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well-its-not-human-anymore · 3 years

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Hi! Could I get HC from the guys? 👀 How they would always react to catching the reader seeing them "badly", in addition to the fact that he usually avoids them, but with his brothers it is incredible and they feel bad because they think they do not like him. But she actually likes them and she looks at them like that because she "studies" them to draw them and she is too clumsy and shy to talk to them, that's why she ends up avoiding them. Until finally he catches her drawing them with lots of hearts or maybe they'll find her notebook with lots of portraits of them.

It's kind of funny because when I study people to draw them, they think that I look at them with hatred xd maybe I should increase my glasses prescription

God, glasses are such a pain in the ass but I have to wear them. If I don't anyone within my near vicinity doesn't have a face. But why they gotta get dirty so easily???? Makes me wanna explode or something

TMNT Headcanons

The boys w/ a quiet reader who is fine with his brothers but acts cold around him and stares a lot

Michaelangelo

mikey couldn't describe his disappointment upon realizing that you didn't want to be friends with him

well, you never actually said that to him

but he was pretty sure it was the case

you'd never made an effort to be friends with him

stared at him an awful lot though, but there was always something off about your gaze when you looked at him

like you were sizing him up, scrutinizing him, like he was an opponent

it kinda worried him

to add to that, you didn't even attempt to look embarrassed when he caught you staring

you'd just stare harder

on your end it was quite the opposite

you always found the brothers fascinating and you LOVED studying their anatomy, you'd confessed this to Donnie early on and he happily indulged in your questions

and you loved how easily you got along with the boys

well, except for Mikey

but it wasn't for a lack of trying

whenever the orange sporting turtle came around your normally flamboyant personality crept back into its little corner and hid

any words of excitement that had previously been with you died in your throat

for the longest time you didn't understand it

and you hated not understanding things, so you turned to your only outlet

that's how you ended up with an entire sketchbook full of the youngest brother in vastly different styles and poses

you had a separate book for the others, none of them as detailed as this

and when you stared to analyze you'd fallen into a habit of not looking away when caught

by your logic, if you stared back hard enough he'd look away first or just assume you'd zoned out

he didn't

and on one hectic day you'd left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table in your rush to get to work

you hadn't even noticed the slip up until Leo texted you to let you know during your shift

instant panic

in truth, Mikey was the one who discovered the book upon waking up from his nap and he'd spent the next three hours analyzing every drawing

when you finally dropped in after work to grab your book the turtle was waiting for you with it in hand

he'd asked you if you hated him

you told him no and accepted your sketchbook from him

he was relieved and screaming excitedly, just in his head

"Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?"

You sighed in relief and nodded

"If you're cool with it- you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"I mean- you are talking to a turtle..."

you lightly shoved his chest and smiled, although it faded within a second

"Oh hush, 10 o'clock tomorrow? I'll bring snacks."

he was so stunned he could only shoot you finger guns in approval

Donatello

Donnie genuinely couldn't understand your unease around him

he'd followed all the proper expectations of holding a conversation

he was polite and engaging

so why wouldn't you talk to him?

this boy has read so many social blogs to try and figure out what he was doing wrong and he just couldn't put his finger on it

you were fine with the rest of his brothers, you'd stay up for hours laughing and gaming with them

you'd even sat still long enough to listen to Leo explain some old Japanese myth that he'd read about in a book

but with him it was always a quick, cordial greetings and farewells with bland small talk in between

Donnie had picked up pretty quickly that you weren't interested in any sort of interaction with him

and he convinced himself that that was okay

but that didn't explain the staring

he'd caught you in the act several times, eyes narrowed and locked on him

especially when you were alone with him in a room or just in the lair

the poor turtle just couldn't put his finger on it

then he caught you drawing, he noticed early on that you always carried a small sketchbook on your person but he didn't think much of it

and it wasn't so much that he caught you drawing, in fact, he wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't snapped at him while he was trying to do a sudoku puzzle

"Damn it Donnie! Stop moving! If I fuck this arm up one more time I'm gonna decompose!"

he'd quickly moved back into the position he was in prior

"sorry?"

but you'd gone silent again, occasionally glancing up from your work and running your eyes along his frame before looking down again

nearly twenty minutes later Donnie had finished the puzzle and it seemed as though you had finished your drawing

"Uh- can I ask what are you-"

"I'm drawing you but you kept moving your arm and making me mess up. You always do that when I draw you so every damn picture I have of you stays a sketch because you always come out looking like a fucking octopus."

He just stared

"Sorry, I uh- I didn't mean to explode on you like that. I'm just- I'm really bad at talking to you okay? It's so easy with everyone else but you've just gotta be so damn smart all the time and I worry that you'll think I'm boring so I just... don't talk to you?"

Donnie is stunned™

You refuse to show him the drawing until you can complete the line art and color it

But at least he knows that you don't hate him

Leonardo

To be completely honest Leo didn't mind that you were distant from him

You created an aura of calm when you were around and you always managed to distract his brothers while you were present

And he enjoyed the alone time

But after a few months that calm acceptance turned into jealousy

Not that he would ever admit it

He would just push it off and ignore it, that usually seemed to work

So why wasn't it?

And your obvious staring problem didn't help at all

Leo didn't spend much time considering his appearance but something about your gaze made him self conscious

And he hated that with a passion

Why was it that you could hold entire debates with his siblings? Even his dad for gods sake. You'd have hour long conversations on almost everything but whenever he tried to say hello you'd make up some lame ass excuse and scamper away

He just wanted an explanation

It appeared that the answer resided in your sketchbook

You'd left it open on the couch when Raph had called you away to spar with him

Leo very delicately flipped through the pages, careful not to disturb some of the polaroid pictures of his brothers

He was admittedly surprised to find pictures of himself among the pages

One of him in a handstand, another of him meditating, there was even one of him mid sneeze that you'd recreated with pencil and paper

The image of his eyes was the most startling, but the book held no polaroid of his eyes

You drew them from memory

And he was shocked when you returned to the room and didn't immediately panic

But that might have been because he didn't try to withhold your book from you

"It took me three months to color them, your eyes. I could never get the shade of blue just right."

"I'm gonna be honest with you y/n, I really thought you didn't like me."

You had the nerve to roll your eyes and follow it with a laugh

"I don't. I mean- I do but no, you just remind me a lot of myself and I haven't exactly figured out why yet. I thought that maybe if I drew you it'd be easier to figure you out..."

"Well did it help?"

You grinned

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Raphael

If there was one thing Raph hated it was not understanding something that was right in front of him

which is ironic, as a much younger version of himself probably couldn't care less

and a part of him wishes he didn't care about it so much

he wishes that your blatant avoidance of him didn't upset him

but shit, it got under his skin better than any needle ever could

was it too much to ask for you to just tell him what he said or did wrong?

was he asking too much of you?

but on the same scale you'd never shown obvious dislike towards him, you were never rude and you sure as hell didn't talk shit about him to his brothers

you got along great with them

in fact it was getting more difficult to remember a time before you became a part of his family

he'd become so used to your presence that it no longer put him off when he found you hanging around the lair

but in another sense he was certain that you hadn't spoken more than three sentences to him in your time knowing him or his family

so what was the reason

several months in he finally caught onto the staring, your narrow, glassy gaze locked onto his body and refusing to look away

he stared right back at you

this annoyed you for several reasons

because within five seconds your very peaceful drawing session had turned into a staring contest and your eyes were getting VERY dry

then you exhaled in a half-sigh and looked back down at your paper

"Huh, I guess your head is more of an oblong shape..."

he took offense to this

"What tha' hell is that supposed t'mean?"

now your eyes held more of an amused silent judgement, you begrudgingly held up your sketchbook

"I'm drawing you, you fucking walnut."

"Oh..."

now you rolled you eyes and tossed the book to him, he nearly dropped it and fumbled with the pages

your annoyance was quickly growing

"Careful with that."

He flipped through the pages at a snails pace, assumingly because he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing

you had some real talent

when he looked back up at you he was wearing that crooked smile

"and here I was thinkin' that my eyes were just green."

Hope I was able to get this down pretty well! I really enjoyed writing this one! Thanks for the patience!

-Mars 🌠

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt headcanons #tmnt x reader #writing blog #writing requests #askbox #ask response #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo

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mileyjassie · 3 years

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"Paint me"

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x Reader

Genre: Suggestive & Fluff

Word count: 3.4K

Synopsis: You're enjoying your time painting in your room and he's enjoying seeing you doing it, but, now he wants the attention to himself, so he asks you to paint on his skin.

I just want you to love me like I'm one of your creations.

Paint me.

See me.

Feel me.

Tranquility you felt the moment you sat down, worries always forbidden to show up, in the room where you slept every night there was nothing but soft music not too loud and paints kept in boxes next to your tall stool, a big white canvas with few color strokes being created with the sketches.

You took turns between brushes trying to find what was most essential for each detail, mixing colors that covered the tip of your fingers and consequently soiled the material of the brushes.

You could repeat the usual, right? You asked yourself, not noticing very much the boy's restrained but unquiet presence.

That's when you realized it, you came back to reality in a blink of eye.

So silent, observant and obedient he remained, sitting on the edge of your bed, shoulders slightly raised, his intense gaze lurking over you and your habit of forgetting where you were.

"Are you out of creativity?... Why did you stop?" He asked kind of low key, pressing his hands on the covers when your eyes met.

You shook your head, pretending to need to do some retouching, turning your face back to him.

"Are you bored? I noticed you're anxious... you were looking at me so intensely, I ended up noticing... do you need anything?..."

His eyes fled, embarrassed almost automatically, swallowing hard as his lips parted in a natural impulse of not knowing how to respond.

"I need to ..." he replied quietly, making you slightly intrigued.

You tipped your head, wanting his eyes back.

"What do you need?"

"You ..." he murmured again, giving the look you were waiting to return to you. You closed your hands in weak fists instinctively, to hide the effect of his masked intentions on you.

His voice shook, taking his words back quickly.

"I want you to pay attention on me..." He corrected himself, removing his palms from the covers to shyly join them together. "I'm feeling lonely... Please, give me attention."

You were quiet for a few seconds, completely absorbing the sounds that played one after the other, all calm and relaxing.

The room was cozy because it was recently air-conditioned, the thin curtains that hid the glass doors on the balcony allowed the rose-pink light to pass through, making the room look soft.

"What do you want me to do?"

His extremely dark eyes reflected an immediate gleam, looking hopeful and a little anxious, he got up without much euphoria, going towards another stool, placing it in front of you, next to the canvas on which you were trying to draw.

You both held on the smile as you started a closer conversation for the first time of the day, having his knees touching yours.

Taeyong opened his mouth slightly, inhaling before proceeding.

"I miss you, I confess," he said, leaving his palms flat on his thighs. "Even tho, I still don't want you to stop painting, because I know you like it a lot, as well as I like to see it."

You clutched your brushes in your hands, longing for his words more happily than when you were painting lifeless colors in a scenario not yet invented.

"Put your painting aside. Use me, I want to be your canvas. Paint on me, draw on my skin." Taeyong asked with conviction, a sincere desire that brought warmth to your cheeks.

His hands came off his thighs, spread open in front of you, asking for the initiative.

You looked at his palms, wanting to touch them before they return to his lap, but Taeyong didn't do that, didn't take them away from you.

You slid your gaze to his impenetrable eyes again, seeing the patience he always kept for you.

You held his hand, noticing an almost imperceptible smile on his face, he seemed pleased to be able to be there, to feel the cool, white paint cooling his clean, smooth palm.

"What are you going to draw?..." he murmured amused, bringing an intimate air that until that moment you tried to avoid.

"Let's find out..." You teased without malice, already knowing what forms to use to draw the little waves of the sea that would soon be completed when his other hand been ended.

Songs that played softly at a medium volume previously tranquilized the quiet moment, but then made your proximity a little awkward.

Taeyong looked at your face whenever he let his curious eyes leave his palms, his eyes weighing and making his presence be felt in a way that you could not avoid for a long time.

It was not a weird embarrassment, but it did bring a little shyness, both pretending not to show knowledge about the tension that the suggestively romantic music had created in the room.

Taeyong sometimes brushed his thumb lightly over yours, pulling out a quick smile at one time or another, hiding a timid and small smile when you slid your fingers over his wrist.

You were almost finished painting in his other hand when his knees approached your thighs, one on the inside and the other on the outside, sitting closer.

You looked up at the boy's face, looking him watch you closely.

"Tell me it's not over yet..." he said quietly, waiting for the answer, you nodded, giving him a "yes", watching his eyebrows squeeze over his upset eyes.

Before saying anything, Taeyong had already looked at his hands again, waiting for you to finish painting the blue waves that completed when his palms came together side by side, softening his previously "frustrated" expression.

When you took the brush from his palms, the two of them were placed face up on your knees, his face approached yours, chin lifting slightly when his eyes relaxed.

"My hands are not the only part of my body that you can paint." He smirked, inviting you tantalizingly to touch his face.

You took your fingers to his forehead, brushing the bangs off his face, combing it back, his dark eyebrows showing, his entire face uncovered and clean for any drawing you wished to make.

"What do you want me to draw on you?..."

His eyes closed slowly, leaning a little closer, just enough to feel your breath against his face. He waited like that for an instant, meeting your lips with his, sealing a long kiss.

His mouth detached from yours, his deep voice responding calmly. "Do what you want, I just want you to paint my face with care, just as if I were one of your canvases..."

He smiled gently, pretending to give you one more kiss, leaving the proximity again. You disapproved his attitude, hearing his low laugh echo and his hands turn to run the fingers down the sides of your thighs, murmuring an apology.

"Don't screw up my drawings..." You asked quietly, receiving a positive wave from him, his palms avoiding touching your legs, still letting his long fingers rest on the spot.

You slid your index finger across his lower lip, ignoring the leap from one of his eyebrows to give a short kiss on his chin, looking for a thin brush, reaching for your palette to bathe the tip of the instrument in green paint, tracing a thin, slightly curved line below the scar mark under his eye.

Taeyong noticed the place of choice, looking a little surprised and curious, his eyes twinkling in awe at something he didn't know yet, but that was enough to make him happy.

"Is it going to be a rose?... I know it is." He smiled short, following with his eyes from the paints to the hand going back to his face.

You stated with a nod, a small, proud smile rising on your face at the boy's satisfaction. You dyed that deep and simple space in red, making other small stems on his face, completing them with small flowers of colors that balanced in their own tones on that skin slightly ablush by the light that came into the room, changing tones without haste when passing of minutes.

Taeyong smiled softly, closing his eyes as he lifted his chin a little, helping you by letting the brush go down his jaw, allowing you to continue drawing lost leaves that "fell" from the flowers made on his face.

"You're looking beautiful..." You dared to praise him, gaining confidence with each new trace created in his almost golden-pink skin, as if this new canvas gradually became more and more yours.

The curve of his mouth marked a roguish smile, then he made a sound in the back of his throat, answering your comment with that sly grunt.

You looked at his neck, touching the sides with your fingertips and leaving wet kisses in the clean spaces between the still wet streaks of red, orange and pink petals on his jugular, receiving long purrs, his head tipping back to receive more of the attention he was getting.

"Before continuing..." He murmured slowly, lowering his head to point at his own lips. "Kiss me some more..." He asked accommodated, waiting for you to approach.

You looked at his mouth, leaning in to obey him, clenching your fists so you wouldn't stain him with your dirty fingers, receiving a small disapproving grunt in the middle of the kiss, his tongue meeting yours when his fingers came out of your thighs to grab your fingers carefully, staining the bottom of his cheek and down below the jaw with the trail of your multicolored fingerprints.

You mumbled any meaningless word, burning on your cheeks, deciding to leave your hands on his jaw as it pleased him more, and consequently you too. His gesture was more than tempting, it was significantly attractive.

You murmured weakly again, hoping he would choose when the kiss should end, he murmured back, slowly shaking his head negatively, holding your wrists.

You pulled away, ending the kiss with a little sound of your lips leaving his. Taeyong leaned minimally to go after the contact he had lost, his astonished eyes finding yours.

"Do you want to finish already?..." You asked the distant-minded boy, waiting for his negative nod. "I still want to paint."

"But I don't want to stop doing this..." He held your hands around his neck, the paint already dry and not bothering him to be so careful.

"I will not stop doing what you want." You removed the strands of his hair that fell on his face again, stroking his brow. "Be a little more patient and I won't stop you anymore."

"You'll have to be good for me." He demanded with innocent eyes, enjoying the caresses on his eyebrows.

"I will be. Just as you're being now for me." You ran your fingers down the side of his face, brushing your thumbs over his ears, outlining the pink area.

You were surprised by a quick kiss followed by another, after that he behaved on his tall wooden stool, brushing his knees against your thighs.

"What part of my body do you want to paint this time?..." His eyes went back to being intense, watching you confident enough to raise his eyebrows slightly, biting his lower lip for an instant in a malicious smile.

You laughed with what he did, letting a barely noticeable smile grow on your face, dropping your fingers to the collar of his white, partially unbuttoned shirt.

Taeyong watched you unbutton a few more buttons, looking anxious for every part of his skin that appeared more.

You slid the white fabric down his shoulders, making the folded bar remain a few inches below.

"You look extremely sexy now." You confessed for him to hear your thoughts in a good tone, his hands came together, his shoulders shrunk very little. "I know you like having me drawing flowers all over your face and neck, Taeyong... You must be feeling very handsome right now..." You painted the cold violet ink on his collarbone in order to continue drawing in his body what made you feel good. "Isn't?" You looked up, wanting your answer.

"I-I am." He stammered, losing that seductive look that teased you, just looking like a victim of your comments.

"Why do you like it so much?..." You asked, pretending to be intrigued by a secret he was keeping from you. "Your ears must be warm for a reason..."

"I feel like you want me more." He whispered, swallowing when you kissed the space between his collarbones. "I feel more attractive..."

"You're right."

He looked at you quickly, wanting to hear some confession he didn't expect.

"I didn't think you could be more beautiful than you already are" You made a brief path of violets, like a crown of petals, standing up when you were done "But look at you" You pulled the air between your teeth, amazed by the sight you were having.

You went to your desk, looking for a camera that rested there next to other materials, returning and finding his embarrassed eyes, taking a picture of the work of art that you had sat in front of you.

"Can I keep this with me?" You asked in a sly tone, approaching when he took a long time to answer, but ended up nodding positively. "You're lovely. " You plunged your fingers through his hair, combing his bangs back, pulling a few strands lightly to get a pleasant expression on his face in return. "Can I take some more? Will you let me?..." You mumbled close to his ear, earning an obedient nod and a low growl, capturing more than satisfied pictures of his face, neck and collarbone, taking the opportunity to take pictures of the entire boy, since the drawings were not what completely enchanted you.

You lifted his chin, grabbing a few more bunch of hair, softening his scalp while giving him one more lazy, sticky kiss.

"Let's go to the floor." You whispered against his lips, pulling away.

Taeyong watched you walk away from him, his pupils running from you to the floor, maybe a little nervous, maybe a little confused, you could never really know what he was feeling.

He stood up, approaching without haste.

"I thought you still wanted to paint..."

You approached after hearing precipitated deductions from him, pulling him without force by the clothes, kissing the naked part of his chest.

"Sit down, my love, we're not stopping." You held his shoulders, making him bend down to his knees, raising your eyebrows when you found his concentrated expression, a blush appearing on his face. "Are you enjoying this?" You tipped your head, grabbing him by the hair.

"What are you going to do?..." He ignored your question in a low tone after a brief gasp, causing you to smile at his submissive position.

You raised the camera, also ignoring his question. "Do a shell with your hands." You asked, just seeing his eyebrows squeezing. "Ask me for something, beg for something..." Taeyong didn't answer, but did exactly what you asked, creating an innocent face, a clear provocation of a wolf dressed in lambskin.

You captured the photo just the way you wanted of the drawing that was lasting, offering him a deal. "I'm going to sit on your hips, Taeyong... I'm going to take that golden ink I have and make laurels on your shoulders..." You walked over to the painting next to you, taking the small container with the golden liquid, returning to the boy on his knees. "If you groan while I rub myself against you, you'll have to let me take as many pictures of your body as I want. The way I want to."

His lips left unanswered, him searching in your face for whatever was your intentions with this game.

"If I don't... groan..." He moved his fingers up the sides of your legs, placing his hands on the backs of your thighs, bringing you close to him. "What will you give me?"

You stroked his ear, analyzing each earring he wore.

"What do you want, Taeyong?..."

His long fingers found your wrists, taking you down, making you sit on his lap.

"Start." He said at last, dragging his nose into your neck, taking the camera out of your hand.

You slid your fingers down his shoulder, painting the skin a little after the curve of his neck, feeling his already heavy breath touch against your skin.

His hands landed on your waist, waiting for any movement, letting his head lie against you when he realized you weren't going to move, letting out a disapproving grunt. "Don't be unfair to me." He caught his breath instantly, feeling your closeness when your hips rubbed slowly against his.

It was good, yes, it was all very good.

His skin was exposed, the drawings painted gently on his face, neck and collarbone. The golden leaves making the way to his shoulder shine. The colors of the sunset toning his figure. The marks of your colored fingers staining his jaw. The good feeling that was being created between the intimate contact over the clothes.

His sigh woke you up.

When you realized, you had stopped painting him and were almost hugging the man who was holding you tightly in you rhythmic hips.

You removed his face hidden from your chest, watching his teeth tighten on his lower lip, his eyes glued to yours, his lower lip freeing itself from his teeth and turning red automatically, making a little pout because of the pressing of your hips, provocation that almost convinced you to give on his pout a kiss if you didn’t know he had done it out of pleasure.

His sighs and little gasps became louder and more daring, and he knew he was catching up with you, it was on purpose, and you couldn't even penalize him for it. "Honey, have you given up yet?..." He smiled rogue, tilting his head to the side, showing his shoulder that was still clean.

You groaned, stopping little by little, almost making him moan over it. "As you wish." You whispered, holding his scruff to keep his head in place, using the other hand to finish the golden laurels, even though that hand was a little more difficult to use.

"You don't have to stop..." he whispered.

"I didn't stop." You whispered back, continuing the long and slow movements.

You received pecks on your collarbone, going up to your jaw, one of his hands coming out of your hips to touch the wrist of your hand in his neck, making you feel the cold wetness of his hand melting in your wrist, seeing it blue.

Before you could said anything, Taeyong took your hand, leading it to the golden paint container on the floor and, then taking it to his breastplate, messing from under his collarbones to the middle of his chest with your gold fingers.

You blushed hard as you watched him do it, getting his hands wet on your cheeks, his palms marking you in blue, pulling your face up to his, sliding his tongue across your lips, trying to start another kiss as he rubbed against you.

You were in silent, feeling his moist fingers gently squeeze your face in order to caress you, his bold kiss making you both a little more euphoric. You stopped moving, hoping to see how far he would go alone, yielding to his need for closeness and leaving only a button stuck to his shirt, lying against his body until his back was on the floor.

Your breaths met excessively until the kiss ended, so you rested your palms on the floor, pulling the skin of his neck between your lips, listening to him hiss with the hickey.

"You ruined my drawing..." You lamented in his ear, giving him another hickey below his ear.

"It was never the intention, my love..." He murmured softly, stopping moving his hips because of yours. You placed your hands on his belly, slightly raising the piece of cloth that was still connected by a single button, moving away from his neck to continue the movements.

His head fell back, his hair dancing and changing direction as he smiled with his lip stuck between his teeth, eyes closed and eyebrows serene.

You watched his expressions in silence, moving your clean hand from his stomach to his chest, reaching his neck, wrapping your warm fingers around his throat without force. Taeyong narrowed his eyes with furrowed eyebrows, then squeezed them tightly, letting out a spontaneous groan when the stimulation down the hips became faster and stronger.

Taeyong gasped in surprise, looking for you with an almost plaintive look.

"Don't look at me like that..." You asked with pity, taking your hand from his neck, having it immediately held by him, him trying to keep it in place.

"Don't do this to me..." He murmured hoarsely, propping himself up on his elbows, asking for a kiss you didn't deny giving him.

"You need to give me what you promised, my love." You said, getting up from his lap, taking a few steps back to watch him better. "Stay like that, will you?" You took the camera back, seeing him embarrassed. "You're not doing anything more than posing for me... You know that, right?"

Taeyong stated with a nod, partly sheepish, partly intimidating, his eyes changing his mood in a snap of fingers. He raised his knee, leaning on one arm, resting his palm between his thighs, hiding the volume in his pants with his forearm.

You moved halfway between his knees, spreading his legs apart. "Get your arm out of there." Taeyong raised an eyebrow, but obeyed, propping himself up on his elbows again, tilting his head to the side.

"Just hurry up with this..." He said teasingly, softening his expression when he brushed his foot on your ankle. "We have a lot more to do."

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army-author · 3 years

Text

namjoon scenario | the early hours

❝ chance encounters are what keep us going ❞ - Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

➝ summary: you love the city when it’s at its most quiet - in the early hours of the morning. you like it for its peaceful mystery. never did you expect that a stranger, spotted in your favourite 24-hour diner, would eventually invade your early morning solitude, and - most surprisingly - you wouldn’t even mind...

➝ pairing: namjoon x reader

➝ genre: fluff

➝ word count: 5.9k

➝ warnings: none

➝ author’s note: this whole fic is just me indulging in fluff! it was a lot of fun to write!

You prefer the night to the day. There’s something magical about the world after the hands of the clock pass the threshold into a new day. You are transported to a new experience – a new universe laid over the old – that will only be witnessed by a small handful of people, those who are still awake at ungodly hours. There’s a strange silence that stretches across the city after midnight. The occasional car sighs past, but the streets are empty. With the pavement bathed in blue moonlight and the sodium orange of streetlights, you could convince yourself that you’re viewing a parallel reality, shimming above the real world.

That’s why, despite your office job demanding that you get up at seven for the commute, you find it difficult to go to bed early. When you lie under the duvet at night, you have the odd feeling of missing out, aware of the city shifting beyond your closed blinds.

Most nights the city draws you out. The streets, that you often find yourself hating in the daylight – saturated with polluting traffic and bustling crowds, laying out a labyrinth of social interaction – are transformed at night, suddenly alluring in their quiet neon glamour. You love the lights. You love the moments of stillness, when the streets clear of taxis. You love the mystery.

That’s why you walk the streets at night. Sometimes you end up at your local convenience store, purchasing the discounted lunch snacks that didn’t sell that day. Other times you walk to a diner that remains open twenty-four seven – offering the best decaf coffee you’ve ever tasted. On occasion, you find yourself walking around the deserted shopping district, staring in the dark windows, haunted by the typical hubbub of the daytime.

This love of the city at night isn’t something you can properly communicate to anyone else. When you try to explain to your friends, they simply shake their heads and tell you that you should get some rest.

But how can you rest when the world is in its most pure, beautiful state? Sometimes, you think you prefer the company of the empty city to the company of people. You value the quiet – a respite from the drain of daily social interactions.

This is how, when the clock slips past midnight, you find yourself slipping out of your apartment. You fill your lungs with the cold air of the early morning, fresher without the fumes of traffic. It’s just stopped raining, and the onyx pavements glisten with dark puddles, reflecting back an alternate world where the street lights shine, distorted by ripples. It smells of wet tarmac. You zip up your coat and hitch your backpack up your back as you beat your feet along the familiar track towards your favourite diner.

As you walk, you pass stores, closed for the night, proffering clothes, make-up, and stationary that won’t be available again until nine in the morning. You pause in front of the bookstore to stare greedily at the hardbacks you can’t afford. You have a bookshelf at home filled with books you haven't yet finished. Still, the new releases stare back, tempting. They hypnotise you with the curve of their spines, their fresh paper, their smooth covers. Your wallet cries out in protest.

Rousing yourself from your thoughts, you push past the store, and walk down the street, turning at a pedestrian crossing. Ahead, you see the neon lights of the diner, pink and blue in the reflective pavement. You smile at the sight, like you would smile at an old friend.

Entering the diner, you find it empty. The sole waitress who works the nightshift glances up as you enter.

You take a seat at your favourite booth, next to the window. The waitress walks over to take your order, and you ask for a decaf coffee – as usual. Always the same order when it’s past midnight.

The waitress nods, and leaves the booth. You unzip your backpack and take out your sketchbook. It’s blue leather cover is soft in your hand. Past midnight is the best time to draw. When you’re enveloped in the cotton-soft murmur of the barely-stirring city, inspiration floats thick in the air around you – easy to pluck and put onto paper.

While you start sketching, the waitress silently sets your coffee and a pitcher of milk in front of you. You like the waitress because she never speaks more than necessary, silent for the vast majority of your interactions. It’s a welcoming, warm silence.

You take a sip of your coffee, black, the flavour washing over your tongue. Its a bitter and smoky taste, with a hint of chocolate. You breathe in the scent, invigorated, and set down the mug to continue drawing.

The door swings open, and despite yourself, you turn your head in the direction of the sound. It’s not often that someone else enters the diner at this hour. It’s too late for those who have clocked off from late shifts and too early for those who work early shifts.

Your gaze settles on the man who enters the diner. He’s tall, well-proportioned, in an umber jacket, with a bag slung over his shoulder. His hair has been dyed a light brown, but you can see black at the roots. He doesn't look like the typical patron at this diner. Then again, neither do you. Your eyes tack him curiously as he walks over to a seat in the corner. The waitress goes over to him, and he tells her his order in a deep, soft voice: “Decaf coffee, please.”

Despite knowing you should stop staring at this stranger, you cannot help but watch as the man takes a book from his bag, and removing a bookmark from the pages, resumes reading. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You smile. You like that book. A part of you wants to pipe up and tell him it’s a good read. But you never speak to strangers. You aren’t about to break a twenty-five year habit. You’ve got this far by allowing all your friends to do the introductions for you. Thank goodness for extroverts.

The waitress sets a mug of coffee beside the man, with her usual silence, and he murmurs his thanks.

You remain in your seat, sipping your coffee in silent thought, and adding to your sketch book. Before long, you’ve forgotten about the man sitting on the other side of the diner, focusing on the drawing you’re working on – a dragon slinking around the grey bricks of giant skyscrapers. The giant breaths golden fire.

For you, drawing is a way to organise your thoughts, spilling the contents of your head, giving them a concrete image you can identify. For that reason alone, you could never actually show anyone else your drawings. As you continue to sketch, the world slowly melts away into a pleasant white noise that hums around you.

It’s a shock when the quiet waitress walks up, asking if you would like a refill. You tell her you’re okay for now. Checking your phone, you realise it’s slipped past three in the morning, without you even realising. You need to get some sleep. Reluctantly, you stand up, slipping your sketchbook into the front pocket of your backpack. You leave a tip for the waitress, then make your way over to the door. Feeling eyes on you, your gaze falls to the man sitting in the corner. He’s observing you over the pages of The Hitchhiker’s Guide. Upon seeing you seeing him, his eyes quickly drop back to the book. Distracted, you bump against the edge of one of the diner’s tables, stumbling. You correct your footing, and with a blazing blush rampaging on your cheeks, you hurry out of the door.

✽ ✽ ✽

It isn’t until you get back to your apartment that you realise that your sketchbook is missing. You hunt around in your backpack, checking all the pockets, but it’s definitely not there. It must be in the diner. That’s the last place you had it.

You resist the urge to run back tonight. It’s past half three, and you have to work tomorrow. You can always go back to search for it later.

You lie awake in bed, worrying. In losing your sketchbook, you’ve left it open to the possibility of being read - your personal thoughts sketched out for a stranger to digest. It was your own carelessness that resulted in its loss, so you resign yourself to the possibility of never seeing it again, and slink, resisting, into sleep.

✽ ✽ ✽

The next evening after work, you return to the diner. You arrive earlier than you normally would. The sun is still visible – just setting beyond the crowns of tall apartment blocks. You arrive below the familiar neon blue and pink sign and open the door to the smell of chips and coffee. There are more people here than you are used to.

You check the table you normally sit at, which is mercifully empty. However, a quick search reveals no trace of your sketchbook. The quiet waitress who works the night shift isn’t there yet. Hesitant, you speak to the other waitress, explaining that you lost a sketchbook at the diner last night.

“Sorry, don’t know anything about it,” she says, wrinkling her brow.

Resigned, you thank her. You can always come back when the night shift starts and see if the other waitress knows anything about it.

Deciding to hang around the area, rather than return home, you grab some sushi at a nearby restaurant, then take a restless walk around the nearby park, watching pigeons pick at crumbs on the ground, and local college students smoke under the shade of trees. After you grow bored of the park’s trees, you wander around the streets, without direction, taking a long loop around the diner. The sky above darkens from blue to navy to black, and the streets slowly drain of life as people go home for the night. Still you stay outside, checking your phone every so often to keep a track of the time.

When it hits midnight, you return to the diner. The quiet waitress, who you are used to, is a welcome sight. She offers you the same small smile she always gives. You walk up to her. “Excuse me, I think I left a sketchbook here last night. Have you seen it?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says, “But if you think you left it here, feel free to have a look around.”

You frown. That wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You were so sure you had left it in the diner. Where else could it have gone? It was possible it had fallen out of your backpack on the walk home, but if that were the case, it could be anywhere.

Sighing, you tell the waitress not to worry, and order your usual decaf coffee. Sitting down at your favourite seat, with the comforting smoky scent of coffee beans wafting through the air, you wonder what to do next. You pick at the threading of your sweater, sip your coffee, and stare out the window. The sky is especially black tonight, clouds cover the stars and moon. Looking past your own ghostly reflection in the glass, a pool of darkness stares back, swirling with the stirring in your chest.

An hour could have passed, a minute could have passed, it’s unclear to you. Time seems to stand still in that diner, frozen on the brink of tomorrow, stuck between an old night and a new morning.

“Excuse me?”

You look up at the sound of the voice.

A man is standing by your booth – the man you spied in the diner yesterday, tall and slim.

Your gaze trails over his face – his cropped hair falls over his forehead, his crescent eyes capture the neon lights of the diner, soft dimples poke dents in the marble-statue structure of his cheeks.

“Hi,” you say, not sure why he’s speaking to you, but not wanting to be impolite either.

“Hi,” he says back. He searches in his bag, and pulls out a familiar blue sketchbook. “I think you dropped this yesterday.”

A wave of relief crashes over you. “Thank you so much,” you say, as he hands it back to you, “I had given up on ever seeing it again.” The worn leather cover feels comfortable in your hands.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” he points at the seat opposite you in the booth, “It’s my favourite spot.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you indicate for him to take a seat.

He sits down opposite you, and raises a hand at the waitress, who nods, and scurries off to fetch a coffee. “I figured the notebook must have been important to you, so I kept it safe,” he says, “It might have been a little presumptuous of me, but I had a feeling I’d see you again, and that I’d be able to return it.”

“Did you...” you trail off. The thought had crossed your mind that whoever found the sketchbook would end up looking through your personal drawings, and the worry had squeezed tight at your throat.

“Look inside the notebook?” The man asks, his waning-moon eyes scrutinising you.

You nod solemnly.

“No,” he says. “I didn’t.”

The second wave of relief hits you, warm like a tropical sea. “Good,” you stroke the soft cover of the sketchbook, “I really appreciate that.”

The man smiles, and his dimples deepen. “I must say, I’m a little curious what would bring someone to sit in a diner with a notebook in the early hours of the morning.”

A blush creeps hot under your skin. “I’m… drawing,” you admit.

The man nods.

You lick your lips which feel oddly dry. “But I suppose I could ask you the same - what would bring you here at these hours?” Curiosity cuts through your introversion.

The man shrugs.“I can’t sleep. I keep getting more and more frustrated, cooped up in my apartment, so I wander around at night, hoping I’ll get tired, and be ready to sleep when I go home. But something about the city at night is so exciting,” he stares out the window, at the darkness beyond, brimming with endless possibilities, “It doesn’t tie me out. It only excites me all the more.”

“I know what you mean,” you say, “I love the city at nighttime. It’s so alluring. I could wander around its abandoned streets for eternity, and never get bored.” Your blush only becomes all the more severe as you realise that you are spilling your heart to a complete stranger. Embarrassed, you shut your mouth, and swallow thickly.

The waitress arrives with a cup of coffee and pitcher or milk for the stranger. He thanks her softly, and without adding any milk, takes a sip of the dark liquid.

Unsure what to do with this stranger sitting across from you, you say, “If you were expecting any company from me, you might be disappointed. I’m not good at conversing with strangers.”

“Neither am I,” the man replies over his coffee cup, “Don’t worry. I was planning on reading anyway.”

Relieved, you take a mouthful of your own coffee.

The man pulls The Hitchhiker’s Guide from his bag, picking up where he had left off.

You scrutinise him for a moment, unsure what to make of this man. Something about his gentle manners, his kind smile, and his love for the city in the early morning resonates deeply with you – an unnameable vibration stirred at the very core of your being when you look at him. Despite your aversion to talking to people you don’t know, you find yourself wanting to make the effort to converse.

Instead, you open your sketchbook and begin drawing again.

Outside, the night flows by, a river of darkness punctuated by the occasional light from a car.

Time passes quickly without you realising. The man stands up to leave. “I should get going.”

“Oh yeah, I suppose it’s late,” you say, “Or is it early…?”

He packs his book back into his bag, and you take the courage to pipe up, “It’s a good read. Douglas Adams, I mean.”

“Oh yeah,” the man looks down at the novel in his hand, “It’s my third time reading it.”

You smile, “There’s this one line from the book that’s always stuck with me.” You pause, making sure you get it right, “‘Isn’t it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?’ I’ve always like that.”

The man grins, his crescent-moon eyes deepening, “I like that too…” He looks as if he is considering his next words carefully. “Listen, I’m sorry if it was strange that I chatted with you today. I just felt compelled to do so. I don’t know why. But it reminds me of a quote from Kafka on the Shore, which is another book I’ve read at least three times - ‘Chance encounters are what keep us going’. I don’t know, I just thought you might like that one.”

“I’ve always meant to read Kafka on the Shore,” you say, “I really like Murakami.”

“You should read it,” the mans says, “It’s fascinating.”

“I will.”

“I’m Namjoon, by the way,” he says, “I don’t believe I gave my name before.”

“Nice to meet you Namjoon,” you smile, giving your own name.

With that, Namjoon exits the diner, leaving you to your own clouded thoughts as the door swings shut behind him. Despite yourself, you hope you’ll see him again.

✽ ✽ ✽

When you get home, you search your bookshelf for your copy of Kafka on the Shore. You never read it, despite is sitting on your shelf for a long time. You snuggle into bed, and start on the first page.

✽ ✽ ✽

The next night, you find yourself wandering the streets again, allured by the glowing neon lights on the city.

It’s a Thursday, and the streets are empty. Your feet lead you towards the diner. A small portion of you is hoping that you’ll see Namjoon again. You taste an oddly bitter disappointment on your tongue when you step inside, only to find the diner empty, apart from the quiet waitress.

Disheartened, you sip your decaf coffee, and read Murakami, while the earth spins by outside.

When you reach the bottom of the coffee cup with no sign of Namjoon, you stand up, resolving to go for a walk, rather than waiting around.

The air outside is cool and refreshing. You breath it in deeply, enjoying the cold sensation in your lungs.

Walking through the city, you wind your way through streets, passing abandoned play parks, empty shops, and silent office blocks. You could almost convince yourself that the whole world has stopped, and that you’re the last remaining human on the planet. Despite this, the earth still rotates, still makes its orbit around the sun, and this thought is comforting. Sitting down on a bench at the edge of a green park, you take out your sketchbook, and begin drawing. You want to capture this feeling permanently.

✽ ✽ ✽

As Friday rolls into Saturday, you avoid going out into the city at night. The city erupts with noise on weekend nights. People flock to the bars and clubs, laughing, joyous and loud, as they swing themselves down the streets. You don’t often go into the city on busy nights.

Instead, you stay inside, making your own decaf coffee from your coffee machine. It’s not as good as the coffee you get from the diner, but it’s good enough in a pinch.

These are the nights when you should sleep early to make up for your lack of sleep during the working week. Yet, as you lie in bed, staring at the dark expanse of your ceiling, your thoughts constantly circle back to Namjoon, hoping you’ll see him again some day.

The thought of connected souls flashes through your sleepy mind as you drift towards dreams. The idea is childish and naive, but it makes you smile.

✽ ✽ ✽

On Monday night – or is it Tuesday morning yet? – you return to the diner. Spotting a familiar figure at your favourite booth, you suppress a smile.

You sit down opposite him. He flashes you a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back. With a signal to the waitress, she goes to make you a cup of decaf coffee with a smile. “It’s nice to see you again,” you say, surprised at your own honesty.

The dimples pop onto Namjoon’s cheeks, giving his grin a boyish charm. “It’s nice to see you as well.”

The waitress sets down the coffee on the table. It trails tendrils of aromatic steam. Its bitter taste is a good distraction for your mouth, empty of words. You take a sip, revelling in the chocolate sweet aftertaste.

“I love the decaf coffee they do here,” Namjoon says, as you set down your cup. “I never found a decaf coffee that tastes quite like it.”

You nod in agreement. “I don’t know how they manage it. All the other decaf coffees I’ve had feel like they lack as special… something that regular coffee has. By taking out the caffein, the taste often suffers as a result. But this-” You indicate to the coffee “- This is good.”

“Finally, somebody else gets it,” Namjoon grins, “Although, if we’re talking caffeinated coffee, nothing can beat a cafe down the road from here. it’s called Cloud 9. Have you heard of it?”

“Oh yeah, I pass that coffee shop on the way to work,” you nod, “Never had a chance to go in though.”

“You should,” Namjoon says, “If you like this coffee, you’ll like it there. The beans they use are really rich, like dark chocolate.”

“Sounds good,” you say, leaning back in your seat. You examine Namjoon, sitting across from you. It’s uncommon for you to be so comfortable with a stranger, yet here you are, conversing with him as if he were an old friend. You wonder what about him makes him so different for you. A cursory glance does not show anything out of the ordinary: tall frame, slim figure, the kind of handsome face that doesn’t stand out in a crowd, but gets more handsome the longer you look at it. A few leagues above you. And yet here he is, sitting with you, by his own choice no less.

“What?” Namjoon questions your inquisitive stare.

“Sorry,” you feel your cheeks turning pink with a warm flush, “I was just thinking… it’s not often I can speak so comfortably with someone I barely know.”

“Me neither,” Namjoon admits, “But I felt a certain spark with you, so I thought I’d follow it through, and see where it leads. I hope you don’t mind?”

A warm hand clutches your heart. “I don’t mind at all.”

✽ ✽ ✽

You sit quietly in the diner with Namjoon opposite. You read Kafka on the Shore – he smiles at your choice. He reads The Hitchhiker’s Guide. The world pauses on its axis. You feel a deep-rooted peace, engulfed in the silence of the still night.

When the coffee in your cup has gone, Namjoon closes his book. “Would you like to take a walk?”

You slip the receipt for your coffee into your book, marking the spot where you stopped. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

You exit the diner, and follow Namjoon out into the dark street. He leads you down new paths, paths you had not explored before. The night is full of eager possibility with him by your side.

As you walk, you talk about everything and nothing, the universe flowing from each other’s heads, spilling your minds to one another, and bearing your soles bare in the process.

By the time you pause your walking, realising that you’re standing by an old play park that you recognise from childhood, you feel as if you’ve known Namjoon for an eternity.

You walk to the swing that stands at the centre of the park. It’s the large basket kind of swing – the sort that you would lie down on as a child, and beg for your parents to push.

Now, years later, you lie down again, and Namjoon pushes you gently. The sky is unusually clear above you, starlight shining past the orange glare of the city. The heavens bow down to greet you as you swing upwards, then pull away as you hit the crest of the arc and fall back down to earth. Namjoon pushes you again and the cycle repeats.

At least, Namjoon gets tired of pushing and lies down in the basket beside you. There’s not much space on a swing made for children. Your arm is squished next to his. Namjoon’s warmth seeps through your jumper.

“I’ve enjoyed tonight a lot,” Namjoon says.

“Me too.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you. You pull your gaze from the starry sky to gaze back at him.

“Would it be okay if we do this again?” he asks.

A glowing fire sparks inside your chest. “Of course. I’d like that.”

Above you, the stars shine down, hazy through the city’s street-light sheen.

Namjoon moves his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders. The action fuels the fire in your chest. You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, and stare up at the vast sky.

✽ ✽ ✽

You spend your nights in this way, enjoying the secrets of the city with Namjoon by your side. You walk through empty parks, visit quiet pubs, wander around empty shopping centres, and as the nights pass, you find yourself enamoured with this stranger whom you can no longer call a stranger. You even find yourself sharing your sketches with him on the odd occasion, unafraid of his judgement.

Namjoon is on your mind, even when you’re apart – wondering if he would enjoy the book you’re currently reading, if he’d like a cafe you visited, if he’s thinking about you the way that you’re thinking about him.

On your lunch break at work, you decide to visit Cloud 9 with a friend from your office – because Namjoon recommended it of course.

“This place is really… quaint,” Taehyung says, twisting his neck to inspect every inch of the coffee shop. He’s right. House plants balance on shelves above wooden tables, and oil paintings hang behind brown leather armchairs, all combining to give the cafe a homey feel – like returning to your grandparents’ house. Your attention is dragged over to the bookshelf in the far corner of the cafe, loaded with lopsided piles of second-hand books. With you and Taehyung both in formal office clothes, you look a little out of place.

When you order your coffees, and sit down at a table by the window, you’re eager to taste the beverage that Namjoon had been praising. You ordered a black americano, because you don’t want the full taste of the coffee to be dulled by milk or syrup. The first taste explodes across your palate with the bitter tang of dark chocolate, that quickly mellows to a blackberry flavour, earthy and sweet.

Across from you, Taehyung gives a hum of approval as he sips his flat white, a moustache of foam forming on his lips, which he licks off.

You stare out of the window at the busy plaza outside. Families duck in and out of shops, office workers scramble to make it to their next meeting, and tourists snap pictures of the fountain in the middle of the square.

“Hey!” You realise that Taehyung’s talking to you. “Are you even listening?”

You focus your gaze on him, his blue office suit contrasting with the brown leather armchair he’s perched in. “Sorry, Taehyung, I’m listening.”

“You seem really spacey today,” he says, frowning, “I mean, normally you’ve got your head in the clouds, I know. But today is especially bad, even for you.”

“Sorry, you’re right.” You train your attention on your friend.

“You seem really tired,” Taehyung continues, “I know you’re a night owl, but I’m starting to worry a little.”

You consider his words. It’s true that you’ve been sleeping later and later each night, enjoying your time with Namjoon. Normally, you’d allow yourself a few nights to recover, and get a full eight hours of sleep, but you’ve been missing out, not wanting to loose any time with Namjoon. As Taehyung surveys you with concern in his eyes, you realise you should be taking better care of yourself.

“You’re right,” you say, “I have been missing more sleep than usual. I’ll sort out my sleep schedule. Don’t fret.”

“Finally, you acknowledge my sage advice,” Taehyung grins, taking another sip of coffee, “Seriously though. I’m rooting for you. Whoever it is that’s keeping you up later than usual, he must be a real catch!”

Heat rises below your skin, red and urgent. Taehyung’s smirk only amplifies as you blush harder.

“So I’m right,” he says, “This is about a guy!”

“It’s not!” Your denial comes too late.

“Nope. I don’t buy it,” Taehyung says, triumphant, “You’ve finally got yourself a boyfriend. After all these years a virgin! I’m so proud.”

“Shut up, Tae,” you laugh, kicking him softly under the table.

His mouth parts in a wide grin that you cannot stay angry at.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, “So maybe there’s a guy. But we’re not actually dating or anything. Not officially. We just enjoy spending time in each other’s company.”

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s what dates are,” Taehyung says.

You struggle to find a rebuttal to this. Your blush deepens.

“I’m really happy for you,” Taehyung leans across the table to give your hand a pat, “But if you could try to arrange some dates for the daytime, for the sake of your sleep, you’d make me even happier.”

“I can’t promise anything, Taehyung. You know what I’m like.”

“All too well.”

✽ ✽ ✽

The next night, you meet Namjoon at the diner as usual. You don’t have butterflies in your stomach. You have a whole flock of birds, flapping around nervously inside you.

Namjoon smiles his dimpled smile in greeting. “Would you like to take a walk tonight? There’s something I’d like you to see.”

“Of course,” you say.

You follow him through the city streets, along empty pedestrian crossings, past silent railway tracks, up a large hill where the pavement slopes, with apartment buildings sticking straight up, like a giant came along and stuck large white logo bricks into the slanting side of the hill. Up and up you climb, conversing with Namjoon all the while – about movies you’ve watched, plans for the holidays, favourite seasons, childhood pets.

When you reach the top of the hill, Namjoon stops. “Look,” he says, so you look.

The city stretches out in front of you, an ocean of winking lights. On the far side of the city, you can see a motorway, the red and white lights of cars whisking strangers to different points of the compass. Apartments and office buildings tower over smaller structures, a forest of artificial light. A faint mist hangs above the city, giving the whole vista an other-wordly quality – a city on a distant planet.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Namjoon turns to face you. You look up to his face. His beauty strikes you once more, strangely contrasted to the beauty of the city. The city is alien. His face is familiar – it’s home.

“Tell me, Namjoon,” you say, “What’s going on between us?”

“What do you mean?”

“These walks we take every night. Would you count them as dates?” You are surprised by your own honesty.

“I suppose they could be considered dates,” Namjoon tilts his head towards you, eyes reflecting the galaxy of city lights.

You swallow, hesitating. Where are you supposed to go from here? You’ve never been on a date before.

“You don’t have to think of them as dates if you don’t want to,” Namjoon responds to your silence. “Although… I like the idea of dating you.”

“I like that idea as well,” you admit quietly. Your voice is barely a whisper.

A smile spreads across Namjoon’s face. His expression catches you off guard, mirroring your own surprised smile – surprised that a man, who was a stranger only a few weeks ago, has enriched your life so much.

“Could I consider you my boyfriend?” you ask.

“I’d like that,” he says. In the dusk, his hands find yours. A halo of light from the city’s bright haze outlines your skin.

You take a step closer to Namjoon, led by his hands, fingers threaded through your own. Your heart vibrates in your chest.

Half of his face is lit up by the city lights below. Slowly, imperceptibly, you lean towards him, while he leans towards you. His eyes ask you a question. You answer back. Your chest rises, pushing out a nervous breath. You close the distance between the two of you.

Your lips connect to his, soft and warm. You slide into the safety of his kiss, a kiss that says: I’m here, I understand you, I want this to last forever too. You sigh against him, a thrill rising inside you. On parting, you find that your legs are unsteady, and your head is spinning from the impact of two mortal bodies colliding.

Standing in the glow of the city, framed by the lights of the other living souls on the streets, Namjoon is more beautiful than ever. There are no words. You can only smile. Namjoon smiles back. He understands.

✽ ✽ ✽

“Namjoon?” He looks at you, eyes gentle as you speak his name. You’re walking with him, down from the hill where you had both confessed, and shared your first kiss.

“Yes?”

“Would it be okay if we had some dates during the day as well?”

He chuckles, “You know, I was going to suggest the same. I love the city at night, but...”

“But my sleep has been suffering,” you finish for him.

He nods, huffing out a laugh. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

His hand finds yours, his fingers cold, but his palm warm against yours. You’re always on the same page with Namjoon – two souls connected. You had thought the idea of soulmates was juvenile. Now, with your life entangling with Namjoon’s, you begin to understand. Two souls, singing in harmony. That’s what you have. A special, chance connection. You won’t let it go.

You squeeze Namjoon’s hand, and he squeezes back, and your souls entangle a little more.

- THE END -

➝ author’s note: i just love writing about this kind of setting - a calm, sleepy city with beautiful lights :’) it’s a shame that most cities aren’t like this in real life. even in my city, which is relatively safe, I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around at night on my own, like y/n does! but hey, that’s what fics are for - wish fulfilment! i hope everyone is staying safe!

if you enjoyed this fic, feel free to let me know! <3

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clockworkowl · 3 years

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I don’t know why but I have spent way too much time developing a headcanon about how just about everyone behaves when either they are ill/injured or you/other characters are ill/injured. Will this lead to me actually writing a fic? (the odds aren’t great given how long it’s been since I’ve even written anything with my own characters let alone trying to stay true to the sketch of someone else’s) Who knows, but I guess this is the closest I’ve come to writing anything at all in far too long.

Sholmes:

*I think we can all agree that Sholmes is the absolute worst when he’s sick.

*He’s totally the type who being the slightest bit ill turns into a complete dramatic bitch and hams up the tiniest of colds like he’s about to die from the consumption. He lightly groans as though the effort of extending his arm fully to take a Kleenex out of the box himself is too much. Like my old rat D’onofrio his breathing is fine if he has no idea you are home, but the second he notes your presence every breath is a wheezy death rattle until you come and worry and fuss over him until his attention meter is full up.

*But also as soon as there’s something he actually wants to do he’s magically cured and runs off without even putting on a coat.

*In a modern AU he for some reason spends a lot of time on WebMD either convincing you that his allergy-related headache is a rare usually fatal disease. Or that you probably have a rare malady that is exacerbated by eating pheasant he should probably go ahead and eat your pheasant because he’s only thinking of your health.

* When you are sick it is unpredictable at best, but it depends on how sick you actually are. There will probably be a variety of dubious cures and tinctures which you should probably ignore unless Iris made them.

*He has literally tied Kazuma to a bed (this will make more sense shortly).

*He will also somehow claim to find Ryunosuke’s take all the meds at once approach reasonable.

Kazuma:

*Asogi is also a terrible patient who will drive you to want to drink, but in the opposite fashion to Sholmes.

*He’s the ‘it’s only a flesh wound’ type who will thoroughly ignore any and all evidence of illness or injury claiming he is perfectly fine and hale until he is half dead with it and passes out

*Even after he regains consciousness will continue to argue that he will be in tomorrow he only needs to run it under a cold tap.

*You will have to tie him to a bed to get him to take doctor’s orders, and then he will be sullen about it.

*Once you get him into a room and confiscate clothes he could go outside in where he is sulking he will change tactics and he will order you around a lot trying to make you angry enough to throw your hands up and let him take care of himself, except with Ryunosuke who he knows this won’t work on so he just tries to wheedle him into bringing his clothes back and makes double entendres and suggestive comments about being tied to the bed.

*When it is you who is sick he will become the overbearing one and you won’t be sure whether that is because he worries about you or because it’s revenge for when he was sick.

Ryunosuke:

*Ryunosuke is challenging when he’s ill because he will acknowledge the illness and neither exaggerate or ignore it, but he is too concerned about whether it inconveniences everyone else for him to be ill, so he will try to downplay or hide the fact he’s as sick as he is.

*He’ll try to get well as quick as possible hence doing dumb stuff like taking all the meds at once.

*He can be reasoned with, like you could convince him to go home and take a day off, or that if he shows up sick he’ll get you all sick, but he’ll try to work from home or come back before he’s 100% or he’ll also try to prevent anyone from helping him because he feels like he’s causing extra work or that he might get someone sick.

*Can also be intimidated into being a good patient with the threat of a Susato Takedown or Barok just glaring at him until he caves.

*When you are sick he worries over you and runs around trying to make everything easy for you. Sholmes will take advantage of that to the max, so he must be sent elsewhere to avoid that.

*Once threatened to tie Kazuma to the bed so he would follow doctor’s orders. Once he realized how suggestive that sounded and got flustered he gave up on that plan (even though everyone agreed it was actually the only plan that was likely to be successful.) Now they rib him about it every time either he or Asogi get ill.

Susato:

*Susato is level-headed and actually a fairly good patient to no one’s surprise, provided she is the only one who is ill.

*She will also be worried about being an inconvenience, but has the sense to do what’s needed to get better and then tries to make it up to everyone after even though no one thinks that’s necessary

*She won’t let anyone help her though unless she really needs it. As she doesn’t want them to get sick or to fuss.

*If others are sick she will tend to put them all before her even if she’s sicker, and gets stubborn about this. This has led to at least one occasion of Sholmes dropping the theatrics and Kazuma acting like a model patient at the same time.

* When you’re sick she is no nonsense and actually helpful. She spends a lot of time shooting down Sholmes’ webMD self diagnoses, and makes Ryunosuke give her his prescriptions so she can administer the dosage because she doesn’t have time to drag him to the hospital. She has also had to threaten the Susato takedown on Kazuma more than once if he doesn’t go see the doctor today.

Gina:

*Gina is in the Kazuma mold of patient, except when you finally force her to act like she is as sick as she is, she turns into Sholmes.

*When you are ill she is aggressive about you taking care of yourself and worries, she has a lot of past trauma with people dying from her time trying to take care of her orphan army in the rookeries.

*Is not above threats, guilt-trips, and shooting you with a smoke grenade full of vitamin c or eucalyptus vap-o-rub mist.

*has pickpocketed Ryunosuke’s prescription to give to Susato more than once to avoid him taking them all at once.

Iris-

*When ill Iris is a lot more like Susato, but she totally tries to invent her own tea-based cures, and she will also downplay or hide that she’s sick because she doesn’t want anyone to worry about her, but doesn’t go overboard with it the way Ryunosuke does.

*She is pretty much immune to Sholmes’ theatrics at this point, but sometimes will make up new imaginary web md illnesses that he might have to amuse herself.

*She will mother you with tea-based or soup-based cures which you will be safe consuming and will make you feel better emotionally if not physically, but often physically as well.

*Has also modified one of her smoke grenade guns to fire eucalytpus vap-o-rub mists, and also so they can knock Kazuma or Gina out safely and temporarily so they can be made to convalesce when they are being extra stubborn.

Barok-

* somehow Barok is the best patient of all of them. It’s probably the only time that he is truly polite and courteous with no sarcastic requests for forgiving discourtesies.

*This comes from some combination of Klimt telling him as a boy about a noble’s responsibility to the people of his estate (and his actually taking this concept to heart unlike a lot of nobles) and the sheer number of times he has had to rely on doctor’s, nurses, and staff due to the numerous attempts on his life over the years.

*He will downplay the seriousness of an injury especially out of habit and so as not to worry those who he cares about (though he finds it shocking always that anyone cares about him) but he will always get it seen to and respect orders provided they come from a professional and there are reasons given.

*He will insist that his staff gets things if he needs them and not you, but this is because he wants the staff to feel comfortable and he pays them extra compensation for it. Were he contagious he would not allow them but would pay their wages for them to be away from his home. (This is a big secret and his staff is very loyal to him even without this money. It’s just like the chalices and vintages all the theatrics of it is to fund these families of artisans. Charity without charity.)

*When you are sick, except maybe Sholmes who he just can’t even, he is kind and no nonsense. He thinks you should come to stay in his guest room and been seen by his doctor, that way you’ll get the best care and recover quicker. He’ll have his staff take care of you (but also report back to him if you aren’t being cooperative. He will tell you to think nothing of it, you’re friends and he’s rich and has no family left (except Iris and she doesn’t even live with him) so what else would he do with it, besides it provides wages.

*He is not above intimidating Ryunosuke (sometimes also Gina ) into convalescing as they should.

*This doesn’t work with Kazuma who he had also considered tying to the bed, but instead decided to let him have it his way and then when he got bad enough and passed out took him to the estate anyway and made sure the doctors told him exactly how much longer he had to convalesce than he would have if he’d listened to Barok in the first place.

*He brings this up every single time so they can just skip to the part where Kazuma sulks and is a grouchy patient.

*Is the only person that doesn’t join in with the group pastime of ribbing Ryunosuke about threatening to tie Kazuma to the bed To make him follow doctor’s orders.

#dgs #dgs spoilers #I mean not really spoilers unless you are like how would they have talked #ryunosuke naruhodo #kazuma asougi #susato mikotoba #iris wilson #gina lestrade #herlock sholmes #barok van zieks #random headcanon #stronghart would only let himself be sick for 26 minutes

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trashcankitty12 · 3 years

Text

Helia Headcanons

Helia Scofield, nephew of Saladin; Master Artist in the making.

Don’t let his soft demeanor and pacifistic leanings fool you; Helia’s up for the fight if he’s needed.

(All headcanons are mainly for my verses: Left and the New Company of Light. Fair warning.)

-Helia was born to Harley and Hannah Scofield.

-Hannah, Saladin’s twin (and the elder twin, thank you) is an illusion-based witch who works with her Great Uncle’s army. She’s a commander of the Pegasus Unit of the Callistan Army, and unlike her brother, tries to keep herself out of trouble.

-Harley’s more of a gentle soul who enjoys art and runs an art gallery in Callisto.

-As you can imagine, his parents, though loving to him and though they did love each other at one point, have had many disagreements about their lifestyles and what would be best for the family.

-Harley was more pacifistic while Hannah preferred to ‘face things head on’. (Both have great strategic minds though, and… Tended to use them against each other.)

-At a young age, Helia showed potential for magic. Hannah and Saladin tried to help hone his potential skills as a wizard, but the best he could do was simple spells to make himself faster and stronger than normal and to send magic notes. (And a few other minimalistic spells. He couldn’t do anything fancy like his mom and uncle though…)

-It didn’t really bum him out too much though. In fact, it was partially a relief that he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting someone with his magic if his feelings or concentration went out of control. And he had an easy way of keeping his utensils nearby while he was working.

-Helia was in a junior sword fighting league as a kid, something his Uncle Saladin and his mother were very proud of. (Though his father thought it reckless and dangerous and ugly… Even if there was a sort of elegance to sword fighting when done right.)

-He also participated in art clubs at his school and did his to earn high marks in elementary and middle school. (He tended to be a daydreamer and often spaced out in class, especially if the subject was boring to him. Which became another argument for his parents.)

-When he was about 12/13, his parents decided to divorce. Hannah relocated and deployed to serve in Magix at the Callistan Embassy (and to be closer to her brother). His father remained in Callisto.

-He was actually happy that they finally divorced, thrilled to never have to hear one of their ‘we’re not really arguing, just having a heated discussion’ sort of fights. Having to decide where to live and what his plans for the future, however, made him sick.

-His social anxiety was through the roof anyway, and on top of all of this… His art took a bit of a dark turn and so did his poetry.

-How dare his parents fight each other and then demand he choose? How dare they implode on him like this?

-(Faragonda and Griffin were honestly the best people during this time. And so were his childhood friends. They helped him keep his cool and realize what he wanted and how to go about talking to his parents about this stuff.)

-Helia left the sword fighting league, he never really enjoyed it anyway except for the moments he was benched and could sketch the matches. And he decided to stay with his father and enroll at the Callistan Art Academy. His mother was so proud that he wanted to follow his dreams, and agreed to weekends and holidays.

-(Honestly his parents were just happy that he was talking to them again instead of pushing them away. They were so worried, they even went to therapy so they could try and do better for Helia.)

-Helia stayed in touch with some of his sword fighting league friends and kept up with his childhood friends when he went to the Art Academy.

-He loved showing off his new works and talking his friends into being models for some of his works. (One of his favorite portraits is of his best guy friend posing with his new weapon after being accepted into Red Fountain.)

-His parents did move on from each other. On his dad’s side, he has a stepdad and a lovely younger stepsister who adores him. (And he has a half-brother on the way!!)

-His mom remarried a fellow soldier, Monroe. And Monroe has two children of their own; Seneca and Marie. (Older stepsisters… They’re loud and boisterous, but they mean well and Helia enjoys watching them pose and give him fashion shows to help out his own work.)

-Though he was only at the Academy for a short time, Helia discovered many things about himself. (And made friends with the Princess of Linphea who had gotten in despite her age. The fairy is truly gifted in making topiary art.)

-He loves his charcoal brushes and using colored pencils when doing sketches. Something about the way it moves on the paper just makes him so happy.

-And he does love to paint, though he’s not much for water colors. (And never ask him to do a digital piece. The last time he tried working with a tablet, he nearly got electrocuted. Granted, it was probably a one-time thing, but he took it as a sign.)

-Poetry is second love, aside from sketching and painting. He loves being able to verbalize his feelings and put the words down that he can feel inside. Its one of the few ways he feels he can truly connect to people, since it’s easier to write down the words instead of saying them. (Though he has done poetry readings from time to time.)

-Between portraits and landscapes, Helia prefers landscapes. And he’d really gotten into architecture drawings before he left the Academy.

-Because his parents were often busy when he was a kid, he found he had useful skills to ‘adult’ while at the Academy and on his own for the first time. (He can cook fairly well, at least, you know what you’re supposed to be eating and it tastes pretty good. But he’s no Chef Langdon.)

-He was great at keeping his room spotless and clean. His workspaces however? Not so much.

-Over half his wardrobe is stained with either paint or charcoal or clay.

-(Yes, he can do pottery. Just not very well. In fact, it usually looks pretty shit, but hey, he tried.)

-After seeing the news about what happened in Magix and how his uncle’s school was destroyed and the people he cared about nearly died, Helia decided to transfer. (Which took a lot of convincing with his dad and the Dean of the Academy and Saladin.)

-But once he was in, he was in. And when given the choice about his weapon, he went with one his mother loves to use, the laser-string gloves. Great for restraint and for quick weapon-recovery in battle without potentially causing further harm.

-Add in his ability to make himself stronger, and he can wield that glove with the confidence of a sword fighter.

-He quickly clicked with Timmy once he joined their squadron, despite the two having different views of technology.

-Helia was Riven’s roommate though, and while their personalities didn’t compete with each other, they didn’t completely get along either. (Riven reminded Helia of Hannah with his ‘let’s just face it’ ways and Riven felt Helia wasn’t much of a hero if all he did was restrain instead of fight.)

-Of course, as time went on, Helia and Riven do have respect for each other, and have many inside jokes that came from their time living together.

-Helia quickly found he was one of the ‘advisors’ of the group, with everyone coming to him for advice. He was flattered, sure, but dudes… Just because he managed to get what he got, doesn’t mean he knows how he did it.

-Aside from training with his gloves, he’s good using a whip and decent with a sword. Bows and arrows/anything needing aim isn’t his strong suit. He’s also not the best at giving reports on how things went on their missions, which is why that task gets delegated to Sky or Riven.

-He trained as a medic too, deciding that while he wouldn’t be the best in a fight, he can help with the aftermath. And his squad kind of needed a medic aside from Timmy and Brandon…

-Helia may not enjoy fighting, but he’s not above doing what’s necessary when the people he cares about are in danger. There have been plenty of times, not just when saving the Magical Dimension, that Helia has risked his life and limbs to protect his friends.

-One such incident was a survival trip to the Marshlands of Amanal. Brandon never would have made it home in one piece if Helia hadn’t thrown himself at the hippogriff. (And he somehow managed to befriend it afterward. No, he has no memory of how he did it.)

-Helia tends to be a stress-sketcher. Worried about a test? Doodles on his notes from class. Worried about an upcoming mission? Sketchbook in hand. Relationship issues? Sketchbook.

-Oh! He’s a great pilot too! Helia has a great sense of direction and has grown up around the ships, so he knows how to work them. (Now, if you want to know what makes them tick or how to put them together if they fall apart, ask someone else. Preferably Timmy or Riven.)

-Helia has a whole stash of teas. A collection, if you will. (Something that he blames Faragonda for, but hey, it’s not the worst habit ever.)

-After all the traveling he’s done thanks to Red Fountain, Helia sort of understands better why his mom and uncle loved their military days so much. Seeing new places, learning new things, enjoying new foods… It’s quite an existence. (If you can look passed all the fighting and wars and invasions…)

-Yes, Helia does yoga. He also enjoys dance. (And with friends like Layla, Musa, and Nabu, he never has to do it alone.)

-Some of his favorite people to sketch: Flora, for her grace and beauty and the way she seems to just breathe life into natural settings; Sky, for his posture and presence and ability to always appear in charge; Layla, for her strength and grace and how every body of water seems to be at her command; and finally, Timmy and Tecna, As a couple, those two just radiate this feeling of joy and it just… How can you not want to sketch it?!

-(Kiko is also a favorite sketch subject. The little rabbit just has so much personality!)

-This may come as a shock to people, but Helia enjoys horror movies. Preferably the psychological/thriller-based horror movies. It’s the way they capture human emotion and it’s just so poignant and interesting. He wants to learn how to convey such feelings in his work.

-Between his parents, you’d think Helia was closer to his father… In actuality, he’s closer to his mother.

-His mom enjoyed doing things and showing him things and just getting him to be more active and curious as a child.

-His father was more of a watcher. An observer-type. Always looking for something awe-inspiring for his next piece. (Something Helia and Harley bond over now. And laugh at, from time to time.)

-Helia enjoys swapping sketching ideas with Bloom and Stella, looking to see what they’re up to and how they can try and work off of each other.

-(And he has done some physical character sheets and layout ideas for Tecna’s video game idea to help her see her vision more clearly.)

-Helia doesn’t play a lot of video games. They’re just not his thing… But he does have a soft spot for the Sims series after Bloom introduced him to it, and he enjoys this maze creation game that a Solarian gaming company came up with for phones (level 200!!!).

-He swears more than people think he does. It’s almost comical how shocked people are when they meet this ‘sweet and soulful guy’ and then he drops a few ‘f’ bombs while working on his projects. (Not just ‘f’ bombs either… Dude gets creative with his curses. Even Riven’s impressed.)

-Helia didn’t go to Earth with the others, instead taking up a job offer on Callisto to help with remodeling his great uncle’s barracks. (And now, the castle itself… He’s so honored it’s his designs in the works.)

-However, he does visit from time to time. It makes him a little sad though, seeing Earth the way it is. All the pollution creating cars, the strange fashion, the way people seem to disregard each other. It’s so sad.

-When the ‘saving the Magical Dimension’ stuff stops, Helia’s hoping to join with his father’s art gallery and to build on his portfolio of projects. (He knows he already has a few jobs waiting for him, like Stella’s coronation portrait for when she becomes queen.)

-He just hopes his works inspire and touch people the way they do as he works on them.

#winx club #winx club au #winx club headcanons #winx club helia #winx helia headcanons #helia scofield #winx club helia headcanons #helia au #artistic warrior

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peaceoutofthepieces · 3 years

Text

Tracing Time

Monday, 15:18

Song: The Neighbourhood - Reflections

The clock at the front of the lecture hall is too far away for Sander to actually hear its ticking, but it feels like it’s louder than the tapping of his pen where he’s drumming it against his notebook. This is propped open with only a few lines of actual notes and a lot of doodles, with a quick, ragged sketch of Robbe on the bottom half of the page. Sander sighs quietly to himself as he fails his futile attempt to listen to the professor, and goes back to the drawing to add on some extra shading and more careful detail.

This is so much easier to get caught up in. Time disappears when it comes to art or Robbe, so combining the two is similar to falling into a black hole. The gravity of it is so strong, making it impossible for Sander to escape as time stops and everything else ceases to exist. He gets eaten up in it, lost until the point where everything whites out but the scratch of pen on paper and the familiar shape of Robbe’s eyes. There is no talking or ticking to make him want to peel his skin off (or at least fidget about in his chair).

It’s not the best plan, however, because he zones out a little too completely. He doesn’t realise that the class has ended until a girl clears her throat next to him, standing in the aisle and waiting to get past. Sander whips his gaze around and notices his other classmates already filing out of the room.

He flushes, muttering an apology as he quickly gets to his feet and presses back to let the girl and her friend slip past him. She glances down at his notebook as she passes and her lips quirk in a knowing smile, but she merely says, “Cute. Nice work on the lips.”

Sander’s blush deepens, but he returns her smile and manages to thank her quietly before she slips away. Her friend raises her brows and smirks at him, but doesn’t say anything as she follows. He lets out a breath and slumps back against his now folded-up chair, taking a moment to collect himself. He snatches up his bag and hastily stows away his belongings, only taking time to carefully close the notebook and tuck it in between the others in his bag. He trots down the steps and almost makes it to the door without any further embarrassment, and then the professor is calling his name.

Lars Coomans isn’t Sander’s favourite professor, only because he teaches art theory rather than anything practical. Sander doesn’t mind learning about history when he finds the subject interesting, but that only happens about twelve percent of the time. (Again, this isn’t Lars’ fault.) The man is not his favourite professor, but he might be one of his favourite people. He’s a tall man in his late forties with a tiny bald patch on the right side of his head and a soft voice. He’s relatively laid back and certainly kind.

For this reason, Sander doesn’t even feel the need to groan as he hangs back, even while the last stragglers shoot him curious looks on the way out. Lars waits until they’ve left to smile at Sander and lean back against his desk, head tilted as he considers his student.

Now, Sander begins to feel a bit nervous.

“How are you, Sander?”

The question is kind, careful, and it baffles him. He knows that all of his professors are aware of his illness, but none of them make a habit of checking up on him. They’re aware, from when he misses a week or two of classes or, on the rare occasion, needs to ask for an extension on an assignment. They’re aware, but beyond that, it doesn’t come up. No one makes a fuss about it and he’s grateful. And maybe Lars isn’t, either, maybe it’s just his kindness sprouting in the start of the conversation, nothing more than a mere courtesy. But the searching way he’s looking at Sander makes him hesitant, and he clasps his right hand around his left wrist and shifts on his feet before clearing his throat. He decides to take the casual route. “I’m fine, how are you?”

Lars seems to relax, lips quirking further for a moment before he shakes his head and waves a hand. “Oh, good, good, thank you. No, I’m not trying to be nosy, I just ask because you didn’t submit your assignment before noon today.”

Sander blinks. “Sorry?”

“The papers that were due this morning?” Lars blinks back, tilting his head. When Sander continues to stare at him blankly, he offers, “On the renaissance?”

Oh. Sander’s mouth opens and closes for a moment before he finds his voice. “But that’s not due until Friday evening?” It comes out as a question as his brow furrows in confusion. He’s sure the two assignments weren’t due in one day, and he frequently checks his calendar. He’s lost, and he’s beginning to panic slightly.

“No, it was due today,” Lars says softly, searching again as he crosses his legs at the ankles and taps the edge of his desk. “Daems has an assignment due on Friday, I believe, you have him, don’t you?”

Realisation hits abruptly. “Fuck,” he breathes, raising a hand to cover his face. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know—I must have mixed the dates, put the classes in wrong.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But Lars just nods, his whole posture softening in understanding. “Alright,” he sighs. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, it’s an easy mistake. Can you get it to me by the end of the day?”

Sander swallows. “I haven’t started it,” he admits. He’d started doing the research, but he didn’t even have enough of that yet. He would be lucky to finish that by the end of the day, never mind the paper itself.

“Okay, well, you thought you had until Friday.” Lars rubs a hand over his chin and finally just shakes his head. “Alright. I’ll put you down for an extension until the time you thought it was due. And at least you don’t have the other one to worry about now, since I’m assuming that means you submitted it this morning.”

Relief flows through Sander in streams, but the banks are prickled. He purses his lips tightly and squeezes his wrist. “Lars, I just fucked up. I don’t have a good excuse, I don't want any pity.”

“No,” Lars immediately protests, pushing away from his desk to stand closer to Sander. “It’s nothing of the sort. No pity, or special treatment. You explained you made a mistake and I’ve no reason not to trust you.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re one of the best students here, Sander. I know because I pass that work of yours on the street every day. Even someone that good has to slip up sometimes, hm?”

Sander can only stare at him, feeling his cheeks warm again. He ducks his head, embarrassed at the compliment and the thought of his professor seeing the magnitude of his sappy love on a regular basis.

Lars only chuckles, bumping Sander’s shoulder. “I know I’m teasing, but I mean it. You’ve never even asked me for an extension before. I know you weren’t just slacking off. It feels bad, I know, but it’s not a big deal, kid. Just brush it off and then get it done, alright?”

Sander considers him. Then with a deep breath, he nods and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Don’t stress.” Lars squeezes his shoulder, then waves him away. “Come find me or email me if you have any questions, okay? Now go on, no need to hang around an old man any longer.”

Sander huffs, but offers him one last nod and grateful smile before making his way out. As soon as he’s passed through the door, he falters in his step and his eyes close, anger towards himself returning with a vengeance. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? How has it taken this long for that to happen?

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment, willing the frustration away. It doesn’t work entirely, but he manages a few slow breaths and collects himself enough to leave. He doesn’t think too much about where he’s going, just follows the feeling and lets his feet carry him to his bike, then pedal automatically through the streets.

The garage comes into view, and Sander tucks his bike away before rapping his knuckles against the door, not having to think about the familiar knock beyond muscle memory. His feet are tapping on the ground, and he does his best to shake the nerves out of his skin as he waits.

He’s not in full panic mode yet, not really. The only thoughts he can conjure are more swears and variations of stupid, stupid, stupid. He needs something distracting enough to quiet these rants down, but mindless enough that he can attempt to sort his thoughts out.

This is part of the reason he can’t go to Robbe, no matter how much he wants to. Robbe will be too kind. Too soothing. He’s the only one ever able to fully drown out Sander’s thoughts enough so that he stops being unkind to himself.

He doesn’t want that, at the moment. He thinks he deserves this more.

This being the frustration that leads him to bang the rhythmic code on the door once more when he doesn’t get an answer.

“Woah,” a familiar voice interrupts. “You’re not usually the kind who breaks in by knocking the place down.”

Sander turns slowly on his heel to face Adi. The man (as Sander considers him, because he is actually three years older and holds genuine wisdom on occasion) is staring him down in amusement. Quite literally staring down, as he has a good few inches on Sander, but he often leans back and slouches his shoulders to make up for it. He’s only about as tall as Jens, really, but he’s broader and looks overall bigger and more intimidating.

Robbe might be tiny next to him, and Sander might find it adorable, but Robbe is also completely unfazed because of long-time exposure to Jens.

Which is only mildly disappointing. (Robbe is extra adorable when he’s both dwarfed and flustered.)

“Sorry,” Sander says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t think that there might not be anyone here. I should’ve texted you first.”

Adi just huffs and moves to open the door, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, that would’ve been easier on your hands.” His own light-brown hand is slender and quick as he unlocks the door, movements as automatically familiar as Sander’s when he’s drawing.

They don’t speak even as they make it inside. Adi traipses around quietly to turn on lights and check up on everything, weaving between trucks, and Sander moves through to the back of the room to the piece he’s been working on. He throws his bag down and immediately crouches to examine his paint cans, eyes flickering between them and his work as he debates where to pick up again. Adi joins him after a moment, but still hangs back, leaning against the wall behind Sander silently.

Sander thinks this is probably why Adi might actually be his best friend, because he has known Adi even longer than his group from the Academy and Adi understands him just as well as Lucas.

“I fucked up,” Sander says eventually, so quietly he’s unsure if Adi hears him over the spray of the can. He’s ready to repeat himself in the responding silence, but then Adi is standing at his side.

Adi tilts his head. “Not with Robbe.”

“No,” Sander agrees, and finds some relief in it. At least it isn’t Robbe.

“Another friend?”

“School.”

“Oh. Bad?”

Sander lets his hand fall to his side and sighs. Adi is calm and curious but not comforting, nothing more than a steady presence next to him. It allows Sander to reorder his thoughts into something he can actually articulate. “No, it’s not even a problem, really. I just made a mistake and it’s pissing me off.”

“But it’s not a disaster?” Adi tilts his head further.

“Probably not.” When Adi only continues to stand and look, he heaves another sigh. “I mixed up the dates for two assignments and submitted the wrong one today, meaning I missed the actual deadline for the other. But he’s just giving me that time as an extension, because apparently I’m a good student. Can you fucking believe that?”

Adi’s lips finally quirk, his amusement returning at Sander’s incredulous, exasperated exclamation. “No, I can’t, actually. But then again you’re kinda art obsessed, so maybe.”

This time Sander blows out a breath that can’t really be considered a sigh, with the farting noise that accidentally accompanies it. He wipes a hand over his mouth as if it will erase the sound while Adi barks a laugh.

“So you’re just pissed because your brain did you dirty,” Adi summarises.

Sander grimaces, but nods. “And wondering how it’s taken this long for me to fuck up like that.”

“Maybe because you’re not a fuck-up.” Adi raises a brow pointedly, but Sander simply waves him off. The sentiment is kind, but it doesn’t change the fact that he fucked up. Then Adi adds, “And anyone can get their wires crossed like that. You’re not that unique.”

It draws a snort out of Sander against his will. It doesn’t matter that he knows what Adi is really trying to say, hears the reassurance and reminder tucked within the words; the blatant dry tone it comes out in startles him enough to set it off. Adi’s forming grin doesn’t match it and makes it easier for Sander to see through him, but he’ll let him away with it this once.

He knocks his paint can against Adi’s shoulder. “Thanks.” It’s much more clearly genuine than Adi had been, and more than Sander expected himself to give, but he does feel better and he appreciates it. It doesn’t matter that ‘thanks’ is as difficult as ‘sorry’; that just means Adi will know he means it.

Sander is sure of it when Adi simply nods in response, turning to examine Sander’s artwork rather than put pressure on him to figure out his expression. He watches on as Sander gets back to work, and eventually shifts to lean back against the wall. “Things are good with Robbe, then?”

“Yeah, always.” Sander smiles, unbidden, at the simple mention. He doesn’t feel the need to be embarrassed about it, even when Adi huffs.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow,” he notes, and Sander pauses. “Any special plans?”

Sander stays still for a moment, and then shrugs, putting his arm into motion again. He hasn’t thought about it. He might have been avoiding thinking about it. “Unless it’s a surprise. I know I’ll see Robbe, but that’s it. I do that everyday.”

“You not hanging out with all of them? What about Gilles and his gang, and Lucas and whoever?”

Sander’s mouth twitches, but he quickly schools it away. “I’ll see the guys at uni and maybe Lucas if we go to the flat or I pick Robbe up at school.”

He can just see Adi in his peripheral, and catches his thoughtful nod and careful bite of the lip. “Right, right. You ever planning on bringing him here again?”

“Robbe?” Sander asks, just to be a little shit.

“Fuck, no. I love him, I do, but he’s hardly an artist. Nah, Lucas.”

Sander brings Lucas at least twice a month, and Adi knows it. “They’re all busy with school. Final year and all that.”

“Yeah, but he’s applying to the Academy right? So, technically, this is like studying.”

“Do you want to see Lucas again, Adi?” Sander asks, mustering as much mock-astonishment into his tone as he can.

He receives a scoff for his efforts. “You know it’s not like that, you fucking asshole.”

“Good, because you know, he has a boyfriend, Adi.”

“Who happens to be Robbe’s best friend and your kind-of friend, yeah, yeah, I know. I also happen to be straight, dickhead.” He cocks his head at Sander and his lips slip into a smirk. “While you also have a boyfriend, and you’re whipped as hell for him, and yet look who you still came running to to kiss your boo-boos.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sander says this time, tossing the now-empty spray can at him. Adi dodges with a startled noise followed by his low, booming laughter, and Sander just shakes his head and marvels at his quiet mind.

~^~

previous/next

#wtfock #sobbe #sander driesen #sander season #tracing time

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dreamties · 4 years

Text

Michael Myers W/ an Artistic S/O

A/n- Read T/W

T/W- Eating Mention ( I have bad habits while I work and I’m projecting :) )

Here’s my not-so-friendly-friendly reminder to remember to drink some water or get a snack if you need to- like gosh darn y’all >:(

(I know I need to, that’s for sure)

I did really enjoy writing this though! Michael is honestly such an interesting character to work with. I should write for him more often...

Michael is inarguably the least cultured when it comes to art. At least the ghostface duo probably took it during high school.

Michael over here though was in Smith’s Grove for, what, fifteen years? That’s a majority of his schooling years right there. And from then on had been living in hiding by himself...and then eventually with his dearly loved, S/O.

...you are his entire arts education.

At first the only “appreciation” he shows for it is the obligatory acknowledgement of it, out of the fact that you’re together.

Within time, he does show a level of curiosity.

Imagine you create abstract art. Michael’s already unsure about the classic styles of painting (really, he’s just indifferent about it). And then he’s met with glaring darks and the striking white of the canvas, as it intermixes with splatters of color.

You had been out most of the day, probably getting food for the two of you, but left a few of your most recent pieces to dry in the living room. Michael’s wandering around the house, looking for an item he had somehow misplaced. When he finds himself face to face with your paintings. They’re still glistening with wet acrylics.

He honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s confusingly messy, and part of him wants to smash your canvas in two, tearing it from its staples, and puncturing it with his bare fists.

He’d never act upon those urges though. He loves you- he thinks he does, at least. And the thought of seeing your face twist in anger and sadness at the sight of your hard work gone to waste? It doesn’t give him pleasure to think about.

He hardly notices his fists clenched up, knuckles turning white or the front door opening. So focused- and at the same time lost in the artwork. He does however hear the faintest chuckle from behind him, and he tenses up.

“You know, art is supposed to make you feel something,” and this time you try to cover your loud laugh, as to not upset Michael. “Well, it sure did the trick, didn’t it?”

Also, speaking of his violent and visceral reaction to your abstract work?

Well, there’s a good chance that you’d be able to coerce him into painting with you...at least once or twice.

It’s honestly such a breath of fresh air to see this type of expression. Instead of the dried blood of his victims, his hands are coated in paint, seeping beneath his nails.

Oh my god!! Helping him scrub his hands clean afterwards?? HELL YEEEEAH!

That’s as far as his appreciation goes though.

You never really make him stuff. On the rare occasion you do, you’ll leave it out on the kitchen counter for him or some other spot- so when Michael is done with his hunt, he’ll be greeted with the soft reminder that you were thinking of him.

He does keep the pieces (there all like little sketches and doodles) probably in a dresser drawer in your shared bedroom. Unlike other slashers, he’s more likely than not to never look at the individual pieces again. But he enjoys the thought behind them, which is good enough :)

A lot of them end up stained in blood, because he often forgets to wash his hands before handling them. But like, there his pieces now?? So who cares? He sure doesn’t lol

However, often (dare I say all) times you have the unfortunate habit of staying up too late to create.

You’ll be sitting hunched over at your desk, sketching and plotting out new ideas. Your eyes are dark and saggy against your face, your hair wildly disheveled- clothes sticking with paint.

Thoughts of dinner long forgotten- you’d told Michael you’d help out with dinner soon, he eventually gets tired of waiting, and just grabs whatevers leftover in the fridge. You have a bag of chips mostly untouched beside you- hey, you told Michael you’d eat something so >:(

(I have more thoughts on that, but we don’t have time to get into all that so)

You have two glasses of water set out, one is more clear than the other, but both of them shimmer and dance with paint.

Michael enters the room to check up on you- and notices as you rinse out your paintbrush in one and almost immediately pick it up again and drink from it. You set it down, unbothered.

And to say Michael wasn’t a little horrified by that? akehdfkjh he’d be lying

Since he’s worried...

Michael can and will force you to go to sleep.

No excuses, no “I need to finish this section real quick”s- nothing.

Michael will physically pick up from where your working if he has to. You are getting good sleep tonight damn it >:(

All in all though, art is simply confusing to him. He does not understand the purpose of it. It’s still intriguing to him on some level, but like,, he honestly doesn’t care much about it. But he’ll support you in your endeavors, as you aren’t harming yourself to do it <3

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ilikemesometaetaes · 3 years

Text

Don’t Hold Your Breath ~ jjk

Chapter Five (M)

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes

•••> Summary: As the CEO of an international government security company, you have the world at your fingertips. Living life lavishly and extravagantly has become the norm. Behind closed doors, however, you host a past that renders you lonely and, quite frankly, miserable. It’s only a matter of time before your past comes back to bite you right in the ass.

•••> Pairing(s): Jungkook/Reader, Taehyung/Reader (slight)

•••> Inspo: This fic is inspired by the song “SAVAGE ANTHEM” by PARTYNEXTDOOR. Thank you to @dariangarcia, @btssmutgalore, and @junghoseokit for supporting my work. To my mamas, Kaitlin, Adora, Lauren, Lanie, Lu, and Sher.

•••> Word Count: 6.54k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Warnings: angst, infidelity, oral (m receiving), heartbreak, cursing, pining, depression, breakup, mention(s) of therapy/counseling, arguing, drug use, alcohol use | Warnings are written specifically to chapter.

Taglist: @dariangarcia @apurpledheart @itsgottabeyoo-ngs @hytibm @namjinsbaby @ggukkieland

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, say so in a comment to this chapter or the DHYB Main Page, or send me an ask!

NAVIGATION: Chapter Four (M) <- | -> Chapter Six (M) -> Mini-Masterlist -> Series Masterlist

•••> Official Playlist

~#~

“Is it something we discussed now? The truth got you in disgust now, ‘cause I’d rather we just fuck now.”

THEN.

Sitting at your desk at work never felt so somber as you remembered how it all changed. The chain of events that led up to your fight with him the previous night were too hard to ignore anymore.

You remember fighting for him- for the both of you.

The tears flooded your eyes and, thankfully, blurred your vision from the scene before you.

Jungkook sat on a couch placed in the corner of the club, completely inebriated and high out of his mind. But that’s not what hurt you.

What completely ripped your heart from your chest was the woman draped across his exposed lap with her hair held in one hand while she used the other to wrap around the part of his dick that she couldn’t reach whilst she closed her lips over it.

Blinking your tears from your eyes on instinct allowed you to see that another set of eyes was looking at you. And they weren’t Jungkook’s.

Taehyung’s scowl, paired with furrowed eyebrows and sad eyes, was another image from that night you couldn’t get out of your head. There was no shock nor surprise on his face- he was expecting you. Taehyung knew that you would see. He didn’t try to deter you from coming to the club and he didn’t send any warning texts. He was the one who invited you in the first place.

The scene was an unforgettable one.

You should have taken Taehyung’s word for it from the start. He had given you hints that you simply couldn’t bother yourself to pay attention to.

While you possessed the knowledge and evidence that Jungkook cheated on you that night, you couldn’t bring yourself to properly address it. Each time you got around to speaking with him about it, you ended up brushing it off for another time.

Finding an excuse for yourself to defend him was easy.

The drugs and alcohol were the problem. You saw it yourself that night. He was in a completely different world when you saw him doing the deed. His eyes were glazed out with beautiful lips agape in complete, drug-induced ecstasy, unknowing of what he was doing. There was no way he was aware of what was actually happening or even what day it was.

But then came the day that it got so bad that you asked him to go get help. You were willing to forgive his negligence if he was willing to get it fixed.

It was the cause of your final fight.

“I’m not going to fucking rehab, Y/N.” He laughed spitefully. “There is nothing wrong with me. I’m a fucking rockstar. This is what rockstars do.”

“They also cheat on their girlfriends?” You sarcastically asked.

Jungkook chuckled darkly while looking at the floor. After a moment, he met your eyes in a cold gaze before he opened his mouth.

“Rockstars don’t have girlfriends.”

The weight of the statement pressured heavily on you in realization of what he was implying, pushing all of the air from your lungs. You were struck silent with an invisible smack offered by his words. No sound could escape your mouth as you stared back at him in a silent question: did it mean what you thought it meant?

“Yeah.” Was all he said in the deafening silence to answer your unspoken query, looking at the ground awkwardly. He was quick to add another few words to finally hit the nail on the coffin. “But if you still want to fuck, I’m down.”

“But- but I…” Your voice trembled weakly, feeling your eyes ache with incoming tears, but you fought them with every ounce of will that you had as your abhorrence was built up by his last words. The ground was swallowing you up and you were trying to claw your way free. “I waited for you to get better. You told me things would get better once you took off.”

“Don’t hold your breath, Y/N.” He laughed heartily.

Your heart was no longer beating. Not in your mind, anyway.

You felt as the life was torn from your lungs with the most simple and practical words; your world taken from you and all air seeming too thick to inhale.

Awfully, you couldn’t seem to listen to his words this time. You didn’t want to. Breathing seemed much too difficult as you felt him snatch the light from your life with one swipe.

There was no chance that you would let him watch you cry- no way he was going to watch the pain he delivered onto you take physical effect. You were disappointed and neglected- a pawn in the game he played. You were sick of playing now.

Instead, you turned around, grabbed your purse off of the kitchen table-

And left.

Sitting at your desk with all of the sadness that Jeon Jungkook brought into your life, you decided that it was finally time to leave. You needed to leave Korea. You needed to move on to bigger and better things.

Your hand was reaching for your phone before you could stop yourself from doubling back. It’s about time.

Googling for a moving company- any moving company- only took you a few seconds and you pressed the call button with a new sense of conviction.

“Good afternoon! Thank you for calling Team Wang’s Moving Company! What can I assist you with today?”

Making sure your voice was level and controlled, you spoke, “I’d like to schedule a move of items from a storage unit here in Korea to another country. Am I able to do that?”

“Of course, ma’am! We can get started on preparations for that right away! What was the location that you were referencing? We are limited on the countries we can ship to due to certain regulations.”

Without any further hesitation or pondering over the past, you settled on it.

“Italy.”

Jungkook

He sat in his room for a while with an empty lyric journal, letting the high slowly fade from his body as regret began pumping through his veins. Jungkook had put up the act for Taehyung, but after he saw his brother angrily storm out the door and he was left alone to the ever familiar havoc in his mind, the fight to maintain his mask was easily lost.

What the fuck did he do?

Seeing you cry was common for him; Jungkook had made you cry too many times to count, but that didn’t take away from the way it ripped apart the sinew in his chest every time he saw that look in your eyes as tears streamed down your cheeks.

He managed to convince himself of the belief that it was impossible for you to care that much anymore. You just couldn’t. Not when he had fucked up the first time. He had broken your trust and he didn’t trust himself enough to try and earn yours back, fearing that he would just fuck you up past recovery- like himself.

Jungkook was beyond rejuvenation and beyond any form of succor. Nothing could help him silence his demons except the cold and dark embrace of death. Even now, sitting in silence in his bedroom to let the remorse for you distract him from the torment of the empty organ beating in his chest, he felt them begin to criticize him.

Jungkook’s parents and brother died young, victims of a drunken asshole who decided that it was a good idea to get behind the wheel to try and get home to his girlfriend. What a fucking prick.

For some reason, Jungkook decided that it would be a good idea to stay home and worry about the girl that he liked at school, making little sketches to slip into her lunchbox once lunch came around.

Of all days he could have stayed home, it just had to be that one. He should have gone to the grocery store with them. He should have been in that car with them.

The voices in his head began three weeks after the funeral- when Jungkook reached the ripe age of twelve. Constantly battering him down, twisting his heart, and suffocating his head, he recognized that it was his own voice and his own psyche attacking the sanctity of his soul after he watched the three coffins sink into the cold ground.

It just had to rain that day, water filling the nice dress shoes his father bought for him a few months prior as mud covered the black leather.

He reached adulthood much too fast. Even under the care of his parents’ friends, he was forced by his own will to become independent. They tried to shower him with the same love and support that his family had, but it was no use- Jungkook was alone. No one could fill that gap in his heart once it was made empty.

He’ll admit, he was a bit more dramatic back then.

He was approaching his seventeenth birthday when he smoked for the first time, turning it into a habit by the time he graduated high school. He had been dragged out to an end-of-the-year school gathering by Taehyung, a senior who was much too silent like himself- who understood that Jungkook preferred the quiet due to the mayhem in his mind. They had formed a tranquil and mostly unspoken bond over the months that they studied together.

“Is it safe?” Jungkook muttered while looking at his older companion of the silence curiously.

“I’ve done it a few times and I was fine. Just take it slow at first. Try two hits and then wait like twenty or thirty minutes.” Taehyung’s contralto voice was somehow comforting to Jungkook, a beacon in the chaos that was the kickback they were currently separating themselves from. “If you don’t want to, that’s cool. You don’t have to.”

“Nah,” Jungkook’s desire to break out of his shell was a little spurred by Taehyung who seemed to aid him in the most odd yet unobtrusive way. “I’ll try it. Might be cool.”

The only two at the campfire while the rest of their year mates drank and danced to music in the house, Jungkook and Taehyung shared their first high together.

Then, the voices stopped.

Jungkook was shaken to his core, gripping the arms of the camping chair he sat in until his fingers ached and his knuckles turned white. For the first time in six years, his head was blanketed in silence.

Slightly panicked at the new sensation, he turned to Taehyung for help, only to find that his friend was sitting back with his head craned up, gazing intently at the stars. Jungkook followed his stare and struggled to see them past the glow of the flames in front of him, only to grow enraptured by the gorgeous twinkling of each small dot in the midnight sky once his eyes adjusted. Strangely, he was hit by a sudden burst of inspiration.

“I could write a song right now.” Jungkook told the sky confidently.

“You write?” He saw Taehyung turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Meeting his friend’s observance, he let a smile lazily grace his face for once as he replied.

“I do occasionally. I always wanted to be a singer when I was younger.”

“Me too.” Taehyung chuckled with a sense of wistfulness, fixing his stare on the small inferno in the fire pit. “Well, I wanted to be a bassist really bad. Maybe sing a little.”

Overcome with the emotions of maybe not being totally alone, Jungkook’s inner sageness spewed from his mouth without falter, wholly due to the graceful and relaxed feeling that he received from the high.

“We’re still young.” He reasoned. “We can still do it.”

“I’ll be studying music in university after my military service is over. My most realistic dream now is to become a studio bassist for some record company.” Taehyung laid his head back again, closing his eyes.

“Hey,” Jungkook called for his friends attention and the older boy looked at him with slightly bloodshot eyes. “We can do something with this if we really want to. I’ll follow you to university. Never really had a solid plan for where I wanted to go to anyway.” Jungkook stuck his hand out in a silent offer, hoping that his proposition wouldn’t be crushed.

Taehyung smiled mellowly, taking his younger friend’s hand with his in a handshake. “Sounds like a plan, my friend.”

After Taehyung graduated and enlisted, Jungkook completed his senior year with a new hobby- well, two new hobbies: writing and smoking.

With the impending date of his enlistment, he knew that he had to give it up as he was going to get drug tested. For two years, he kept up with himself without the help of the self-administered psychoactive drug therapy.

Service was a good distraction from the voices. Having things to do to keep him busy and writing in any free time he had, he was kept delightfully aloof from the dark corners of his mind. It also helped that he enlisted into the same garrison that Taehyung was assigned to.

Taehyung welcomed Jungkook into university with open arms. Now, at the age of twenty, Jungkook was a seasoned and trained man. The voices still loomed over him, but they were pushed to the back of his mind as he learned to deal with the emptiness.

He had highs to suppress his demons, he had his songs to communicate himself to others, and he had Taehyung.

Although it wasn’t nearly enough to fill his empty glass, it was empty no longer.

Jungkook lay in his bed as he watched the violet sky turn midnight blue, the already-set sun pulling the rest of its light away from his side of the earth.

Naked and vulnerable under the scrutiny of the world, he lay in the sheets with his head turned toward the window, presenting the sorrow brimming in his eyes right back to the invisible gaze of the universe. With no form of judgement in response to him, he was left to ponder over the things he had done.

Because even now, with a slight high from the drugs, he realized that he could still hear them- the whispers, murmurs, and dronings of impugnment continued to poison his mind. He found it funny that he was always pressing the voices away, yet whenever confronted by the menace that was his emotions, they were his safety blanket.

Pulling the sheets to his body while he curled into himself, Jungkook realized that he felt completely bare and exposed without the voices.

He’d keep them back to the point of a whisper so that he could call on them to protect him with a roaring intensity during bad times. There was never a time that he wasn’t manually suppressing them if he wasn’t high anymore.

With a shaken mind, he realized the only true way they were silent without true effort now. The drugs had stopped suppressing them a long time ago. There was no way he was able to have silence unless he was actually enforcing the lack of sound onto himself.

Not unless he was with you.

You provided light and hope and everything good to him, You gave him the things that were snatched away from him all those years ago- the things that he forced himself to live without. Unlike Taehyung, who gave him the sense of having a brother again, you gave him the love of everyone he lost. You acted like a sibling, gave him the comfort like a mother, and gave him the stern challenge and teachings of a father- if that made any sense.

Without you, he felt like his family; Jungkook felt lost and alone. Even as an up-and-coming rockstar with thousands of fans scrambling to get to know him, he felt like he was the last man on the planet who kept himself back while everyone else moved on to a better world.

The night at the club still haunted him, the truth of what happened chilling him to the bone- even if he didn’t exactly remember any of it.

Shit. Maybe he needed help after all.

NOW.

Sitting with his back to the door, staring at the night of New York City, Jungkook did not hear Namjoon enter the room with both of his bodyguards in tow.

“We’re staying another few days.” His older brother informed him, breaking him from his trance-like gaze.

“Goody.” Jungkook sighed, setting his empty glass down on the table in front of him. With a huff, he stood and stretched. Namjoon uttered a quick ‘give us a second’ to his men before the shuffling of feet and the door closing behind him signaled the beginning of a serious conversation.

“You know she’s still here, right? It’s not too late to go and talk to her.” Jungkook could feel the man’s eyes on his back, pity dousing the information that Jungkook was already aware of.

But Jungkook didn’t need Namjoon’s pity. It was enough that Namjoon saw his feelings on paper. Nothing more needed to be shared.

Still, he respected his brother’s wisdom and he remembered the words of his counselor. ‘Accept the silence. Then, do the talking from the inside. The only one truly speaking, inside and out loud, is you.’

“I know. I already spoke to her. Some things…” Jungkook’s volume died down for a moment, unsure of how to put it, as he turned his head to look at his brother in a silent plea for assistance. “…happened the other night. She came and saw me again today,”

“-I didn’t know what to do and I acted like a dickhead.” He looked back down and chuckled spitefully to himself, wisps of a shadow materializing back into the depths of his mind once he stopped speaking.

Namjoon exhaled after not realizing that he was holding his breath following his own comment. Carefully, he approached Jungkook so as to not trigger him into closing himself off. Despite having received professional assistance and counseling for two years, Jungkook was still as fragile as fine china.

The older man placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder before slightly forcing Jungkook to face him.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” Namjoon looked into his eyes, prying into the windows of his soul, to capture a glimpse of the storm clouds brewing in his brother’s brown orbs. “Do you still love her?”

Jungkook didn’t know how to answer at first.

The voices began permeating Jungkook’s mind ever so slowly as an automatic reaction to being emotionally jabbed. He didn’t like addressing his feelings; the voices were all he could fall back on when he felt threatened, deafening volume drowning out the possibility for anything to reach into him too deep. They gave him the things- the bad things- he needed to say in order to protect himself.

As he sifted through the past two years, however, looking back on the help he had received and the exercises he went through that allowed him to no longer fear the natural silence- to embrace it without the drugs- he knew that no one was threatening him and no one was going to hurt him. Jungkook was asked if he still loved you and he couldn’t have the negativity surrounding him if he was going to answer that question, so he moved his trepidation out of the way to see what was left for you.

Behind it all- the fear, meaningless women, music, loss- lay a withering yet ever-present being, its wings tattered and flayed at the edges. With its first glances of light, with no smog to block it, it beat its tiny appendages with potential and came to life upon Jungkook’s realization of what it was.

His arrant and perennial love for you.

Jungkook briefly remembered the meadow- your meadow- and all of the tiny butterflies that were living out their lives in the beauty of the world that day. A butterfly adorned with blue and black splotches of color on its wings had managed to land on your head for a split second when he adjusted your hair. The particular memory and the events that followed on that day relocated as the tiny butterfly inside his mind fluttered upwards.

Jungkook’s heart soared with newfound beginnings- a second chance.

“I do, hyung. I do.” He whispered, voice wavering under the force of the emotions that came bubbling up from his chest. Tears filled his eyes, prompting his older brother to pull him into an embrace.

Jungkook’s body racked with cries at the feeling of comfort and warmth, unable to stop himself from feeling the raw emotions he had delayed for too long. Instead of needing to push the darkness out of the way, it came pouring out of him in radiating waves much too intense for him to handle alone.

“Hyung! I love her! I love her!” He chanted into his brother’s shoulder. “I hurt her! She was all mine and I tossed her away!”

Namjoon, although shocked by the psychological state and emotional outburst of his usually stoic bandmate, held him with care and waited until his brother’s breathing calmed before suggesting his next move. “Then go and get her, Kook.”

“She’s-” Jungkook had to swallow to wet his dry throat. “She’s with Taehyung right now.”

“Then wait until morning. From what Jin-hyung said, she’ll be here until the end of the week.”

So, wait is what Jungkook did.

He woke up at eight the next morning and called your personal assistant, finding his number easily on your company’s preliminary email to everyone in his organization for the whole UN ordeal. After two rings, the man answered.

“Halo! This is Brian Morena, representative and PA to Ms. Y/N Y/L/N. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Jeon Jungkook.” Jungkook stated his name lowly and unsurely, cautious as to how to approach asking him about your schedule.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon! It is a pleasure to speak with you! I’ll just verify your phone number really quick. It will only take a moment.” The line went silent for a few seconds and Jungkook waited on the edge of his bed with a bouncing knee and a fingernail between his teeth. After a few more seconds, the man was back on the phone. “You’re good! What can I do for you today?”

“I was just wondering if I could possibly get my hands on Ms. Y/N’s schedule for the day.” Jungkook heard how weird the request sounded the moment it flew from his lips. Quickly, he came up with a lie to soothe the request with reasoning. “She left her jacket in the elevator and I wish to return it to her- personally.”

Jungkook added the last part, knowing that the man would just tell him to give it to an employee of your own building, and Jungkook couldn’t have that. He wanted- no, needed- to see you.

“I see.” Brian responded thoughtfully. “Well, in that case, I’m unable to disclose her whereabouts due to security reasons.” Jungkook’s heart dropped a little at the notion of being unable to speak with you while his heart was still flying open. Then, Brian spoke again.

“But if she is in her hotel during her free time, she will be in her penthouse and I will assign you a temporary elevator key so that you can get to her door. It won’t unlock the door, but it will get you in front of it. Does that sound alright, Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook smiled triumphantly. “Yes, that sounds lovely. Thank you, Brian.”

“It’s no problem, sir! Though, I do suggest you move quickly because she only has the next two and a half hours before she has her first scheduled event of the day. Your key will be ready for you in the next ten minutes. Have to wait until your status change goes through properly.” Brian was busy clacking away at his keyboard while he spoke, but Jungkook couldn’t be more overjoyed that he had succeeded in his plan thus far.

Things will work out. I’ll get her back. However much and however long it takes.

He dressed casually and indiscriminately with a mask over his face so as to not draw attention. After searching for it on google and exiting the hotel onto the street, he hailed a cab to take him to the first flower shop he could find to order you a bouquet of white tulips- obviously, he had to google that too. Jungkook had no idea what the best flower for apologies and hopes of new beginnings was. He was no botanical genius and that was a fact.

Once he had the flowers in his hand after a grueling wait, he stopped by the closest coffee shop to buy your favorite coffee- with two creams and three sugars if he remembered correctly. Despite the amount of time the florist had wasted, he made his way back to the hotel on foot so that he could properly practice what he was going to say to you. If he was going to make it right, he needed all the practice he could get.

Take off the mask. Don’t be a dick. Take off the mask. Don’t be a dick.

Jungkook let the incantations fill his head so that the haze of negativity didn’t have a chance to snap back into place over his single, delicate emotion. He was vulnerable and fighting the mental pressure with everything he had so that he could bare himself long enough to at least get back on good terms with you.

By the time he was back in front of your hotel building, it was a quarter to ten and he was left cursing the florist for taking so long. He stood awkwardly on the pavement, allowing himself a few breaths before he decided to enter the glass doors. Jungkook knew that he would be attracting attention by standing in front for so long, yet he couldn’t help but need a moment to send a prayer to whichever god was watching over him.

Closing his eyes, he craned his head up and took one last inhale whilst sending a silent plea for things to work out. To see you smiling and happy again. To hold you in his arms and hear you silence every one of his demons once and for all.

What he didn’t expect was one of his prayers to be promptly answered.

As he opened his eyes to look at the late morning sky, he caught sight of you immediately, sitting on the restaurant balcony- laughing and smiling. But you weren’t laughing and smiling to yourself.

You were giving your joy and happiness to Taehyung whose hand was covering yours above the table, grinning endearingly and adoringly back at you.

Jungkook’s hands grew numb, warranting the flowers and coffee to slip from his grasp onto the sidewalk, as he drowned in smog once again.

NOW.

You

“He never wanted you to leave.”

You sat, dumbfounded for a moment, as Taehyung said the words. You didn’t let the shock last for long, knowing that what he said must have been a lie.

“There’s no way.” You chuckled scornfully. “He told me himself, Taehyung. He didn’t want me anymore.”

“Y/N, take it from me. I loved you. I wanted to see you happy.” He grimaced briefly, most likely from the personal statement, while turning his eyes down to place his gaze on his empty plate in front of him. “But I knew that he made you happy even though he made you sad. He made you happy in a way that I never could. And he wanted to see you that way- happy.”

“I’m sorry, Tae. I- I should’ve-” Your heart ached for a moment as you tried to find the words to say, wishing for the first time that you had been in love with him instead.

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. You can’t force feelings like that and I sure as hell was not going to force you into anything that you didn’t want.”

A question burned behind your eyes, tugging your heart to remember the past.

“Then why did you let me see?” Your eyes turned cold. The drop in your tone nor the change of your mood were directed at him, but they were caused by him nonetheless.

“Because I was young and thought you had a chance to find that happiness elsewhere.” He sighed, taking the opportunity to place his hand over yours on the table while his words distracted you. “And for that, I’m sincerely sorry. I know that friends are supposed to help each other out, but that was a situation that was out of my hands and not mine to handle or get involved in.”

“I’m not blaming you for my relationship issues. I never did and I never will. So don’t apologize.” You looked down at the way his hand covered yours. “I just wanted to know.”

Taehyung pat your hand in an attempt for you to look at him again. When you did, he continued his sentiment.

“Jungkook didn’t want you to leave at all. He has this… thing. It’s not really my place to say anything, but I’ve been friends with him for years and he’s had it a bit rough. I know that he’s a dick- believe me, I know-“ You quirked an eyebrow at his expression. “But he’s got something he keeps hidden behind that thick skull of his that you should probably know about.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” You asked, curious as to what he could be alluding to.

“Because you guys still need to talk. He was never good at talking to you about things.”

“I’m never fucking talking to him ever again.” You deadpanned.

“Please do it for me, Y/N.” His eyes begged with his plea, pulling you in.

“Oh? And why should I do it for you, hm?” You joked with him to steer the conversation away from the heavy subject, a small smile playing upon your lips. “I think you were the one apologizing to me.”

“Well, all I can say is that I’m sorry. I was supposed to be there for you- when you needed a shoulder to cry on and when you needed someone to binge watch TV shows with.” He smiled with his attempted joke that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“You’re the best TV show buddy.” You giggled and looked down at your joined hands again, rotating your own so that you could hold his. To be friends with him after all this time… is it possible?

“Oh, I know I am!” He laughed loudly again, prompting you to quickly look around the restaurant area and the street below you, mild panic setting in once more. You tilted your head in confusion and pity at the sight of a few white flowers lying on the pavement next to a splattered drink.

“Poor flowers.” You muttered to yourself. “They’re so pretty.”

You watched Taehyung turn to look where you were staring from the corner of your eye. “Oh yeah. Would you look at that? Such a waste.”

Instead of taking any more time, you stood and straightened your blazer to remove the wrinkles. “We should probably get out of here. I have a security meeting in a little while.”

“How long is a little while?” Taehyung asked as he stood and pressed his hands to his own coat. You made eye contact with Jay who was already stood and ready to go, nodding to him as you answered Taehyung’s question.

“About an hour and a half. Why?”

“Damn. That’s not enough time. Maybe tonight then?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, lips forming into a thin line.

“Enough time for what? What’s happening?” You grabbed his elbow when he began walking away without answering your question.

“What time are you going to be done for the day?” He asked.

“Taehyung,” You warned lowly. “What’s going on? I won’t tell you unless you give me something to work with here.”

“Oh, nothing.” He smiled and removed your grasp from his arm. “I’ll just ask Brian again. I’m sure he’ll be upset if you dodge your schedule.”

“Brian?” You watched as he walked away through the tables while hooking his mask back onto his ears. You wanted to get to the bottom of the situation fast- so you quickly followed him. “You’ve been speaking with him?”

“Of course I have! Isn’t that right, Jay?” Taehyung turned to the man in question.

“Of course, Mr. Kim. You’ve been very in touch with the staff.” Your bodyguard, once he joined you and Taehyung walking together, let a small, smug grin pull at the corners of his mouth. What a traitor. A slight sense of mock-betrayal filled you.

“What?” You asked. “Why?”

“For research purposes.” Taehyung deadpanned, grabbing your hand in the process. “Now come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“I have to go back to my room and get ready for my meetings.” You said quickly. Taehyung only chuckled lowly.

“Alright. Then let’s go!” He tugged you towards the exit. “I’ll take you to your door.”

You had no option but to stumble behind him while you stressfully surveyed the area, careful of onlookers.

~∞~

“YOU ALMOST LOST IT?” Kate’s voice was shrill and slightly distorted as it burst through the speakers of your phone at an ear-splitting volume.

“I’m sorry!” You briskly apologized. “It wasn’t my fault, I swear!”

“I spent weeks- weeks!- planning and making that jacket for you! I-” She bleated weakly before her tone leveled to nonchalance. “Wow. So this is what being chopped liver feels like.”

“Kate! You are not chopped liver, I swear.” You rushed the statement as you sat back in your office chair, glad to have a conversation that wasn’t work-related after a long and grueling day.

Your friend only grumbled in response. “It sure feels like it.”

“Well, you aren’t. I swear on my job.” You said.

“Oh wow. Holy shit. Okay, yeah that means a lot.” She stuttered playfully. “But something tells me you didn’t call me just to tell me you almost lost one of my most prized works of art- which, by the way, is my best seller. So, what is it?”

“I- uh…” You didn’t know how to word it. You had spent the entire work day using security updates and board meetings as a distraction from the open debate in your head, so now that your day was over and you had nothing left to do, the thoughts came back. It’s why you called Kate; you needed a third opinion.

If what Taehyung said about Jungkook was actually true, then maybe you should talk to him so that you could hear his side of the story. The bad bitch part of you told you to fuck off and forget about him, but you couldn’t help the softer and more curious side of yourself that begged to hear him out.

Realizing you had gone silent for a moment too long, you blurted out something random. “I’d like for you to design a hat for me.” A hat? Really? That was the best you could come up with? At least ask for some pants or something.

“Bullshit,” She chuckled in response. “But I’ll take that until you’re ready to tell me what’s actually going on.”

You heard her rustling some paper in preparation to take down design ideas, triggering panic to rise within you. You didn’t want her to put in work for an imaginary hat that you really had no desire of having.

“Hypothetically!” You shouted before she could get into it.

“Okay…” You heard the hesitation in her voice, clearly weirded out by your outburst. “Hypothetically what?”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that you had an old flame who broke your heart and acted like a dick years ago, but you just recently learned that there were, maybe- I don’t know- some other things going on that made him act that way. Would you want to talk to him about it?”

“Hell no.” Kate laughed. “Just because you’re going through some stuff doesn’t mean you can act like a dick to other people. There’s no excuse for being a shitty person.”

“That’s what I thought.” You replied strongly. In your head, however, the war within you was brewing, weakening your composure.

“You’re not one to usually think about things like this.” Kate added. “What’s going on with you?”

“Just dealing with some stuff from the past. Nothing huge.” You didn’t want to overshare and Kate understood, knowing that she could never ask you to tell her about your past. She would wait until you were the one sharing it with her.

“Just let me know if you want me to come over there. I could definitely use some quality time with a quiet person for once. These idiots are so loud.”

You laughed in response. “I will. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. We can watch movies or something and eat pizza and drink wine.”

“Oh my. That sounds like the perfect date!” She squealed. Her giddiness was infectious, spreading a soft smile across your lips.

“Won’t Brian get jealous?” You jab at her playfully.

“Not at all. He’ll probably end up attached to his video games anyway.” Kate snorted. “Shit! Speaking of! I need to call him! I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course. Talk to you later.” You sat up in your chair.

“Bye!” She chirped.

As you sat alone in your office, building lights dark and the lights from the city the only form of illumination in the room through the window, you let your friends’ words rifle through your head.

On one hand, Kate catered to your stone-cold side, encouraging you to forget all about Jungkook and move on. Despite not knowing the situation and understanding all of its facets, her opinion was unbiased.

Taehyung, on the other hand, encouraged you to speak with Jungkook. He was aware of both sides of the story and understood what you and Jungkook- whatever the hell it was- were going through. He supported the side of you that was eager to understand and desperate to love again.

The decision was, ultimately, yours to make. What were you going to do?

The thoughts in your mind weighed heavy on your heart while you prepared to leave. You stood, packed your brief case, and made your way out of your office and onto the sidewalk to hail your driver so that you could go back to your hotel.

You couldn’t worry about it for long, though, because your phone vibrated three separate times as three notifications lit up your screen on your way back. Taehyung texted you.

Kim Taehyung (BTS)

Wear thick socks.

And a coat.

With gloves.

You stared at your phone in confusion, trying to figure out what he was getting at. Just what in the world was this boy planning?

~#~

Sorry this took so long, everyone! Please remember to like/reblog and comment if you want. I’d like to know what you guys think!

Don’t forget to check out the Series Masterlist if you want to read the oneshots that I have published.

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salenakingston · 3 years

Text

Mystery March Day 13 - Relax

Arthur was at his wits end.

While there was no denying he would do anything so long as he was spending time with his friends, even he had his limits. Everyone did. It was amazing to him just how long Vivi could keep going on their outings without ever crashing. Lewis didn’t have anything to worry about, being a ghost and all. Mystery would trail along after them no matter how many times.

As many times as it took to ensure their safety. To insure no repeat of the past.

The blonde had always been the odd one out when it came to his friends. He wasn’t as brave as them, even if they begged to differ on that point. He wasn’t as strong as them. They had a far better grip on their lives than he did, and that was certainly saying something considering one was dead… undead? Whatever.

It almost made him feel a little selfish, to want anything. It didn’t matter how many times his friends told him it was alright, something about it never sat right with him. He had a hand in tearing everything they had apart, no matter how indirect his involvement might have been. The least he could do was make everything up to them. They would always have some down time. He still had a work schedule he maintained on the side. He always had his late nights, sometimes still unable to find comfort in sleep.

They helped, but they weren’t going to be around him for every second of the day. He’d just have to find ways to cope.

Arthur was at his wits end… but he had no right to complain.

He hadn’t been paying too much attention to where they were going, adjusting himself in the back of the van with some of his sketches. This wasn’t unusual for him. The dynamic they shared had mended, but there was no way it would ever go back to the way it was before. They all talked, but sometimes there wasn’t a single word said between them.

The blonde didn’t look up until he felt the jerk of the van stopping. It hadn’t been a sudden stop, but there was always a distinct feeling to how vehicles halted. His head peeked over the line of seats, surprised they seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere.

Honestly he really shouldn’t have been. Considering how much time they spent on the road, it wasn’t uncommon for them to stop somewhere for the night. Hotels were common, but not always easy to access when night creeped into the sky.

Vivi’s enthusiasm was there to greet him, all of them really. She pushed the door open, “Come on guys! Let’s set up camp!”

Right…

Arthur pushed away from the seat, hunched over in the bag as he pulled out a box of their camping gear. There wasn’t much, given the van had space for them to comfortably lounge. If anything, the few supplies they had on hand were items for cooking, holding drinks, and a couple folding chairs, on the off chance they didn’t feel like sitting on the grass or dirt.

Two bedrolls were pulled forward, unbuckled, and laid out along the metal floor. He couldn’t help but stare at the small space lingering between them. He always laid them out like this. The larger bedroll was of course reserved for the two lovebirds, had always been before Lewis’ death. The single one was meant for him. Mystery usually laid with whomever had space.

But even after all this time, he still placed space between them. He knew they brought him comfort, and more often than not, would wake up with the two at his side. One would think he’d get the hint and stop digging into his old habits.

It wasn’t the same anymore. It was like his brain and hands could never communicate properly anymore.

Blue soon came into his vision, seeming to give a quick glance to the laid out rolls, the blonde laying blankets over them while she grabbed their small box. He hadn’t noticed her looking at the gap, one soon covered.

He turned around, “Something wrong Vivi?”

The bluenette shook her head, turning on her heels, “Nope. Come on Artie. You look like you’ve got everything set up in there.”

He nodded, making his way out of the van. Feet planted firmly on the ground, shutting the doors behind him. There was no harm in keeping them open, as they stopped in a rather secluded part of… whatever road it was they were on, but enough poor decisions and bad luck had him keeping everything locked tight.

Lewis was getting a fire going. Of course, he snickered silently in his head. It seemed the perfect job for a being made of fire.

Even though Vivi herself had tried using his own hair before, he’d learned to stop giving her the opportunity to do so.

The four sat around the glow, Arthur finding the courage to break the ice, “So, how much further until we get to the next site?”

The ghost and girl looked at one another, causing him to tilt his head in confusion. That’s the entire reason they were out here. That’s the only reason they ever seemed to be out on the road. It was like that before the disaster that destroyed their lives, and so too once they reformed. Why should he have any reason to expect anything else?

Vivi’s head finally moved back in his direction, a mix of guilt and sympathy intertwined with her usual cheerful expression, “Yeah, about that. It was actually a lie. We’re not going anywhere to ghost hunt.”

“...What?”

“We weren’t sure if you’d come with us otherwise. You’re always ducking out when we try to do things with you that don’t revolve around the Mystery Skulls.”

It’s not my place to come between you two.

I don’t deserve it.

I don’t deserve friends like you.

I can’t be selfish.

What haven’t I done besides ruin everything?

“Why?”

Lewis spoke up this time, “We aren’t blind Arthur. We can tell you’ve been running ragged for a while now.”

“What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

The ghost continued on as if he said nothing at all, “Why didn’t you tell us anything?”

Don’t be selfish.

“Seriously, I’m fine.”

Vivi broke through again, “Arthur, you know you can talk to us. You can tell us when something is bothering you.”

Don’t be selfish.

“Vivi, nothing is wrong.”

“It’s clear to all of us that’s a lie.” Oh great, even Mystery was getting in on this.

Selfish.

“It’s not.”

Selfish.

“Arthur.”

Selfish!

“Arthur.”

SELFISH.

“Arthur!”

He couldn’t take it anymore, nor could he help how his voice raised when he spoke, “I’m not going to be selfish enough to have you take time for me. My problems shouldn’t be your concern when I’m the one that’s usually causing them for all of you.”

Nice going.

The blonde turned around, facing away from his friends. For a while, nothing but silence hung in the air. What were any of them supposed to say to an outburst like that? Arthur began to curl in on himself, wishing her could disappear from this spot. He was about to get up so he could hide in the van when he heard Vivi’s voice again, “Well that’s too bad.”

He didn’t say anything, but heard Lewis next, “Friends are supposed to take care of each other Arthur. If you’re burning out, you can, and should, let us know.”

Again he said nothing, the nail being hit in the head when Mystery took a turn to speak, “If you don’t Arthur, nothing will change. We will have learned nothing. Do you want history to repeat itself?”

“No… of course not…”

Movement. Two hands and one paw along his shoulder. Head turned enough to bring all of them into view.

“Let us in Artie.”

He spun around, embracing all of them. He didn’t need to say anything.

Vivi was the first to break from the group, finding her hand in Arthur’s, “Come on. I think we could all use a little R and R. No ghosts, spooks, or things that go bump in the night for at least a week.”

“What about Lewis?”

“He doesn’t count. He’s more of a friend than a ghost.”

None of them needed to look to see the heart he wore blink brighter than usual. And none of them missed the way Arthur started chuckling lightly. He raised his hands to mimic quotation marks, “Things that go bump in the night.”

“Yes, I did say those words. You got a problem with that Kingsmen?”

“Nope! Not at all!”

Once he fell into a spell of laughter, everyone else followed.

It wasn’t selfish of him to want time to himself, or with his friends. It wasn’t selfish of him to want a break from their line of work, nor should he feel like he should have to beg for it. Mystery was right. If they didn’t learn from the past, something more was going to happen to them. It was time for a bout of rest and relaxation.

And he couldn’t think of anyone else to do that with than his friends.

Well, maybe Galahad and Lance might take offense to that. They were just as good at helping him. Ok, amended statement: he couldn’t think of anyone else aside from his friends, his uncle, and his hamster.

#MysteryMarch2021 #mystery skulls animated #my writing #my submission

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mc-lukanette · 4 years

Text

42 Lukanette Thoughts

Marinette waiting until Luka’s birthday to give him a response to his confession. He’s absolutely “offended” and she’s just grinning at him.

Luka not being able to swim despite living on a boat. Bonus if Marinette invites him and Juleka out to the swimming pool one day and the absolute love-struck dork finds himself unable to say “no” to her. Juleka thinks it’s hilarious that he can’t just admit to Marinette that he can’t swim, so she has a blast constantly making everything worse, like telling Marinette that Luka doesn’t have a swimsuit so Marinette’ll end up making one for him.

Marinette thinking about the whole “LadyNoir” situation while she’s sketching in her notebook. She finds that she doesn’t even like the way her name meshes with Chat’s. One thought leads to another and she - while not even thinking - ends up writing “Lukanette” in her sketchbook. Cut to her hanging out with Luka later and showing him the designs she came up with that day, meaning that Luka ends up seeing “Lukanette” so casually written in her sketchbook.

Luka Knows™️ but also has to hide it because he can’t have Marinette thinking that he’s crushing on Ladybug. This eventually leads to him telling Ladybug that she can come to him at any time, which leads to nights of Ladybug giving him the snake so he can go on patrol with her. He’s not ready for her lowkey flirting and has to keep reminding himself that he’s not supposed to react since she doesn’t know that he Knows™️.

AU where Kitty Section never became a thing, but it turns out that Marinette’s good at writing lyrics. She actually ends up singing along to a song that Luka never had lyrics for and that’s how she becomes his lyricist.

A concept: switching around “Frozer” and “Captain Hardrock,” meaning that, when Luka goes to comfort this “stranger” walking onto deck, he might not even hear about the ice rink. If he does, they’re not close enough for her to ask him to come with her but he offers her some quick ice skating lessons before the “third-wheeling date.” If he doesn’t and thus gives Marinette no lessons, Adrimi ends up happening due to Marinette staying mostly off the ice due to clumsiness and constantly feeling bad over seeing Adrien and Kagami there, which leads into “Captain Hardrock” where she meets Luka again without any sort of Adrien influence (outside of her getting over him).

Marinette always being made fun of and called “funny” due to her clumsiness when she was little. Likewise, Luka was always considered too “soft” so he began to see it as an insult. Once they’re older, they end up calling each other “funny”/“soft” and suddenly find that it hits very different when it’s THEM saying it to each other because they can tell that there’s no maliciousness there.

Post-reveal friendly shenanigans where Luka is somewhere, idling on his phone, when a flash of red and black swoops down and snatches it out of his hand. He looks around, confused, then manages to catch the sight of Ladybug this time as she swoops back the other way and hands his phone back. He sees that she took a picture of herself winking + sticking her tongue out with his phone and now he can’t stop grinning stupidly to himself.

Marinette waking up after a stressful/exhausting day, then seeing the time and frantically calling Luka, worried that she’d missed an event or something. There’s a light chuckle on the other line as Luka reminds her that it’s Sunday and nothing’s going on so she should get back to sleep.

Post-Guardian Marinette things where Luka is her confidant who she told about her guardian status. Marinette occasionally lets the kwami free whenever she knows that Tom and Sabine won’t come up to disturb them, but it leads to a “problem” of sorts. Pollen, of course, calls Marinette her “queen,” but now that Luka is there also, Pollen calls him her “king” and Marinette and Luka are collectively dying.

Silly thing: snakes of all kinds being attached to Marinette. She’ll go to pet stores and they’ll boop their noses against the glass, wanting her attention. Luka feels unnecessarily smug post-dating because he’s her snake and no one else is.

Luka Knows™️ and finds a way for Marinette to vent about her Ladybug duties without her having to tell him her identity, like mentioning things that happened with Ladybug that day and giving her an opening to talk about them, if only from a faux-outsider’s perspective.

Luka having a terrible day, to the point where he’s legitimately worried about being akumatized. He decides to call Marinette as an akuma starts flying past the window, and just hearing Marinette’s voice alone fills Luka with such positive energy that the akuma is immediately repelled like wow ok i’m out. He watches the akuma leave with a smile and whispers, ”You’re amazing, Marinette.” “W-what?? Did you call just to tell me that?” “No, but it’s true.”

Marinette decides that she wants a challenge and asks Luka if she can make a full guitar for him. He knows he’d be stupid not to agree, but then Marinette shyly adds a condition: he has to name the guitar after her. Luka has no idea how to explain to her that he’s already named a guitar after her so she might have to settle for her guitar being “Marinette 2.”

Luka Knowing™️ and it makes him legitimately upset at how much stress and responsibility has been placed on her. He ends up getting akumatized so he can take her earrings, not to bring them to Hawk Moth, but to “save” her.

Viperion in a particularly tough akuma-related battle. Ladybug legitimately doesn’t know if they’re going to make it out okay, so she ends up finding a moment to confess to him. Cut to later when he ends up having to go back with Second Chance, erasing the moment from time, and apparently he’s just supposed to focus and pretend like he’s okay and he is SO getting her back when this fight is over.

Marinette being afraid to confess to Luka directly, so she’s constantly dropping hints that she likes him and Luka is picking up on none of them because he’s convinced that she still likes Adrien. The rest of Kitty Section is constantly getting on his case for not pursuing Marinette and he’s just like, “But she likes Adrien?” while having like 3984723748234 texts from Marinette just from that day alone.

Marinette deciding to use her Instagram to ramble, leading her to post some pictures of Luka and talk about how nice/sweet/handsome he is because surely he doesn’t follow her account so it’ll be fine (spoiler alert: he follows her account very much and Juleka makes a game out of trying to catch his reaction every time Marinette posts about him).

Post-dating, Marinette insisting to Luka that she “doesn’t want to mess up their first kiss,” and therefore they have to practice kissing each other first, apparently missing the point that it won’t be their first kiss if they’ve kissed each other before. Luka tries to explain the fault in logic but she’s not backing down and, really, who is he to refuse if she wants to kiss him a bunch?

Adulthood Lukanette “cruelty” on Marinette’s part where she decides that she wants to propose to Luka and puts the box with the wedding ring inside one of his guitars with the excuse that she was replacing the strings for him, then leaving Luka to realize what she did later.

Juleka asking Marinette who her favorite hero is because she was getting into a debate with Luka about it and they couldn’t agree. Marinette shyly peeks up because Luka is right there, but nonetheless admits that her favorite is Viperion.

Marinette visiting the Liberty and noticing Luka not playing his guitar and just staring off into space, a soft, loving look on his face. She asks Juleka about it, who casually brushes it off as, “Oh, he always does that when he’s thinking of you.” “When he’s thinking of WHO now????”

Post-dating in which Marinette freaks out over even the smallest contact with Luka just because she’s on a happy emotional high. (”You wanna hold hands??? Like--my hand??? Holding yours??? And our fingers will be intertwining and everything?? And we--stop laughing, Luka, these are important questions!!!”) Bonus if what gets her to take a huge step forward and just passionately kiss Luka is someone mocking their relationship and her proving them otherwise thusly.

Marinette gets a pet snake, names it “Viperion,” and happily uses it as an opportunity to gush about Viperion the second Luka questions why she chose a snake as a pet.

Marinette complains sometimes about Luka being “too tall” but really, it’s perfect for hugs, so-- (even if she still pouts about the fact that she can’t kiss him simply by being on her tip-toes).

Lowkey headcanon that Juleka and Rose purposefully set Marinette up with Luka since they’re like, “Luka’s missing!” in “Captain Hardrock” when Luka is in his room that Juleka shares with him and it would’ve been the first place to go look for him.

Luka being so used to messes and just leaving them alone thanks to living on the Liberty for so long and being around his mother. It’s a really hard habit to break when he starts living with Marinette and he’s extremely apologetic about it.

Luka posting a lot about Marinette/him and Marinette on Instagram and Marinette “fighting back” (bonus if she doesn’t do it intentionally) with posts about Luka/her and Luka/Kitty Section.

Why limit oneself to balcony scenes when you can have houseboat scenes too???

Marinette being offended by any polls where Ladybug wins over Viperion except Luka is offended by her opinion and it’s just them going back and forth about why Ladybug/Viperion should be more popular.

Tikki agreeing with Master Fu that Marinette and Adrien are “made for each other” but being a closet Lukanette fan in secret. That tiny Kitty Section shirt that Marinette made on Instagram is hers.

Pre-”Captain Hardrock,” Luka thinking he’s subtle asking for details about “the girl who broke his sister’s photo curse.” He’s not.

Marinette taking a music class and of course she asks Luka to help with things that she doesn’t understand. Bonus if she’s so into trying to learn that she doesn’t notice when she’s making him blush, like her casually sitting on his lap and asking him to physically instruct her on where her hands should be.

Post-dating, Marinette “bribing” Luka to do things using kisses. Bold of her to assume he wouldn’t have done it anyway, though he won’t say “no” to kisses either.

Marinette, being carried/protected by Viperion, knowing that she needs to leave to transform but also he’s very warm and nice so maybe just a little longer, this akuma isn’t that dangerous/disruptive anyway. (Viperion may also be indulging himself too but she’ll never know.)

“It's amazing how you can be so composed all the time, Luka! It feels like it's impossible to know what you're thinking!“ “Really? But I just think about you all the time, Marinette.“ “*DOESN’T KNOW WHETHER TO BE FLUSTERED OR OFFENDED BECAUSE HOW DARE--*”

Whenever Marinette does that thing where she closes her eyes and raises her head proudly... I feel like Luka gets the sudden urge to either kiss her or cup her cheeks.

Marinette and Luka having “silence challenges” in adulthood where they give each other affection and the first one to make a noise loses. The challenge never lasts long.

I just presume that Luka has sixth senses that go off the second Marinette is completely over Adrien.

Post-reveal and post-dating where Luka expresses concern to Marinette about the whole “destiny” nonsense with Adrien being Chat Noir and Marinette lets Luka know how she feels about that by showering Luka with lots of kisses.

Luka not realizing what he said to Marinette in “Silencer” until he goes home and Juleka asks him what they’d been talking about. His face turns progressively redder as he makes the realization.

Post-dating, Marinette not being used to the abundance of affection that Luka’s going to give her due to how many times she failed with Adrien.

#type: thoughts #Flower Arrangement Shipping #type: prompt set #((Not really but I could see people viewing it as one.))#Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

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hetacon · 3 years

Text

Prom Queen: Chapter 5

First || Previous || Next

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Word Count: 1,920

Pairings: Endgame Prinxiety, Platonic LAMP, more could be included at a later point

Warning: Swearing, mentions of p*rn, mentions of drugs and underage drug use, slight internal panic attack

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Summary: The popular kids were interesting for sure, they definitely weren’t exactly like Virgil had expected them to be but at the same time they kind of were.

(Make sure you read all the way to the end if you want to hear my thoughts on the chapter, and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this story, my art, or writing! I hope you guys enjoy!)

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Music blared through Virgil’s headphones as he and Roman sat with the popular kids again. Virgil wasn’t feeling up to talking much with them today so he had out his sketchbook, mindlessly making marks on the page. He was totally spacing out, too occupied by his latest worry of the week.

He very nearly jumped out of his skin as one of his earbuds was pulled out of his ear and he scrambled to pause the My Chemical Romance song that he’d been playing to drown out his thoughts the best he could, putting his phone face down in his lap. Virgil registered the person next to him laughing loudly at his jumpiness and he looked over to see Nick nearly doubling over from how hard he laughed.

‘It really wasn’t that funny, you scared me asshole,’ Virgil thought bitterly to himself before mentally shaking his head. ‘He didn’t do anything rude.. Well, that rude, calm down Virgil, you’re overreacting again. These are Roman’s friends, they’re starting to like you.’

“Sorry dude but that was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen, holy crap,” Nick chuckled, leaning back as he crossed his arms. He looked over to Virgil finally and nodded. “So what was up with that? You looked like you were about to shit yourself.”

Virgil’s brows furrowed. “Force of habit, I guess,” he muttered out.

“Oh yeah? What were you doing, watching porn or some shit?” A grimace came over Virgil’s face as Nick asked but he tried to not look too disgusted.

Quick, what was the appropriate answer? How did people usually talk about that type of stuff? Should he take it seriously? Consider it a joke? Punch him in the arm like the jocks he saw all the time in his physics class?

Luckily, Roman cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s not cool, he’s clearly not comfortable, Nicholas,” he said, giving Nick a leveling look.

Nick put his hands up and shrugged. “Only joking dude, what he does with his time is his business. Wouldn’t blame him if it was though!” Another laugh rang out as one of the other guys sitting next to Nick punched him in the arm, much to Virgil’s satisfaction. At least someone punched him.

“Gross, shut the hell up!” the person who punched Nick told him with an obnoxiously grating laugh. “You’re sick, dude.”

Virgil tried to ignore the conversation but as he tried to put his earbud back in, he noticed Nick had it in his ear. He just couldn’t get away from them could he? He signed up for this admittedly though.

“Sorry, anyways, Virge, why’d you jump like that, for real?” Nick finally asked as he and the other guy stopped spitting insults at each other.

“I have strict parents, they don’t like anything remotely mature. They always call my stuff out if it has language in it so I just don’t let them see any music I listen to anymore,” Virgil found himself explaining, opening his phone to play a popular song that had been making the rounds around school rather than continuing through “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” like he desperately wanted to. Just one more thing Virgil had to be careful of. No more of his own music at school from now on, got it.

“Fuck, strict parents suck! Like, seriously, let me live my fucking life!” Nick scoffed out. “I just want to vape in fucking peace, they don’t need to get all pissy about it. It’s my fucking life right?”

Virgil looked up to Roman for a possible escape from the conversation, Roman knew he wasn’t a huge fan of people even talking about drugs, but Roman was staring down at his phone, texting someone. He looked upset anyways, Virgil probably shouldn’t make him feel worse.

“I mean, I don’t know, my parents aren’t the worst. I know they love me even if they aren’t good at showing it.”

“Nah, parents are assholes, adults are assholes really. They act like they can control you, it blows!” Nick complained.

Virgil only half-listened to the conversation, the other half of his attention going to trying to not have a panic attack. He took a look at the time and put away his sketchbook after making a mental note that he didn’t get very far into the sketch.

“Hey Virge, mind getting something with me real quick?” Roman asked and Virgil’s head snapped up as he nodded quickly.

The two started to walk off in the direction of their classes, Roman letting out a sigh when they were far enough.

“That wasn’t nice of him, sorry for not really... Doing much. I know you don’t like attention being drawn to you, I didn’t know if you wanted me to step in or not.”

“No, it’s fine! I’m just, you know, getting to know your friends I guess!” Virgil laughed out a little too brightly for his usual attitude. He’d been acting more like that around Roman though lately, Roman barely seemed to notice from what he saw.

“Are you sure..? I know you really don’t like those topics and he was practically steamrolling over any chance for you to stop him. I should’ve stepped in, I’m sorry,” Roman said with a hand rubbing his temple. Virgil watched him closely, noticing the way his shoulders locked up. He clearly looked beyond displeased.

“If it’s just for my comfort, I’m fine. I’d tell you if anything was happening, yeah? It’s what best friends do,” Virgil hummed out with a smile, bumping Roman’s shoulder with his own as they continued walking.

Roman glanced over wearily, a small smile on his face as the bell finally rung, signifying the start of class. “Yeah,” he merely replied, before the two parted ways.

The popular kids were interesting for sure, they definitely weren’t exactly like Virgil had expected them to be but at the same time they kind of were. The group was a bit fluid, some of the people that Virgil and Roman sat with tended to stay every day while others came and went. There wasn’t a super strict clique structure that was upheld but there didn’t seem to be a lot of the nerdier groups represented by the group, it mostly consisted of jocks, preps, and random drifters who tended to throw good parties. All of them had some sense of social standing in the school, many people knew them, and they were generally liked outside of the some of the people in the “lower” social statuses. Virgil definitely fit into at least one of these lower statuses but he seemed to be getting a pass due to being Roman’s friends. Luckily the theater kids were essentially accepted as popular kids even if some would be inclined to disagree.

Most of the conversations they got into wasn’t anything that interested Virgil, it mainly consisted of them complaining over homework and “strict” teachers (Seriously, why the hell would teachers actually let someone vape in the middle of class?) and their parents as well as a shit ton of gossip. There was literally so much gossip. So and so cheated on her boyfriend when he was cheating on her too, someone ended up getting in trouble for a tip-off about drugs in their backpack, these two kids got in a fight over some pointless drama and one ended up shoving off a teacher when they’d attempted to break off the fight. It was way more than Virgil thought was even going on at his school as he tended to stay away from pretty much everyone possible but regardless, it all was just as stupid as he expected. Virgil had no idea how they found any excitement out of talking about how people messed up or were fucked over by someone else. He wasn't sure what he was doing anymore but if nothing else, high school was supposed to be confusing right? That's what everyone always said, no one said anything different.

A sign of progress, if Virgil could even call it that was when one of them decided to sit next to him in his English class. The two of them would chat though Virgil barely managed to understand or be engaged in the conversation half of the time. Virgil definitely hated him when he asked Virgil to make up an excuse for him while he vaped in the bathroom and Virgil barely managed to sputter out that he told Virgil he felt a little nauseous but would be ok. It was insane to see the guy come back and roll with the excuse when the teacher asked if he needed to go to the nurse when he got back. Virgil felt his stomach curl when he shot him a wink with a click of his tongue.

"So hey, I was thinking you guys, we've all been pretty busy lately," Patton said as Logan was driving them out for lunch after school.

"Yeah? What's up Pat?" Roman asked, leaning against Virgil in the backseat. Virgil very slightly leaned in, finally relieved to have it just be the three of his closest friends surrounding him as Dodie played on the radio. This was nice, it seemed more simple like this, Virgil almost forgot all his worries as the conversation started up.

"I was thinking about us doing something over fall break and whatnot! Unless there are family plans and whatnot which is cool but I'm free and so is Logan so we wanted to see if you and Virgil would want to!" Patton grinned to Virgil.

"I dunno, it sounds good to me if you wanted to," Virgil told him, before looking over to Roman. "You in?"

Roman sighed and groaned loudly, running a hand over his face. "I so want to but it might be tricky scheduling, the theater teacher is being a bit of a bitch about rehearsing over break. I can't very well miss it and I don't want to promise I'll be there. But even if I can't find a way around it, you guys can absolutely do so and send me lots of pictures!" He gently nudged Virgil's shoulder and despite the heaviness Virgil felt in his gut, he nudged back, giving a sympathetic smile.

"Hey, it's cool. Pat and Logan and I will hang out, no problem. We'll make sure to make plans for the four of us sometime soon ok?" Virgil told him, the weight coming off of him slightly as Roman let out a relaxed laugh, hugging Virgil close. Virgil felt his face grow exceedingly hot but he tried to push down the feeling.

"Yeah, that sounds awesome, I love you guys so much!"

"Oh, are you guys going to need anyone to paint sets? You know I'm always down," Virgil offered, glad to hear the excitement in Roman's answer.

The conversation kept going, they meandered from that to a new show Roman and Patton had both started watching, Logan gave them some of the details of a new robot he was helping to code. Virgil even showed Roman some of his newly finished sketches in the leather bound book (which was now getting a fair amount of use) even if Roman had already seen them halfway done. It felt easy, it felt nice, and Virgil felt like he could breathe. And that scared him a little.

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It is absolutely so strange to write popular kids, I don’t think it’s going to be the easiest for me! Luckily the next chapter is going to be very popular kid free so I don’t have to worry about that! Honestly, their dialogue is the reason the chapters take so long! I don’t find things like gossip and whatnot interesting, it doesn’t make sense since I’m neurodivergent. I’m trying to not make it too stale, I really hope it’s not stale...

Interestingly enough, I’ve had people mess with me or my friends more than once in regards to stuff like hentai (considering I’m an anime fan) so I actually do have at least two experiences where stuff p*rn-related has been brought up as a way to make fun of the groups I was hanging with.

High school is wild and of the behavior I saw from people much further up on the social ladder than I ever was, they do some really weird stuff. I didn’t even see a whole lot, I just know I definitely didn’t like it.

Be prepared for some Patton and Logan time next chapter, I think Virgil deserves it after all of this!

#sanders sides #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #multichapter #prom queen #stan writing

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voidcat · 4 years

Text

— Why are you so nice to me?

Characters: Sakusa Kiyoomi & Iwaizumi Hajime

requested by anon, prompt 21

Genre: fluff, comfort

A/N: I wasn’t sure if I could write Sakusa right so I added an Iwa just in case

lots of thanks to @wordswithinmoments for reading these 2am messes & giving the idea for banana;) ly lots Nic

Word Count: 1.1k

It doesn’t take you long to notice him.

A group of people can be in the center, socializing with one another, talking and laughing. He can be seen in the distance, leaning against a wall in the back corner, practically trying his best to merge with it.

You don’t think you’ve been in the same room as him much, you doubt you’ve ever heard him talk, let alone seen the bottom half of his face, thanks to the mask he keeps on at all times.

Few questions asked around and you learn his name: Sakusa Kiyoomi. So this was the infamous Sakusa of Itachiyama Academy. After that you start watching more closely.

You don’t even mean to do that honestly, but something about him pulls you in. Whenever the both of you are in the same setting, your eyes drift to him, ignoring the intense waves of ‘leave-me-be’ energy he radiates. It’s a nice distraction most of the time. When the conversation loses its spark, you can examine him without nosy glances on you, trying to guess what he must think of the people around, trying to hear his voice when you see him speak to Komori Motoya.

You see him talk to people, all happening to be on the volleyball team, few from other sports clubs. His stance changes when he’s the one initiating the conversation, instead of being forced to be apart of it. You lose yourself in the way his arms move, the gestures he makes and everything about him.

Then one day, you do something completely unexpected, of you. Before you can grasp what’s going on, your feet carry you to him. Your attempt at making small talk is met with failure, as expected. Not even knowing what to say, you do the first thing you can think of on the spot: Point at his tracksuit and say “Hey I like half ripped bananas.”

The look he gives haunts you for weeks.

As if the mixture of embarrassment and deep regret hitting you harsh was not enough, the judgement in his eyes are enough to make you wish the ground could swallow you up right then and there.

But those haunted weeks are exactly what you need to gather yourself up, get your shit together, to think your next moves and decision over and over.

The next time you walk up to him, it’s effortless. You congratulate him on their recent victory, ask about how the game went ad what not. Talking comes natural when you push your fears aside and do not worry much.

Surprisingly, he replies. It’s clear from his eyes that he weighs you first, with a shrug he proves he can be decent and engage in small talk. That is only the first step of something bigger to come.

With each approach, each conversation, interacting with Sakusa gets easier. One by one, you start to interpret his expressions, what gives him crinkles, when he wants to avoid people and when he is open to conversing. Everything is a two bladed sword, something you come to realize when his habits rub off on you. Before you know, you start carrying hand sanitizers with you, wearing masks on public transportation during the rush hours.

As time passes and sun rises, you can see him getting more relaxed around you. He carries out the conversations when he could cut them off then and there, only flinches when you teasingly poke him by the side. Some days you can see him waiting for you with something different in his eyes. And this one time, you swear you’ve caught the glimpse of gratitude when you acted before him and offered him your sanitizer. You consider going to one of his matches and bringing some snacks for him but you’re not so sure if he’d like something he didn’t know the preparation process of.

Getting to know Sakusa Kiyoomi must be addicting because your curiosity is far from dying out. You find yourself drawn to him like a moth to a light, and isn’t he the brightest of them all?

It’s a rather pleasant day, sitting under the sun and looking around, you bask in the warm light. It’s perfect for sketching your surroundings and lazying around.

Maybe you spoke too soon because something blocks the sunlight in a sudden. Looking up to see it’s Sakusa standing over you, you pat the spot on the blanket, inviting him to sit behind you.

“Would you like to model for me for a little while?” You ask him while taking out your sketch pad and pencils. A nod is all you need so you begin.

Moving your pencil furiously for the sharp edges, barely touching the paper when adding the shades, it feels surreal to see him up close like this; so calm, pure and beautiful. He feels unreal sometimes and this is one of these moments. With each stroke, you isolate yourself from the real world. The hustling of the leaves fall dead to your ears, your focus only on Sakusa, you keep turning the pages and starting new sketches.

A voice and you’re brought back on earth. Blinking again, you realize it’s Sakusa talking.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

Putting your pencil down slowly, eyes never leaving his, you try to comprehend his question and the meaning behind it. With a shrug, you choose the comedic route.

“I like half ripped bananas.” He doesn’t seem impressed at your choice of words but you’re sure you catch the tiniest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “Okay I’m taking it serious this time, don’t give me that look.” Breathe in, out, tampering with your brain to find a satisfying answer. “I don’t know. Do I need a reason to be nice?” You tilt your head as you ask.

“Why wouldn’t you? Everything has a reason.” Not every reason is known to us though, is it?

“Then same as my first answer, I guess.” You say with a smile, picking up your pencil again.

“What do half ripped bananas have to do with us?” He genuinely seems confused. Is it that hard for him to see?

Poking him in the chest with your pencil this time, you let out a laugh. “I like you, silly! You are the half ripped banana. At least, in that tracksuit.”

At your words, he only smiles. Gives you the warmest smile you’ve ever encountered in your life. All you can do is to hope you will make him smile again, just like right now. Something inside you says, it won’t take you long.

Word Count: 893

Some days it’s better to be alone. To let it out, drop your mask, relax and just be yourself. Some days all you need is an unoccupied place to read by yourself when your tears come out without a force. It sounds bad but once it’s done, you feel a lot of better. Refreshed, even.

Then why can’t you seem to find any alone time for yourself nowadays?

First few times, you're leaving your spot to wash your face and it must be a coincidence that Iwaizumi Hajime happens to be around. Nothing more, nothing less, right?

Sure it looks like he’s looking at you but all you know, he might be looking at someone else who happens to be in the same direction as you. Then he starts asking questions.

First time, it’s an awkward standing by, fiddling with his fingers he seems to be at a loss of words. Then a choked out “How are you?”. With a quick “Fine.”, you walk off.

It doesn’t end there, much to your dismay.

He begins to approach you more often, asking you how you feel, if something is bothering you, stuff like that. You double check in the mirror on these days if your face is red and puffy from crying, if it contains any signs of negative thinking. The answer is no, obviously. You wonder if he can tell from something else that you’re not feeling well.

You receive the answer to that short after. Because whenever you feel ready to run off to solitude, he finds a way to ask you something; just to linger, to keep you there, maybe to distract you. Some days it work, some days you ask yourself why he does that. You’ve never been close friends.

He starts talking to you more and more often, even if it’s just small talk, about the weather, classes, seasons. He tries including you in conversations with others, with his friends too. You can’t find yourself denying him and yet the suspicion is always there, waiting.

Another day rolls up. It’s not even that bad actually, just some minor issues piling up and pressuring you. This time you make sure to look out for Iwaizumi and go before he can notice you leaving.

Not sure how long it has been, you hear a noise from your back. You don’t raise your head from your knees.

A hand on your back and you move your arms slightly to peak. It’s him.

Stroking your back slowly, he sits by your side. The two of you sit like that for a while.

Feeling ready to talk, you raise your head slightly. “Why are you doing this?”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you always here, trying to talk? Why are you doing all this? Why do you act like you care? Why are you so... nice to me?”

He stares at you for a moment. You can feel tears forming in your eyes again. Why must he look at you like that with those warm brown eyes?

“Why are you asking me this?” He says in a whisper.

“Because I want to know!” You don’t realize your voice raising until you see him irking.

“Can’t you see?” He says back, voice raised as well. “Because I like you, you idiot!” He throws his arms in the air. “And it kills me to see you like this, hurting, isolating and driving yourself away from everyone. It hurts to see you going through things your way and hurting yourself in the process. It aches my heart to know you’re shutting yourself out completely; and there’s nothing I can do to be there for you, to help you feel better, to show you you don’t have to fight abandoned.”

It takes everything in you not to cry, you fail. The worried expression on his face gets worse. Wrapping his arms around you quickly and pressing your face into his chest, you can hear him mumble “No, no, no. Please don’t cry any longer.”

As he strokes your hair, probably an attempt to soothe you; you find your tears gone and yourself laughing, shaking with laughter. Crying of happiness has always been a foreign concept until now; crying never felt so delightful.

From the way his grip tightens around you, he must’ve thought you’re sobbing again. Trying to touch his arm to break free off his arms, you call out to him.

“Iwaizumi-San, please, let go of me. I am only laughing.”

Hands still on hour shoulders, he pushes you away from himself and starts examining your face carefully. All you can do is smile. Pulling you to himself one more time, for a quick hug this time, he says to your hair: “Please don’t scare me like this ever again.”

“I promise, I won’t.” You say, smile getting only wider. “But I have one condition.”

He doesn’t seem super excited about it. So you continue. “If only you promise to be there by my side, like you said. I think, I like you too.”

When he pulls you in for a hug as an answer, you’re certain he has broken a rib of yours or too. You don’t have it in you to worry one bit about it. Hugging him back, you smile to his chest, taking in his scent.

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ace-oreos · 3 years

Note

17 and his batch mates on a mission. They are just stoked to be working together. Just some brotherly interactions. (real or OC, i love them all)

Dumb chaotic siblings is one thing I know how to do 😆

Why are there four ARCs on one mission? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Was this really fun to write? Absolutely.

@shadow-hyder Allow me to introduce you to Vortex :D

“Figures that we get sent to this sort of osik’la planet,” Vortex grumbles, shaking mud from his boots with a look of disgust.

Fordo, for his part, doesn’t seem bothered. “What exactly were you expecting when you heard jungle, ner vod?”

Alpha keeps a determinedly straight face when Vortex rounds on Fordo. Some things never change, he thinks, both exasperated and amused. Vortex could only be described as volatile even on the best of days.

“In his defense, this place isn’t all that great,” Maze remarks, ever the voice of reason.

“Ah, don’t mind him,” Alpha chips in when Fordo looks disbelieving. “He’s been cooped up at HQ for too long. Worried he’ll ruin his hairstyle or some osik.”

He dodges the incoming clod of mud with ease. Maze can play at being the level-headed one, but old habits die hard and Alpha distinctly remembers ducking a good number of makeshift projectiles that only seemed to appear when Jango’s back was turned.

“We’ll make it up to you,” Vortex adds. “Do you prefer your nails match your armor?” His head tilts as he considers Maze, his customary brooding expression replaced with a smirk. “Then again, I’m not sure blue’s your color.”

It’s such a departure from his usual grave intensity that the conversation stumbles to a halt. Fordo is the first to laugh; Maze levels him with a disapproving, thin-lipped stare. Vortex, entirely unrepentant, favors Alpha with a covert smile that’s gone as soon as Maze starts to turn his head.

Maze looks ready to return fire, and while it would doubtlessly be entertaining, they still have an objective to complete. Alpha resigns himself to the good-natured grumbling that’s sure to follow and interrupts with, “Are you di’kute going to spend the whole day bickering?”

He’s not surprised to see the other three are too busy sizing each other up to bother responding. Eventually, however, Fordo backs off, declaring, “You can’t argue with Vortex.”

Vortex’s face creases in a frown as though he’s gauging whether it’s an insult or not. Maze beats him to it, muttering, “That’s what you get for being all offense, ner vod.”

There’s too much truth in it to be an insult. Predictably, Vortex nonetheless seems prepared to take it as one. Alpha once again struggles to maintain a neutral expression - he’s confident Maze has never been on the receiving end of the full force of Vortex’s temper. One of the lucky few, he thinks, too amused to be irked by their antics.

But someone has to keep them on track, so Alpha says, “Give it a rest, you lot. If we get ambushed because you’re trying to one-up each other, I’m blaming you.”

“You would,” Fordo confirms cheerfully. “Shamelessly.”

Alpha has no choice but to reach over and cuff him roughly for that. Vortex’s nearly imperceptible shift suggests he’s more than eager to come to his aid, but Maze chooses to step in before things can escalate.

“He’s got a point. Let’s get moving.”

__________________________

“Y’know,” Vortex says thoughtfully with a sidelong look at Maze, “you made it sound like this place was crawling with Seps, ner vod.”

“Guilty as charged,” Fordo says through a mouthful of ration bar. He gives Maze a playful nudge that nearly sends him into the mud. It’s the best they can do, Alpha reflects ruefully. It’s deal with swamp water constantly seeping in or risk exposing themselves in a less protected area; they’d opted unanimously for the former.

Maze sighs. “Intel - ”

“There you go, then,” Alpha says, using a stick to poke half-heartedly at the fire they haven’t managed to light in the past hour. “You rely on intel too much, Maze.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to try it sometime,” his brother retorts.

“Yeah, I’ll do that when I want to get my shebs handed to me by a battalion of droids…”

“Might as well turn a blind eye,” Vortex agrees. “Don’t have much to lose.”

Fordo opens his mouth to contribute, then pauses, frowning at Vortex. “Was that a joke?”

“Everyone knows intel’s a joke.”

“Not that,” Fordo says impatiently. “The blind part - was that a joke?”

Vortex stares at him. The look on his face is almost blank, but Alpha knows better and so has to hide a smirk. Fordo, it seems, hasn’t quite caught on yet.

“It had to be a joke,” he insists.

Vortex merely shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That was deliberate,” Fordo appeals to Maze.

Maze raises an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, ner vod.”

“He was joking,” Fordo is still muttering several hours later. “There’s no way - ”

“Oh, lay off already,” Alpha says through a yawn. Vortex is already asleep; Alpha can’t help feeling envious, if only because it spares him Fordo’s relentless muttering. “Besides, you know no one will believe you, right?

He’s finally almost asleep when Fordo announces to everyone within earshot, “Vortex made a joke!”

“Go to sleep!”

______________________________

“ - all I’m saying is, it wouldn’t kill you to take them head on sometimes.”

“It just might kill me in the literal sense is all. But I shouldn’t worry, because it would be a quick death.”

“Now you’re getting it. Chin up, vod - it beats death by paperwork.”

“If you ask me, that qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment.”

“There’s a reason no one asked you.”

“What is wrong with the lot of you?” Alpha demands when he finally reaches the perimeter of their camp. “I can hear you from halfway across the galaxy.”

Fordo brightens. “Oh, good, you’re back.” He reaches over and hauls Alpha closer by the arm. “Settle something for us, would you?”

“I’m not agreeing to anything until I know exactly what’s going on,” Alpha says firmly. “And I hope you know how to reset a dislocated shoulder, ner vod, what with you dragging me all over.”

“Good morning to you, too.” Fordo indicates an outline of the enemy forces sketched roughly in the dirt. “Vortex says we ought to take our chances and strike first.”

“Beats waiting for them,” Vortex opines. “They’ll get the drop on us if we hang around too long.”

“And Maze thinks we should gather more intel before we make a move,” Fordo continues, speaking over Vortex to stave off any retaliation from Maze. “Personally, I think they both have a point.”

“Well shab, good thing you aren’t indecisive,” Vortex mutters under his breath.

Fordo lifts his hands in a submissive gesture. “Someone has to be reasonable here.”

Alpha decides to observe rather than spoil the moment by relaying his findings from his latest scouting mission. He’s sure they can stand to learn a thing or two.

Eventually, however, Maze turns to him. “What are you thinking, then?”

Alpha glances at his chrono. “Took you long enough. Fifteen minutes, to be exact.” He fixes them with the best hard stare he can muster in the circumstances. “I’ve been doing recon since oh-four-thirty - you’re welcome, by the way. So I reckon I can make your decision easier.”

“Someone inherited Kenobi’s flair for drama,” Fordo mumbles.

Alpha, utterly dumbfounded, can only glare. “I - what?”

“Leave it to you to give us a monologue first. Makes sense, seeing as you were assigned to him for a while - ”

“You know what? Forget it,” Alpha huffs. “If you’re going to be difficult, I just won’t tell you anything. No skin off my back.”

Fordo grins. “You won’t.”

Maze sighs. “He will.”

“You’re all fair dini’la,” Vortex declares. “I’m off.”

“Where are you going?” Maze demands.

“To kill some Seps.” Vortex pushes himself to his feet, sniper rifle in hand. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Fordo stares after him. “He isn’t serious.”

It’s Alpha’s turn to sigh. “He is.”

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #captain fordo #captain maze #clone trooper oc #alpha-71 #the clone wars #star wars #fanfic prompt #thanks for the prompt!#my ask box is open #see i can write something besides angst #also I should clarify that Vortex is blind in one eye #hence the blind jokes

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