasional door, under dim, flickering lightbulbs high up in the ceiling. We had long since walked past the original house we had entered. We were probably almost entirely down the street by this point. There were no windows at all.

Finally, we get to Caoimhe’s room. It’s practically at the end of the hall; in front of us is a dead end, and a fire escape that cannot exist. All of the buildings on this street are terraced, which means that joining on to this wall should be the next building. There were no alleyways separating any of the buildings at street level – they were all side by side, sharing a wall. I asked Caoimhe about it and she just shrugged, and then pointed to the wall opposite her door. There was another door there, cheaply made, not a fire door like the doors to the bedrooms. It also didn’t fit properly, leaving a small gap and a cool breeze drifting out from between the wood and the frame. I, of course, stuck my eye to the gap and peered in. I could make out nothing aside from swirling dust and the faint outline of the first few steps of another set of stairs. Upon my asking, Caoimhe told me she didn’t know where it went to, and that she and some of the others had tried to prise the door open but given up when it wouldn’t budge. They had even asked the university’s residential services about it, but were told that it didn’t belong to them as tenants and it was best to leave it alone.

As I mentioned before – Caoimhe is not really interested in messing around with this kind of stuff. Practically minded, she spent her time dealing in the tangible, and as a nursing student she had precious little free time. What free time she did have she enjoyed spending drinking, and annoying me by doing lines of cocaine off my books. I love her dearly, but you have to understand that mysteries like this do not interest her at all, but they drive me mad. From the moment I saw that door, I suppose my fate was sealed. In the old refrain of many sorry souls before me, I had to know.

The first few nights I was there was admittedly spent partying and catching up, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. I split my time between staying with Caoimhe and staying with an ex-boyfriend of mine, Brian, who lived about half a mile away in another part of the university district. I was at his place when I got a call from Caoimhe at about two in the morning, telling me that some weird shit was going down and I had to come see. I, of course, ran over there as quickly as possible, to find the house in uproar. Aside from one girl on the ground floor, everyone else lived in the Endless Hallway – all three of them – and they were all out of their rooms and standing in a strange section of the hall about two thirds up. Here, two rooms were located, the doors to which were set back in a little alcove. Opposite this alcove was another fire door that had to lead to nowhere, that I admittedly had not noticed before. I stared at it, confused, and then I was temporarily comforted when Gemma, once of Caoimhe’s housemates, asked me if I hadn’t noticed it before, either. I absolutely had not, and the general consensus was that nobody had noticed this fire escape. It was very difficult to miss, too – it was silver, with the green sign for a fire escape on it, but strangely there was no way to open it from this side. It was just a smooth door – no handle, no push bar, nothing. Being a fire escape door, it should have had a push bar and swung open into the stairwell or hallway beyond, to prevent it from being blocked from opening by a crowd of people trying to escape, but there was nothing. It was like looking at a fire escape door from the outside. Everyone agreed that it could not have been there before; Gemma and Ashley, the girl in the room next to her, were absolutely adamant they would have noticed it, considering it was right opposite their doors; Caoimhe admitted that she probably wouldn’t have noticed it because she wasn’t in the habit of noticing every door she walked by, but she did admit that the colour would have made it hard to miss. I, of course, amin the habit of looking out for such details, precisely for reasons like this, so I had definitely not noticed the door before.

I asked how they had noticed, and Gemma said that she had heard running footsteps in the hallway going back and forth for some time, and as she’d been trying to sleep she had opened her door to tell whoever it was to knock it off. She had found the hallway dark, and the door opposite hers. She had understandably been freaked out by this and banged on Ashley’s door, and the commotion had drawn Caoimhe into the mix whereupon she had said she knew a guy who absolutely had to see this shit and called me. She was correct, and I duly stayed the rest of the night to see if anything else happened. Nothing did, and aside from the extra door that had materialised in the hallway, things were calm for another week.

When it all kicked off again, I was staying over after another heavy night partying. Caoimhe and I were passed out in her room when we were both woken up by an incredibly loud crash. Before we could work out what had happened, lights went on in the hallway outside and we heard Gemma start screaming, and I mean reallyscreaming. Caoimhe and I jumped up and ran out into the hall, sprinting the distance between Caoimhe’s door and the alcove, and there we found Gemma hiding behind her own door and the fire door opposite wide open. It had been flung open so wide that it had crashed against and dented the wall it was on. Ashley was looking at it, dumfounded; Gemma could barely watch. Caoimhe was also not being much help, so – bound by insatiable curiosity and an extreme lack of self-preservation that for me is so often co-morbid with said curiosity – I went forward to investigate. I noticed that the door seemed old, like it had perhaps been rusted in place; beyond it there was nothing but darkness, and cold air moved out of the passage with enough speed that I felt a strong breeze. I had my phone, so I turned it on to use it as a light, seeing that beyond the door was a short landing and then a set of stairs. I went to the wooden railing at the top and shone the phone down, seeing that the stairs appeared to keep going in a half-flight, small landing, half-flight pattern. The stairs were all wooden, and in bad condition. With the girls still nervously watching, I descended the first flight and then turned to look at the next one. It smelled stale now, and slightly damp; I put the brightness of my screen up and saw, arranged neatly at the end of each step, there was an item of children’s belongings – a toy, or a teddy bear. They were all arranged very precisely, one on each stair, all the way down as far as I could see. Where the light gave out, the darkness was so black it seemed to have a solid weight. I decided I was not going down there without a proper light, and as I didn’t yet have one, I retreated back up the stairs. We closed the door over, but it would no longer fit in its frame; a chair was dutifully carried all the way up from the distant kitchen and put in front of it.

I quickly discovered something even odder about that staircase. Probably to the surprise of nobody, it shouldn’t exist. The floors directly below us should have been a hairdresser’s; there was no space for a stairwell and no way to exit on the ground floor. I went outside and checked both the front and the back of the building, and no doors opened anywhere near where the stairs should have come out. There was just no possible way for it to fit, and no point to it being there. It was a dead end in dead space.

Now we get to the truly terrifying part. For several weeks the place seemed to be fine, just the kind of regular haunting I was used to but that the others understandably found concerning. Cold spots, weird noises, strange atmospheres, feelings of being watched… that kind of thing. It made me increasingly uneasy in one particular spot of the house, though. There was one other mystery door that led to a mystery staircase, and that was the strange, out-of-place door opposite Caoimhe’s room. I figured that there was a chance that that door shouldn’t be there, either – like the fire escape, it was a different kind of door to the others, and also like the fire escape, it didn’t quite fit into its frame. I tried multiple times to get in to the staircase beyond, but the door would absolutely not shift and every time I tried, I would soon have to retreat because of an overwhelming sense of sadness and dread. I’ve always been highly sensitive to the paranormal, and anyone who has spent any amount of time with me has seen some inexplicable stuff go down; something I’m known for is knowing things I shouldn’t be able to know. I either just know them – they just arrive in my head full-formed and I know that it’s the truth – or they come to me in dreams. These dreams stand out from the other dreams because they’re incredibly realistic, and even in the dream I know that they’re something else entirely. I’m either myself in the dream, moving around and discovering things on my own, or I’m watching as somebody else does it, silently observing and, unusually for my dreams, with no amount of lucidity at all. I suppose, with all my banging around trying to get up those stairs, I must have finally tapped in to whatever it was that would allow me to know what was beyond it, because shortly afterwards I experienced the worst instance of this of my life.

By this point, I was back at university. I hadn’t thought too much about it all in any detail because classes had started again and I was still exhausted from driving all my stuff back over, getting the ferry, unpacking… moving every three months was a bit of a drag. Despite this, when the dream started, I immediately knew where I was. The building felt different, and all the lights were dimmed to the point they were barely worth being on, but I knew I was back in Caoimhe’s flat and I also knew that it was years before anybody moved in. I stood there and watched as a woman walked towards me down the long, endless hallway. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties, and her hair was a mess. Her face was blotchy and her eyes red; she was still crying as she walked past me. I knew that she was moving out, that this was the final walk-through; suddenly I was the person who was moving in, and I was being handed the keys, and the estate agent was saying that the place was mine and that the agreement still stood: I was allowed to do anything with the place and the price would stay low, so long as I obeyed the wishes of the previous owners and kept the top floor as it was and in good order. I agreed and then I was alone in the hallway.

I immediately walked to the end of the hallway, past the room that was Caoimhe’s when I had known the place, and to the door opposite. The wood looked newer now, and when I pushed it, it swung open noiselessly and without resistance. I walked up a neat set of wooden stairs and the light was warm, sunset-orange. I emerged from the staircase and found myself in a lovely attic room, the sun setting through a large dormer window opposite. The room was a beautifully decorated nursery, with a small bed under the window and a dresser, a toy box, a rug on the ground littered with toys. I looked around, touching the small hairbrush on the dresser, seeing the little blonde hairs entwined in it; on the nightstand next to the bed was a picture of the crying woman I had seen earlier, happy now, holding a smiling little girl of about two or three months in her arms. I stared at this picture for a long time, feeling a growing sense of sadness that deepened into dread. I felt paralysed, unable to turn and leave even as the dread grew and I wanted to more than anything; instead of running, a sudden urge to sleep came over me. I staggered to the small bed, curled up to fit, and immediately passed out.

When I woke, I was on my back and the room was dark. There was enough moonlight that I could see the glint of the picture frame beside me. Immediately I was gripped by terror – I was aware, even then, that I do not sleep in my dreams. I can do a lot of things that most people can’t – I die in my dreams, I read and write in my dreams, I see my reflection in mirrors in my dreams – but I do not sleep. I decided to sit up and see if any of my usual tricks for waking myself would work, but before I could move I felt something shifting in the bed beside me. It was solid and firm and cold; it pressed itself against me with plastic smoothness and then shifted, part of it bending. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something sitting up in the bed beside me. I told myself not to look at it, but of course I did. Sitting next to me in bed was a baby, but at the same time it was a doll. It had the plastic look to it, the strange texture of the hair, the glassy eyes – but at the same time its face moved, its limbs moved, and around the eyes and mouth there was a slight discrepancy, like the whole thing was a plastic mask forced into the flesh of the face. I stared at it, mute, too stunned to do anything, and then the baby doll opened its mouth, revealing sharp, pin-like teeth, far too many of them – and it began to cry.

I have never heard a sound like it and I never wish to again. It was a cry so piercing it was painful; it was a sound meant to terrify. It rose the same dread in me as I imagine people felt when they woke to hear air raid sirens in the dead of night; the distant thud of falling bombs. It was all I could hear and it was all I became. It inspired a blind terror in me that I have rarely known; I wasn’t human as I launched myself from that bed. I was a prey animal in flight, I was running for my life. I jumped from the bed and before I could hit the ground I awoke, miles away, in my dorm room in Scotland – but something was on the bed beside me. I sat up, turned, and the doll was there. It looked at me, grinned, and opened its mouth. Then it started screaming again.

I want to say that’s the moment I woke up for real, but I was awake. That thing was beside me in bed, still screaming, and I was awake enough to panic, to roll out of bed, to stand up, to stare in frozen horror for several seconds, and then to reach out blindly until I managed to turn the lamp on. The room filled with light and still the doll remained, for three or four seconds, still crying that horrible sound, and then it faded. The sound faded with it, gradually, until I could only see an outline on the air, and then it was gone. I did not sleep for the rest of that night. For the rest of the semester, I only slept in the daylight.

I never returned to Caoimhe’s house. I have my answers, which is something, but I do not exaggerate when I say that the cost was far more than I anticipated I would have to pay, and that something of that experience has forever stuck with me. Even now, a decade later, I go to bed every night with the fear that I might wake up in that hallway again, the door at the end of it – and the knowledge that I will go to it, step into the sunset-orange of the space beyond, and go back up those stairs.

[grimrester]

The Heat

The fall semester of my last year of art school had barely started when the air conditioning in the senior art studios broke. If I lived further north that might not have been a problem, but I lived in Georgia, where the summer heat didn't quite break until September or October. And it was still August.

To make matters worse, the studios were in an old building with high ceilings and big glass panels built into the steep, sloped roof. All the natural lighting normally would've been a blessing. But with the air conditioning broken, it instead turned the studios into an oven. Heat seeped in all day long and remained trapped there indefinitely.

The studios themselves were two rows of cubicles with high, 8ft walls, built right in the center of the building after the college had purchased it. The open ceilings of each cell and the large gap between the cubicle wall and the sloped windows above allowed the light - and the heat - to reach anyone who might be working inside them. Each graduating senior was assigned a specific cubicle as their personal, 24/7 studio space.

There was a big hallway around the perimeter of the building. One section of the hallway widened to make space for a sink to wash brushes in and a table and chairs for critique sessions. The bathroom was there, too - a unisex one with a derelict little door, nearly hanging off its hinges.

Initially I'd worried that having just one toilet in the building wouldn't be enough, but it ended up not being an issue. Most of the students didn't last long. The heat during the day was too oppressive. At times, the air in the building was so suffocating that the heat almost felt like a physical presence, like a large creature weighing down on our shoulders, crushing us under its weight.

---

I caught the student assigned to the cell next to mine moving out all his paintings just a couple weeks into the semester.

"Hey," I said, pausing outside the door to my own cubicle to gawk. The student - I never bothered to learn his name - looked entirely morose as he stacked a few canvases by the door. "Moving out already?"

"Yeah," he said, solemnly, heavily dropping another canvas on the pile. "I have no idea how you can work in here. My oils keep melting."

"What?" I said, confused. I shuffled over to get a look at the top painting on the stack, and sure enough, the half-finished landscape he'd made with oil paint was completely distorted. Strangely, the melted paint seemed to be in round sections, about as large as my head, scattered all over the canvas.

"It's fucking weird, right?" he said, following my gaze.

"Wouldn't it melt all over?" I asked. "Why is it just in some parts?"

"Beats the hell out of me," he replied. "My best guess is it was cloudy or something so it melted unevenly where the sun got to it."

"Guess it's lucky I work with ink," I said. "It dries fast so it'd sooner burst into flames than melt, and it's too humid in here for a fire."

The student clucked his tongue. "I shoulda used acrylic. Might've held up better." He sighed and picked up the stack. "Too late now, I guess. I'm going to see if I can salvage them at home."

"Good luck," I said, watching him go. At least he had the option of working at home. My apartment was too small for the large paintings I wanted to make, so I was forced to bear the heat.

---

I and the few other students who had to work in the little plaster cells complained to the administration about the heat many times, but I guess our small group just wasn't a priority because the air conditioner remained broken. The heat remained an issue into September, even when the outside air had cooled off a little. I began to think there was something wrong with the building, that perhaps the AC was spitting out hot air or the large windows had been specifically designed to turn the place into an oven.

I eventually started coming into the studios later and later, hoping that the space would at least cool down at nighttime. I preferred working in crappy, dim synthetic lighting over standing there with the sun bearing down on me through the open top of my cubicle. But even at night, the heat was terrible. It felt muggy, smothering. I felt the weight of it on me from the moment I entered the studios.

To add to the uncomfortable conditions, the building was pretty old and made creaking and moaning noises as it marginally cooled down overnight. The exposed pipes near the ceiling were especially noisy, making all sorts of awful, creepy groans. I'd mostly gotten used to them after a while.

Then one night it got worse.

I was in my cubicle, in the final stages of one of my larger ink drawings. I was painstakingly cleaning up some lines with a fine brush when suddenly there was a huge slamming noise, loud enough that I could hear it through my music and earbuds. I jolted, screwing up my line in the process, and hissed through my teeth.

"What was that?" I called out, taking out one earbud. I thought maybe one of the artists who worked in the far end cubicles had dropped something or fallen over, but there was no reply.

I cracked the door of my cubicle and peeked out, looking around either end of the hallway. Nothing seemed amiss, so I just closed my door again and went back to work. I assumed it was just a new pipe noise or something.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, I was trying to decide on a new playlist when it happened again. My music wasn't playing, so I heard it clearer this time - a loud BAM noise from the back building wall, several cubicles away from me. It almost sounded like some huge beast was outside, hurling its body against the side of the building, trying to get inside.

But that would be silly. This was the first time I'd stayed past midnight and these noises were probably normal at this time of night. I just hadn't heard them before.

I tried to focus on picking a playlist. The noise happened again. But this time, the brushes on my work table rattled in their mason jar from the force.

I stared at them. I'd never heard a building settle so hard that it made things move.

I suddenly had the feeling that something was very wrong. I felt queasy - my stomach tightened and churned. Maybe I was just not feeling well and the heat was exasperating it? I'd been working long hours and late nights in the studio, so it was possible I'd made myself sick. I felt the need to vomit, and I hoped it would make my nausea subside.

I pulled my earbuds out and left my studio, walking quickly to the bathroom. The slamming noise echoed out again, on the other side of the building. I locked the rickety bathroom door behind me, my moist palms sliding against the metal handle as I did so. The back of my neck felt wet, too, that sort of gross, warm moistness that comes with the Georgia heat.

I knelt by the toilet, face hovering over the bowl. I still felt sick but nothing was coming up. I pressed my fist into my stomach hard and tried to retch, but still nothing happened. The nausea was starting to make me dizzy. Did I get heat stroke or something?

The door rattled behind me.

"Someone's in here!" I called out, my voice warbling a little. Weird, I thought, since the studios had been quiet all night. I thought I was the only one there.

The door rattled harder, the whole thing shaking with the effort.

"Jesus," I muttered. Then, louder, "I said, it's occupied!"

The rattling increased and there was a loud BANG as something hit the door hard. I twisted around and stared, gripping the toilet seat, shocked. Who the fuck needed the bathroom that badly? Whoever was outside smacked the door hard again and I worried that the shitty, old wood would simply splinter under the force.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. The rattling and banging just ceased. I stared at the door a little longer, wondering if the person outside had left yet. I didn't particularly want to run into them if a locked bathroom door was enough to make them throw a fit outside. I waited and waited, to be sure they left, so long that my nausea had subsided.

Put off by the whole experience, I quickly gathered my things from my studio and left for the night.

---

When I returned the next night, the heat was inexplicably worse than before. I couldn't even listen to music to distract myself this time. I was a little worried that whoever had given me a hard time in the bathroom would come back, and I didn't want to miss hearing them coming if for some reason they were on a warpath.

The relative silence of the studio was decidedly eerie. There was a faint buzz from the lights and the occasional groaning and moaning of old pipes, but otherwise you could hear a pin drop. I began to rethink my decision on the music because the silence was spooky and setting me on edge. I thought maybe I could play it on my phone's speaker so I could still hear someone coming. But then, if they were there and so quiet I couldn't hear them, playing music out loud might've pissed them off…

My train of thought was interrupted by that awful, thundering slamming noise from the far wall of the building. The great, hulking beast I had imagined was back.

Sweat began to gather on my palms and neck again and I put my brush down to wipe my hands on my pants. The air in the studio became so muggy that breathing suddenly felt like inhaling swamp water.

Hardly a moment later, there it was again - BAM. My paintbrushes rattled in the little jar. My first thought that maybe whoever had needed the bathroom yesterday was throwing another fit, but it really sounded like something massive hitting the wall. Something too massive for one person to hurl.

I once again had the distinct feeling that something was wrong. What would have the kind of force to make everything move like that? Was the old building going to collapse?

BAM - louder this time.

Maybe this was some bizzare, localized earthquake, I told myself. It didn't matter that I'd never heard of an earthquake that behaved this way. It seemed more likely than the alternative I imagined, that some huge beast was hurling its hairy, grotesque body against the walls.

I sat motionless, listening closely.

BAM. My door rattled.

There was no mistaking it that time. The sound wasn't getting louder - the source of it was just getting closer.

The monster I had imagined wasn't outside and trying to get in. It was already inside the building.

I stared, frozen in place, at my studio door. I felt ridiculous. How would some kind of monster large enough to shake the walls even get through the building's doors?

BAM. Even closer now.

BAM. It sounded like it was right outside my door. I could see the handle shake with the force. Something was definitely wrong. This wasn't an earthquake and it wasn't some deranged art student. There was something out there and it wanted to be in here, with me. I tried to take deep breaths to remain calm, but sucking in big gulps of warm, humid air just made me feel queasy again. I looked around, trying to find somewhere to hide, but my cubicle was bare - just a folding table and a stool. There was nowhere to go. I pressed myself against the corner of my cell, as far away from my door as possible.

There was a long moment where there was no sound - not the slamming, not the usual groaning of the pipes. I slid down to the hard concrete floor and waited. Perhaps it was over?

The door handle rattled, this time unaccompanied by any slamming noise.

My breath caught. Sweat dripped down my forehead. I stared, watching as the handle jiggled. Whatever was making it move seemed unable to turn it properly, just fumbling it around without getting it to unlatch.

I waited. The handle stopped moving.

There was another moment of dead silence. Then another new sound - fast, heavy, stomping footsteps, heading towards the section of hallway with the bathroom, table, and sink.

I got up and grabbed my phone and bag. I didn't know what the fuck was going on, but I couldn't stay there any longer.

There was a creaking noise, and then a terrible thumping sound, like something had just hit the ground hard. Then crashing, over in one of the cubicles on the far end, as though whatever had been in the hall had used the table in the critique area to hop the cubicle wall and was now making a mess inside. Another creak, another thump, more crashing, closer, just a few cubicles away.

I threw my cubicle door open. I just had to make it to the main door, but it was all the way on the other side of the building. I'd have to run around half the perimeter hallway to get there.

So I ran.

The beast, whatever it was, continued into another cubicle - creak, thump, crash. Then it paused as I rounded the first corner, my sneakers squeaking on the concrete. A terrible dread settled in my stomach. It was listening and it knew I was trying to leave. It didn't make any noise - no breathing, no wailing, no roaring - but I somehow still got the sense that it was pissed off by my attempted escape.

I rounded the second corner. I could see the door just ahead.

A creak. I looked at the tops of the cubicles as I ran for the door, but there was nothing there. No hairy beast hovering over the wall and dropping into the next studio. I slowed my running.

A thump. A crash. A creak.

I paused, my hand on the front door, my mouth gaping as I looked at the tops of the cubicles. I felt I had to see it, had to know I wasn't just crazy, but it seemed there was no beast to see.

Then I finally saw it, lurching over the wall, headed right for me. Warped air, shimmering, the way streets do on a hot day. A mass of heat made alive, barely visible unless you're looking closely. It was hard to tell the boundaries of it, but I could tell it was huge, fat enough that it nearly didn't fit in the cubicle it was lumbering out of.

It dropped down over the wall, landing in the hallway, with a thunderous thud.

I pushed the door open and ran into the night. I ran and ran and didn't look behind me. I didn't hear its thumping footsteps, but it was so difficult to see that looking might not have helped anyway.

I ran all the way back to my apartment, about a mile from campus. I slammed and locked the door behind me, blasted my air conditioner, and hid in my bed until morning.

---

I was eating a late breakfast, wondering if I'd somehow imagined the whole thing, when a friend called me.

"Were you in the studios last night?" she asked, a touch of panic in her voice, forgoing any pleasantries.

"No." The lie slipped out easily. I had that feeling of inexplicable dread again. "Why?"

"Apparently there was some huge break in," she said. "All the studios were trashed! It sounds like the people who did it didn't even take anything, they just… melted a bunch of stuff. Paintings, metals, anything meltable."

I struggled to think of an adequate response, just stared down at my soggy cereal. "Huh. Weird," I managed.

"Do you think they'll put some extra security on the building?" she asked. "It's weird they leave it unlocked all the time."

"No," I said, thinking of the broken air conditioning. "Knowing them, they'll probably just leave it, since no one got hurt."

---

I never told anyone what I saw that night. What would I even say? Who would believe me? Anyone would just assume I was crazy or suffering from heat exhaustion.

But I wish I'd at least tried.

I waited a week before going back to the studios to clean out my cubicle. I went during the day this time. I wouldn't be there long and I had encountered the creature at night so it seemed safer.

The building seemed empty when I arrived, but as soon as I opened the doors there was a terrible smell. It was sickly-sweet and sour, like trash left out in the sun. I pinched my nose as I rounded the corners to my cubicle, but the smell only got worse. It was so overpowering as I rounded the second corner that I considered cutting my losses and just leaving.

The cubicle door on the end was left wide open. Was someone in here working? I looked inside as I passed, then froze.

There, huddled under the table as though hiding from something, was a body. It was withered as though there for some time, almost mummy-like, the skin leathery and dry like beef jerky. The eyes were wide open, dry little balls pointed right in my direction.

I didn't scream. I just turned around, walked out of the building, and called the police.

---

The autopsy said the student died of dehydration and heat stroke. The news reported it as some sort of freak accident, a student that got so lost in their art that they stopped taking care of themselves and passed out in that hot studio, baking alive until they finally died.

The air conditioning finally got fixed after that.

[magicalsalamander]

Sangre Solium

            Sequel to Sangria Wine

Pairing: BTS Yoongi ⇆ Reader 

Genre: Vampire | CEO | Medical | Fluff| Angst | Slight Horror | [Eventual] Smut

Summary: When rent is cutting short and you’re at your last resort. Your job has been cutting your hours slowly, and bills were stacking up. You walk into a donation center, blood donating center for the undead to earn some quick cash, but…the thing is…you’re afraid of needles.

Word: 6.3K

Rating: Mature; mentions of blood and phobia of needles/blood, fainting, vampiric activity, and mentions of mating.

A/N:  Sangria Wine was posted on 20 Oct 2018 and it received so much love. Originally I didn’t want to continue the story. It was supposed to be a oneshot and done. However, after deliberating with myself, I took the time to think of how I want to continue the story. Now, here we are, chapter 2. Thank you for reading

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Blue fluorescent light passing under the copy machine’s lid wasn’t enough to wake you from your stupor. After it had printed out your college-textbook-thick worth of copies you stared at the white top aimlessly.

God, you messed up, you messed up big time.

The clinic had you marked, banned from returning to the clinic. A literal red strike was crossed over your chart. Your file probably was thrown into the shredder just for emphasis. How could you pass out when your donor was taking from you? He wasn’t even there when you woke up. However, the prick marks from his fangs were like a tattoo on your neck. They were faint, but you could see the marks distinctly.  God, you were so stupid. Despite your embarrassing episode, you were still paid though. You would’ve normally refused, but you took the envelope with your head hanging down. You were able to make rent, yet here you were, a week later, panged with more questions, the most blaring question was of the next month’s bills.

Rolling your shoulders your bone cracked and popped as you dispelled tension. There was a constant knot in your shoulders and a small throbbing pang in your head. The pain would intensify at work and your temples become sensitive like a sunburn. Maybe—you were pretty sure—it was the endless stacks of paperwork piling at your desk thanks to your boss. The other day it was nearing the tip of the wall of your cubicle. There was one thing you could hold onto though. It was Friday.

You picked up the papers with a grunt. The weight dug into your forearm which was leaving a dent in your skin. You struggled back to your desk passing rows of filled cubicles. As you reached your desk you dropped the stack with a tremor. The minor earthquake sent your precious coffee splashing over the edge of the cup nearing towards your fresh textbook. With a hushed curse under your breath as you reached for your cup, you wiped up the lost paradise with a tissue before it caused another disaster. You stood there for a moment as you let out another sigh. You rolled your shoulder once more. The morning was as old as the paradise lost un-sipped coffee. As soon as your heel touched the lobby floor you hit the ground running this morning. Your coffee was past lukewarm and brimming on disgustingly bitter from the air conditioner. You grumbled under your breath, great, just great.

Swiveling the chair around, then adjusting your chair cushion, you sunk in like a ragdoll. Everything has been off since your trip to the clinic. You couldn’t shake the feeling, the odd tingling in your joints that vibrated your skin with unease. What were you going to do? How were you going to make this month’s bills? You couldn’t ask anyone to help owing something to anyone was just a bigger headache.  Especially your parents, you couldn’t ask them, they hound for the money back immediately. Living in the city away from your family was something you prided yourself on. You were independent, that’s the promise you made to yourself and them.

Your manager, an old, portly man with a poorly glued toupee, walked down your isle greeting your other coworkers. He slowed down when he passed other female employees, purposefully giving them the extra attention; and they always played into it, knowing he’d suck up all the attention. A promotion was a promotion. That was where you “messed up”, you never buttered him up or took the compliments without turning it back to business. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him picking up pace as he speeds past your desk. He dropped folders on top of the stack you just printed out. With more authority than he could ever muster with an overtly fake commanding voice, “On my desk by noon Y/L/N.”

Numbly you gazed over to the tower still being worked on against the cubicle as you slowly observed the stack of manila folders just added. You tried turning to catch him before he rounded the corner, standing up haphazardly, jerking to a halt your skirt caught on the ajar top drawer. “Sir, wai—ouch!” You didn’t get to finish your sentence as you heard your skirt rip. You slumped back down, holding your tongue as your manager rounded and disappeared around the corner. With gentle fingers you held the three-inch tear together, your cold hand soothing the scrapped tender skin under. You didn’t break skin, but it still stung. Sighing in defeat, your eyes slowly moved over observing the ever-growing tower on your desk. You pulled the scrapper open and fished around through your junk bin. When you found a safety pin, you held it in your hand and closed the drawer. You bit on the bars releasing the pointer then held the pin between your teeth. You scooched back and with two hands you pleated the tear tightly then pinched it tightly with one hand.  

Why was he piling it all on your desk? Did he hate you? You’ve never done anything to him. You were the newest, but the distribution of work was still unfair.

Skillfully with your other hand, you weaved the pin through the frayed fabric. You pulled the fabric through the pin and with only a bit of pin left your thumb nicked the tip. Hissing through your teeth you retracted your thumb with lightning reflexes and automatically bringing it to your lips. Inspecting your thumb you sighed in relief you didn’t break skin, but the prick mark was there. That’s when it hit you. You didn’t pass out.

Just-just maybe…just maybe…

You unweave the pin and closed it shut as you fisted it tightly in your hand. You put your computer to sleep and grabbed your coffee cup. You left your towering papers and walked towards the breakroom focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The handle of your cup became slippery as your grip grew sweaty. You checked the breakroom for anyone inside, but at this odd hour, everyone had already grabbed their morning cup of coffee or snack. The plastic table and chairs were thankfully abandoned.

You slipped inside, closing the glass door behind you and walked over to the sink. You poured your old coffee out and rinsed it out, the pin too, then set your cup down and pin next to it. You took the coffee pot and filled it with fresh water. You poured it into the container and started it up again. The crackling noises filled the empty room and the pot began to fill with coffee. You stared at the black droplets as it dripped and rippled. For a short second, you smiled at the small paradise before it disappeared. You knew what you were doing here. You were prolonging it; you could pick it up and get the prick over with. You were stalling. Your hands were trembling as you clutched onto the countertop. Your hands were soaking wet with sweat. You paced over and ripped a paper towel dabbing your trembling hands as you whispered to yourself. “It’s just a prick, it’s just a prick, it’s just a prick.”

Why couldn’t you handle a single prick? You weren’t going to die, but why did your body react so dramatically. If you could do this then you could go to another clinic and all your problems would be solved. You could do this.

With sudden confidence, you crumpled and tossed the paper towel away. Picking up the cold pin that instantly heated up in your hand, you pushed in the pin and hooked it around the clasp. You stared at the needle and the sudden confidence vanished. All the reasons why you shouldn’t do this come flooding over your system. Your fingers locked up the knot in your shoulders intensified. Saliva pooled on your tongue and gulping was hard as it hurt your throat. Subconsciously your shaking, tight fingers managed to move as you forced the motion of wiping the pin and your sweaty hand on your skirt.

You just need to prick your finger, just prick your finger and not pass out.

You stabilized your hand as you brought the pin up and near your thumb.

Just prick it. It’s only a second. That’s it.

You just need to press it lightly and that’s it.

There’s no big deal.

It’s-just-a-prick.

Your breathing shortened as you lower the pin closer to the pad of your thumb. Your hearing began ringing in your ears, knees losing tension, but you stood still. You inhaled deeply and held it for a few seconds hearing your heartbeat in your ear. You pulled your hand back like pulling the string of a bow, reading your arrow, and—release.

It was faint, but it was there. It was always there, correction, you were always there.

The pulled curtains over the ceiling to floor windows only let in a sliver of light. His nearly bare grey walls absorbed any of the strayed light. There was a screen protector over his desktop computer, alongside an open notebook and a stack of papers, clipped, ready for dispersal.

Throb, throb, throb.

Both eyes closed, an eyebrow perked, as his open palm supported his thrumming temple and his other was busy. His fingers from his pinky to his index in a flowing rhythm was countering the ticking of his desktop clock.

He was fine Monday. He’s a patient man after all.

Tuesday was okay.

Wednesday wasn’t bad, but Thursday felt nearly intolerable. Yet, he held it together.

Today—oh, today. He could feel you frantically in his veins. Your heartbeat was pulsing in his head like a migraine. He was fine with light, the stereotype was false, but today, the small light leaking in was intensifying the pain. He was so in tune with you. It irked him because the pain was pointless. He’s always been one to understand, ahead of the game, planning the game, but he wasn’t sure why he was in pain. With his middle knuckle raised in the air, he stopped tapping abruptly. He pressed all his fingers flat against the desk to center himself. The table felt warm compared to his temperature. That was another thing that had been happening to him lately, he had been feeling warmth randomly in bursts.

His world has been off kilter…and it all started with you.

False breathing for a moment, he let himself feel the pain. The beating in his head grew louder and louder. He dug into his inner blazer pocket and pulled out a small, tin mint box. Inside, instead of mints, were synthetic blood pills. He swallowed three raw, feeling them travel down his throat. He breathed in heavily waiting for the soothing effect to come over, the clock on his desk counting down in the background. Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three…the throbbing pain was still there.

With a rumbling growl that vibrated his chest, he stood from his chair like a feral beast trying to escape. He chucked the pillbox into the trash. He couldn't stand it anymore. He adjusted his grey suit and tightening his black tie as he walked towards the doors. He pushed through without pause, stuffing his fidgety hands into the pockets of his pants.

His secretary, Hoseok, the only man—a vampire—on this planet who could put with him, abruptly stood from his desk nearly toppling over. Papers he had been working on spilled over as he attempted to pick them up and pay attention at the same time. Forgetting his formalities for a second, “Yoongi, what—?” He swallowed his question as Yoongi’s gazed flicked over to him for a split second. They were fiery red, a raging fire that could turn anything into ash. Regaining professionalism, he attempted to put together why his boss was out of his office. “Sir,” checking his watch twice, ”it’s not time for the meeting yet.”

Hoseok was completely in shock. He swore he’s never seen his boss look this automaton and hagride. The creases on Yoongi’s suit weren’t fully pressed. Yet, Hoseok was still slightly timid in Yoongi’s presence, despite being best friends for centuries. His status didn't change the fact that the look in Yoongi's eyes was near lethal. There was a physical air around him that if it could only be described as a black cloud.

Yoongi’s voice was low and tense as it rolled out, “I’m doing random floor assessments.” Yoongi walked past Hoseok and into his private lobby, pressing the elevator’s down button.

Hoseok gathered what he could, dress shoes loudly clicking on the marble tile as he jogged to catch up. He barely swept passed the closing doors and into the elevator. Adjusting his suit and demeanor as the CEO’s secretary, best friend aside, “What-what department would you like to see first Sir?” Yoongi pushed the button for a floor without telling his secretary. Hoseok cast a slight glance at him only to look back quickly unnerved by his utter nonchalance. Clearing his throat he dared not to ask.

Yoongi rolled his neck slowly before the ding of the elevator signaled their arrival. As he stepped out Hoseok was hot on his trail matching Yoongi’s air of confidence as soon as the door opened. Yoongi rounded the corner and out to the large, open floor plan office floor. It was in a state of half-organized half-cluttered with light pouring in from the floor to ceiling windows that traveled all along the wall. The light intensified the pain, but he kept on. People lingering in the aisles lost in their smile and faux chuckles. A man cleared his throat and adjusted his tie suddenly cutting his conversation off as he stared in awe. A woman sipping from her mug suddenly choked spilling her drink on her shirt a bit. Yoongi made his way dead center through the major divide between the left and right desk. The noise in the room overall died down in a cascading wave to a hushed murmur. Yoongi kept his chin high and eyes straight as he walked, not bothering to meet the gaze of anyone who dared stare at him. Yet it was a given that people avoided his gaze. Yoongi drowned out the babbling, yet he heard the whispers, “It’s the red shadow.”

A tall, gangly man cleared his throat, along with a few others, cutting through stunned individuals and the aisles and came to meet Yoongi as he crossed their path. The man ushered a few others with him like stooges. With a trembling hand and voice, he attempted to approach Yoongi, following behind when they passed them without a word. The posse dumbly followed. The floor manager attempted again, “Mr. Min, Good morning. What…,” the manager exchanged glances with the other lingering employees, “ to what do we owe a visit from you today?”

Yoongi raised a brow, but without a true response, he continued to walk around in a short tour. The manager’s murmured among themselves, however, Yoongi could hear their whispered panics clearly. Yoongi never visited any of the departments, he always resided at the top of his tower. He had others to do that, come to him at the top, and report back. He had no interest in what they were doing, but he wanted to stall. He wasn’t sure his body couldn’t handle the intense wave. He wasn’t even on the right floor yet, seven floors above the intended. This was a practice round for himself. He could feel it, you, your heartbeat was raising and raising.

With a group of people behind him now, he prowled through the department. He could feel the individuals in their cubicle's heart rates skip as he walked past. It was so loud with all the noise. This was one of the main reasons why he never came down to the departments. After making around he returned to stand in front of the elevators. Hands locked behind his back he nodded and his secretary pushed the button for him. He stepped inside the elevator first then Hoseok followed to stand behind him. He stared directly ahead unblinking at the managers who stood their dumbfounded, silent, yet he could see their pupils trembling.

The doors closed.

Hoseok cleared his throat, “What floor next, Sir?”

Without glancing sideways, passing his tongue over his fangs, “Marketing.” His secretary nodded and pressed the button.

It felt slow like the mechanism was moving through molasses as he observed the digital numbers count down. He’s never felt the need to tuck his hands into his pants pocket enough, for the first time he's never known what to do with his restless hands.

Throb, throb, throb.

He patted his blazer in habit, searching for his pillbox, only to remember he threw it away. Rolling his shoulders needlessly then closing his eyes, he counted to ten resting his expression. As he opened his eyes slowly, narrowed and forward, they were glowing red despite his attempt. He stared at his own wicked look in the chrome reflection of the metal doors.

Hoseok with a soft gaze stared at him through the reflection, “Yoongi, are you alright?”

With no other choice, Yoongi tucked his hands in his pockets and grunted. The elevator dinged in arrival. He could feel it deep in his chest, that pull. He grunted ticking his head to the side disheveling his neatly done hair.

He lunged forth on instinct as a light sample of your scent filled his senses. Rounding out into the bright light that filled this floor as well, but like the pain, it became background noise as he focused on your scent. In practice, he followed the same routine walking down the middle part. Your scent grew stronger and stronger as he passed aisles until he came to a stop. He looked left and right up and down the aisle and followed instincts to the right. He paced as he passed cubicles. He paused in front of a cubicle that was empty. It was your desk, he could recognize your scent, even though he had only met you once, he knew it was yours.

A small shadow cast over him as the portly man greets him, “Good morning, Mr. Min may I-I-I help you?” The manager's eyes follow where he had been staring, especially licking his lips at the tower of papers. He clears his throat and copies Yoongi’s pose by putting his hands in his slacks, attempting to appear taller. “Ah, Mr. Min, I’m sorry for the mess. Ms. Y/N she’s quiet the slacker, she never gets her work done on time. She's new so maybe the company motto hasn't seeped in yet. But don't worry Sir, I promise you I will keep her in line though.”

Yoongi broke gaze for the first time, sparing his narrowing glance at the man. Although his face was neutral it spoke a thousand words.  

"Where is she?" You hadn't been gone long your scent still lingered, and warmth still coated the air.

When the manager was left stunned quiet and stuttering, a chilling sensation seeped through Yoongi’s body. He shuttered out an unstable breath, closing his eyes for a moment. The manger mistook it as anger and began apologizing immediately drowning out his sound until he heard it. He heard it loud and clear echoing in his ears a sound of a sharp cry…that came from you.

Having not realized another small group had formed around him. He plowed through the group and began rushing towards the sound. The sound of panting filled his ears as he allowed the sound to act as a radar. At the door of the break room, he looks through the glass door. Your standing at the counter your hand comes out to clutch at the counter, but your feet staggered. Your knees begin to buckle and his eyes widen as he realizes what's about to happen. He could hear it. Your breathing paused as you began collapsing. Nearly ripping the door open fear fills him as on your downfall he catches you pulling you into his chest.

You didn’t look up to him, your face was hidden as it hung low and your hand trembled as they latched onto his blazer. The glimmer of the pointy end of the safety pin dripped a single drop off blood onto the floor. His pupils dilated, engulfing the red into pure darkness. A feral awakening within happened as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head and your knees unlock, you begin falling like silk. He bolted forward and caught you in his embrace. He slumped to the floor with you embraced in his arms he held your head in one hand to get a better look at your face. It was almost unreal, he knew you were here, imagined it for days even, but here you were. Your face was relaxed as your unfocused eyes fluttered and his in panic.

The scent then hit him. He smelled it intensely in the air filling up the small space form such a small concentration. He brought up your hand and a small drip had made its way down your fingers. He grunted holding himself, everything he had in him back. On instinct he brought his finger to his lips and licked, his saliva sealing the small wound instantly. He resisted feeding, resisted biting, the need to protect you overrides baser instincts. He whispered your name, but you already passed out. Pulling your face to his chest, he felt the need to protect you. Your hand slumped from his grip and the safety pin slipped from your hand. Hearing a small clink he followed to the sound and noticed the open safety pin with a bit of your blood at the end. His heart squeezed. Cupping your cheek gently he pushes your hair out of your face. His eyebrows creased as he looked between the pin and you. He whispered, “Why?”

 Soon enough in the doorway of the breakroom, it had filled with his entourage. Your manager and a few others stood wide-eyed at the door. The assistant manager nudged your manager, "Go, don’t let the CEO take care of your employee.”

Choking on his saliva he pushed through and into the breakroom. “I’m so sorry Sir, please, let me take her." In a panic, the manager reached for you trying to take you away from Yoongi.

His back was towards the manager, a growl sounds, “No.” The manager panicked, trying to save face still by inching forward still. He had intended to do this earlier, but now seemed timely, “You’re fired.”

The manager sputtered, “I’m sorry, Sir, I’ll have a replacement for her soon. I will hire a better employee. This is my mistake.” He again tried pushing through to grab you from his embrace.

This time Yoongi growled out in a near roar, “You idiot, you’re fired! GET OUT!”

The manager stuttered as Hoseok pushed through the small crowd as he easily pushed away the manager. The manager stumbled back, face aghast and white as he was treated no better than a fly.

Hoseok questioned, “Sir?” 

Gently he gathered you in his arms and held you under your knees. Yoongi turned head gazed over his neck with a hard stare, eyes deep red, unspoken words between them. He stood up with you in his arms bridal style, your head tucked in his neck. It sent a shiver down his spine. Your soft breathing tickled his neck and again the hair on his body raised. His secretary and other managers were equally as shocked, shaking in their shoes, afraid for you and themselves. Hoseok had never seen Yoongi act like this, he was wondering what was going on with his best friend, especially a random girl from marketing.

Yoongi didn’t spare a glance his way, but he spoke directly to the manager, “I’ll make sure to it personally no one hires you again.”

The smell of urea tainted everyone’s nose.

Naturally, everyone parted as he walked through the crowd with you tucked close. Everyone in the cubicles had their eyes on him, but he could care less. He gallantly walked through the office. He entered the elevator and looked down at you as the doors closed.  

Your eyes lazily blink open as you blearily stare at the tall, grey ceiling. It’s so dark. Your eyes are open but you can’t comprehend why. A chill washed over you and settled over you like a wet blanket. Your teeth chattered as you internally groan, it's freezing. With a deep inhale, your heavy arms struggle to raise and wrap around yourself. You slowly sit up but as you move in slow motion you feel your skin pull away from the leather couch you’re resting on. You felt sticky, like semi-dry glue, gunky and dirty. You blink trying to take in where you are, where were you? Slowly you swung your legs around and down onto the ground. You need to feel it. It’s eerily quiet. Trying to focus on anything in the darkness none of the silhouettes seemed familiar. Just exactly, where were you? Weren’t you in the breakroom a moment ago?

Slumping forward and running your hands through your hair you held your head for a moment. Hunched over as you tried finding common ground for all your senses. Your manager was going to be so upset. Were you going to get fired? Your head raised on that though. You couldn’t afford getting fired. You couldn’t get fired! At the sudden movement, a wave of dizziness flooded you. Focusing on what was before you, your mind froze. You blinked a few times before the shadowed image defined itself. A silhouette of a man was sitting on the coffee table with his hands clasped on his knees hunched forward. Raising his head he met yours, his narrowed red eyes were beaming at you with intensity.

A choked cry for help forced itself up to your throat as you jolted away. You raised your feet off the ground and tuck them close to yourself. This must be some twisted nightmare, but it felt so real, your pounding heart and head felt all too real. He sat up straight, his eyes rounding out a bit. He tried leaning forward to you but caught himself. It took a second for your eyes to adjust to take in the disheveled dark hair of a fair-skinned man. If this was a nightmare why were they still there? This means—he was real. The longer you stared you realized his features looked tired, red eyes still narrow but softer around the edges as they held your curious gaze. Oddly, the shock washed away immediately and a weird sense of familiarity filled you. Those eyes, you knew those eyes. you realize, “You?”

He cocked a brow, repeating after you teasingly, “You?”

You racked your brain, trying to remember his name in the endless bank, but it was just on the tip of your tongue. His face was so familiar. You blinked away the haziness as his face began connecting the dots before you had a constellation. Stars lit up in your eyes, then you cleared your throat, “Yoo-Yoongi?”

Of course, you remember him. The man who you had embarrassed yourself in front of, not only once but now twice. You felt your cheeks heat up.

You lowered your feet back down.

A small smirked perked upon his lips exposing the tips of his fangs.

You squinted, “Wait, why…how did I get here?”

His smile softened up his glaring features. He stood up and rounded about as he poured a glass of water. You carefully watched his back, the suit he wore looked expensive. You gazed around the room for a second noting all the equally expensive-looking décor. This office looked straight out of a magazine with minimal but luxurious details. This lounge was a part of his office, his presidential desk faced towards the lounge.  

“Here, drink this.” He handed you a glass of water that you gladly expected with a hushed thanks. “You were in the breakroom when I found you, so I brought you to rest for a while on my couch.”

You sipped on the water, nodding in understanding. Everything he was saying made sense so far. And with the glass raised to your lips, you realized—you realized why you had passed out. You cringed internally as you tucked your thumb into your fist. You felt mortified, frozen in place. Yoongi had seen you again in such a pathetic position. You wished the world would open up and swallow you whole. Wait, his couch? This was his couch?  Wait...Yoongi…the receiver you were supposed to donate— wait, the one you had passed out on. You passed out in front of Yoongi. You were at work, and Yoongi found you in the breakroom? Gazing around once more you looked at the desk and read off the plaque on his desk. Min Yoongi CEO. Nausea filled you as your jaw unhinged. Yoongi—CEO Min Yoongi of MYG Technological Corps. You passed out in front of the CEO! The CEO! You began breathing in deeply as a slight panic set in. Oh god, you couldn't be here. You have never felt so utterly humiliated.

You got up and stumbled as you held onto the edge of the couch. You smoothed down your clothing and rapidly conveyed your emotions. “Thank you, Yoongi-I mean Mr. Min, uhm, thank you for…goodbye.”

His voice broke through, feeling the sudden rise in your heart rate. Your sudden behavior change surprised him. “Hey, what’s going on?”

When he realized you weren’t stopping. It was like a force unbeknownst existed physically pulled him up as he raced to the door. A throb began pulsing as you speed away from him. He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight, not again. He gently pushed the door closed as you tried opening it to leave.  “Wait, don’t go.”

You turned around and came face to face with Yoongi. Nose inches apart for a second before he backs away politely clearing his throat. He wasn’t weak to his instincts, he wasn’t. He asked, “Please, stay.”  

You avoid eye contact, hand still on the door handle. On a single exhale, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Sir. Again! Oh my god, I’m so sorry I’m in your—your office! This is your office.” Taking your hand off the door handle for emphasis, you then point to his whole visage, ”You’re the CEO. I’m so, so, so, so sorry.” After your monologue, your out of breath and flushed.

The ticking of his clock is the only sound that accompanies your harsh breathing. He chuckles, which turns into a laugh. You curl in on yourself. He immediately corrects himself. “Excuse me, I’m not laughing at you. Your…your just too,” he pauses, wanting to use another word but settled for, “honest.”

It really would be great if the world would open up now. You could hear your heart in your ear. It took a second to remember he probably could too. He was a vampire; he could probably hear everything.  

It was odd, you had this power over him, the glow immediately diminishing and his eyes returned to brown. He realized how strong he must’ve been coming off. In a husky low voice, his eyes glowing again, “Stay Y/n. Stay and let me explain.”

Something was rooting you to the floor, you couldn’t explain it, but you wanted to listen. Your chest was rising and falling. “Okay.”

You followed him back to the couch as he sat across from you on the opposing couch. You couldn't believe it still, your receiver was your CEO. How had you not seen this earlier? Well, Yoon—Mr. Min never has shown himself publicly. He is anonymous to the public. Anonymous to the office—well you have only been working for a few months.  

Silence built between you both, you weren’t sure what he needed to explain. To him though, a full orchestra was playing, to his ears through your heartbeat was drumming. He was feeling overwhelmed with your sweet scent as it filled his office. The need to be near you was like an itch, but he purposefully sat across from you. The small taste of your blood, a droplet of a sample, had him fishing his pills out of the trash as soon as he laid you down on the couch. You, you made him weak.

You needed to know, “Why?”

He arched a brow, “Why what?”

You twiddled your thumbs, “Tell me you were the CEO. When I was donating you let me speak so openly to you. I'm sorry for speaking so out of term. I'll leave my resignation letter on my manager's desk by the end of the day."

He smiled. "Y/n." You wouldn't have to worry about your manager anymore anyways.

You looked at him finally. His eyes had returned to normalcy. The same pull you had felt the day you had met him pulled underneath your skin. Although, maybe you were mistaking it for nausea.

Sternly, "I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. I don't let anyone know who I am beside the people closest to me. But I don't want you to resign. Stop apologizing."

You felt a blush creep up on your cheeks. “Thank you Mr.Min.”

He chuckled, “Please, call me Yoongi.”

You nodded, although, it felt too informal now that you know who he truly is.

You swallowed hard, suddenly whispering, “Why’d you leave?”

His eyes widened, “You were being taken care of, there was no need for me to stay.”

In truth, he felt overwhelmed. For the first time in centuries since his turning, he felt overwhelmed. He didn’t know what to do, besides run. Run from the fact that you were his mate and he didn’t know how to handle that. He couldn’t articulate it fully, he felt it would be too much to drop on you that you were his mate. A human, you couldn’t understand. Yet, his body surely hasn’t forgotten, his senses surely haven’t that you’re his mate. The throbbing in his head was a constant reminder. Finally, it stopped with you, here in his office. You’re none the wiser about this, you don’t know anything about his kind. He can’t spring that onto you, you don’t know what it means.

“Oh.”

“Why’d you prick yourself?”

Your headshot up, a flush of heat traveling up your neck and steaming your brain. “I-I-,” you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your life. In a near mumble, “Iwantedtoprovetomyselfitisn’tabitdeal.”

He had exceptional hearing, but he couldn’t make anything you said out. You heavily sighed, taking a deep breath, “I,” licking your lips, “needed the extra money.” He couldn’t help following the motion. “I wanted to go to another clinic to donate.”

His eyes snap narrow in anger, no one, no other of his kind or human could touch you. No one should ever get to taste you besides him. Genuinely mad he commanded, “No.” You shrunk back into the chair, trembling a bit. He realized his mistake in predation taking a deep breath in. His limbs were vibrating as he stands up and paces for a bit. You rub your forearms unsure of what to do in this situation. He took a seat next to you. Feeling your warmth radiate from you just by sitting next to you calmed him a bit. “Do you realize what you’re going to do Y/n?”

You nodded not looking at him. You were unsure, but not uncomfortable. “Yes, I know, but what other choice do I have.”

He rubbed his palm together. “Let me make a deal with you Y/n.”

“A deal?”

“How about I help you overcome your fear?”

You quirked a brow then squinted at him. “What’s in it for you?”

"I don't want to see my employees seek work elsewhere."

Your face relayed you were unconvinced.

“If I help you overcome your fear, and if it’s successful, will you let me feed from you? If you are that adamant about donating again, then let me be your receiver.”

There it was, the catch.

You edged yourself to the corner of the couch, fully turning your body towards Yoongi. “That’s illegal! I can’t be your personal donor Yoongi.”

He smiled, “This isn’t a donor situation, simply I’m helping you overcome your fear of needles…just with my fangs. As a vicarious, non-intentional consequence, you may bleed and I will clean it, essentially feed, but that will be voluntary not by obligation.”

He could see your brain working a million miles per hour.

He tossed in, “I’ll consider this as a personal assistant job, the other portion of overcoming just subsidiary as it may possibly be beneficial on my end. So I’ll pay you well for the time you spend with me. You won’t ever have to go to a clinic again.”

You pondered for a moment; the deal seemed great. This was partially why you had started in the beginning, to challenge yourself. Well, bills were also great motivation. This was an answer to your problems. You oddly felt you could trust him. He had been nothing but assuring. Thinking it over, you were sure you had gone silent for at least five minutes.

“If you don’t want it, I understand." Although it ripped him to think about it, he didn't want you to feel trapped. He never wanted to push you. Even though he knew you were his mate, he wasn’t going to ever push you, but being close to you often would ease the headache and thirst. “We’ll figure something else out.”

You looked up, decidedly, “Okay. Teach me.”

Copyright 2020 © by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved. 6.3

[sick-atsumu-side]

8. Before a Match reverse | Miya Osamu

Disclaimer: All of the characters belongs to Haruichi Furudate, they’re not mine.

Warnings: description of vomit, fever.

Okay, this is the other part of the request of @happy-hufflepuff44-blog so I hope you like this 💘 I tried my best aaaand that’s it, hope you enjoy! Sorry if it’s a bit long ):

‘‘Aaagh, I forgot my kneepads!’’ 

Osamu sighed with annoyance at his brother’s yelling, finally putting on his own kneepads in the dressing room. He really didn´t wan’t to play that day, because he wasn’t feeling good and he hadn’t had any sleep last night for being stuck in the bathroom trying to puke his guts out without any results, just bile and saliva. His mother told him not to go that day after taking care of him, but there he was, in the dressing room where they were just a few minutes for the warm up to start.

‘‘Samu, do ya’ have another pair of kneepads?’‘ Atsumu asks, peering at him with an innocent smile. 

‘‘No, I don’t.’‘ Osamu responds without even looking at him, this time grabbing his phone to see the message he had received.

‘‘Ahhhg, why am I so stupid?!’’ Atsumu yelled in frustration, grabbing his head with both hands.

Osamu grimaced.

‘‘Tsumu don’t yell. Why do you have to be so noisy? Damn.” Suna said, while he was applying deodorant in both armpits.

Osamu thanked him in silence.

“I’m in a crisis ya’know?! I have ta’ yell!”

‘‘I think Kita has another pair, maybe you should ask him.’‘ Aran enters the conversation, he looked ready to play.

‘‘Ugh, he’s gonna kill me.’‘

Osamu answered the text he got and told his mother that he was fine, clearly lying just to not make her worry. After that, he sighed slowly, putting down his phone on the bench and feeling a bit off as his stomach gurgled silently. Osamu placed a hand on it and rubbed the organ up and down. His teammates were helping his brother to find kneepads so they didn’t notice that.

That was until he stood up abruptly, capturing Suna’s attention a bit.

‘’Samu, you okay? Where are you going?’‘ Aran looked at him too, as Atsumu exits the dressing room abruptly to finally go and find Kita. He had no option.

Osamu removed his hand from his stomach.

‘‘Bathroom, I gotta pee.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

‘‘K’ay, don’t take too long.”

Osamu breathed shakily as he got out rapidly of the dressing room, entering almost immediately in the bathroom, which was next door. He felt cold and warm at the same time, the same way he felt last night, as a wave of dizziness crossed his head. His footstep were lazy when he walked in and doubled over in the nearest cubicle, gagging slightly in front of the toilet.

He placed a hand on his belly again and rubbed it, as he saw the tiny puddle of transparent saliva mixed with the water in front of him. He was feeling bad, too bad that he regretted not listening to his mother advice. Atsumu didn’t know about his condition, because he had always been a heavy sleeper so he couldn’t blame him for not being there with him. However, he wanted to go home.

Now.

Another uneasy gurgle sounded from his belly, and he gagged again. There was a lot of saliva, but nothing more than that. He was so nauseous.

“Samu, you in there?” Suna’s voice alarmed him and he coughed a bit, before getting out of the cubicle. “Dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

Osamu sighed and went to the sink, washing his hands immediately.

“Yes.” He said, when the wave of nausea went off a bit. “Why?”

“You seem off.” Suna wasn’t an idiot, but if Osamu didn’t wan’t to tell him what was wrong, he would respect that. “Like... tired.”

“I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

Osamu didn’t know why he lied to Suna, because he was feeling too bad and his stomach was almost killing him. Why didn’t he said something about it so he could go home? It wasn’t a strong opponent whose they were facing and it wasn’t an important match either. Maybe he couldn’t just drop a match because of Kita, he didn’t know.

“Let’s go then.” Suna patted on Samu’s back, making him lost his balance a bit. “Everybody’s on the court already.”

The dark haired boy turned and got out of the bathroom, as Samu grabbed the sink to not fall down. Geez, when was the last time he felt like that?

“Samu, i’m waiting!”

The gray haired twin took a deep breath and exhaled before he went to walk out the bathroom again. After that, he walked to the court next to Suna. His vision clearly a bit blurred because of the light.

He really didn’t feel like playing.

When the warm ups started, Osamu almost failed all of the practice spikes and practice receiving. The coach looked a bit worried, because he knew that when Osamu failed it was because something was wrong or because he wasn’t totally concentrated in the game. Maybe if he fails in the first set, he would be getting out of the game.

That was the thoughts of the coach, at least.

“Samu, you suck.” Atsumu said, almost mad at him for not giving his best. “I’m not fucking doing passes to you if ya’ keep failing my sets.”

“At least I have kneepads, asshole.”

“Excuuuse me? Without kneepads I am better than you, so screw ya’.”

Samu breathed heavily, hearing the ring that meant the end of the warm ups and the start of the game. Atsumu just growled at him and turned to go to the net.

“Samu, can ya’ walk more faster?” The blond snapped at him, noticing how his brother was walking so slow behind him. “The game’s gonna start if ya don’t know.”

Osamu blinked rapidly, trying to catch his breath after the warm up. He doubled over and holded his whole body with both hands on his knees. Geez, he felt really uneasy, dizzy and nauseous. His vision was more blurry than before and he felt a strong wave of nausea rock his entire body.

“Tsumu, wait.”

The blonde turned madly at him and raised an eyebrow when he saw him bending. The rest of the team didn’t noticed this because they kept walking towards the net. They were standing in a row.

“Samu, the fuck you’re doing? Let’s go.”

“I- I don’t feel good.” he breathed out, almost choking himself as he bringed a hand up to cover his mouth.

“What ya’ mean? Hey, Samu.”

Atsumu looked confused and annoyed as he got close to him, but when he saw him gag hard on his hand with both eyes closed, he freaked out.

“Shit.” Atsumu ran out to him. “Wait, fuck.”

Atsumu grabbed him by the shirt and walked faster than before with him, this time going to the other side of the court, where the bathroom was. He didn’t care if the game was going to start now, even if he heard the coach and Kita desperately calling for them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?You okay?” Atsumu asks, almost immediately when the two were already inside a cubicle.

Osamu groaned, both eyes going a bit watery.

“I-” he swallowed hard, closing his eyes to ease the nausea and the churning on his belly. That time Atsumu noticed how flushed he was. “False alarm. Sorry, let’s go to the court.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m not.” Osamu groaned. “I just got dizzy with the receiving warm up.”

Atsumu placed a palm abruptly onto Osamu’s forehead and grimaced with guilt. His brother was drowning in fever, there was no way he could deny that.

“Yea, and I’m Jesus.”

“Jesus is good, you’re not.”

Osamu inhaled deeply and felt his stomach turn again, so he groaned at the feeling and grabbed the angry organ with both arms. Whatever he had on his stomach (because he didn’t have breakfast that morning) was feeling so heavy in there that the only thing he wanted, was to throw up and get over with it.

He spitted saliva on the toilet, feeling a bit of bitter taste on his tongue.

“You’re not gonna play like this.” Atsumu stated, as he heard the bathroom door being open. “It’s like suicide.”

“Miya’s? You there?”

Osamu placed a hand on his face and Atsumu got out of the cubicle to face the angry shadow of Kita. That was the last thing they wanted.

“What happened?” He asked, walking towards the blonde. “Why did you run like that? The game already started and the coach is mad. I know we are facing a weak opponent but you two should be more responsable. Especially you, Atsumu. We already talked about it when you ask me for kneepads.”

Osamu felt something revolving inside of him, and he burped slightly on his fist. Feeling the taste of acid and putrid eggs. He groaned at it, clearly disgusted. He was feeling so sick.

“Kita-san, I already said sorry and Samu’s sick.” Atsumu said in defense, almost immediately when Kita finished his sentence. “And he was about to hurl, that’s the reason behind us running. Sorry.”

“Where’s he?”

“The last cubicle.”

Osamu cursed on his mind, as he burped again on his fist. After that, he coughed and bended to face the toilet.

“You ok there?” Kita was so soft when he wanted to. “You look terrible. I’m surprised at how I didn’t noticed this before, sorry about that.”

“Tsumu’s my brother and he didn’t knew too. Don’t worry, Kita-san.”

Osamu gagged slightly, bringing up a bit of yellow bile inside the toilet. Kita placed a hand on his already soaked back and started to make circles on it. Atsumu was outside the cubicle but he was staring at the scene with a worried expression.

Why didn’t Samu told him?

“Fu-fuck.” Osamu gagged hard again, bringing nothing more than bile as he coughed. Atsumu wrinkled his nose.

“Just let it happen, you’ll feel better after that.” Kita said, still rubbing circles on his back. “Tsumu, go to the court. The team needs you, I got him.”

“Bu-”

“Go.”

Atsumu watched in horror at how his brother jerked in pain, coughing and gagging loudly. He didn’t wan’t to let him alone there, he knew that Kita was a good caretaker, he was even better than him. However, this time he felt like it was his responsibility since he didn’t noticed how sick he was.

“Tsumu, I got him.” Kita said again, with a serious glare and Atsumu sighed.

Osamu belched loudly and he felt something stuck on the back of his throat, everything hurted inside of him and he was already crying because of it. He wasn’t sobbing, though. Just crying.

“Relax, Samu. I got’cha.”

His lips shivered when he heard Atsumu’s intent of soft voice and this time he let out a pained sob. The hand that was making circles on his back, now was from his brother. Maybe he was hallucinating in fever but, that felt kind of good in all of his misery.

Not that he didn’t like Kita’s, but it was different.

“Relax, Samu. You’re too tense damn it.”

“C-can’t.” Samu coughed out, gagging at the end. “La-ast night was the same. I just- just wanna puke already. It hurts.”

Atsumu grimaced, and then he made Samu kneel in front of the toilet as he kneeled by his side. Kita watched them with a serious look from outside, as he glared at the people who entered the bathroom to pee or wash his hands.

“K’ay.” Atsumu said, sighing at the end as he still rubbed Samu’s back and shoulders. “Do you remember that time when I puked on you accidentally after I ate cheese by mistake and you started to puke too because of it when we where like ten?”

Osamu gagged almost immediately.

“You said it smelled like rancy cheese and sour milk, and it tasted like-”

A strangled sound was heard from Osamu’s throat and before Atsumu could say more, Osamu retched a mouthful of sick in front of the toilet, splashing it in the water below his chin. Immediately at the end, Osamu coughed and belched sickly another mouthful without any break.

“There you go.” Atsumu said, wrinkling his nose at the smell of putrid eggs. “Just let that shit out of your body.”

Osamu tried to catch his breath between rounds, but another gurgle interrupted him and he threw up another mouthful of thick yellow vomit mixed with colours like pale brown and green. He felt disgusting, but relieved at the same time.

“The fuck you ate? Gee-g ez.” Atsumu gagged slightly on his shoulder because of the smell, as Osamu gagged another round of colorful sick. This time more liquid than before and it came out from his nose too, messing up a bit the edge of the toilet because of the splash.

“He is really sick.” Kita said, as Osamu heaved again and jerked more stinky liquid inside the toilet, the sound of it echoing in the entire bathroom. “Pass me your mom number when he’s done. He has to be home.”

“She’s working now, but I think this is an emergency.” The blonde said, as he heard Osamu’s groan when he threw up more from his nose.

“It is.”

Atsumu nodded and covered his nose as he still rubbed his brother back. He was panting now and just gagging tiny puddles of sick.

“You see? It wasn’t something hard to do.” Atsumu said, as Osamu blew his nose inside the sick toilet.

“Don’t you ever remember me that day again, you asshole and stupid lactose intolerant.”

Atsumu laughed a bit and when he saw him flushing the toilet he stood up, still covering his nose. The gray haired twin sighed with a pained and flushed cheeks expression as he sitted down in the floor next to the toilet, grabbing his stomach with one hand and rubbing it up and down.

He burped, swallowing the awful taste.

“How you feel now? Better?” Kita asks, and Osamu nods.

“Kind of, my belly’s still hurting and I’m cold.” Osamu closed his watery eyes, breathing slowly. “I wanna go home, I really don’t feel good.”

Atsumu passed the phone number of his mother to Kita and he immediately called her as he got out of the bathroom. Atsumu peered at his brother with an innocent smile when Kita was gone. Osamu opened his eyes at the feeling.

“What?” Osamu snapped at him, his face tired of everything and red because of the fever.

“Well.” Atsumu cleared his throat with a smirk. “Since you won’t be playing, I think you should pass me your kneepads.”

You gotta be kidding me.

That was what Osamu thought in annoyance, but in the other way he was greatful for having him in there. He was an asshole, but he was his brother.

His twin brother.

The only one who could take care of him properly since they were kids.

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 70 - Sectumsempra

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 3,429

Summary: The trio tries to find what Nora is doing with disastrous consequences.

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

As expected, Slytherin lost to Hufflepuff by a landslide.

The team captain didn’t even bother looking in Yato’s direction once the match ended; he was probably glad to see the back of the supposed ‘Best Seeker’ Hogwarts had ever seen.

Once again, Hiyori and Yukine found Yato in the library following the defeat. It was alive with fifth and seventh years students in a never-ending cycle of revision and studying as they reached the halfway point of the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s exams. Something that Yato really should’ve been doing.

“Why did I get back into Quidditch?” Yato said morosely. He had his head on his arm, stretched out across the table. He received a few dirty looks from a group of fifth-year Hufflepuffs who were trying to find a space to study.

Hiyori and Yukine exchanged looks but didn’t answer the rhetorical question.

“At least you won’t have to play Gryffindor for the cup,” Hiyori said helpfully.

It was slightly helpful. But there was a tinge of sadness that he wouldn’t be playing Quidditch anymore – at least not in Hogwarts, or for his house.

Yato straightened himself and spread his hands on the table with a sigh. “One less thing to worry about, I guess.”

“And it looks like Nora has stopped too,” Yukine commented. “The last thing she did was the wine, and that was before Christmas.”

Yato hummed. Nora had been evasive the entire year – except for her kidnapping and murder attempts –, and now she was openly glaring at him at every turn. He could only feel that something larger was at work.

His mind began to scheme. If Nora was planning something… he could catch her in the act. He’d have the proof he needed that she was the one who sent the necklace and the wine to kill Professor Tenjin.

“Has she been acting differently?” Yato asked, trying to seem nonchalant. “Aside from the murderous stares I’ve been getting.”

“We’ve been getting,” Hiyori corrected. “I can feel eyes burning in the back of my head in classes I have with her.”

Yukine plopped his chin in his hand, looking thoughtful. “Well, she leaves dinner early almost every day.”

Yato perked up. It had become so repetitive that in his distractions he’d gotten used to seeing Nora leave at least half an hour before everyone else, but Yukine had always noticed from his seat on the end of Hufflepuff’s table.

“Do you know where she’s been going to?” Yato asked.

Yukine shrugged. “Dunno, upstairs somewhere. I don’t think it's a book club.”

“You said that she goes every day?” Yato reaffirmed.

Hiyori could sense trouble brewing from Yukine’s frown. He didn’t like it when Yato showed an interest; it usually led to bad things. “Yeah, every day.”

“Well then,” Yato said. “Let’s find out what she’s up to.”

~

After some protesting from Hiyori and Yukine – and some convincing from Yato that he would need someone to keep him out of trouble anyway – the plan was set.

The next day, Yato, Hiyori and Yukine waited inside the Great Hall at dinnertime. They waited, watching for the moment.

As expected, Nora stood and left, heading up the grand staircase. In unison, Yato, Hiyori, and Yukine stood up and left the Great hall, dinner half-eaten.

When she disappeared around the corner of the stairs, they followed at a pace that seemed too close for comfort. The moving staircases proved difficult to maneuver as they tried not to lose her in the labyrinth of hallways. They’d agreed to split up in case she caught onto the fact she was being followed or tried to use any of the secret passages that led out of Hogwarts.

Yukine split away on the fourth floor where a tunnel was hidden behind a mirror. Hiyori left on the fifth floor at the tunnel guarded by a statue of Gregory the Smarmy, but by the time Yato reached the seventh floor, there was no sign of Nora.

Yato cursed under his breath and paused. There were no signs of life aside from the lit torches set into the walls, but it did nothing to help him. He was careful to stay hidden in case Nora was just around the corner, but she was never there. There were no more tunnels higher than the fifth floor, making it impossible for Nora to have slipped past them. He checked every open classroom and listened at every closed door, checked behind the troll ballet tapestry.

Nothing. Nora had vanished into thin air.

Yato begrudgingly made his way back down to the sixth floor. He found Hiyori at her post by the statue. She seemed surprised to see him.

“Don’t tell me you lost her?” Hiyori said.

Yato would’ve been annoyed at the incredulous way she said it, but he was out of breath from the stairs. “She just disappeared.”

Hiyori frowned. “She hasn’t been down this way – no one has. She must be up there somewhere.”

Yato froze with sudden realisation. “You don’t think…”

“She’s using the Room of Requirement?” Hiyori finished.

It clicked into place the second it was spoken. Nora disappeared on the seventh floor, and they knew Nora was aware of it; she was the one who led Oshi to them to stop their secret Order of the Phoenix.

Hiyori suddenly placed a hand on Yato’s arm and tugged him into the shadows of an alcove, her gaze locked on something behind him.

Yato turned his head. Footsteps rang on the stone behind them and a second later Nora came barrelling past. She didn’t notice the two of them tucked to the side watching as she rounded the landing and continued her descent.

“Get Yukine,” Yato hissed.

Yato kept his eyes locked on Nora as he tried to keep up. She seemed to stumble as she reached the ground floor, a hand clasped over her mouth. The Great Hall was abandoned, the benches empty and the plates cleared as Yato ducked into the door’s alcove.

Nora’s footsteps receded and as Yato poked his head around the corner, she turned sharply and pushed open the door to the girl’s bathroom.

Yato slowly paced closer and pressed his back to the wall of the bathroom. After a moment, running water sounded from within. He hesitated for a moment, debating whether to go to the Room of Requirement and find what she had done, before following her inside.

The bathroom was filled with rows of empty toilet cubicles that stretched to the right. The tall lattice windows cast grey shadows onto the floor, interrupted by mirrors which hung in front of the basins where Nora was splashing her face with water, breathing heavily.

She didn’t notice Yato’s presence as he stepped inside. The door closed behind him.

“What are you doing?”

Nora startled at the sound of his voice. Her head whipped up so her face, paler than the white tiles, reflected back at him in the mirror. Silence hung in the air between them, thick and cloying as the water trickled down the drain. Nora’s head dipped so she was staring into the sink basin, forcing down bile and tremors that coursed her body.

It set Yato on edge to see her this way. Nora was shaken, and she never showed emotion or weakness. Yato took a step closer, cautious but determined. Nora’s grip tightened on the sink.

“Why are you trying to kill the headmaster?”

“Father…” Nora looked up. Words danced on the tip of her tongue; a secret not meant to be shared.

For a moment Nora looked like the scared little girl he’d met all those years ago, her big eyes looking at up Yato and her hand enclosed with Father’s. And then she was gone. The little girl was dead, replaced by a stoic expression and cold eyes that found his as she turned around.

“Why are you doing this?” Yato asked. “What will it achieve?”

“It would bring you home.”

Yato paused. Nora’s voice was so quiet that he may have misheard her, but she made no mistake in her revelation.

“You were meant to fall in love with me, and you would come home with me, back to Father, and we could be a family again.”

It struck Yato harder than it should have; he knew those chocolates never came from Hiyori in the first place. How could she, a Gryffindor, get into Slytherins dorms to place them? But the idea to have him fall in love with Nora, who could’ve so easily led him back to the Sorcerer, was a new, twisted kind of trick.

“The headmaster would die, and the Ministry would fall…” Nora continued.

She paused and Yato felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“No one would have to get hurt if you came home.”

Nora fired a spell faster than Yato could draw his own wand. He threw himself to the side, landing harshly on the cold tile, and dragged himself behind a row of toilet cubicles. In the midst of splintering tile and flashes of colour and the fumbling for his own wand, Yato cursed himself for not noticing her sliding her wand from her pocket.

She had tried to kidnap him twice. She had tried to kill the headmaster twice. She had cursed Hiyori, poisoned him, and now she was going to take him back to Father if it was the last thing she did.

Yato couldn’t – wouldn’t – let her take him.

Yato threw himself against a wall and peered around the side, narrowing missing a hit as Nora threw another spell at him. Yato ducked as it exploded against the opposite wall and returned fire. A volley of wordless spells flew between them, crashing against cubicles, mirrors, and pipes that burst in a shower of glass and water.

Yato caught glimpses of Nora reflected in the clouded windows and shattered glass and pools of water, but at every turn she was waiting with deadly recoil of a viper. Overhead, under doors, around corners, the attacks were relentless, zapping Yato’s energy as the water pipes doused him as he ran and sought cover. His wand was warm in his fist when the name came.

“Yaboku…”

Yato’s blood ran cold. The glimpse of a shadow from the corner of his eye brought a fresh bought of rage that he hadn’t felt since... since…

Since Sakura died.

White-hot anger filled Yato. One spell reared in the front of his memory, malicious and perfectly crafted to wield hate and turn it into a deadly weapon. One that would end this.

Yato darted out from his hiding spot and stood side-on, and, before Nora could aim her wand, cursed.

“Sectumsempra!”

Nora’s winded shriek was cut short by a thump and a tinkling of glass.

Yato edged forward, wand still tight in his hand. Water gushed from the pipes and created a mirrored pool on the floor that reflected the stormy scene beyond the darkened lattice windows. His footsteps rippled the water as he rounded the corner.

Nora lay on her back, wand cast to the side. Blood blossomed through her clothes, saturating them and diluting the water around her until the tendrils had seeped around his shoes. Her chest rose and fell quickly with a mixture of gurgled coughs and cries.

Yato froze. The blood rushed to his ears, blocking out the sound of someone entering the bathroom and their mortified words. A whoosh of black robes brushed by his side – Madame Kofuku, her face stricken as she looked down at Nora, the blood, the spell she knew all too well. She dropped to her knees, wands in hand and already moving over the expanse of Nora’s shredded body, chanting over and over again ‘Vulnera Sanentur’.

Yato felt his stomach as he bolted out of the room.

The look Professor Tenjin had given him during the hour-long tirade and interrogation about where he had learned such a spell had reduced Yato’s mind to numbness. He admitted everything: how he got the book from Madame Kofuku, cheated in tests, and learned the spell without realising until he snapped.

Yato felt worse when Madame Kofuku joined them. He’d thrown her under the bus, and now she may be fired the same way Daikoku was.

“She’s fine,” Madame Kofuku said as she gently closed the door. “Bruised and shaken, but fine.”

Yato couldn’t even feel angry at that; what he’d done was dark, despicable. Exactly what Father wanted him to be.

Professor Tenjin closed his eyes with another deep sigh. His eyebrows pinched together, and Yato waited to be expelled. Finally, he spoke.

“You can’t take back what you’ve done,” Professor Tenjin said bitterly. He opened his eyes with a gaze that pierced straight through Yato. “But that book must not pass through anyone’s hands. Do you understand?”

Yato felt his stomach knot. Madame Kofuku hadn’t taught him the spell, not directly, not intentionally. It was a forgotten spell, concealed in a book twenty years old that should have never seen the light of day. Her kindness to help him had hurt another and risked her own position at Hogwarts, and for that he alone was responsible.

Yato nodded. He understood.

Yato left the office and made his way down the winding staircase, the book in hand. It was nearly curfew by the time he reached the main hallway, but students still lingered in the dying sunlight in the courtyard. He could feel eyes on him, the looks thrown in his direction by students who knew what he had done.

Madman, monster, murderer, his thoughts taunted as he tried to ignore their gazes.

Yato was surprised to find Hiyori stood outside the Great Hall, her arms wrapped around her waist as she looked around. There was no sign of Yukine; he was probably already back in the dorms. As soon Hiyori’s eyes caught on him she released herself and took a step forward.

Yato stopped short and hid the book behind his back, as a defense to keep her from the terrible spell within it, knowing what it could do. What he had done.

Hiyori’s eyes caught on it, and she could tell that whatever it was, it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about.

“I need to get rid of something…” Yato trailed off.

Hiyori paused for a second, eyes lowered to where the book rested behind his back and nodded. “Ok, I’ll see you -,”

“Will you come with me?”

The question was rushed in a breath, tentative and desperate. It surprised her – he could see it in the slight way she was taken aback by the directness. He half-expected her to say no, that it was almost curfew, but she didn’t.

“Ok.”

Hiyori fell into step beside Yato as they ascended the grand staircase, the book hidden by his side. They walked in silence, past the dimly lit torches that spread light through the darkened halls as they left the world behind.

When they arrived on the seventh floor Hiyori wondered if Yato was still fixed on finding what Nora had done, until she caught a glimpse of the book behind his back as he opened the door of the Room of Requirement and held it for her.

Hiyori stepped inside. The Room of Requirement had morphed into what they needed – into what Yato needed – right at that moment. Gone were the light fixtures and broken lattice windows, the Deatheater dummies, and the fireplace that kept them warm through training sessions.

The room was stacked high with an assortment of junk. Broken chandeliers that had hung in the Great Hall, tomes and parchments motheaten and rotten, boxes and artifacts and wardrobes and chairs stack high in towers that would fall like a Jenga tower if one item was removed. A tall wooden cabinet stood against the nearest heap, its door slightly ajar yet empty.

The door softly closed behind her, and Hiyori turned.

Yato seemed just as surprised to see the dumpsite as her, but he knew the clue was in the name. Whatever you need, the room would provide. His eyes left the caving towers and found Hiyori. Only now did he pull the book from behind his back and hold it in both hands. He looked down at it, the very thing that had helped him and hurt another.

The silence stretched between them before he held it out to Hiyori.

Hiyori took it gently and read the smeared cover before she flipped it open. It was a Potions textbook, graffitied and worn with age.

“It’s Madame Kofuku’s old textbook,” Yato said.

Hiyori spared him a glance but he wouldn’t meet it. He explained how Madame Kofuku saw him struggle, how she mastered every potion and gave him her book to help, and how he used it to win the Liquid Luck.

All through it, Hiyori listened.

Hiyori flicked through the pages, taking in the expansive notes and edits beside each potion. It fell into place how Yato had become so good at potions, besting Yukine for the entire year no matter the task.

“This is where I…” The questioning look Hiyori gave him was nearly enough for Yato to recoil, to take the book and tell her to leave him to do this himself, but he swallowed it down. “Found the spell.”

The silence stretched endlessly, and Yato felt his blood run cold. He wondered if Hiyori would leave, tell him not to come near her ever again.

Madman, monster, murderer.

But Hiyori never spoke or moved. She looked at him, not with pity, but with the understanding that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and made stupid mistakes that he couldn’t take back.

“We need to hide it, so no one will find it again,” Yato looked around, unable to her gaze. “This seems like the best place.”

Few people knew of the Room of Requirement. Merlin’s Cave could’ve been hidden within it and they would be none the wiser.

“Alright, close your eyes.”

Yato looked at Hiyori. Her grip had tightened on the book, but her eyes were clear with intent. He opened his mouth to question, but she cut him off.

“That way you can't be tempted. Close your eyes.”

Yato closed his mouth, and after a moment, his eyes.

He could hear the gentle tap of her footsteps retreat, disappearing and meandering through the lost treasures the room held. He heard his own breathing in the silence, waiting, telling himself not to peak, to avoid the temptation. He was so entranced with his own thoughts that he didn’t realise Hiyori had come back, or perhaps she had meant to sneak up on him.

A smile tugged at Hiyori’s lips as her eyes roamed over his face, taking in and seeing how much he had grown from the boy she had met. He was still taller than her, but she didn’t complain. She watched Yato’s expression; the way his eyes moved beneath his eyelids as he fought the urge to open his eyes, the gentle breath that passed through his lips.

Hiyori felt a pull, but she ignored it. Whatever he had said under a love potion wasn’t real. The feelings that she had for him were just a crush that would fade, even if it had been years since she had realised she liked him. The way he smiled at her, the way he protected her, these were all things friends do for each other.

Still, she could tease him as much as he teased her.

“Maybe I can stay hidden up here if you like.”

Yato startled, but a smile twitched in the corner of his mouth. Her voice was little more than a whisper, unbelievably close to his face, so close that he could feel the heat of her breath and the smell of her warmth.

Yato’s eyes begged to open, even flutter, but he kept them shut as promised. He hesitated before he found the courage to move his head closer to where he thought she should be, seeking her out with the same desperation he would for the Snitch. He didn’t know what he may have said or done whilst under the effects of the love potion, but he knew everything was true when she was only a breath away from him. She must have known it too.

She said nothing more, and after a moment of waiting the door clicked shut behind him.

Yato opened his eyes, and Hiyori was gone.

[bandblogging]

Red-eye Flight (Michael Clifford Smut)

Pairing: Michael Clifford x Reader

Words: 1.3k

Warning: Smut, NSFW

Summary: A red eye flight turns steamy between you two, but obviously just for a quick while. Basically an inauguration into the mile high club. (but like unrealistic obvs)

A/N: part of this sat in my half written section forever... So eh yeah this was kinda inspired by the two line "We'll be sleeping on a red-eye flight", "we'll be fucking on a red-eye flight", from Miley Cyrus's 'D.R.E.A.M'

_

We'll be sleeping on a red-eye flight

We'll be fucking on a red-eye flight

Tiredness had became a part of you when you left your old life to join your boyfriend on tour. The nights were late, mornings were early, the bus was tight and a different bed each night didn't help. Around week five you had just accepted your new state, falling asleep in seconds when the opportunity arose.

"The nap-masters have risen from the dead", Ashton laughed but patted the spot next to him on the bench. The bus was shaking on a rocky road and you felt Michael's hand grip you a little firmer. "Well at least some of us have superpowers", you grinned back at him and a yawn escaped you.

Michael sat down next to you on the bench and began to comb through his bed hair with his fingers.

The band was on their way to the next city and during the drive you and Michael had decided to take a nap, by now you could probably even call it a shared hobby. "If you call it that", Calum rolled his eyes at you but couldn't hide his smile.

An interview, a show and a city later you were sitting at the airport, waiting for your flight to board. Taking a flight after a show was always a rush, nobody being as ready as they should have been. You had barely sat down when you were already rushed onto the plane. You and Michael were given two spacious seats next to each other, enough space to almost lay down completely. The first class was pretty empty, you actually felt a bit of privacy on a flight for once. Adrenaline was apparently still pumping through Michael's veins though as he just couldn't sit still during take-off. "My god will you just shut up", you chuckled in a joking tone. "Nope," he said, popping the p loudly. "Do you think I could still switch seats?", you grinned at him. "Don't you dare", he chuckled back and poked your side. You rolled your eyes and sighed deeply, all in fun of course.

It took about an hour for Michael to calm down, by then most of the others had already fallen asleep. You were quietly talking about the last two shows they had played. Michael had awkwardly placed an arm around you, trying to somewhat cuddle. His head was laying on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your neck while talking. Goosebumps crawled along your skin and Michael's talking slowly turned into kisses along your neck. He was shadowed by you but it still made you jump when you heard a stewardess make some noise a few rowes back. "Michael", you hissed at him and pulled away a bit. "C'mon hun, nobody sees us", he bit his lip and whispered. The next wave of goosebumps hit you, this time because of excitement. There was something exhilarating about making out in a public place, something dangerous about it. You leaned towards him and whispered, "no sound, not a thing,", before twisting your neck and attacking his with your lips.

Soft kisses turned into nibbles and soon there was a mark left on his neck. The excitement took over you and it was hard for you to not crawl into his lap. His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling your hand from his chest down towards his crotch. You let him guide you and a bigger smirk formed on your lips once you felt the clear bulge under your palm. Your eyes shot up at him and the pleading look he gave you made your mind race with ideas.

Your seats were still too public, no matter how much you would've tried to hide, it would have felt too exposed. The only other option was the toilet cubicle, small but certainly more privat. Now you had to find the right moment to not be caught by the stewardesses. It took a couple of minutes before they made their next round, pushing a cart with snacks into the economy class, it should buy you enough time to get to the cubicle.

"Now", you whispered and stood up silently, looking around once more before walking to the back. You slipped into the small room, waiting for Michael to squeeze in before locking the door. "You", you muttered and pushed him down onto the closed toilet. Michael helped you push down his sweatpants, his dick springing free. He breathed in sharply when the air hit it, making you look up at him. You winked at him before biting your lip and quickly dropping your face towards his crotch.

The first lick across the head of his dick prompted another sharp inhale before he bit his own hand, trying to muffle his sounds. You grinned to yourself, proud of Michael's reaction to your touch. Your tongue marked the shaft with wet patches, dragging pre-cum all the way down.

Michael's breathing hitched again, followed by a deep sigh the first time you finally wrapped your lips around his dick. You knew in the back of your head you had to hurry up but you couldn't not tease him a little bit before.

You moved swiftly, taking in more of him and working the rest with your hands. Michael did his best to keep quiet, only some whimpers and muffled moans escaping his hands. His dick hit the back of your throat, almost making you gag. Your movements got faster to try and speed up your mission. Michael placed his free hand on the top of your head, encouraging you to push yourself a little further and taking more of him. You bobbed your head up and down, letting his dick hit the back of your throat a couple of times. One of your hands played with his balls, something your knew drove Michael crazy. "Fuck Y/N, I'm almost...",he choked out before having to bite his hand again to hide a deep moan.

You swirled your tongue across the head, your hands moving up and down his shaft in a quick pace. "Ready?", you whispered to Michael and waited for him to nod. You hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down again. His hips began to buckle up, his tip once again hitting the back of your throat. He moved his hips in rhythm with you for a moment but soon his movements became sporadic and you knew he was about to cum.

One of your hands pushed down his hips while the other continued to jerk him off. You lifted your head slightly, licking the tip until finally Michael hit his climax. You did your best to swallow all of his cum but some ended up running down the corner of your mouth. You gave the tip one last lick before sitting up and smirking at Michael while pushing the rest of his cum into you mouth. He was breathing heavily, teeth marks all along his hand. "Fuck that..", he couldn't even finish his sentence before he had to take a deep breath. You chuckled silently and stood up, turning towards the sink and washing you hands. "You should clean up babe", you motioned towards the roll of toilet paper.

"C'mon", you grinned at Michael and threw the paper towel away. He opened the door and peaked out before pulling you behind him out of the small room. You followed him down the hall, letting your eyes drift over the sleeping people. You fell back into your seat, just a second before a stewardess came out of the economy class. You felt your cheeks heat up when she stopped, seeing you awake and asked if she could get you something. You quickly denied and smiled awkwardly, waiting for her to move on.

"That was close", Michael muttered into your ear. "Yeah, almost a little too close for my taste", you grinned, but still felt the excitement. "Thanks anyway, I'll repay you next time", Michael smirked back and pressed a kiss on your cheek.

[timextoxhajima]

Chapter poster by @/lovehyuck on Instagram

NCT One Shot Collection

Member: Johnny

Genre: Fluff, gets a tiny bit suggestive at the end

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: this was such a fun one to write! i may or may not have busted a big, fat uwu writing this. 

Art school was not the least bit easy for you. Not with all the different events and projects your course forced you through in your freshman year. Your media and design course needed you to constantly pull on a smile and an excited tone whenever you did broadcasting exercises, then back at home when you were off screen and not interning at an external company, you needed to learn the aesthetics of setting up websites and online blog shops. Writing and photography were skills you also needed for your course. All of this was extremely hard to handle when you're a freshman and had trouble even memorizing your way around the huge university campus.

You were absolutely dreading the next project that was set to come your way, because you would be interning at an independent boutique chain to learn the ideas and ways of online advertising and sales, but what you didn't expect in the package was the gentle giant that you would meet during your time of intern at the boutique chain stores.

"y/n?" One of the boutique's managers called out. You looked up from your journal of scripts and half done speeches you had done and would be doing in the future for the advertising projects.

"I'm here," You hurriedly shoved the book into your bag and got to your feet.

"Please, come in. I'll introduce you to your partner you'll be working with for your internship," The lady had a blazer on with a maroon top underneath, paired with black pants and a blue lanyard with her pass in the cardholder. You made your way into the room behind her, and before her sat a cheerful young man who was a few years older than you. The moment he noticed you, he stood up and offered you a handshake.

"Hi! You must be y/n! I'm Johnny Seo, the boutique's newest fashion designer and accent advisor. 'Johnny' will do just fine," he smiled at you, his wide grin making you feel warm and welcomed, despite his large and seemingly intimidating frame.

"Hi, nice to meet you," you took the handshake and bowed a little.

"Good to see that you two are starting off on the right foot. So, the both of you will be working closely for a project that the boutique is planning on launching in summer, preferably for a autumn collection. Johnny will brainstorm the styles and ideas, color palettes and all, and you will be handling the promotion and setting up of website for the project launch. How does that sound?" The lady leaned forward on the table, clasping her hands together and interlinking her fingers.

Johnny eagerly nodded, before turning to you, who obviously had some doubt in yourself.

"Relax, y/n, it's your first big project with a brand name. It's actually Johnny's first big launch too, but both of you have reputable portfolios. I don't expect the grandest, but I do expect your best efforts. If you perform well, we might consider you as permanent staff," The lady smiled at you. You processed her words, letting them sink in as you began to peel the small bits of skin round your fingertips and biting the ripped skin off your dry lips. Reputable profiles? Permanent staff? This is a huge brand name. Working for them would be like working for the Gods themselves. 

"y/n, really, don't feel pressured. We want our crew to be as relaxed and comfortable. We chose to accept your internship with us out of a few hundred because you have amazing presence and your work is unique. After the internship, if you'd like to work for another brand instead, it can remain in discussion. But for now, all I need you to do is to work with Johnny to produce the best project launch for this autumn, that's all. Can you do that?" The lady raised her brow, her voice softening as she tried her best to calm you down. 

You nodded. 

"Amazing. Johnny will show you to your temporary office and give you a small tour and orientation of the office building. From today onward, just report to this building for your internship and you can do everything you need to do in this building. Your school has already been notified of this information," The lady leaned back in her seat and pulled out a file from the cabinet behind her, opening it to an internship contract page and setting it down on the table in front of you.

Both you and Johnny signed your respective contracts, and off you went on your orientation with him. 

"Do you that when you're nervous or stressed?" Johnny spoke after a moment of silence. You were in the elevator with him on the way down to your office floor.

"Wha--? Oh," You looked down at your fingers and noticed the skin that had been peeled off had caused a tiny bit of bleeding. "Yeah, it's a habit. I'd like to get rid of it, but I've been doing it for years. Can't seem to stop it," You pulled your cardigan over your hands. Suddenly, you realised how under-dressed you were for the job. You were a broadcaster, a photographer and a writer, yet here you were, in a simple blue cardigan that covered your black top and some part of your denims. Even your ugly pair of strappy sandals were not up to your own standards.

Not when Johnny was there, fitted perfectly in his clothes.

Fashion designers.

"Fan of blue?" Johnny spoke again after the doors opened. 

"Yellow, actually. But my favourite yellow dress was in the washing machine this morning when I checked so..." You shrug and follow him out of the lift. He smiled as a gesture of courtesy, letting you know that he heard you. He tapped a card with his face printed on it on the door scanner, a soft beep turned one of the scanner's lights from red to green and he pushed the door open for you. 

"So, uhm, since you're working with this brand for the first time, I'll just let you know that their offices are on a rotational basis. So for example, you're working with me until autumn, right? Your office will be right next to mine until the season is over, and once you get a new partner, your office location will change, or maybe your new partner will come to you. Works both ways," Johnny walked and spoke at the same time, the office floor having a row of closed-door offices on both the left and right side of the floor, with office cubicles in the middle like a maze.

"The cubicles are for?" You looked at the employees sitting in cubicles, some talking on the phone and others looking intently at their computer screen.

"Oh, they basically handle the admin stuff. You know, employees, the money, event signing etcetera," He stopped right outside a closed office door. "I believe this office is yours," Johnny stretched out his right palm and gestured to the door. You glance at him and look at the door, the tab on the door where your name and position was supposed to be, still empty. 

The office was simple, but prettier than you expected it to be. After all, this was only supposedly an internship.

"Whoa," You breathed, stepping into the office and placing your bag on one of the guest chairs before heading for the window. You could see the city before you, with cars the size of fingernails and the glistening reflection off window panes from other office buildings. 

"I know right?" Johnny smiled. "Uh, you can get your access pass from the security point from tomorrow onwards. The admin counter on the first floor will give you your name and tab for your door when you clock in tomorrow," You hummed in response, still taken and completely obsessed with the view, so much that you didn't even notice Johnny had gone into his office right next to yours. 

After setting up your office, linking your devices to the office's network, putting in your name and tab on the door and shelving some of your files for research and information purposes, you were finally settled in. Of course, some of that settling needed an extra hand, and who else to help but your office neighbour and also your partner for the next 8 months?

The first teaser or promotional event for the launch was set to happen in about a month's time. That meant you needed to do filming, editorials, find some contract models and dress them in the clothes that Johnny was to design. Though you had a month, it felt like you had a week, and once you realised that, you began chewing on your lip like a dog chewing on its toy bone.

"No, I need a week to edit and fix up the promotional videos. I need the models in three weeks from now, not six," You spoke into your office phone. Your eyes were fixated on website designs and filming techniques you had learnt at school but was never able to apply them, but your ears were listening to the horrendous dealings of a model company who couldn't offer models when you needed them.

"Don't be ridiculous. Which part of 'three weeks' did you not unders-- look, if you can't give me my models - which the company I'm currently working for now would've already informed you so forth - in three weeks, then the company is done with you, got it?" You didn't wait for a response. Slamming the phone back into its phone set on the table, you were frustrated and stressed out. Not because you were now interning at a big brand name, but because you genuinely wanted to do well. Your website was barely put together with the absence of photos and information about the project launch. Only the color accents and layouts were fixed, but otherwise it was a barren land. 

Knock knock.

"Come in," You sighed and held up your fringe with your left hand, your right handling the mouse and moving the cursor around the website page, wondering what else you could do for it.

"Heard you yelling at the model contractor from next door," Johnny let himself in and shut the door behind him. 

"Please tell me you have some designs and you're ready to make them," Your eyes shifted to the man, your posture remaining slouched and stiff infront of the computer screen.

"Was just about to show you some of them. Thought they might help with the color accents for the website too," Johnny was holding a sketchbook and a file filled with sample materials and designs. He sat down on one of the guest chairs and pushed the file over to you on the table.

The sketches were amazing. Both the male and female designs were stunning, simple yet dramatic, and he did not stick to a single color accent. He used every single warm color available on the color wheel.

"These are amazing, Johnny," You took the sketchpad nearer to your computer and changed up the color accents on the site. "You should start materializing these. When the launch is done, the brand's definitely going to want you working for them," You clicked rapidly, fixing every crook and cranny of the site to fit the color accents of the designs in his sketchpad. 

"I actually wanted your input on the specific designs and materials. You do photography, so you should have an idea on what would look good in photographs," He looked you in the eye and had this adorable, sheepish, grin plastered on his face. It was almost like he was always happy and nothing could ever bring him down.  "Also because I need to ask you for a favour," His expression progressed from sheepish to embarrassed.

"What is it?" You chuckle, taking the materials file and flipping through them, reaching for a pen from your pen holder and writing down some of the material codes next to the respective designs you thought fit.

"I have a couple of friends from high school organising a social event, and everyone who's going is either attached or engaged and--"

"And you want me to go?" You raised an eyebrow, looking up through your lashes and at him. He scratched the back of his neck and tilted his head. 

"Ah, you know what? Forget it, it's horrible for me to ask you to act like someone you're not, so--"

"Nah, I'll go," You waved it off with your free hand without looking up. 

"What-- Really?" Johnny paused, watching you scribble all the material codes on the final few pieces of his designs.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" You finished the last codes and handed the sketchpad back to him. "I've matched the designs to the materials I think would be suitable. So just check them for me and start getting them made. Photo shoot is in about three weeks." 

"No, wait, y/n, you're really okay with going to the event with me?" Johnny had a little frown on his face.

"Why not?" You leaned back in your chair. "Haven't been to one of those in awhile. Won't hurt to get one night off this stinking intern that's making me tear my hair out," 

He nodded and was obviously very happy.

"Okay. So I'll just text you the date, and you text me your address and I'll fetch you then, s'that alright with you?" Johnny squinted his eyes like he hoped you'd say yes.

"Cool," You smiled at him. There was an awkward pause as all he did was stare at you, when you weren't sure why he was still there. "Anything else, partner?" You furrowed your brows and pursed your lips. 

"Oh!" He exclaimed and whirled around in a circle, like a cat looking for its tail. "Nothing, I was just, zoning out," He frantically grabbed his sketchpad and material files from your table. "I'll see you tomorrow," He gave you one last nod before leaving your office. You waited until his shadow had disappeared from outside your door and into his, before sinking back into your chair and turning it around to see the glaring evening sun setting on the city. 

This internship was the hardest internship you had ever done. You were working for 9 hours straight a day, some days spent in the office doing research on materials and other days visiting material stores to gather information about the cloths and the small details like lace and buttons that Johnny needed to begin making his clothing line. But what you failed to notice was that every single time you were procrastinating on a meal, Johnny would never fail to appear at your door with some packed food, knowing that you hadn't had anything since the previous meal. After awhile, he noticed the trend in your tastes: nothing spicy, soup is a must, and you always had tea over coffee any day, and that was exactly how he would send lunch or dinner to your office despite it being way past the respective mealtimes. 

Before you knew it, the day of the social event was here. It was at a rather extravagant bungalow at a chalet right outside of town. All of Johnny's high school friends were going to be there, drinking booze or playing a game they weren't supposed to. Long story short, it was an event with all of Johnny's american friends.

"Hey Johnny, uhm, I was wondering..." You had the phone between your ear and your shoulder, all your party clothes laid out in front of you on the floor. "What are you wearing and what's the color code like?" 

"Oh, uhm, well, nothing sophisticated I guess? Denim jacket, T-shirt, pants and a pair of... Vans? I mean, it's a guy thing though. Girls usually wear prettier, slightly more... extravagant styles."

"Cool, so blue and black?" You eyed the black crossed-back singlet top with black leather pants. 

"Sounds fine to me."

"Also, Johnny," You were now holding the phone. "Who am I going as?" You smirked to yourself. You knew, but it would've been a lot nicer if he had just asked you to be his date directly.

"I... well, everybody's bringing someone you know, so... just for this once, pretend you're my girlfriend."

You smiled to yourself.

"Pleasure," You hung up. 

When you showed up at the party, you knew exactly why Johnny wanted you to go with him. This wasn’t just a social gathering, this was a white boy frat party. It wasn’t that bad, but everybody Johnny greeted looked like they used to play sports and had a girl attached to their arm. Johnny was popular with the people at the party. He was so sociable and such an amazing talker, you wondered why he hadn't gotten himself a real girlfriend when all he did the entire night was introduce you to his friends and by saying, "Hey, what's up? Dude, meet my girlfriend, y/n," Then he'd carry on and talk about how he met you at an internship and now you were both doing a clothing line project launch together. 

The night was getting late, and you definitely had more drinks than Johnny did. Your brain was like walking a tightrope and constantly on the edge of losing your composure altogether. Your date wanted to send you home when he noticed your face was rosier than usual and your eyes were no longer looking straight anymore, but you insisted and refused to leave. So when you found yourself in a circle next to Johnny, an empty bottle of beer in the middle and everybody else was screaming when two lucky people got chosen to make out with one another, that's when you decided to take another shot of vodka to completely immerse yourself in the party experience. 

"y/n," Johnny grabbed the shot glass, trying his best not to let you finish it. But the alcohol rushed down your throat so quickly, you belched, earning loud hoots from the rest of the circle.

"Next round!" The friend of Johnny's who was hosting the event yelled, grabbing the bottle and pinning it down in the middle of the circle.

"I think I'm going to send her home first, she's wasted," Johnny gently brushed the hair out of your face, your eyes barely open and your limbs functioning at the least. The bottle was spun and landed on Johnny.

"No! I'm staying, this is fun," You giggled, snuggling your head into his chest. 

"Oh, that's even better! Won't even know what's going to hit her!" His friend shouted, twirling the bottle again before Johnny could protest. The bottle landed on you. 

"Ooooooh, rules are rules, muchachos!" The host lifted his beer bottle. "If the player chosen is attached, then 7 minutes of heaven in the closet we go!" 

Johnny panicked. He watched as other girls from the circle got up to help carry you into the closet upstairs while the other guys hyped Johnny up to follow you upstairs. Before Johnny knew it, he was standing in front of you in someone's closet, the smell of cologne filling up both your noses and your eyes struggled to find a face to focus on. 

"Why is it so dark?" You groaned, rubbing your eyes and smacking your lips.

"Because you didn't want to leave the spin-the-bottle circle, you doofus," Johnny sighed and tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Care to explain why you don't have a girlfriend? Everybody else here has one besides you," You burped, the smell of sprite and vodka temporarily intoxicated the air between you and Johnny. He winced in disgust, before waving the air with his hand.

"My last dumped me. Said I was too focused on a career path that wasn't promising." 

Your muddleheaded skull processed this information, before it struck a chord in one of your nerves. 

"Jeez, I'm... sorry for that, I didn't mean to pry," You frowned and rubbed your face. 

"Nah, it's alright," Johnny shrugged, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and noticing your jacket falling to your elbows. He subtly pulled them up, covering your shoulders.

"What do people even do in 7 minutes in heaven anyway? Dumbass game," You shuffled your feet, failing to register that Johnny was kind of uncomfortable with how little space there was between the two of you. 

"Most people just... you know-- hook up," Johnny cleared his throat. You paused and looked up at the shape of his jaw under the horrible lighting, your fingers only able to graze the outline of his facial features since you couldn't see well. Your fingertips halted at his chin, then shifted up to feel his lips.

"Have you ever...?" You whispered. Johnny could only hear the sound of his own breathing, the feeling of someone else's fingers on his skin was so alien, yet familiar.

"No, only small kisses here and there, but never really a real..." His voice trailed off as he felt you tiptoeing to reach his height. "Kiss," He finished his sentence, and before he could register it, his arms were wrapped around your waist, and yours around his neck, trying to pull his head down to match your height. 

"Why are you so goddamn tall?" You huffed between kisses, the heat in your chest building up, and it wasn't only because of the alcohol. Johnny took the hint and shifted his hands to your thighs without violating your bottom, lifting you up and guiding your legs around his waist. It was almost as if every single word in the dictionary couldn't be processed in either of your heads. All he could taste was the lingering tinge of alcohol from your tongue, and all you could think of was how hot he was, being able to carry you and lifting you off the ground while still handling everything north.

"7 minutes is up-- whoa!" The host pulled open the door, only to see you hurriedly hop off Johnny's hips, your lipstick smudged and his hair in a mess. You coughed, surprisingly more sober than before. You began biting on your lip, noticing how everybody was shooting you smirks and teases. Johnny pulled up your jacket to your shoulder from behind, carefully patting down his hair and calmly wrapping his arm around your shoulder. 

"We have business to finish, so if you'll excuse us, I'll be sending her home."

[notstolen]

aesthetics for the entities. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little. dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth. a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.  insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment. breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person. a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites. something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark. shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night. time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north. an empty church.

v.  the flesh. body horror. factories. a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone. long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery. something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you. cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

iv.  the desolation.  senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire. heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline. touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air. a child born in fire. death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods. animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal. sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one. disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair. little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

vi.  the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain. ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death. as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines. sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.  being tracked.  fear of someone knowing your every movement.  hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls. focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstrous.  perfecting your craft.  peering into the dark and running after it.

vii.  the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t look away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism. police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers. books that read you back.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed. completely vacant streets.  waking up to see everyone gone. fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows. isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea. depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there. safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter. a game of tag.   senseless violence.  a true crime hobby. improvised weapons.  blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers. a knifeblock on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward. unimaginable pain. not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions. losing people.  losing your sanity. corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality. walking through the wrong door.  delusions.  not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallucinations.  wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger. wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings. mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known.  someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices. images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate. manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unreliability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny legs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victimhood.  gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

xiii.  the vast. open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in a universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing.  a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

+  the extinction. the end of an era. apocalypse movies.  the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism. the last written history. a changed world.  no survivours.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

tagged by: stole it from one of my other blogs

tagging: @xwhiterabbitx, @lonexwolfe, @desolationtrial ( for ari since i think you might’ve done this for norman already? )