#every time i have an unread email i get my hopes up that it’ll be one of those

[thefactsofthematter]

now why do i get 10x more advertising emails when im waiting for an important one

[theysayitscrazy]

Depression Bites

This one is for @rebelwrites She was feeling a little down today and reached out to friends for a little pick me up. Here you go darlin, I hope it helps. If even just a little bit.

Clay Spenser x Reader

You’re feeling a little down and overwhelmed and your man comes to cheer you up.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on you. It’s a perfectly beautiful sunny summer day out, but you feel like a rain cloud is hanging over your head. You feel like you’re drowning and barely managing to stay afloat. Nothing you seem to do can shake the feeling. Like you aren’t good enough. That overwhelming feeling of drowning rises up again and you fight the urge to scream.

You look around the house and see nothing but messes everywhere. Laundry piled up on couches, half folded, half dirty, you don’t even know at this point. There are stacks of dishes piled by the sink and you’re officially out of clean silverware.

Work was a whole other nightmare. The special project you were in charge of was behind. You spent the day trying to get that caught up, only for your inbox to be neglected. The forty unread emails at the end of the day really set you over the edge. The feeling of despair bubbling over.

You logged off your work PC feeling defeated and turn and face your mess of a living room. The small apartment walls were closing in and you didn’t understand why. You’d been so happy last weekend. You and Clay had gotten away, just the two of you for a full three days. He’d taken some leave time to ensure you wouldn’t be interrupted.

You had finally felt connected again. After years together, things sometimes got stagnant with any long-term relationship, but Clay always made sure to remind you just how much you meant to him. He had surprised you with your favorite flowers the morning of your get away. He’d been extra attentive all weekend. Catering to your every whim while away. Ice cream for breakfast? You got it.

He’d be so extra sweet all weekend, and then you’d come home and back to reality. Not that he wasn’t sweet at home, just life got in the way. He’d been spun up the day after you returned and had been in and out ever since.

While you tried to navigate the mess that had become your home and life. You had both been so exhausted from your weekend away that you had dumped the bags on the floor by the door when you walked in. Taking one day off of work, had set you back several DAYS, and while your boss was understanding, you felt like you were failing.

Work from home life was getting to you. The lack of human interaction was getting to you. You weren’t made to sit at home, you were meant to lead the pack and run the social circles.

You head into the bedroom of the small one-bedroom apartment and climbed into the unmade bed. More clothes littered the floor than you cared to admit. You can’t help the tears that run down your face as you pull the covers over your head.

You hate this feeling. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You don’t understand how you could go from so fricken happy while you were away, to feeling this low and shitty a week later.

You hear the front door open and sigh. You know what he sees when he walks in the house. A mess, everywhere. “Babe,” he calls out.

You don’t have the energy to respond.

You hear his feet pad across the hardwood floors and then the bed dips as he gets on it. “Hey, you a sleep?” his voice is soft as he slides across the bed and wraps his arms around you. He cradles you within his strong arms and hold on tight, pulling you back against his hard body.

Somewhere along the way, he’d lost the shirt and you can feel his smooth, hot skin slid against yours as his strong arms cradle you against him. “Hey, you okay?” he asks, when he finally gets a look of your tear streaked face.

You shake your head no, and it breaks your heart to see the pain in his eyes. His pain, for your pain. You reach out and run a hand over his scruffy beard. He’d been growing it out lately, knowing how much you enjoyed it.

You roll over, and he turns with you, so he’s lying flat on his back with you resting your head on his shoulder. His arms stay wrapped tightly around you and you shudder out a sigh of contentment as you relax into his body. You idly run a hand across his bare chest and just breathe in his scent.

You close your eyes and just feel the moment.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and says, “You know it’s going to be okay, right? Whatever it is.” He squeezes you tighter and you let the tears fall down your face.

That feeling overwhelming drowning threatens to rise up again, but Clay turns again and faces you. He pulls you into him, so your head is cradled against his chest and tangles your legs together. His powerful arms are wrapped tightly around you and you drape an arm over his side, running your hand across his bare back idly.

You love the feeling of his smooth skin, the way the muscles ripple and contract from your touch, and your touch alone.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers in your ear.

You smile faintly, but he can’t see it. Your head is buried in his chest.

“Your strong, and fierce, and brave,” he whispers, peppering your head with kisses in between each word. “You can take on the world and kick its ass with just a messy bun and a little bit of coffee,” you can feel his grin as he kisses your forehead.

You smile into his chest, feeling slightly better.

“Even if your toes smell like cottage cheese,” he adds.

“Hey!” you huff with a watery laugh and smack his chest.

His laughter sends you over the edge and you giggle. God, you love the sound of his laughter.

“You’re an ass,” you inform him, a smile on your face as you look up at him.

His beautiful baby blue eyes are twinkling down at you as he gives you one of his very best smiles. One of those charming, only reserved for you, grins. “But I’m your ass, though,” he reminds you.

“Yeaaah,” you murmur, rubbing his beard. “Yeah, you are.”

He tucks your hair behind your ear and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “How about some ice cream for dinner and shitty movie on Netflix?”

You laugh and then say, “I know you did not just try and turn this moment into a Netflix and Chill, Spenser,” you roll your eyes.

He presses another kiss to your lips and chuckles, “I wouldn’t dream of it babe.”

“Would too,” you huff, a smile on your lips.

“Can I blame a guy for tryin? My girl is damn beautiful with her messy bun and stinky toes,” he smirks up at you.

“Oh, hell no!” you huff and poke him a particularly ticklish spot on his side.

He jumps and giggles like a fricken school girl.

You have a wide grin on your face as you stare down at your man in bed. For the moment you feel better. You can let the outside noise drift away and focus on the handsome and dorky man in your bed. “Alright, ice cream and Netflix,” you agree.

He sits up and presses a kiss to you lips before he pulls you into another bear hug. “I love you. Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see. It’s just a shitty day. It’ll pass. You’ll kick this in the ass too.”

You breathe a watery sigh and hold on tight to his broad and muscular body. “God damn, I love you too,” you respond and kiss his shoulder. You close your eyes and get lost in the feeling of the safeness that was your man.

[bex-la-get]

Hi I hope you are doing well!

25 please ❤!!!

Hahahaha! This one is great! Thanks Nonny!

From this ask list.

25) “What kind of psychopath has 1,273 unread emails?"

Natalie and Bryce sat huddled over his laptop at the dining table, trying to figure out how to get back into his email after Bryce had accidentally gotten locked out.

"I swear I know my password," Bryce muttered. "Why won't it let me in?"

"Are you spelling it wrong, maybe?" Nat suggested.

"Or what about punctuation?" Sienna suggested from the kitchen. "Do you have any exclamation marks or periods in it?"

Bryce furrowed his brows. "I don't think so?"

"We might just need to reset your password, Bryce," Natalie suggested. "If we keep trying the same thing over and over again, it'll just lock us out again."

Bryce frowned but nodded. "Yeah, I guess that makes the most sense."

Nat slid the computer over to herself and began the process of resetting the password as Sienna made her way over to the table and placed a plate of freshly made cookies on the table. Bryce immediately snagged one and began munching on it as Nat passed the laptop back to him. "'Kay, go ahead and reset it."

A figure sat next to her a moment later and she looked to find Ethan smiling at her, handing her a cookie. "Aw, thanks babe."

Ethan nodded and kissed her temple before turning his attention back to Bryce as he figured out a new email password. Sienna furrowed her brows as she watched him type. "Why are you making it so long?"

"'Cause the longer it is, the harder it is for hackers to get into it!" Bryce reasoned.

"But will you remember it if you make it that long?" Sienna asked.

Bryce held up his phone. "It's what the Notes app in my phone is for!"

Natalie laughed and looked at Ethan. "See? I told you I wasn't the only one who did that!"

Ethan shook his head. "This is an argument I'm never going to win, I see."

Sienna laughed. "Between these two, it's better to just accept defeat."

"Aaand done!" Bryce said, tapping 'Enter' with a flourish. "I'm in!" The screen on the laptop changed and opened up Bryce's email, revealing a hoard of unread emails.

"Holy crap, Bryce!" Nat exclaimed. "Do you ever check your email?"

Bryce shrugged. "Nah, not really. It's not like anything important ever gets sent to it. It's mostly ads from places I've bought things from."

Ethan looked horrified. "What kind of psychopath has 1,273 unread emails? That's just insane."

"Psh, that's nothing! You should see Keiki's. She has over 2,000 unread emails in her inbox."

Ethan looked like he was going to fall over and even Nat looked concerned. "I don't understand how that's even possible," she said.

Bryce shrugged again. "Dedication?"

Nat laughed. "Sure, let's call it that."

Ethan shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Every time I think I have you figured out, Lahela, you do something like this to further confuse me."

Bryce grinned. "That is the best thing anyone's ever said to me!" Then, he quickly looked to Sienna. "Other than the first time you told me you loved me, babe."

Sienna rolled her eyes. "Nice save." Bryce simply grinned in response.

Tag list below the cut:

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added/removed):  @genevievemd @jamespotterthefirst @paulfwesley @ethansdique @openheartfanfics @perriewinklenerdie @little-flowers-on-heaven @stateofgracious @coffeeheartaddict @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @mm2305 @gryffindordaughterofathena @actuallybored @writer-ish @queencarb @takeharryandgo @lsvdw-blog @itsjustwinter @imaneditorthankyouverymuch-deac @chaoticchopshopheart @ohchoices @maurine07 @oldminniemcg @parisa-kh @shanzay44 @uberamsey @izzyourresidentlawyer @adiehardfan @custaroonie @mia143 @a-crepusculo @takemyopenheart @toadfrog26 @quixoticdreamer16 @barbean @headoverheelsforramsey @natureblooms24 @choicesaddict5

[moonstruckbucky]

The Recruit (3/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings for Chapter: Violence may be wished upon Captain Rogers. Injury, blood, overall not happy times. Some poorly-written fight scenes.

Notes: Sorry for the lateness! Work’s been hectic and I’m about to pull a 9-day marathon. Please send love and chocolate and alcohol. Enjoy! x

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

It comes as a colossal shock to you that, two weeks following the incident with Captain Rogers in the gym, you’re paired up with him and Sam for a mission in Lima. When you receive the email, short and to the point, you spend a good few minutes blinking, rubbing your eyes, spluttering at your desk. Surely you’re imagining it that Captain Hardass has requested you to partake in this mission.

You’re proven wrong when he sends an email in response to yours, in which you claim there’s a mistake, that reads: “Quinjet takes off at 8 PM tonight. Miss it and you’re gone.”

So you show up fifteen minutes early, garbed in an all-black SHIELD-issued tac suit and heavy boots. At the gentle behest of Bucky, you’d applied the salve to your knee as you dressed, just in case. The slight numb feeling in the joint makes you smile - or is that the thought of Bucky?

Your acquaintanceship has blossomed headlong into an easy friendship. He works out with you in the gym, finds you when you’re lounging in the SHIELD common room. In turn, you’ve introduced him to some modern music once you’d learned he’s still trying to catch up. You’ve also gotten him sucked into Netflix and binge-watching shows, which the two of you do together often. Sometimes, you’ll just read while he learns how to work Snapchat or works on mission reports. 

He’s easy to get along with despite the rocky start he’d had to the Avengers Initiative. Gentle, in spite of the horrors he’d survived; cheeky and sassy and so quick-witted it sometimes throws you off. He’s overall just...good.

It’s such a far cry from the relationship you have with his best friend that it nearly gives you whiplash.

And the look Captain Rogers gives you as you enter the hangar is proof of that. He’s glaring fiercely, even finding fault in the fact that you’re early for takeoff.

“What?” you snap before you can stop yourself. You cringe internally, wait for the reprimand for insubordination. You couldn’t help it - your reaction to him is automatic hostility, matching what seems to be his reaction to you as well.

You’re not sure where he gets off on such behavior, but you’ve about had it with Captain Steve Rogers.

“You’re late,” he barks, and it sends white hot rage through your blood.

“You said takeoff was at 8. It’s 7:50,” you retort, make a show of waving your wristwatch in his face.

“Prep is half an hour prior to takeoff, Agent.”

Oh, you could slap the smirk off his face. If you both a) wanted to fist-fight Captain America and b) wanted to be fired for assaulting a commanding officer. He seems to see the struggle on your face because his smirk widens, darkens when he knows he’s won.

“Forgive me, Captain. It appears my commanding officer seemed to have left that part out,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

“A good agent should know when prep time is without her CO reminding her,” he shoots back, and a hot rage boils in your belly.

You brush by him roughly, keeping your biting retort on your tongue, stomp into the jet.

Sam is seated at the controls. You haven’t interacted with the Falcon all that much, but he gives you a bright, welcoming grin that eases your aggravation a little.

“Welcome aboard Falcon Airways,” he chirps, and you find it in you to smile a little. The Falcon glances over your shoulder at Captain Rogers, nodding once, and begins takeoff. Captain Rogers prefers to stand, while you opt to keep your distance in a seat towards the back.

The ride is mostly quiet; Sam and Captain Rogers go back and forth, muttering between themselves, but it’s too low for you to hear. Occasionally, though, the Captain shoots you unreadable glances, and your mind itches with the knowledge that they’re discussing you. It sours you, puts you in a bad headspace that you know you need to get over. It’s your first mission - you can’t fuck it up.

Not with Captain Rogers there to see it.

Sam expertly lands the jet about an hour later. You’d spent most of the ride going over the details of the mission, analyzing each bulletpoint and retaining as much information as you could. In your opinion, it doesn’t hurt to be mentally prepared. Know thy enemy, you think the phrase goes.

(Un)fortunately, Captain Rogers benches you inside the jet. You’re incredulous, and you do a poor job at hiding it. Your first mission, and you’re benched?

“I beg your pardon, Captain?” you question as he slides the famed shield onto his back. He barely glances at you, only doing so when you follow him to the ramp. Then, he rounds on you.

“I said, you’re to remain here. In the event that we need you, we’ll call for you. Until then, do us both a favor and stay put.” He doesn’t say another word, merely stomps down the ramp.

Sam’s hand is warm on your shoulder, and you turn to him. His face reads of sympathy, but an unwillingness to go against his Captain’s order.

“He just wants you to stay safe. First mission and all. Keep your comms on, learn some things, and then you’ll get your chance.” He smirks a little when you scoff in disbelief. His wingsuit is buckled across his thick chest, goggles pushed up his forehead. He checks and rechecks his weapons.

“Next time, kid, it’ll be you out there. We’ll call if we need you.” And then he’s gone.

You can hear the two of them going back and forth, Captain Rogers calling out instruction and Sam countering it with a different strategy. They operate like a well-oiled machine, and you can only hope one day you’ll have that kind of comradery with your teammates.

You spend much of your time alone balancing your knife on your fingertips, disassembling and reassembling your sidearm, and poring over the mission notes once again. It’s boring, but you suppose, in the calmness that follows your initial outrage at being confined to the jet, you understand why Captain Rogers has done it. You’re green as can be, and though you’ve done simulations, have trained under duress, you’re still not quite sure how you’d react in the face of real danger. Perhaps you should be a little relieved, but still, there’s an underlying feeling of resentment towards your prickly Captain.

Narrowly avoiding slicing your finger open as you flip your knife, you startle when Sam’s panicked voice comes over the comms.

“Agent L/N, we need you - now. Southwest corner, fifth floor.” He’s cut off by gunfire, grunting, the sounds of fists meeting flesh. You don’t hesitate, slide the knife back into its sheath.

A second voice in your ear makes you pause. “No, Agent. Remain where you are. Do you hear me? Do not leave your post.”

Captain Rogers growls at his attacker, the echoing ping of his shield loud in your ear. You know the Captain outranks Sam, yet with the noises of the fight in your ears, it’s hard to obey orders when they so clearly need your help. Mind made up, you arm yourself to the teeth, tighten the straps of a Kevlar vest and slam the button on the ramp to the jet.

Nondescript, the building in front of you looks like an office, innocent, unimposing. The gunfire coming from within it, however, shatters that illusion. Your stomach curdles nervously, hands a little shaky where they grip your handgun, trigger finger along the frame, safety flipped off. The door in front of you is smashed open, a boot-shaped dent in it. On silent feet, you enter the building, follow the sounds of gunshots, shouting, the ring of Captain Rogers’s shield.

Sweat beads at your hairline, slides a salty line down to your eye. Jaw clenched, body rigid like a cat ready to pounce. Every bit of your training kicking into high gear as you focus on untoward sounds around you. Bodies litter the floor in the next room, all knocked out or dead, you’re not sure, but you clear the room and move on quickly.

Soon enough, you find Sam and Captain Rogers, each of them bogged down by men in dark tac suits. The shield glitters under the fluorescent lighting as it flies through the air, sends a man careening into a wall, returns to the Captain’s hand thanks to the magnetization. Sam, meanwhile, has his wings folded into the suit and grapples with a brute of a man who has his hand around his throat.

You aim your gun, careful, steady. Inhale, a squeeze of the trigger on the exhale. Bullet meets its mark in the brute’s shoulder. His cry is gruff, a spray of ruby as he presses a hand to it, and Sam sees his opening. A hard boot to the chest has the man flying backwards, head colliding with a metal desk that’s been flipped in the melee.

You throw yourself into the fight despite a sharp order from the Captain to stand down. Yet how can you when the two of them are overcome? You abandon the gun, slide it into the holster at your side and instead reach for your knife. It quickly meets the innards of an approaching enemy, and you drag it upwards towards his neck, open him to the bone of his sternum. You’re drenched in blood, but you shove him away, move onto the next.

Your hand-to-hand is sloppy, but it gets the job done as you slash and stab each body that throws itself at you. A punch to the ribs has you gasping, arching away from the attack as pain blooms in your side. It’s a mistake - your attacker is fast and hits you again, a left hook that sends you spiraling, puts stars in your vision. You hit the floor on your hands and knees, nose bloody and head swimming.

You cry out roughly when his boot meets your stomach, knocking you flat on your back. Your grip is slippery on the handle of your knife, slick with blood, and it’s all too easy for your attacker to gain control. He straddles your hips, plants a knee on your knife hand and pushes. You feel the bones snap under the weight, sending a blaze of pain up your arm, and yours fingers loosen around the handle.

The man’s hands move to your neck as the bones in your wrist are crushed, fingers going numb and losing grip on your knife. The sounds of the fight around you begin to fade out at those gloved fingers tighten, press down on your windpipe until your vision blackens at the edges.

And then they’re gone - the hands around your neck, the weight on your broken wrist. A wrenching gasp from your throat while your entire arms feels as if it’s on fire. Whimpering, you cradle it to your chest as Sam helps you sit up. Around you are the bodies of the rest of the men, a sea of varying shades of black and charcoal stained with blood.

You grimace as your wrist is jostled, press it tighter against your chest as Sam helps you stand. Even with your head down you can feel Captain Rogers glaring fiercely at the side of your head. But he stays silent, at least until you’re boarded on the jet, arm in a makeshift sling.

“I ordered you to stay put,” he barks, face going red with his ire. “A good agent obeys command, not ignore it for five minutes of fame!”

Your face heats up in fresh anger - an emotion you’re quite getting used to around Captain Rogers. You grit your teeth against both his criticism and the pain in your wrist, level him with a fiery glare.

“If I had obeyed, who the hell knows what would have happened to both of you? Sam called for help - I answered.”

“And I said no. That trumps what Sam says,” Captain Rogers responds heatedly. Sam, bless him, pointedly ignores the argument in the back of the jet and prepares for takeoff.

“But you both were overwhelmed! Am I really just supposed to sit here while you get your asses kicked?”

“You might as well have! You nearly got yourself killed in the process. You have no experience in the field, and with that shoddy hand-to-hand, I’m not surprised you ended up where you are! In fact, I’m really surprised you aren’t dead.”

A sharp inhale, though whether it’s from you or from Sam you aren’t sure. Your mouth snaps shut with an audible click, teeth grinding hard as pressure builds behind your eyes. You look away, silently relinquishing this argument, and you can feel Captain Rogers’s gaze burning your face. But you refuse to break, refuse to let him see just how much his criticisms have affected you, have hurt you.

When the jet lands, you tear off of it, making for the med bay with your head down and feet quick. Behind you, you barely make out Sam and Captain Rogers exchanging words. You pay it no mind as you ignore your fellow agents, who all seem to know exactly what has happened already. Whispers flurry around you as you hurry to the elevator, making your face burn in embarrassment.

They’re prepared for you - Sam must have called ahead to let them know. To your surprise, Bucky is waiting too, and when he sees you, his expression is so worried it makes your heart pound. He’s gentle where he grasps your shoulders, eyes flying over you form until he sees the sling and your bound arm.

“Jesus, Sam called for medical but when Steve got on the radio too, I just...I got so worried, doll.” Whether his use of the pet name is intentional or not, it still makes your belly flutter, face flush, and his hands warm your body from the inside out.

“I thought the worst,” he admits, crystalline eyes shining and wide and so damn inviting you let yourself fall into him. He steadies you, an arm around your back and the other cradling your head.

It makes you forget your anger for a little while, allows you to simply enjoy his warmth, the safety you feel in his embrace. His flesh hand is warm where it slides up and down your back, the most comforting of touches that you know you should reject yet can’t.

Finally, you begin to feel a little awkward, your injured arm between you against his warm chest, and you step back. He lets you go but keeps his hands on you, begins to lead you to the waiting team of medics. They take you from Bucky, bring you into a room for an x-ray. He watches you, still worried but warmth in his gaze.

It keeps you distracted, blocks out the pain while they set your arm in a cast, prescribe you painkillers, and send you on your way.

Chapter Four

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH14

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

WC: 3672

A/N: Thank you all for the lovely feedback I get for this series. Thank you for reading and staying. It’ll be a while until I get to the end, just so you know. There might be bumps on the way. Some bigger, some smaller. Please stay safe and don’t forget to wash your hands!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean hears things. 

He feels things.

There’s a movement that makes the mattress he lies on rock. There’s a sound of something. It gets brighter, he knows this, even if he has his eyes closed. 

And yet, even though he hears and feels things so vividly, he can’t seem to be able to open his eyes. He doesn’t feel like he wants to, at all — feels too cozy in the warmth of the bed. A feeling he can’t really place, one he hasn’t felt for a really long time.

He pretends to still be sleeping. Like those times when Sam was in high school and he came home late. Dean was still awake but as soon as he heard the turning of keys in the lock, he slumped down on the sofa and pretended that he was sleeping, just because he didn't want Sam to know that he was worried sick and waited for Sam the whole night. He was just glad that Sam came back unscattered.

And that’s exactly what he’s doing now, he can feel the presence of someone else, can feel that someone’s moving around in the room he’s in but he’s just too lost in his own cozy cocoon.

He can hear a door closing in the distance, can hear someone walking around, hears water running, and he knows that he should be aware, maybe even frightened at the intruder who’s in his apartment, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care. It’s a weird and scary kind of satisfaction he feels. That’s what it is.

Dean wakes up a little more when he feels the mattress dipping and there’s someone nudging at his face, he opens his eyes but it’s way too bright so he closes them again. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air. 

He feels someone moving beside him, someone nudging closer, a body cozying up to his, and there’s a soft giggle.

It takes him a while before he realizes where he is but when he does, the feeling of contentment almost suffocates him.

“Wake up, sleepy head,” Y/N says, nosing at his scruff that’s now evidently even longer because he hasn’t trimmed in days, she kisses along his cheek, down his neck, and over his bare chest. His heart pumping away underneath her fingers and lips. He’s sure she must have been feeling it, too.

“No,” He mumbles, his voice scratchy, too deep, still full of sleep, feels the bass of his own voice rumble in his chest. 

“Come on.”

She sounds whiny and Dean couldn’t help but smirk when he opens one of his eyes. He has to squint because of the bright light but makes out her face as she smiles at him. She kisses him again, the corner of his lips, his chin, his nose. Her breath smells minty, fresh and there’s a smell of coffee mixed into it. She must have been up for a while.

“What a wake up call,” He says and tightens his grip around her waist, pulls her closer, lets her bury her face into the crook of his neck. “Just a little while longer, okay?”

And it’s true. He could get used to being woken up like this. 

Preferably every day.

She wraps her legs around his middle, he takes it as a yes. Her fingers trail along his bare chest and up his shoulder, stopping at the scar of a stray bullet that once grazed his skin. She lets her fingers dance along his bicep, there’s another scar too. He’s riddled with them. Too many to count or remember where he got it from. Sometimes he has a hard time distinguishing scars he got from his job with the ones he came home with from the war.

“War?” She asks, and there’s a crease between her eyebrows to which he lifts his head and kisses it away.

“Yeah,” He answers, even though it’s not the entire truth. Some of them are, yeah, but most of the scars on his body are not from war. She doesn’t need to know that because it doesn’t seem important to him. And that particular one she has her finger on, that’s not from war, he knows because it’s the most recent one, an ice pick from an angry dealer because Dean just put him out of business. The dealer paid for the mistake with his life with a bullet out of Cas’ gun.

He takes another look at her, the crease between her eyebrows is still there and he tucks some loose strand of her hair behind her ear, lets his finger skims along her face, she looks much better than yesterday. “How are you feeling? Still hurt?”

She shrugs. “I’ll survive.” 

“Well, I would hope so,” He chuckles. He knows that she’s probably still hurt, she must be. But he also knows that she’s one tough cookie. 

She sits up and reaches over to her bedside table to hand him a mug of steaming coffee. Heaving himself up, he rests his back against the headboard and takes the mug from her. “I don’t know how you drink it, but since I don’t have any milk and sugar left, black it is.” 

“That’s perfect.” He blows the steam a way and takes a sip. It’s perfect. He likes to drink it hotter, too. “Same color as my heart. Black as coal.” 

Y/N swats at his chest and Dean has to balance the mug as not to spill any coffee onto the bed. “Woah!”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He scoffs but feels his cheek heating up. He drinks the coffee, downs it in one go to hide the flush in his face. 

Dean turns around and places the mug onto the table on his side of the bed. He could get up now, the only problem is that he doesn’t want to. So instead of getting up, he lies down again, cozying himself up in her bed. “What time is it?” 

“It’s still early for you probably. 9AM. I just couldn’t sleep any longer.” She lies down with him and he spreads his arm for her to climb into. She comes in willingly, settles next to him, her arm drapes over his middle, her cheek on his chest. 

It’s still damn early, Dean agrees. But weirdly…

...weirdly, he feels like he slept for at least ten hours. 

He kisses her forehead, and she nudges closer so he rests his chin on the top of her head. “I didn’t have any nightmares,”

It’s a fact. He just realizes it now. It’s the second night without nightmares. Maybe the second night in what he thinks went on for years on end. He lost track already, can’t really tell when the last time was that he didn’t wake up with cold sweat and a beating heart.

“Do you usually?” Y/N asks, the tip of her finger paints figure eights on his chest. 

“Yeah,” He sighs, “Every night.”

“The war.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles, even though it’s not funny. “But with you, I don’t.”

She tilts her head, looks up at him like he’s shitting her and he chuckles, paints along her eyebrow with his thumb, massaging at the crease that’s showing right between her eyebrows, before he goes on, “Last time too, when I slept next to you, the nightmares, they were gone.” He takes a breath, feels his heart pumping faster again. “This is it, right? I found you and you found me.”

  “I found you and you found me.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything, wouldn’t know what to say to this, instead she buries her face into the crook of his neck and presses closer to him, hoping it's enough. Kind of hopes, he knows that she feels the same, it’s just a little more complicated for her and she buries her face even deeper, presses her lips to his skin. She doesn’t want him to see her guilt ridden face. 

He’s stroking her back with one of his hands, his finger traveling over every bump of her spine, as if he wants to memorize it, memorize her, every bump of her body, every crease etched into her skin. 

With his other hand, he blindly reaches for his phone that he carried and placed on the bedside table before he climbed into bed with her. She feels him thumbing through his messages, and knows for sure that there were some texts from Castiel because she peeked when he was still asleep.

She watches his face as he reads through the messages. Watches the long lashes when he blinks. Sees the freckles on his face, the crease of his dimples that are showing when he’s discontent or when he purses his lips. Knows so much of him already but it doesn’t seem like she knows him enough. After the texts, he went straight to his inbox. He has twenty-three unread texts and a dozen unread emails, she saw that.

Dean thumbs through the mails, scanning the names of the sender, only opening those mails he thinks are important to read right now. He did the same with his texts.

His fingers are still lazily stroking her, and every now and then he would absentmindedly kiss the top of her head. She has her eyes closed, listens to the beating of his heart. It feels good to lie like this. It strangely feels like home, something she never knew she missed. 

“What time do you have to be at work?” He asks her but his voice is low, like he doesn’t know if she’s still awake and he doesn’t really want to wake her up.

“Seven.” She answers. It’s usually her shift because Ellen has grown comfortable with her closing up. 

Dean places his phone back on the bedside table on his side of the bed and turns around abruptly, tackling her to climb on top of her. He pins both of her hands with only one of his to the mattress above her head, laughs at her because of the look of surprise on her face. He lowers himself, kisses her nose, her lip, her chin. He’s hard, she can feel that too. He dips his free hand underneath her shirt which she put back on after she got out of bed, skids his fingers up to her tits, twists at her nipple and makes her yelp up and then he laughs some more. 

“Fuck, I wish I had more time to do all the things I wanna do to you.”

“What things?”

“Nasty things. Filthy things.” He chuckles and lowers his head to place kisses on her throat, sucks in a patch, draws blood to the surface of her skin.

He’s marking her up. And she doesn’t really mind.

“Why don’t you have time?”

He lets go of her throat long enough to answer her, “Gotta be at the bunker at ten. Cas called for a meeting.”

“The bunker?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at that.

He shrugs. “Yeah. A great one. It has a gym, gun rage, garage, kitchen, library, bedrooms, TV room, bathrooms, some more rooms and even a tub.”

His face lights up when he counts off the things he has in the bunker. Like he’s really really proud.

She wonders if they took Jo to the bunker. If Jo’s still alive or if they’ve already killed her off. It’s not her place to ask and she knows that too.

“Wow,” Y/N huffs out, “Is there anything you don’t have?”

“A pool.” The answer came out quick. 

“Well, who needs a pool when you have a bunker, huh?” She jokes and in the next breath she goes, “Like really underneath the ground?”

Dean chuckles, “Yeah. I can show you around once.”

“What do you use it for? Like, why? Oh my god, you have a dungeon there, don’t you? A red room.”

He laughs, dropping his head on her shoulder, his breath warm against the crook of her neck.

“A dungeon, yeah. But it’s not a red room. I don’t even know what a red room is.”

He’s lying. She knows that he must know. She hasn’t read a single of those books but still she knows that it’s about a millionaire business man with a freaking sex dungeon of sorts?

Dean kisses her once, chaste, before he pushes himself up and starts to get dressed. “You gonna be okay?”

“Sure.” She says, pretending that she doesn’t mind that he leaves when in fact, she minds. A lot, actually. She’d love to spend the day with him. Maybe being lazy together, in bed. Or go on a walk, or fucking talk. She doesn’t know really. Just… something.

She walks him to the door and he bends down, places his hand on the back of her neck before he kisses her. 

“I’ll see you tonight, baby.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” She still can’t hide that she’s disappointed. “When?”

“I’ll pick you up. Take you home.” He says in a kind of a sexy voice that makes the hair on her back stand up, his arms sneaking around her waist as he takes a step towards her and pulls her close, her chest flat against his.

“Yeah?”

He lowers his face, kisses her cheek. “Yeah.” 

“And then?”

“We play with the pussy.” Dean laughs like he just made the best joke in the world, the crinkles around his eyes deepening, and she rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, that was funny!”

“Sure.”

“And I wanna play with yours.” 

Her cheeks feel hot all of a sudden. Last night’s memories are flashing behind her eyes. 

She looks up to meet his eyes, sending him an amused look. “Will you let me play with your cock?” 

“Christ, Y/N!” He hisses and she laughs at that.

“Hey, it’d only be fair.”

He places both his hands on her ass, drags her closer and grinds against her, makes her feel his boner and shit, it’s really really big. “Now I can’t think of anything else and will have to sit through a meeting with a boner. Thanks to you.” Dean whispers grumpily. 

“You’re welcome,” She winks and it’s his turn to roll his eyes.

 *

 Dean left with a bruising kiss. She’s grown to like his kisses. They always start tantalizing slow but the pace and heat picks up soon, and he sucks and nibbles at her lips, making her shiver and leaves her wanting more. He’s a damn good kisser and that’s not really fair. 

She goes back to bed, clasps her hands over her face, the heat in her cheeks almost unbearable. 

This is it, isn’t it? He picks her of all people. And while he could have anyone, he wants her. She can’t help but feel guilty about it, but also she’s selfish, because she wants that too. She wants him. 

Y/N thinks about when the last time was that she felt what she feels now. Thinks about her last relationship, not that there were many. She can count them off on three fingers. There was Brad who took her virginity. And she let him because she was curious and just wanted to get it over with. After all, she agrees that virginity is just a social construct, plus, she didn’t want to be the last one to go to college with her v-card on display. She never thought Brad would stay with her afterwards but they really had a great Summer together, until they parted for different colleges. She still thinks of him every now and then, they keep in touch, too. There are obligatory emails and texts for Birthdays and Christmas. 

There were Michael and Cain later on but she barely remembers them because it’s so long ago and she doesn’t think the relationship was a fun one. Michael didn’t see her as his equal and Cain liked to keep tap on her and was very jealous. He turned into stalking and that’s the story of why she moved away from where she was before. And she’s glad that there's no way for him to find out her whereabouts when she’s undercover.

She’s yet to find out how Dean ticks but from what she gathered, he quite sees her as his equal but also someone he has to take care of (which she sometimes really doesn’t mind because she thinks that Dean needs this. Needs to be able to take care of someone).

Oh my god, Dean. 

She turns and buries her face in the pillow. There’s still traces of him left. She inhales, closes her eyes.

Fuck. 

She’s really fucked. She shouldn’t but all the fibers in her body wants.

  Dean drives to the bunker in a hurry. The meeting was a lie. Of course it was. He really didn’t want to lie to her but he couldn’t tell her the truth either. Not yet. Cas only told him that he has to take on the shift as everyone seems to be occupied. But the boner is a real thing and fuck, he really can’t wait to see her tonight.  

He arrives when Bobby is about to head out. 

“Did she talk?” He asks the old man. 

“Not a word. At least not the things you’d want to hear.” Bobby places a hand on his shoulder in passing. 

“Dammit,” Dean huffs out.

“You gonna be okay? Rufus is going to come over but he can’t make it before noon.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “That’s alright.” 

Bobby nods and makes his way up the stairs when Dean turns around to call up to Bobby. “Thanks, you know.. For the food.” 

“Anytime, son.” Bobby has a smile on his face, the man likes to talk about his food. “She’s a lovely young lady.”

“Yeah,” Dean replicates the smile. “She is.”

“Take good care of her.”

“I try.”

When the door closes, Dean walks down to the dungeon. He wonders if he needs to fix Jo something up for breakfast but seeing that Bobby was here, Dean’s sure that Bobby won’t let anyone go hungry anyway. Not even Jo.

He steps into the room, closes the door behind him before he takes a look at the girl on the chair. Jo still has that mad look in her eyes. 

Dean takes off his hoodie, drapes it over the chair and pulls the chair close to Jo. Not too close, because he knows that she can spit quite far, but close enough. Her hands are bound onto the arms of the chair.

Jo’s eyes are fixed on his crotch. What is it with women. Every time he wears sweatpants nobody even looks him in his eyes. He knows how women who are objectified on a regular basis feel now.

“My eyes are up here, Jo.” He says calmly and takes a seat. 

She chuckles darkly, her head’s a little tilted downwards but her eyes are looking up at him. “You’re half hard. Is it because of me?” 

Dean snorts. “You probably wish, Jo.”

“I mean, I can help out.” She shrugs, her lips curve into a playful smile but then her face settles into something else. Something Dean hasn't seen for a long time. Something that resembles the old Jo. “You were with her, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” He says, smiles a little and can’t help it because he always smiles when he thinks of Y/N.

“What is it about her?”

“She’s not you.” Dean shrugs.

“Ouch, that hurt.” 

He doesn’t know why Jo starts to chuckle but this time it isn’t dark. It sounds kind of genuine and he wonders if that’s it. If this is the moment Jo comes back to her fucking senses.

And then Jo adds, “No, really, why her?”

He takes a moment to think. Yeah, it’s a legitimate question. Why her of all people when he could have anyone? “I don’t know. I think that there are people out there who will fuel the fire inside of you, you know? Who will push you and better you. She’s doing exactly that.” 

“You love her?”

“I don’t know,” He threads his hand through his hair, “It’s still new.”

“You do, because that’s how you are.” Jo says then when her chuckle dies down. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s sad that everyone knows you better than you know yourself, Dean, isn’t it?”

Dean raises his eyebrow, not really getting it.

“You love her. You don’t know it yet but you do.” Jo huffs out. Her lips curve into a playful smile. 

“Love is so rare.” He says, knowing that it is.

“When you love, you love. You wouldn’t go through all this if you don’t love her. We all know that. And your love, Dean, has always been unconditional. It’s rare, you know? So, love is not rare. Your love is.”

“I don’t understand.”

Jo sighs, “Oh my god, you can be glad that you look as good as you do. What do you mean you don’t understand?” Jo rolls her eyes and he knows that if she could, she would gesture wildly with her hands. “You don’t know any other love than unconditional, is what I’m saying. John? Mary? Sam? Those are the only ones you ever did love. And it’s unconditional. They could do no wrong in your eyes.”

Dean’s crease between his eyebrows deepens.

Jo chuckles and goes on. “Remember when Sam totalled your first car? Or when John neglected you guys and dropped you off at my mom’s? You were annoyed, yes, but nothing could make you unlove them. Not even the shit that they both threw at you afterwards.”

Dean’s exhales. “Aaaand that’s enough story time for today. It’s too early for me to wrap my head around this shit.” 

He stands up, grabs his hoodie and walks out without looking at Jo. 

Walking along the corridor he thinks he needs a drink but he decides to take a shower instead. He meets Crowley later, needs a clear head to talk things through.

CH15

[flooffybits]

Girls’ Generation forgetting their anniversary

Request: Yes

Anon: SNSD reaction to forgetting their anniversary with their SO Pls?

Taeyeon:

While she’s busy working on her solos and the group’s performances, Taeyeon wasn’t able to manager her time when it came to her personal life. She’s been so swamped with work that she fails to notice your text, asking her on when she was coming home for you date.

The hours pass and she still hasn’t left the company and your texts have all been left unread until she checks the time. Taeyeon’s eyes widened when she saw that it was nearing midnight and she saw your last text, which was an hour ago stating that you were headed to bed. Springing to her feet, she quickly left the company and drove to your shared apartment as fast as possible, without breaking the law. When she arrives, she’s immediately heading to the bedroom and her heart sinks when she sees you curled up in bed with your back to the door, refusing to look at her.

Taeyeon quietly walked over before getting on the bed, her arms wrapping around you as she pressed a light kiss to your shoulder. “I know you’re upset with me and you have every right to be. I’m so sorry that I let work take my attention and forget about our anniversary.” She whispered softly, her hand rubbing your arm before she felt you slowly relaxing.

“You didn’t even reply to my texts, Tae.” She sighs and nods her head. “I know. I’m really sorry.” She was going to have to make it up to you and it’ll probably take her a while to get your forgiveness, but she swears that she’ll do better.

Jessica:

Being the CEO of her own company, Sooyeon was very busy with meeting clients, reading her emails and checking the reports sent by her employees just so she could keep B&E afloat. It didn’t help that she’s being demanded everywhere and needing to attend galas and parties just so she could expand her business.

It was taking up too much of her time and she had to fly out, yet again. She passed by you quickly and you blinked while watching your girlfriend fix her luggage before asking her what she was doing. “I’m sorry, but I have to get to Paris before the weekend for an event.” She apologized and you immediately frowned while crossing your arms. “And when do you plan on coming back?” She struggles to answer when she rifles through her closet. “I don’t know, babe, but I’ll probably be gone a while.”

When you didn’t respond, the brunette looked back to see the disbelieving look on your face. “What?” She asked confusedly and shake your head. “I know you’re busy, but god, to actually forget our anniversary?” The last word triggers something in her and she gasps while looking at the calendar. “I can resched-”

“Save it.” She wasn’t sure what to do, flinching as the door shut behind you and she ran a hand frustratedly through her hair before quickly calling her secretary.

Sunny:

It’s been a while since Sunkyu has seen any of her friends and when Sooyoung texts her about a get together, she wastes no time in saying yes and for the rest of the week, that was all she was looking forward to, unaware of what you were preparing for your anniversary.

When Friday comes, you’re surprised to see your girlfriend dressed and getting ready to head out. Confused, you ask her about it when she grabs her bag and she beams a smile. “I’m going to see the girls for a get together, so I might be home late.” She explains and then goes to kiss your cheek while you were left rooted in place. “I love you!”

The rest of the night, Sunkyu was having a great time with the other girls but she couldn’t help the gnawing feeling that something wasn’t right. She tried brushing it off, but eventually Yuri noticed her troubled expression. “Yah, what’s with the look? Did you and Y/n fight or something?” At your name, the shorter woman suddenly gasped and looked at her phone. “It’s our anniversary!” The girls didn’t stop her as she excused herself, apologizing for having to leave so soon and they just assured her that it was alright.

When she gets home, the house is eerily quiet before she calls out your name, but still there’s no answer. Looking to the bedroom, she frowns when she doesn’t see you anywhere before giving you a call, but the person that answers is your friend, saying that you weren’t exactly sober enough to be on your own. While your friend drives you back to her, she’s thinking of all the ways she can do to make up for forgetting your anniversary.

Tiffany:

Dating Miyoung wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. The woman is demanded in so many magazines, companies, and shows so seeing her was very scarce until you both decided to move in together. It wasn’t rushed, but the one time she spent the night with you after a long time apart had her made up her mind to just move in. And you had no complaints.

On your second anniversary, you asked her siblings for what would be the best way with surprising your girlfriend and they waste no time in sending you suggestions. So on the day itself, you were fixing up the apartment, hanging some decorations and then balloons with your pictures on them. It was a cheesy thing to do, but your girlfriend was a romantic.

At that time, Miyoung had met up with Taeyeon in regards with the upcoming event they had. She was so busy with what she was reading and when Taeyeon suddenly spoke up, she lifted her head to listen properly to what the latter was saying. “Aren’t you going home soon?” She asked curiously. “No plans?” Furrowing her brows, the raven haired woman tried wracking her brain for anything she might have planned with you before her eyes widened. She jumped out of her seat and quickly hugged her friend. “I have to go home! See you!”

Entering the little home you both had, her mouth opened in awe at all the decorations that was spread about, but when she saw you fast asleep on the couch, her heart sank before walking over to wake you.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

Hyoyeon:

Since she’s been so busy preparing and promoting for her new song, you understood that your girlfriend would be very busy. She was thankful that you were understanding of the position she was in and promised to make up for the lost time.

But the one time you couldn’t just excuse her absence was when she had blown you off on your anniversary date. You called her numerous times and when she finally answered, she had the audacity to be annoyed with you. “You know what, I’ve been quiet the whole time but if you value your job more than our anniversary, fine.” When you hung up, Hyoyeon was surprised and she cursed herself for getting mad at you.

She knows that she promised to make up for the missed dates, but this was more than a simple date and she knows that she screwed up.

Yuri:

Yuri wasn’t exactly too busy when it came down to it. She managed her time well and always made sure that she didn’t miss a single meeting or event, so it was surprising for her to suddenly forget that you had made plans for your anniversary at one of the restaurants she loved so much.

She had been a guest at Yerim’s show and completely forgot about the time while she spoke with the younger idol. She was telling her about all of the hardships she’s had to deal with when she was younger and was even sharing advice to the younger girl that she was just reminiscent of the past.

By the time she left the venue, she glanced at her watch and saw that she was two hours past your meetup time and gasped before she hurried to the restaurant, hoping for even the slimmest chance that you were still there.

Fortunately, you were. Unfortunately, you were already leaving while doing your best to hide your embarrassment and Yuri catches the door before you can close it.

“I’m so sorry, but please let me explain!”

Sooyoung:

Sooyoung is a friendly person while also being very serious when it came to work. Your girlfriend was very admirable with the things she did and you were proud of her whenever she accomplished things that she worked extremely hard on. Lately, she was able to organize a charity event with the help of her friends and they were able to make everything ready before the day itself.

But on the date itself, there were some things that did not go as planned. The caterer was at least an hour late so they had to think of something to entertain the guests and make them feel comfortable. However, when the girls were about to sing, the speakers suddenly stopped working and she was just too stressed with the series of unfortunate events.

When she got home to a romantic dinner set up and you standing there, she lets out a huff while walking to the bedroom. “Can we not do this today?” She muttered when she went to wash her face, but you frowned at her while shifting your weight from one foot to another. “I was… hoping to surprise you for our anniversary?”

She looked at you in confusion before she mentally facepalmed. She was so caught up in the event that she didn’t mean to forget or snap at you like that. Wiping her face and hands, Sooyoung walked up to you and hugged you tight while sighing.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been stressed today.”

Yoona:

Yoona doesn’t mean to forget your anniversary. In fact, she’s always excited when you both have something to celebrate together and she’s always looking forward to the time she gets to spend with you.

However, she’s been casted for a drama and her time was being taken away to do scenes and rehearse that she ends up focusing on it much more than the date. She’s anxious about how well she’ll do and rants to you about it whenever she comes home and you have to assure her that she’ll do a great job like always.

It completely slips her mind that your anniversary had arrived, but you understood that she was really worried about her job and didn’t put it against her. When the day passes, she ends up looking next to her, hoping to see your sleeping face, but is met with a bouquet of flowers and a little card.

Her eyes water, both touched and ashamed. She was lucky to have someone like you, but she felt bad that she wasn’t able to spend such an important day with you. So when you come home tonight, she’s prepared some food and a movie for you two to watch.

Seohyun:

Joohyun rarely forgets things, especially when they’re important like an anniversary. She keeps her calendar updated and she also makes sure that she doesn’t have her schedules clashing with one another. So when the day of your anniversary comes, she has everything set up.

That is, until she gets a call from manager, asking her to meet for a sudden interview and she has no chance of declining.

Frowning, she would look around the room and sigh before calling you as she makes her way out of the house, explaining what was happening and she hopes that you aren’t too upset with her sudden departure.

When you assure her that it was alright, she promises that she’ll make it up to you when she comes back before saying a quick I love you.

[hold-my-hand-kuroo]

soulmates

i can’t believe i woke up two hours earlier to write for some 2d boy’s birthday-

this isn’t a soulmate au i’m sorry

pairing: shirabu x reader

i.

Shirabu Kenjirou doesn’t believe in soulmates, because by extension, that’d mean that things such as luck and miracles and even Santa would also exist. He likes to think that his hours of studying and sheer grit are the reasons that he was accepted into Shiratorizawa. What he lacks in talent, he’ll make up with his efforts and his efforts only; he doesn’t need something silly like magic, especially when said magic couldn’t come through when he needed it the most.

He replays the memory of Karasuno’s 10 over and over again in his mind, even after the third years have said their goodbyes. He remembers it all, the fatigue in his body, the lead of his legs, and the noise of the ball thudding up and down on their side of the court. He wonders what would happen if magic had really existed. Would he have been able to react faster then and save the ball?

Shirabu doesn’t like mulling over the past since it’s a waste of his time, but sometimes when he’s studying by himself, too tired to think straight, he finds himself zoning out. It’s not good for him, and he knows it, focusing too keenly on all his weaknesses and trying to find a way to fix them, but he can’t help it. Because he doesn’t believe in miracles, he only has himself.

If he’s feeling a little generous, though, maybe he’d consider you a little magical.

You’ve seen him around on campus, always studying alone by a corner and wearing a terrible scowl when someone got too loud or tried to pester him. Between majoring in sciences and the volleyball club, you realize two things: he’s an incredibly hard worker, and you’ve definitely been looking at him too much to know these things without ever having a proper conversation with him. There was just something admirable about the way he carried himself and how he’d always be working hard without complaining about being tired.

He’s quite the frequent customer at the cafe where you part-time at, and you’re not surprised. Someone with his lifestyle would need gallons of coffee to keep going, but you don’t think he’s there for the coffee. Perhaps it’s the quiet atmosphere where he can study. Maybe he’s escaping from a particularly loud roommate, or maybe the library seats are all taken. You don’t know for sure, but what you do realize is that he definitely at least knows of your existence with his short and curt nods for greeting. If you got lucky, he’d give you a quiet “Hey.”

He gets you worried. Sometimes, he’d be hunched over at his seat but without the usually concentrated furrow of his brow or his moving pen and graceful, yet quick flip of textbook pages. He’d just be staring blankly at the table, an expression unreadable, and he’d stay like that for moments at a time before shaking his head in frustration, pushing himself to his limit to go back to work. It’s hard to watch, and you almost wish you could do something, but you don’t. Not when he knew you just as the barista that went to the same university. You’d hate to pry.

It’s not until on one particularly dreary day that he walks in without so much as a nod that you realize the problem is larger than you feared it was. By now, he’s used to just handing over his cash, knowing well that you memorized his regular order, and as you turn around to grab a mug, you hear him clatter into a seat in the corner, sighing. The burst of freak courage that rushes through you almost makes you walk right up to him and ask what’s wrong, but you steel yourself. He hated being disturbed out of nowhere.

You place his coffee gently on a tray, sliding a piece of tiramisu on it as well before walking quietly over to his table. He doesn’t seem to take notice of you, hand running through his hair and staring a little bit too hard at the formulas taunting him on the paper. Silently, you leave his order on the table and leave without a word.

By the time Shirabu realizes that his coffee has long gone cold and that there’s an extra plate that he doesn’t remember paying for, you’re already gone, leaving your shift to someone else. He sits there, confused. Then, he spots a little slip of paper and reaches for it.

“You’re always working so hard, so I’m sure it’ll pay off. Don’t worry too much about setbacks, and remember to breathe! Also, I’m not sure if you like sweets or not, but don’t worry about the tiramisu. It’s on the house!”

Shirabu isn’t the kind of person to enjoy desserts; the sugar makes him crash sooner than he’d like, and it isn’t exactly good for his health. He’d much prefer something salty over something sweet, but after thinking a bite, he reconsiders. He doesn’t like it that much, but for some reason, he finds himself eating all of it. It’s good, but not because of the taste. He wants to know exactly why, but he’s reminded once more that he has a math examen tomorrow along with a paper due.

The following afternoon, Shirabu walks into the cafe and spares you not one word, but four.

“Hey,” he murmurs, looking away. His cheeks are slightly tinted, and he hopes you don’t notice. “Thanks for yesterday.”

ii.

Shirabu doesn’t believe in magic, because it’s unexplainable and unreliable. You’re close to half-magic because while you’re not entirely unreliable, your effect on him is absolutely unexplainable. It throws him in for a loop.

The first instance of your unpredictability is when the two of you are paired as lab partners. That gets things going between you two, exchanging numbers and talking more frequently than usual. Now instead of, “Hey,” he says, “Good morning,” “Good afternoon,” or, “Are you still up?” to you. It’s exciting, and you hope that he considers you a friend at the very least.

On Shirabu’s part, he finds that your energy is a good counter to the tired mornings he so often faces, and when you give him your signature smile, he feels his heart buzzing. He reasons that it’s because you’re such a breath of fresh air; it’s not often that he lets someone loud but not annoying into his life considering that his past experiences with energetic people were subpar. He likes being lab partners with you because you do your fair share, and he knows he can count on you during the rare times he needs help, and vice versa. You’re like the perfect fit for him, covering for his weaknesses, while he covered for yours.

He used to hate late nights of doing work since his eyes always got tired from staring endlessly at a screen of words and nothing more, but now they’re not so bad. He’ll find himself calling you if he knows you’re up, enjoying the sound of your whispers, as you’re afraid to wake your neighbors up at the dead of night. Sometimes the two of you exchange playful banter, and he’ll feel the weight being lifted off his shoulders, even if temporarily.

He enjoys a lot of things about you, and he almost finds it strange how even the smallest things you do get him a little bit happy. Just a little. Whenever you’re proofreading his essays, he finds that your comments, while still very helpful, are filled with energy. He used to think that exclamation marks were just a way to convey false energy in work and formal emails, but when he sees his paper littered with just hundreds, maybe even thousands of them, he can’t help but crack into a small smile over how silly it is. If you leave small doodles on the margin of his papers from when the two of you study together during lunch breaks or in between classes, he’ll always look at them fondly for a while before filing them neatly away.

He knows you’re busy as well, but after the first time he sees you wait for him outside of the gym for practice to end with coffee in hand, he begins to anticipate your appearance more and more. He likes how you don’t mind that he walks out disheveled, sweaty, and maybe cranky depending on how practice went, and his heart will always flutter if you comment on how good his sets were. You don’t know a thing about volleyball, and he’s probably aware of the fact, but when words like, “Cool,” or “Graceful,” flow out of your mouth, he thinks he must be going crazy. He feels like Goshiki getting all happy over just small praises and desperately wishes that he could stop being so lame.

“You don’t have to come by so often, you know,” he says one day even though he wants to ask you to stop by the gym every day. “You must be busy too, right?”

“I just study outside the benches while I’m waiting for you, so it’s not like I’m wasting my time,” you respond back, walking with an extra spring in your step. Whenever Shirabu walked you back to your apartment, you were always on Cloud 9.

He doesn’t say anything after and opts to revel in the comfortable silence that sits between you too. He wonders if you like being with a guy like him, someone so serious, so boring, and so critical of others. He’s blunt about almost everything, and he’s the driest texter alive according to Tendou. A part of him worries that you’ll get bored with such a bland and severe personality, and he’s not sure if you’re hurt by his directness. He thinks about other people that could probably serve as a better companion, and when he starts realizing how long the list is, he feels a bit of fear in his stomach.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, quick to pick up whether or not Shirabu’s silence meant content or discomfort. He appreciates it a lot.

“No,” he says quickly. You take it as a sign to drop the topic. He’d tell you later if he felt like it, and if he didn’t, it wasn’t a big deal. You’d help him cheer up without knowing what was wrong anyways.

“Today, there was this customer that walked in,” you start again, moving your arms slightly for emphasis in your story. Shirabu finds it endearing, but then he catches himself thinking it and comes to a frightful realization in the middle of your story.

Magic doesn’t exist, but love does. Shirabu doesn’t understand either of them.

iii.

In another world, if Shirabu did believe in magic and wished for his other half, he thinks they’d be exactly like you.

Still, he’s not entirely convinced that magic in this world exists, no matter how many times you make him watch all the Harry Potter movies with you. He needs a miracle to help him put into words how much he loves you because he thinks that by now, he should’ve said the L-word a long time ago, or at least enough to match how often you say it to him. It never loses its effect, though, and it always makes him flustered.

“Love you,” you’ll say to him randomly when the two of you are alone, and his face will go beet red.

“Me too,” is all he’ll be able to manage, but he wishes so desperately that he can return those same words one day.

You don’t really need him to verbalize it, though. He’s the type of person who shows his affection physically whether it’s running his fingers through your hair when you’re feeling down or gently squeezing your hand in public. His hugs are warm, and while it was a little awkward and stiff at first, they’re more relaxed and frequent now. You like how he’ll let you rest on his chest after a hard day and how he’d never let you go until he’s more than convinced that you’re fine. Whenever he brushes away your tears with a stray thumb, you feel all your worries and anxieties disappear.

In return, you’ll practically pull his figure into you whenever he comes home feeling frustrated or upset, resting his head at the crook of your neck while rubbing circles on his back. You let him vent, and after hours of him explaining to you how pathetic he finds himself, you’ll kiss him until he’s all better. In truth, he doesn’t think he deserves the love you give him, especially when he feels as if he can’t return it back tenfold despite trying his hardest.

It’s late at night like it usually is when he’s studying. You had gone to bed hours before, so it surprises him when he hears the bedroom door creak open and the shuffling of your feet against the floor. He turns his head around from his laptop, taking off his glasses and rubbing his dry eyes before giving you a proper look with the tilt of his head.

“You should be asleep,” he murmurs rather guiltily. “I’ll be in bed soon.”

“That’s what you always say,” you chuckle, voice tired. You rub your eyes too before taking a seat right next to him on the couch. “Still studying?”

“Sorry,” he sighs, moving an arm so that you can wrap your arms around his side and rest your head against his body. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise-“

“No, it’s all good.” Your eyes scan across the website he’s looking at, and you almost gag at the wall of words. “We can take a long nap together this weekend. After you ace your exam.”

He smiles softly, lowering his head to press a chaste kiss on your cheek before returning his attention back to the screen. He’d prefer it if you fell asleep back in bed, not because you’re distracting, but because he knows how the screen light distracts you from dozing off comfortably. You don’t seem to be willing to let go, though, and he isn’t going to tell you to leave him when he desperately wants you by his side at all times.

“Why don’t I read some of it to you?” you offer, stifling a yawn. You hear him laugh quietly and frown. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he says quietly, caressing the side of your face. You lean into his touch. “It’s just that…you know that I’ll get distracted if you start reading to me, right? I’d probably fall asleep.”

“That’s the point.” He rolls his eyes playfully, pressing another kiss, this time on your nose because he can’t help himself. “I think you’re already pretty distracted right now, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” His voice is low and tired, but content, and you enjoy how it vibrates from his chest. You see him eyeing your lips more and more at each word you speak, and you have to hold in your smirk. “I need to recharge for a bit.”

Setting aside his laptop, he bends down to press his lips against yours, pulling your body close to his. He feels your fingers run through his hair and against his scalp, tempting him to further the kiss. You’re the one to pull away first much to his dismay, and he lets out a quiet whine as you look and admire the red mess that you’ve turned Shirabu into.

“I’ll let you recharge more after you’re done working,” you tease, grinning. He breaks into a smile and reaches back for his computer, making a sound of agreement.

“I’ll be done soon, love.”

Shirabu doesn’t trust magic. Miracles and wishes and made up spells are silly figments of childhood imagination. Soulmates, though, he thinks, may be closer to reality than he had initially thought. He can’t say he minds it.

[yoontopia]

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘁𝗵 𝗽𝘁.𝟮 | 𝗺𝘆𝗴

pairing: min yoongi x reader; genre: fluff; words: 2k (lol what was i thinking)

warnings: none!

prompt: “Stay with me” + “Well. Yell, scream, say something. Anything” based off this prompt list. requests are OPEN!

Read Part One 

You tried to focus on the work in front of you. It was a regular Tuesday afternoon at the office and your surroundings were quiet – the whirring of the photocopy machine in the background acting as white noise. Staring daggers at the spreadsheets in front of you, your brain refused to absorb any of the information. Your ears were tuned into the humming of a muted rap coming from the cubicle next to you, and a sound that you usually managed to ignore was somehow the one reason you couldn’t focus today.

Ever since a couple weeks ago, when your usually noisy and annoying work neighbour had offered you a hot drink and his spare clothes, you couldn’t get him out of your head. It was after a particularly bad day, what with you being dumped over a text and then ending up getting soaked in the pouring rain. Min Yoongi had gone from being someone you despised to someone you were now constantly thinking about at work.

‘All because he was nice to you once,’ you berated yourself mentally. How pathetic were you? To let one kind gesture affect you like this? Although, to be fair, Yoongi’s incessant teasing had significantly decreased over the past couple weeks. He was almost nice to you – he still joked and teased you, but it was now in the form of cheerful workplace banter and you found yourself not minding it one bit. And as if that was not the worst part, you had started to notice the little things you had somehow overlooked before.

Like how Min Yoongi was actually a very handsome man.

Letting your forehead hit your desk, you let out a light groan. Tapping your feet angrily on the floor you sighed.

“You okay there, squirt? You sound like you’re in pain.” a voice piped up and you lifted your head slightly to see the dyed white blonde of Yoongi’s head poking into your cubicle. One earphone still in, the other hanging down his chest, he had his eyebrows raised as he looked at you. You hated how cute his scrunched-up nose was.

“Yeah, m’fine,” you mumbled, waving a hand weakly at him. The last thing you wanted was for Yoongi to read your mind, he was weirdly good at doing just that. Yoongi looked at you disbelievingly, but he changed the subject.

“You coming tonight?” he asked. You tilted your head, so your cheek was resting on your desk instead, facing him. That’s right, tonight was the monthly work social. The human resources department, in desperate attempt to increase inter-work bonding, had arranged these. The email reminder you’d received yesterday stated that this week it would be laser tag. You usually passed up on these events, not really being too friendly with anyone you worked with.

“I don’t think I will.” You told Yoongi, hoping he’d drop the subject. Was that a flicker of disappointment on his face?

“Well you should,” he said instead, returning his focus to his own computer and typing away. “It’ll be fun and then I’ll have someone to show off my skills to.”

“Skills?” you snickered. The typing sounds stopped and Yoongi’s head reappeared outside his cubicle.

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know I am extremely talented at laser tag,” He stated, mock offended. “I’ll buy you a beer so you can come, and I can prove it to you.”

“Damn you really want me there to show off your skills,” you said, chuckling, pushing yourself off your chair in order to go make some coffee. When Yoongi didn’t answer you looked back at him. He was looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“Of course, I want you to come, it’s not fun otherwise,” he mumbled, his face unreadable. You blinked, your heart picking up its pace. What did he mean by that?

“Fine, if you insist, I guess I can stop by,” You said softly, playing with a strand of your hair. His face visibly brightened at that, making your heart flutter when he shot you a particularly wide gummy grin. “Do you want some coffee? Black right?” His smile faded again as he looked at you, expression unreadable once more. You desperately wondered what that look meant and a petty side of you wondered if he looked at other women like that too.

“Yeah, thanks, I’d love some.”

You stared at the meeting spot for the social in disbelief. It was a bar. You double checked the email on your phone to make sure this was a place, but you didn’t need to, since you heard your name being called. Looking up, you grinned at perhaps the one person you knew slightly well at work.

Jung Hoseok made his way over to you, brown hair curling, and his signature wide smile on his face. Hoseok worked in human resources, and you had a sneaky suspicion that laser tag had somehow been his idea.

“You came!” he yelled over the loud music.

“I thought we’re supposed to go to laser tag,” you responded jovially. Hoseok made anyone around him feel comfortable, and it was hard not to be friendly.

“We’re going after this,” he grinned, raising the bottle in his hand at you.

“Drunk laser tag? Really Hobi?”

“Please the place is full of like, ten-year olds, we need that extra kick,” You laughed at that and accompanied him to the bar to order yourself a drink. “How come you’re actually here though? Didn’t think this was your scene.”

Your fingers clasped around the cold bottle of Blue Moon that the bartender set down in front of you.

“Min Yoongi made me.”

“Min Yoongi – as in – the Min Yoongi in your department Min Yoongi?” Hoseok stuttered. “The one you got into a yelling match with at the Christmas formal two years ago?”

“Yes, the very same,” you sighed. “Where is he anyway?”

“Excited to see him, are we?” Hoseok wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. You scowled and flipped him off, but he only laughed good-naturedly.

The rest of your time at the bar was spent with Hoseok, Yoongi nowhere in sight. Trying to hide your disappointment, you laughed at all of Hoseok’s jokes and forced him to show you pictures of his dog. What felt like an eternity later, Hoseok said it was time to head to laser tag. Downing your second beer of the night you eyed the boy next to you.

“I’m gonna go round up everyone – wait for me by the doors?” he said before scampering off to go find others from your company. You slapped a few bills on the bar and made your way to the exit. Not wanting to look lonely, you fished out your phone and scrolled through twitter. Not for the first time you mentally berated yourself for not being more social.

“Hey, you,” a familiar voice said, and you looked up. Yoongi stood there, dressed in what you could only call a stark contrast from his usual semi-formal work attire. A cream baggy t-shirt, and ripped black jeans complete with a leather jacket. His ears glittered with multiple earrings, dangling every time he moved his head. His platinum hair shined in the lighting. You blinked at him, dumbfounded, trying not to hover over the fact that his gaze gave you once over. You hoped your casual sweater and jeans were up to standard. “How’s it going?”

You blinked again. You’d never known Yoongi to be the type to make awkward conversation openers. But you played along.

“Waiting for Hoseok so we can head down,” you answered, putting your phone away. Yoongi pursed his lips. “Where were you anyway? I arrived ages ago.”

“With the guys,” Yoongi gestured to a group of people you weren’t familiar with. When had he made friends at work? He had seemed even more anti-social than you, but you had assumed wrong. “I saw you with Hobi and didn’t want to interrupt.”

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, you heard your name being called for the second time. Looking up, you felt your stomach drop – but not in the fuzzy way it had when Yoongi had arrived.

Your ex-boyfriend stood there, looking surprised. It seemed he’d just arrived.

“It is you!” he said and made his way over. You gulped. “How have you been?” Your tongue felt tied, but you couldn’t help the burning anger that was bubbling up inside you. Yoongi must have sensed your change in mood.

“Hey man, I’m Yoongi.” He said casually, sticking out a hand.

“Hansol,” your ex said, taking it, a questioning look in his eyes. “Are you two--?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi replied casually and you whipped your head to look at him. His face didn’t betray anything. “We are. Let’s go,” he said, the latter part of his sentence addressing you. He grabbed you by the elbow and began dragging you out before you could say anything.

Once you were outside you huffed, pulling yourself out of his grip.

“I could have handled that,” you said angrily. “I’m not a damsel.” Yoongi shrugged.

“That’s him, right?” he asked, and you raised your eyebrows. “The reason you arrived soaked to the core that day.”

“How did you know?”

“Your expression,” he shrugged again. “Haven’t seen it since that day, he must be some scumbag.”

“You still didn’t need to do that,” you said, although your anger was fast dissipating. “I wanted to tell him off.”

“Well,” he said. “Do it. Yell, scream. Say something – anything. I’ll listen.”

“I’m not going to scream at you,” you huffed. Yoongi flashed you a crooked smile.

“Don’t take your anger out on people that don’t deserve it,” he said sagely. “But you also need to let it out at some point.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You asked abruptly. You assumed the alcohol in your system had given you the courage you needed to voice the question that had been plaguing your mind. “You weren’t before.”

“Ah,” he mumbled, scratching his ear nervously. “I’m sorry if I came off as mean. My brother told me that I was going about it the wrong way, but I think it was just a defense mechanism to tease you incessantly. Doesn’t make it ok though.”

“Going about what wrong?” He stared down at you; lips pursed.

“I’ve had a massive crush on you pretty much since I started working,” He said, his voice quiet. Your ears were ringing and suddenly your hands were feeling warm. “And I didn’t know what to do about it – and then I waited too long, and you had a boyfriend.”

“Hansol and I weren’t even serious,” you whispered.

“How was I to know that?” He stared nervously at you. “Have I made you uncomfortable? I could leave—”

“No,” you said, your voice still hushed. “Stay with me.”

Yoongi froze, hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket. You smiled shyly up at him. Before you could say anything else, he was leaning in, his hands coming out to cup your cheeks, tilting your face up.

His lips were soft and tasted like rum. The kiss was full of hesitation, but when you reached out to fist your hands on either side of his jacket and opened up to him, you felt him lean in, hands traveling to your head, fingers gently sifting through your hair. You could stand here all day getting drunk off Yoongi if it wasn’t for the rude interruption that came not seconds later.

“And what do we have here?” Hoseok’s coy voice sounded, surrounded by a few people from work who were emerging out of the bar, and you jumped. It seemed Yoongi was caught off guard too, for he let you go quicker than lightening.

“Shut up Hoseok,” you hissed, your ears going warm. Hoseok grinned as he moved his gaze along from you to Yoongi, who seemed to be suddenly very interested in the night sky. You reached out to hook your fingers through Yoongi’s, much to his surprise, and smiled when you felt his grip tighten around you.

“Don’t get left behind,” Hoseok said slyly as he turned and walked down the street. You groaned loudly and Yoongi laughed, a tinkling, delighted sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“I live just around the corner actually,” he coughed. “You wanna ditch?”

“I thought you wanted to show off your laser tag skills.”

“Are you kidding? I only said that to try and get you to come. I’m not about to get beaten in a virtual game by preteens in front of the girl I like.” He was smiling his full gummy smile down at you, and dazedly you thought you could get used to this.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Squeeee my Deep Within prompt was answered twice 😱😱😱 Throwing all the love your way today for this wonderful story ❤️ John and Claire’s relationship is lovely and I’m here for it!

Deep Within The Darkness Peering. Part I; Chapter Four:

True to his word, John worked tirelessly during his free time to try and build Jamie a case for review. He did it quietly at home, calling Claire to update her on any new information he’d been privy to without alerting any of his partners. When the date came for the hearing, he kept quiet. Claire had been working back to back shifts, she was exhausted and he worried that if it didn’t go in Jamie’s favour she might just crack under the weight of it.

The odds weren’t in their favour. His crime was serious, if and when he did find himself free that kind of record wasn’t going to just disappear. Even with Claire’s support, John worried it might red-flag Jamie’s case rather than quosh any misgivings the parole board might have over releasing him early. In front of him sat the list of board members who had the potential to be reading through his appeal right now and he’d already placed a large cross by the side of the people he hoped it *wouldn’t* be. Anyone else was certainly a bonus.

It was the sound of his email pinging that bought him back to earth. A decision this fast didn’t seem positive but he tried to eliminate those negative thoughts as he clicked to open the new unread message.

He almost knocked the phone off its cradle as he tried to dial Claire’s number from memory. It only rang out twice and he felt bad for waking her as her sleepy voice echoed down the line.

“They accepted it, Claire. They only just bloody accepted my appeal!” He was flabbergasted, his voice going from barely audible to shouting as he tried to contain himself. “We have to wait for them to process the paperwork and you’ll have to go to the prison to collect him and sign some release forms but it should be completed by the end of the week.”

On the other end of the line, Claire sat up in bed, her hair standing on end from where she’d fallen asleep with it damp, her heart dancing madly in her chest. “Just let me know the date he’ll be free and I’ll swap my shifts.” Suddenly her mouth was dry at the prospect. “Does he know yet?”

“I spoke with one of the wardens and she told me he’s still being kept in the hospital wing, there’s nothing to worry about but he was a bit under the weather…”

“Did you make that happen?”

“No,” John chuckled, “though once they knew I was involved I think they had a change of heart about Mr Fraser and his care.”

“Ah, so your name has some pull then?”

There was a moment of silence as a grateful calm washed over them both, neither had given themselves time to come to term with their small win but now Claire had to prepare herself for her guest.

“I’m sure he will know by the time it’s all official, so don’t concern yourself with that and he’ll be off the ward before it comes time for you to sign for his release. And hey, if things get dicey,” he joked, his tone finally lightening, “at least he’s in the care of a good doctor.”

Before she had time to correct him, he’d hung up, leaving her to ponder how she was going to make her flat suitable enough for Jamie. A few cans of paint later, she’d added a statement wall to her spare room as well as some new, clean bedsheets and a throw for the double bed. In fairness to her decorating skills it hadn’t really needed much, just a spruce up here and there, a hoover and a dust. With John living so close by, she rarely had anyone to stay but now she was glad she’d opted for a three bed instead of just two.

In the end it was a rainy Tuesday afternoon when Claire found herself standing in front of the rather demure looking building. There was a fence with chain links hovering ominously over the top, but the newbuild reception looked small and harmless.

Passing her ID through the small bank teller like hole she smiled shyly at the desk sergeant. “Claire Beauchamp,” she said quietly, trying her best not to disturb the silence, “here to collect--”

“James Fraser, yes?” Without waiting for her to confirm, he passed her a clipboard and a pen while his colleague phoned through. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but neither seemed friendly so she signed where she needed and pushed the papers back through without another word.

“Take a seat, he has to collect his belongings but he shouldn’t be too much longer.” Hearing Rupert Mackenzie’s voice made Claire smile and she turned to watch as he slipped through the vast security system before taking hold of her hand and shaking it brusquely. “How have ye been, lass?”

“All the better for seeing you, how is he?”

“He’ll be all the better for seeing you.” He quipped back. “But first I think you and I should go through some of the conditions of his parole.”

Sitting around a small table, Rupert pulled the documents from his pockets. He’d carefully highlighted the portions that he needed to discuss and Claire had already guessed some of the details before he started talking through them.

“Since Jamie’s sentence involves violence when drinking, he canna imbibe any alcohol whilst under the jurisdiction of the courts, it doesna explicitly forbid him from entering establishments that serve but if I were you, I’d advise he stays away - as much as is humanly possible. He’ll have to submit to random drug and alcohol checks and they can be requested at any time. As well as that he’ll have a support worker assigned, he’ll have to meet with them. I dinna ken how often it’ll be, but it’s usually quite frequent in the first month and then it’ll settle into a routine like once a month or once every three months. He’ll be free to travel, but they’re still deciding if they’ll impose a radius on that so he’ll find out during his first probation meeting. He canna go out of the country, though. Is there any questions you have?”

“Other than sanctuary,” taking a peek over at the exit, she pulled her cardigan tighter around her chest, “is there anything that I have to do for him at home? Or, conversely, anything I shouldn’t do?”

“I dinna think there’s any tips I can give to ye that ye dinna already know, lass.” He reassured her, their heads turning just in time to see Jamie approaching, a clear bag of his belongings held tightly between his fingers.

Standing, Claire waved coquettishly over at him. All of a sudden she felt nervous. He looked pale, skinny even, but not too unhealthy. She was grateful for the full fridge she had at home and the cabinet full of lotions that would help reduce the scarring on his back. As he waved back the butterflies in her stomach dissipated. If she’d worried about the repercussions of her decision beforehand, they’d have been invalid now upon seeing him again. The fear and uncertainty had been replaced with a pleasant sort of trepidation. He was nervous too, but happy as well and relaxed.

“I really dinna know what to say…” he whispered when they finally came face to face. “I’ve had a few hours to think about it and I thought I’d planned it all out. But seeing you now, they’ve evaporated.”

“You don’t have to say anything, honestly.” Placing her hands out, she took the small package from his arms and nudged him softly with her elbow.

“Ye’ve risked an awful lot for me, I’m a stranger, I could be anyone.”

“But you’re not and the words you didn’t say spoke more about you than the ones you did. Something told me you were worth the risk. Maybe one day I’ll talk you through it....when I know you won’t laugh at me.” They were shy with one another, quiet and calm as Claire led the way to her car after saying goodbye to Rupert and handing back his copy of the probation paperwork.

He was tall standing up, she realised, so tall that he had to duck to climb into her small Polo, pulling his legs up a little and bowing his head so that he didn’t thwack it on the roof of the vehicle. She could already tell that he was overwhelmed by it all. Getting into the car was part of it, but he’d been hunched over, his shoulders bent inwards and his head downcast the moment they’d left the confines of the reception.

“I wanted to call ahead and ask if there was anything you really disliked -food wise- but then time just seemed to disappear.” She confessed as they drove away.

“I dinna think you could make me a dish I’d turn my nose up at after eating the food in the prison canteen.”

She laughed at his comment, watching out of the corner of her eye as he slowly began to uncurl himself. With his shoulders straightened, his cheeks slightly pinked and his gaze captivated by the road as it fell away behind them, he seemed to be more at ease the further they travelled into the city.

“I’m sure it’s on a par with the horrors the chef presses upon us in the hospital canteen - though I won’t torture you with details.”

He visibly flinched and it took her a moment to comprehend why.

“Sorry.” Apologising quickly, the vision of him, small and curled up on the A&E mattress, sprung immediately to mind. Triggers were something unavoidable and scarily common and though she had prepared herself for the care she’d need to pay to his physical health, shockingly, she had, in the fray, forgotten about the mental scars left by his ordeal.

“Please...it’s alright, honestly.” He replied once he’d managed to catch his breath.

“I guess we both have a lot to learn about one another.” Pressing the break, she pulled the car to a slow stop as the traffic light changed from green to red. The silence continued on, even after she’d started the car and pulled off the main road and onto the side streets leading to her apartment but it wasn’t uncomfortable or strange.

“Thank ye…” he said eventually, a calm quiet acceptance lacing his tone as the street lamps flickered on around them in the growing storm. “It must have taken some doing for ye to get my hearing overturned and I canna tell you how grateful I am for that.”

Pulling into her assigned space, she let the engine continue to roll beneath them as a stillness surrounded them both. Taking hold of his hand, she turned it effortlessly so that her palm rested neatly against his and smiled softly across the small expanse of space between them in the front seats of the car. “Hello,” she began, clear and confident as she tried to quell the nerves as they steadily lapped beneath her warm flesh, “I’m Claire...and it’s lovely to meet you.”

Erasing the past from the present, she made it clear with a slight tip of her head and a small shrug of her shoulders what she was doing and Jamie fought not to collapse in her arms as he took one long healing breath. “Hello, Claire,” he returned slowly, “I’m Jamie and it’s sae good to meet ye too.”

[ddaenghoney]

chapter six

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): none, just finally able to introduce Hoseok in this chapter lol

Word count: 5299

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

Yoongi’s eyes scan the weekly announcement email, not truly interested, yet still giving himself time to be thoroughly knowledgeable of upcoming events for his newfound colleagues and the company as a whole. Mentions of renovation in the lobby, a new coffee machine to be installed on the production floor along with a request to be more mindful of how this one is used, and the schedule for the practice rooms for the month remains unchanged for the last few weeks of January. Highlighted at the top of the email is the name of a mini album set to be released the first week in February along with parentheses beside it stating who would be releasing it: Park Jimin.

Reclining back in his seat, Yoongi regards the blue font notice in silence, wondering for a passing time of his involvement in the corruption between Jimin and you. He knows it’s not his fault, and knows you do too. Yet, there’s still guilt seeing Jimin’s name or hearing it anywhere. Still guilt felt in grazing his thumb against his index finger as a fidget when on the four dates so far where you’re forced in one way or another to recall Jimin’s existence. Yoongi has not apologized about it since the first date, but it doesn’t change that he feels like he should if only to assure you that the hurt you try and hide each time doesn’t need to be hidden for the atmosphere’s sake.

The foot on the floor pushes his desk seat into a small back and forth sway. He doesn’t think of your mutual problems often, just reminded every time an email requests the two of you go on a date, like the one to come that evening. By this point you’re both amicable at least, even going on the limb of saying something like friends. Maybe. It’s hard not to when you’re both forced into two or more hours of conversation. It’s something like friendship. Maybe closer to friendly coworkers. He doesn’t know. Yoongi sighs, spinning an entire slow revolution in his chair, then stopping promptly with the sound of his phone’s text notification.

Two unread.

Y/N, 4:38pm: Just got asked to go to a last second meeting. Probably will be out closer to 6:30 instead of 6:00, sorry.

Yoongi, 4:39pm: That’s fine no worries.

He exits the message thread to check on the other notification. He stares at Hoseok’s name for a second and the few words he’s able to see before opening the chat. Yoongi inhales, rubbing his jaw, while clicking it open with his free hand.

Hoseok, 3:57pm: I think enough time has passed... I’m going to start going for a new comeback now! You’re required to pre-order whenever the album is done!

Yoongi, 4:42pm: Ah, is that a fact?

Yoongi’s hand falls from his jaw to type quicker,

Yoongi, 4:43pm: I’ll help you make it however you need.

Hoseok, 4:45pm: Thanks, man.

Hoseok, 4:48pm: I’m nervous still haha

The phone rests on the desk, Yoongi’s hand resting beside it while he looks at the screen. He tilts his neck as a stretch, thoughtfully. Uncertain of how this would turn out for Hoseok. Wishing for the best. Trying to be hopeful. The dissention of early last year comes back into Yoongi’s mind. The unfair treatment, and watching his best friend go through the invasive camera lights daily, and the pouring stream of interrogative comments throughout social media. The blame that had no place linking to Hoseok when their old company decided to sell out to SoundWave as Hoseok’s contract was torn to pieces.

Yoongi, 4:56pm: You deserve the new beginning if anyone does. It’ll work out.

Hoseok, 5:00pm: Bro…

Yoongi, 5:00pm: You ruined it.

Hoseok, 5:01pm: Haha, I know……… Thanks Yoongi.

The final two words feel somber in Yoongi’s mouth. Drying. He doesn’t deserve to be thanked for anything, when he was quiet watching what happened. He could’ve done something to stop it all. Maybe Hoseok would have a studio next door to Yoongi’s still if more had been done to help. To disprove the wrong perspectives in the public. But it’s not in his persona to care like that.

He sighs, pressing the lock on his device. Index finger taps on the space below his keyboard, the desktop monitor powering off onto the screensaver. Yoongi feels like he should scoff at himself in judgement. How was he ever appalled by your lie when he’s no different.

---

You contemplate sending Namjoon a text, but acknowledge the busy time of the day for him and refrain. Instead you wallow in the quiet, staring at your notes while listening to the arranger and producers beside you editing your song by means of scribbling pencils. You hope they ask you something greater than questioning an affirmative of their ideas for changing the words on the track. Apparently the theme is appropriate, but the verbiage itself doesn’t fit the fast beat pace the producer intends to make this track into.

Jimin is across from you, equally to himself. He scrolls through his phone, appearing collected. He said hello to you sweetly, politely when he walked in with the producer. You didn’t realize he would be joining the impromptu meeting. It was just the producer that had texted you about it, mentioning the arranger also tagging along. Not Jimin. You knew he was using this song, but you didn’t think he needs to be here.

“Jimin, your choreographer is going to thank me for this one. I already know it.” The producer is happy, and granted you’re not entirely angry at the changes he makes on the paper. They’re minor, the meaning is still there. Your touch deteriorates only slightly, and it’s something that’s involved commonly throughout song conception processes. You don’t care about that, you really don’t. Maybe you’re even spitefully happy about the changes too, because it means less you, less for you to be bothered by in the credential section. Less you in lyrics Jimin sings.

“You’re only doing the touch-ups though.” Jimin voice is light-hearted, his playing smile small, yet meaningful. You keep your eyes towards the producer’s writing hand. Bite your lip when the message is properly conveyed to him by notice of his reply,

“You’re right, Y/N’s work is great, like usual.” He agrees sincerely, giving you a thumbs-up with his left hand. You smile softly, just managing a head nod. “Sorry about the random meeting too, by the way. I would’ve waited until tomorrow if we didn’t have to redo the recording for the album he’s going to be releasing.”

“It’s not a big deal. I was here anyways.” You tell him calmly, catching sight of Jimin when you adjust in your chair. He’s gentle in appearance like usual, watching you only because you were speaking. When the sentence ends you see the twitch of an upward smile that he smothers and instead goes back to his phone.

“You’re here more now that the whole fake dating thing is happening, huh?” The arranger’s comment is absent of ill-intent, you realize as he rubs his neck in a stupor as he goes on, “I can’t imagine how weird that has to be. SUGA’s new to the company too; must feel random to be matched up with him, right?”

“Yeah,” You say vaguely, hands in your lap messing around with one another as you hope for a new topic. “Yoongi’s been nice about it all though.” You blab softly, unable to see Jimin’s thumbs unmoving as he no longer pays attention to his phone screen despite his eyes pointing to it.

“He’s cool, I’ve done a couple of things to help him with his production lately.” The man beside you nods as he speaks, settling the pen beside the papers. “Really particular about his stuff, but because he does practically all of it himself, it makes sense.”

“Can I see the revised version?” You interject calmly, receiving the notes from him as he immediately nods, handing it off. You scan through the tiny adjustments, thinking on your own of what potential ideas they had to change the pace of the song.

“None of it’s too crazy, I don’t think, but if anything’s too much let me know.”

“No, it’s all okay with me.” You don’t mind the scribbles, but have even less desire to combat things lately since the meeting with Yerin.

“Can I take a look?” Jimin’s voice calls out to you, and you face him. Small nod as you reach the small distance to slide the papers towards him, then startle as the producer stands up beside you,

“Crap, I need to get to a session downstairs right now. Just get that to my studio when you’re done, Jimin.” He says and you watch using every muscle to refrain wonder at why the arranger also stood too. You instead mentally curse at him saying he’d tag along since he was done for the day as well. You curse again at the sound of the door, glaring at the sight at that point.

“I’ll give it to him like he asked.” Jimin breaks the silence, eyes trailing still at the page of lyrics. You look towards him, erect in your seat but unwilling to stand yet. You recall leaving before he woke up the last night you were with him, and the incredible drought of communication since then. But is it really this easy for him to be casual. Your eyes wait to meet his when he finally lifts them up from the sheet.

“I liked the pink hair.” You murmur as a comment, trying to fill the void of quiet, give yourself a reason to linger there a little longer and see the state of his thoughts towards you. “Well, the brown is nice too though.” You correct with a tiny shrug, feeling a larger pang in your chest when Jimin doesn’t stop his smile this time.

“I liked it too.” He lays the paper flat, but his fingers remain on its edge. You think of other ways to continue the conversation, and shove the thought of asking him simply how he is to the corner of your mind. You’re already staying back with him for no reason, you don’t want to seem completely tangled with missing him. “You and Yoongi...” Jimin begins, and the mere mention of you two makes you want to groan, hoping against this turning into a conversation about your precarious fake relationship when you wanted to focus on Jimin and you. “You don’t have to do anything too much, right?”

You narrow your eyes in confusion. Jimin reaches for his hair, fiddling as he goes on, concern twinging, “Like, nothing you don’t want to do, lo-”

He stops, nearly biting his tongue to do so. You notice. Your hands grip on your jeans, trying to discern if the slip was just because the term of endearment is something he’s so used to calling you, or if there is something more. You watch his index finger barely scratch at the paper on the table. Nervous.

“The whole relationship is something I don’t want to do.” Your sentence is dry, matched with your dismissive shrug. You know that isn’t what Jimin meant, but you don’t expect his head shaking and body becoming more straightened in posture,

“That’s not what I meant.” Jimin says directly, biting the inside of his cheek as he considers explaining himself further. You free him of doing that, nodding.

“I know.” He noticeably pauses, nearing a flustered expression and you almost want to smile in endearment, but you still feel more sad than anything. Confused. “Sorry,” You finally avert your gaze to the table, collecting your few items. “We’re not being forced into anything else though.” You explain while Jimin watches you move around.

Words clutter in his mouth, wondering what to say to keep you in the room, but knowing he shouldn’t. Can’t. He’s the one who ended it. He didn’t want to, but he did.

“Do you miss us?”

Jimin’s heartbeat increases, while yours secretly does as well. The question blurted from your lips in a moment of impulse that built from the second you saw him that day. Dumb, stupid; you want to take the question back, you don’t need his answer. You want it, but you shouldn’t have it in your thoughts whether it’s a yes or a no.

What difference would it make if he said yes and you returned back to how you were. He was right-- Namjoon was right, you’re own screaming logic is right: a secret untrue relationship wouldn’t last and it would only serve to hurt you in the long run. This situation that you both stand in is exactly because you made up the stupid idea in the first place. You should’ve let the first kiss be the last one. Just because you ended up falling in love, doesn’t mean Jimin did.

Jimin’s made it clear that the answer is no. Why do you want to hear him vocalize the no. Maybe a sick part of your mind wanted the words to be engraved so you can take it as a bridge burned to char. If he said no you could move on. That’s how it could work. Maybe it would actually be enough, in that off-chance-

“Of course.” Jimin’s voice whispers the words like they were heavy to push out of his lips. But you could ignore that, wrapped in the potential- “But I don’t want to get back together like we were.” He’s no longer making eye contact with you, busying his fingers further into his locks. “It hurts us both being hidden like that,” You open your mouth to interject that you could live with it, that it’s not necessarily a long-term state of being, but he speaks on, crushing you, “And I don’t want to be your actual boyfriend.”

The counterargument abandons your psyche entirely. The truth of the situation is apparent. Jimin’s made it apparent. The extent of what you were to him was just lust. His casual demeanor makes sense. Your lingering feelings are the minority, not mutually felt.

“Ah,” Your head nods even though Jimin’s not looking up at you. His statement burns more as you stand in the same room as him. “When you put it like that,” Jimin lifts his head, and you don’t know whether to register his expression as sad or not, because why would he be sad. Conflicted, likely. “It makes sense we’d stop then.” You continue to nod, stepping once towards the door, “Sorry. I got the wrong idea.”

You continue in your exit, ignoring anything he may try and do in response, because you didn’t want to be pitied on top of everything else. You let the sound of chairs clattering behind you drift into the background, and slipped out of the room without another word heard.

Yoongi’s studio is on the same floor, and easy to find in a matter of moments. You usually meet him at the lobby, but you don’t think of that as your phone’s clock reads twenty past six and you knock on the frosted glass door. After three soft pounds do you take note of the tiny doorbell that is likely more effective. The small device’s appearance makes you sigh, thinking of how idiotic you were about not seeing it, how idiotic in general.

“Y/N?” You don’t realize he’s opened the door until Yoongi’s voice disrupts your misguided thoughts. You look up towards him. Yoongi can see the straining expression to appear indifferent, but it fails completely this time just in appearance alone. “Are you okay?”

“Not really, but we have a dumb date to go on.” You huff, reaching both of your hands to rub your face. Yoongi remains quiet, already not fond of the dates when you were both in at least average moods, but seeing you like this makes him hate the idea even more.

“There’s no time schedule.” He says simply, you narrow your eyes towards him in a lack of understanding, then your shoulders relax as he steps back opening the door wider. “Want to hear some of the stuff I’ve been working on and we can go out later when we’re both starving instead?”

You think of his consideration for your temperament and feel a little bad that Yoongi feels the need to accommodate, but you step inside anyways. It isn’t like he enjoys the dating, and putting it off for a while sounds like the best option. Not to mention, dismissing his attempts at kindness wouldn’t be best either.

Besides, you can’t say you weren’t curious at the prospect of listening to what Yoongi’s been working on.

You glance around the studio, noting the organized arrangements overall, yet homely in some aspects as well. The decor is limited to a few wall posters and mostly bare shelving, but his couch area looks like it isn’t new at all. The couch in particular looks a bit worn, and cluttered with a couple of blankets and a pillow. His small coffee table has only a single empty plastic cup on it, but you figure he keeps the place tidy or else there would definitely be more evidence of his caffeine vice than currently appearing.

“If you want to use the couch you can. I have some wireless headphones,” Yoongi tells you as he goes to the highlight of the room: a desk space covering the entirety of the wall. Bright with various electronic equipment and brand names that also inhabit space in your own apartment. But here the space appears validated by its placement in the company walls.

You sit on the edge of the couch, hands resting on his lap as you continue looking around the studio. It’s definitely one of the larger ones. Yoongi hands you the pair of headphones, and you situated them over your ears while he goes on in speech. “Whoa, wait what?” You cut in quickly, causing him to look back at you while he sits in his desk chair. “These things are really noise cancelling, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi chuckles, rubbing his hair back from his face. “I was just saying I need to decorate more, but haven’t got around to it.” He slips a pair of headphones on too, leaving one ear free. “This is going to sound really rough, and there’s a gap where I’m waiting on someone to fill with vocals.”

You nod, smiling in anticipation without realizing so. The sight makes Yoongi glance away, biting his lip in sudden worry the track won’t sound as great as you may anticipate. He clicks to start anyways, listening in his own ears and simply keeping his eyes on the screen watching the point on the timeline move along.

Behind him you sit back into the cushion, trying to take in everything in one listen, despite the different levels of the song meshing together perfectly. Yoongi’s voice sounds completed in the song already, like he’s already reached a point of contentment in the sound in your opinion. “Your lyrics are really good.” You say, head swaying with the beat, staring at the empty cup instead of seeing if he’d turn to respond to you.

Yoongi catches the comment, tapping his finger on the desk, lips tightening and forming more pliable peaks on his cheeks from holding back a proud smile. He waits until the fade out, before finally facing you once more. Angles his chair slightly towards you, not all the way, trying to appear more calm than anything despite nerves still simmering quietly in his stomach because you are the first to hear this particular demo.

“Did you hear me about your lyrics?” You ask right away, sliding the headphones to rest atop your shoulders. Yoongi nods softly, mumbling about not wanting to interrupt when you were listening to say thanks. “They really, really are good.” You say again anyways, smile growing wider as Yoongi reaches to fiddle with his hair,

“Thanks again.” His voice is still quiet, something bashful about it as well. Satisfied, you think, but you continue on anyways,

“And your voice is controlled, like usual.” You sigh, leaning back, “I can’t get over it; you’re so great at singing and rapping.” Yoongi just shrugs, but you miss it while you adjust your sleeves off of your hands. “For it being incomplete, I’d still listen to it, even without the other person you’re waiting on.” Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head,

“That’s too high of praise, you’re messing with me now.”

“I’m not.” You interject firmly, sitting upright. Yoongi looks at you silently, but breaks it by rubbing his neck and speaking sincerely,

“Well, thank you. I was kind of nervous about this one actually. It’s pretty different than other songs I’ve made.”

“Yeah, it’s really on the edge of your usual stuff, I think.” You nod in agreement, settling your hand on your chin while you ponder. “But I’m sure it’ll do well. Besides what’s a better time to try new things than now, right?”

“I wanted to make it last year, actually.” Yoongi shifts on his chair, clicking open an email notification. The title reads a clothing brand, and he shuts it as he goes on and for a moment scrolls through other emails in case he’s missed anything important. “It was busy with the merger going on though. But the beat is inspired by a friend of mine’s style.”

You let the information fall into space, interested by the mention of a musical inspiration. You scan any ideas, but ultimately feel like you don’t know enough about Yoongi at all to make any verbal assumptions so you just joke, “Jin?”

“Oh,” You watch Yoongi pause, and turn on his seat, looking at you with widened eyes, “How’d you know?”

“Wait really?” Your eyes grow wide as well as the image of Seokjin passes through your mind as a music producer-

“No.”

“Hey,” Your eyes immediately narrow, paired ironically with reddening embarrassment in your face. Yoongi just scoffs, then all together laughs as you defiantly cross your arms. “Rude,” You mutter as his lips continue releasing his entirely humored melody. “He could’ve; you don’t know.”

“I don’t?” He counters, slumping back into his chair and looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s performed an entire masterpiece with chopsticks and shot glasses before, so, yeah, you don’t.” You try to refrain from releasing any of your own smiling, maintaining a serious gaze towards Yoongi as he believes none of it and nods once.

“I live to be proven wrong, I guess.” He turns to face his computer once more, rearranging the opened windows as though he intends to continue working like he had before you stopped by. At this realization your arms relax, and you think about what you should do so not to bother him, maybe grab coffee to bide the time, or mindlessly watch YouTube videos on your phone.

Yoongi interrupts the thoughts, “It might not be my place to offer, but if you ever wanted to talk--or vent about,” His head tilts as he decides against specific topics, “Anything… I’d listen.” His hand sits still on the mouse, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s trying to overstep. Though with all the trouble you seem to have, Yoongi tries to ignore that worry, allowing the innocent concern to lead the offer along.

“I probably look like I’m always down about something, right?” Your voice trickles embarrassment and spite, sighing as you rub your hair and angle your neck towards his coffee table. Frankly, it’s tiring to continue each day dismayed by the amount of circumstances left out of your control. Quietly having to accept so much that no one else seems to have to bother with, especially where songwriting is concerned.

“Not always, no.” Yoongi responds, eyes on the monitor though he’s looking at nothing. Contemplative of phrasing. “But a lot has happened the past month, and not much of it is good for you. I may not be your closest friend, but I think anyone seeing you pretend to be okay this often would wonder if you want to talk.”

You stare at the glossy wood, thinking of the interaction between you and Jimin not long ago. Being the first time you had spoken to him, you hoped it would’ve been better, maybe even telling for what the future could hold, but that was all wishful thinking in the end. He still left. Still keeps an arm’s distance. “I just,” You pause feeling the air in your throat that you hadn’t expected to cloud your sentence. You swallow it down and bite your lip, noticing Yoongi’s movement in your peripherals as he faces you slightly. Likely checking. Your voice probably sounded ridiculous.

“It’s okay to not speak too. Whenever you’re ready.”

The sentiment feels as comforting as the way Yoongi’s voice says the words. Absent of condescension, wholly gentle and patient. Putting his ideas of what he thought of you when you met and he found out about your job aside, to simply focus on your troubles. Understanding when he really didn’t have to be. Even if you both were amicable, and freshly titled friends like he said; it’s not like Yoongi needed to offer a metaphorical shoulder, or a penny for your thoughts without an expiration date. The action gives you a tug forward.

“Jimin was at the meeting and I didn’t think he’d be there.” You finally murmur, trying to avoid eye contact as though the words itching to leave your mouth would hide if you did. “I didn’t want to break up with him--or,” You sigh, rubbing your hair as your head shakes, “We weren’t a couple, I can’t really call it a break up, huh?” You rhetorically question feelings silly for being wrapped up in this relationship when it wasn’t a proper one to begin with. “I just didn’t want it to end.” The words fade, spacing even more as you ponder sadly, “And seeing him doing well-- even though he said he misses us, it just makes me feel like I’m the only one unable to push forward.”

In the very least, Jimin’s more in control of himself than you’re showing to be. Strongly believing this is the best way to handle the problems that existed in the relationship and unmoving about it. If you think about it like that, then maybe it would be better to try and adhere to this idea, even with your feelings for him. If they aren’t reciprocated feelings, there really is no worth in you continuously falling deeper and deeper. It was always bound to hurt, you just wish it could have happened later; like you would whenever the separation inevitably happened.

“Whether it takes you longer than him or not to work through this isn’t a problem. I think you should let yourself take as long as you need.” Yoongi gazes without focus at an empty shelf he plans to display albums of artists he’s collaborated with. Considering the closeness you and Jimin evidently had, it’s completely acceptable that you would be saddened by it all, and for all Yoongi knows the relationship could’ve had knots and twists that he’d never guessed that would garner the need for you to take months to heal. “Also,” He starts, though he considers not saying anything at all in case it may be a statement he doesn’t have the right to speak to, but recalling all of the instances thus far that he’s been unable to help you at all, he lets himself finish, “I don’t think you should shove all of it down either… I bet that feels suffocating.”

You bite your lip, almost embarrassed that he’s noticed how upset you’ve been despite having known you only a couple of months. You thought you have done well so far to at least appear normal, but with Yoongi spending hours of random days solely with you, it’s plausible he has simply caught on. Somehow the fact alone didn’t feel bad. In the same way that you had Namjoon to turn to because he knows everything that’s going on, it feels comforting that Yoongi is there as well. At least in his accepting way, whether it’s deeper than that, you don’t know and lean towards doubt if only because you’re both not on close terms.

“So I should just cry in the middle of our dates?” You try at a joke, but the smile you give him is appreciative of his advice. Yoongi glances to you, chair still angled to the wall. He hears the slightly joking tone and shrugs to it,

“If you do it gives us an excuse to go home.” You giggle at the fact and don’t mention that Yerin would likely end up irritated by you both appearing like a mess in public.

“I’ll cry one week, and you cry the next then.” You tease, scooting further into his couch and realizing that its incredible plushness is why it’s worn and Yoongi’s likely kept it since his last company. He laughs at the idea, nodding his head, relaxing himself now that you seem a little better, or at least, he hopes, less inclined to force yourself to act happy. “Thanks, for letting me talk a little, by the way.” A quieter, sincere tone. Before he’s able to respond you continue, “It means a lot to me that you wanted to help. I know I’m kind of, I guess, distant with my feelings, but it’s nice to feel like I don’t have to hide it all with someone around the company. I won’t bother you with myself though, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Yoongi discerns the idea you may feel annoying and softly diverts the thought away. “Besides sometimes it’s okay to be selfish and rant anyways. You’re just trying to help yourself.” He glances to his computer as you only respond with a nod, perhaps not entirely believing his words, but that could be a building process. “Hey, actually, while we’re here, and since you’re a producer,” You lift your head up, immediately curious as he mentions the title. “You want to help me play around with this song idea I’ve been messing with for the past week?”

“Wait, really?” You practically beam the words like sunlight, refraining from a flustered smile at the idea, but Yoongi can tell by how you sit up that you’re more than willing.

“Yeah, I’m not really getting anywhere with it, and since I know you’re the one who wrote practically all of the songs I liked from this company, of course I’d want to work with you.” The growing smile on your face almost makes Yoongi feel embarrassed as well that you found the request so appealing. He briefly chuckles as you start to nod, and he smiles brightly asking in bewilderment,

“Is it that exciting? It’s just me who’s offering, anyways.”

“Says the guy who’s made so much music that I love.” Yoongi bites his lip, smile not hiding at the joy. Emulating your sudden upbeat demeanor, simply because it felt infectious, Yoongi gestures to his computer,

“Well then since we both love each other’s stuff, let’s make it the collaboration of the year.” A light-hearted joke, but you and Yoongi mutually think it’s suddenly an exciting idea to work with one another on a song. So you’re up to your feet in seconds, taking the few steps towards his work area as he clicks around the screen,

“Wait, you don’t expect me to stand and help do you?”

“Oh, right, I’ll get a chair.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know! i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

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[thatmultifandomhoe]

Daydreaming About Dandelions

Word Count: 3,343

Pairing: Hoseok and Reader

Genre/Rating: Daycare AU - Fluff - PG13

A/N: Also, this was heavily influenced by D.O’s song, That’s Okay and is the song being played at the end.

Warning: Fluff that is the level of tooth rotting and makes you want to squeal into a pillow.

Requested

Master List

Drabble Challenge Prompt #40: “The kids, they ambushed me.”

©thatmultifandomhoe 2019. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

Working at a daycare meant that your days were never less than interesting. Specifically, with the little kids. The daycare you worked at had a range of kids from a year old all the way up to twelve, but you primarily worked to help care for the kids ranging from ages five to eight.

Most of your nights were spent coming up with activities that the children would enjoy, preferably for long periods of time until their guardians picked them up, but that wasn’t always the case. Over the years, you learned that if paint and food were involved, it was a guaranteed good time.

You smiled and waved as the last child was picked up, promising to see her again tomorrow after she got out of school. When the door was shut, you groaned, stretching your arms over your head for some relief. As much as you loved your job, you also loved the end of the day when it was quiet, allowing you to relax, play your favorite music, and clean the classroom you were provided with for the next day.

Walking over to your desk, you perched yourself on the edge as you scrolled through your phone, swiping away notifications that didn’t interest you and seeing what you missed in the world.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You quickly looked up to see a man standing at your door, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion but his brown eyes light with happiness.

“Hi,” you greeted, making your way over to him. Maybe he was a parent? He looked about your age, so maybe he was an older sibling and was lost. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Hoseok, the new hire. Mrs. Cora said that we’d be working together until I was able to get my own classroom.”

You blinked in confusion; head slightly tilted to the side as he explained. Mentally, you tried to rack your brain for any mention of a new hire, or even that you’d be sharing your kids and classroom with him, but nothing came to mind.

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. “She said that an email had been sent this morning,” he added, hoping that it would be of some help.

“Um, let me check.” You quickly said, providing him with your name as embarrassment flooded you, quickly pulling up the emails on your phone. “I’m so sorry, with the kids it’s easy to forget things unless I write them down.”

He chuckled, but nodded in understanding. As you searched, he took the chance to look around the classroom you had. There were two rectangle tables in the room with small chairs, multiple bookcases that were painted soft yellows, greens and blues were against the walls with not only books, but serving as storage areas with wicker baskets as containers for toys and crafts that were at the moment, not so neatly organized. Not that he judged, seeing how he had passed by a little girl and her mother who had come from your classroom, he figured your day had only recently ended.

Near to the door were locker style cubbies, kids’ names were carefully written out with doodles on different colored laminated construction paper were stuck on each individual locker. From that he gathered you had a total of ten kids under your care and supervision.

“Ah ha,” you softly spoke, capturing his attention as you tapped the screen of your phone. “Mrs. Cora was right, there was an email sent out.”

It had been sent during the afternoon and remained unopened, which was why you didn’t remember it. Earlier you had taken the kids out to the playground and showed them how paint with chalk, so your emails had gone unread.

Briefly scanning it, you gathered that Hoseok would be working with you until the fall enrollment, that way he would not only have his own classroom, but because parents would be able to have the choice of meeting with and possibly choosing him to watch over the children.

“It says that you’d be working with the older kids?” You asked, exiting out of the app.

He nodded, running a hand through his black hair revealing his forehead. “Yeah, I used to teach dance and through that, had an easy time connecting with that age group.”

You smiled, leading him further into your classroom. “Ah, well you’re going to have an interesting time. Most of my kids are five through seven. I have one eight-year-old this year, so she’s a little more independent than the others, but it can still get wild in here.” Grabbing a basket with label glue sticks neatly written on it, you began to pick up the classroom. “There’s not much to do right now besides cleaning up, so you can head out if you want to.”

But Hoseok shook his head, joining in as he gathered up the scrap paper from this morning. “Two makes cleaning go by faster,” he joked.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but shrugged. If he wanted to stay and clean, then fine by that. “Alright. The baskets are on the bookcases. Just put everything back in their places and then we can wash down the tables.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

For the next hour, it was comfortable as the two of you worked on cleaning up the classroom, sharing small talk in an attempt to get to know each other. On your desk sat you phone, softly playing music to keep the atmosphere from being awkward when the conversation stopped.

It had been a while since you last shared your classroom with another adult, and while you enjoyed the independence, it was nice to know that there was someone else to pass the time with. You loved your kids, truly you did, but there was something about being able to have a conversation with another adult that did wonders to your sanity.

“Alright,” you finally spoke. The room was cleaned and organized with nothing out of place, just the way you liked it. “I really appreciate the help Hoseok.”

“It’s no problem. We’re going to be working together from now on, it only makes sense to stay and help.”

You nodded in agreement, taking a moment to pull your hair up. His attitude had been upbeat and you found yourself relaxing around him. Walking to your desk, you crouched down to open the bottom drawer, taking out the bucket of smooth rocks that you had gone searching for last weekend. They fit comfortable in your palm, plenty big enough for the kids.

Setting the bucket on the middle of the table, you chewed your bottom lip as you thought, trying to decide on how you wanted to set this up. There was way more rocks then there were kids, so they could paint several if they wanted to do so.

Hoseok, who had been drying his hands with paper towel, raised an eyebrow at the bucket. “What are you gonna have them do with the rocks?” Stepping closer, he reached down and plucked on from the pile. It was smooth and grey, a solid weight in his palm that reminded him of the rocks he used to skip at the river when he was younger.

“Paint them.” You answered, getting out the mason jars you used to hold your paint brushes. “My kids are more on the quiet and artsy side, so I figured it’ll be fun for them to do.”

He watched as you moved around the classroom with ease, the skirt you were wearing flowing softly as it skimmed your ankles. It wasn’t for the first time since he entered your classroom that he noticed you kept calling them, your kids. With the other staff, they either said, the kids, students or their names, but you affectionately called them yours.

“How much did the stores sock you for them?” He asked, joining your side.

You handed him the paper plates and giant roll of paper towel as you held onto the basket of bottled paints. “Nothing. There’s a river near my house, so I went there and picked out a bunch.”

Hoseok hummed in surprise, placing a plate in front of every chair and setting the paper towel down at the end. When he glanced up, his eyes widened for a moment. The blinds on the windows were up, allowing the sunlight to enter and warm up the room. But as the sun began to set, the light softened and filtered around you, making you appear as if weren’t from this world.

“Well, that’s it for now,” you murmured, stepping back and out of the light to look around. “I can fill up the water jars for them in the morning. Besides that, we are free to go.” Turning to Hoseok, you smiled at him as you headed back towards your desk, gathering up your purse and shutting down the computer as well.

“Guess I’ll see you in the morning,” he stammered, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t sure what he saw – it had to be a coincidence that the sun happened to highlight your figure like that – because it would not be in good taste for him to fall for you on his first day on the job.

He didn’t stick around much longer, and you waved as he walked out of the classroom. When you were sure that he was gone, you shook your head, softly chuckling as you finished packing up your own belongings. He seemed like a good fit, and there was a youthful vibe that radiated from him. Not because he most likely was your age, but in a way that he knew how to have fun and hadn’t let adulthood ruin his dreams.

As you turned off the lights, you had a pretty good feeling that there wasn’t going to be a single dull moment tomorrow.

“Good afternoon Lori,” you greeted, leaning over to hug the small girl as she entered the classroom.

“Afternoon Miss,” she shyly spoke, her arms tightening around your leg before going back to her mother.

You heart cooed at her. Even though she had been coming to you for the last year, she was still a sweet shy little girl. There was already a handful of kids sitting at the table with Hoseok, who had opted for sitting cross legged on the floor at the corner of the table and was painting his own rock.

He graciously declined your offer of a chair – you didn’t realize that he was much taller than you until this morning – and sat with the kids. Every time a small hand tapped on his arm or called out his name, he stopped what he was doing to give the child his undivided attention, oohing and awing whenever they showed him their masterpieces, even if they had showed him five times already.

“Lori, would you like to meet Mr. Hoseok? He’s going to be staying with us until the fall.” You asked, crouching down to her height after she hung up her belongings in her cubbie, still holding onto her mother’s hand. She was only six, but it still took some effort to get her to let go.

Her mother, dressed in red scrubs had to get leaving, so you held your own hand out for Lori to take, smiling when she slowly switched hands with yours and nodded. With a grateful smile, her mom smiled at you and waved bye to her daughter, slipping back out the classroom as you led Lori over to Hoseok.

Having been keeping one ear to the kids and the other to you, Hoseok set his paintbrush down as you came over with the little girl. He cooed as she tried to hide behind your leg, but with your gentle touch you were able to coax her out.

“Hi there,” Hoseok greeted, finger waving so as to not scare her. “I’m Mr. Hoseok. What’s your name hun?”

She glanced around the table before focusing back on him. “Lori.”

His own smile widened, and it was then that you noticed that his lips naturally curled into the shape of a heart. “Well Miss. Lori, it’s very nice to meet you. Would you like to paint a rock?”

With a little more reassurance coming from you, Lori was quickly under the same spell as the other kids, listening to his every word as he explained what they were doing and pointing to the colors the she wanted to use.

You watched for a few moments until there was a tug on your arm, thinking to yourself how much of a natural he was with them, and quickly withdrew from the daydream as you focused on Christopher as he asked for help. It was then that Hoseok looked at you, his heart racing a little faster as he watched you interact with the kids.

It wasn’t a strange feeling, he knew what was happening, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to act on it. You were his coworker and if anything were to happen, he’d hate to lose someone like you. In this world, you were the dandelion determined to grow in a cracked sidewalk.

By the time you glanced in his direction, Hoseok was already helping Lori and Jessi, the eight-year-old that was on the other side of him, unaware of the soft smile you were wearing.

Hearing a knock on the classroom door, you stood up from where you were crouched over by Johnny and opened the door, smiling when you saw multiple parents waiting outside. “Hey guys, come on in and I’ll get the kids ready.”

One by one they came in, and like all curious kids, they couldn’t help but look up to see who had entered the room. Several excited mom’s, dad’s, and even a grandma, had them up out of their seats as they hurried to hug their loved ones.

It was after the happy greeting that you gathered their attention once more. “Before you guys go, just remember that your projects won’t be ready to go home tonight. They’re still wet so they’re gonna stay here and finish drying, but you can bring them home tomorrow. Why don’t you guys go show them what you made.”

Excitement filled the room as the group led the adults over to the counter by the window where their rocks were drying, their names written out in their own handwriting on the paper plates they had used.

Like you and Hoseok had been doing all afternoon, the adults all oohed over the child’s hard work while you waited by the door. You had made it a custom to give every one of your kids a hug goodbye as well as the promise to see them tomorrow.

What you hadn’t expected however, was for the small group of them to rush to Hoseok first, who had been taking the moment to stand and stretch his legs, surprising him when several hands wound their way around his limbs.

You stifled your laughter by covering your mouth, finding his shocked face adorable. He quickly recovered and hugged each child one by one, and after they received their hug they hurried over to where you were waiting for them.

“See you tomorrow Mr. Hoseok,” you heard Lori call out as she made her way over to the door, her hand in her grandmother’s this time.

“See you tomorrow Lori,” Hoseok promised.

His eyes were lit up with a happiness that couldn’t be contained as it slipped through with his giggles and smiles. It was like the children were feeding off the emotion that he radiated, unable to contain themselves as they spoke fast and giggled even faster.

When the last child had hugged the two of you and left with their guardian, both you and Hoseok sighed in relief, taking the moment to crash on to the floor with your backs against the cubbies.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, letting your limbs relax before you needed to get back up and clean the classroom. Tomorrow was Friday which meant they were going to be extra hyper for the start of the weekend. You were too in a way, except your weekend was going to be spent catching up on chores, paying some bills, and curled in your bed with Netflix on you TV.

“The kids,” you heard Hoseok say, and opened your eyes to face him. “They ambushed me.”

You giggled with a nod. “They really like you. Are you sure you don’t want to work with the younger kids in the fall?” You teased, gently bumping his shoulder with yours.

He laughed, ruffling his hair as he sat up, drawing his right leg up to rest his elbow on his knee. “I don’t know how you do it every day.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

“That’s because they love you. You treat them like their yours.” He raised an eyebrow, letting his gaze take you in before focusing on your eyes. This time you were wearing light colored capris and a sky-blue blouse with sandals, and he somehow managed to almost match you in his own tan colored pants and white dress shirt. It was a miracle that the shirt had been spared of getting paint on it.

Shrugging, you brushed your hair back behind your ear. “Well in way, they are for a few hours. You don’t realize it at first but sometimes, these few hours are the only time they get to be kids and have fun. They’re all precious and I love them, and they know that. Kids need love to grow, and they know that this is a safe place for them to be exactly what they are…kids.”

He hadn’t expected such a response from you, it stunned him speechless. But he shouldn’t be so surprised. With all the care and attentiveness, you put into the classroom and gave to them, it should have been obvious. Maybe there was something otherworldly about you after all.

“Well,” you sighed, focusing on the table. “I think it’s time that we cleaned up. The paintbrushes will dry up if we don’t wash the paint out.”

Standing, you held your hand out for Hoseok to take, smiling down at him. “Work isn’t over just yet.” You teased.

Hoseok slipped his hand in yours, allowing you to pull him up. “Yeah, but soon it’ll be the weekend,” he weakly added, hoping you hadn’t noticed the way his hand lingered in yours before pulling away.

As you pulled up a playlist on your phone, just like you had done last night, Hoseok checked his own for any messages and was relieved to see one from his friend Yoongi, asking if he wanted to come over for a drink. Glancing at you, he softly smiled as the room filled with the soft chords of an acoustic guitar and the soothing lullaby in a foreign language.

He thought back to when you said that you had gathered the rocks at the river near your place, suddenly picturing you stopping to take a break, enjoying the sounds of the river gurgling down stream and the singing of the birds. He wondered if there had been any dandelions nearby and if you saw them, would you leave it grow and thrive in the sun, or would you pluck it and hold it near your lips, gently blowing it as you made a wish, the soft breeze flying the seeds into the air with the a childlike hope that maybe it might come true.

A part of him wanted to stay up  tonight and make his own wish at 11:11 pm.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he looked back down at his phone and responded with a yes, tucking his phone away. If he was going to try and just be friends with you, he was going to need that drink with Yoongi tonight to keep his daydreams exactly that, simply daydreams.

[clevercatchphrase]

2019 year in review

So… The 2010’s are almost over. Huh. What a decade it’s been. Hard to comprehend how much has changed in 10 years. I can barely believe that I was in high school at the beginning of this decade, and now I’m a college graduate with 2 degrees who’s been working at the same job for the last 3 years. But trying to summarize the past 10 years in a single post is a good way to give myself an existential crisis, so let’s not do that! Instead, let’s just focus on 2019 because there has been more than enough shit that’s happened to me in this year to talk about.

PART 1 OF 2: 2019 AND 2020 GOALS AND RESOLUTIONS

Huh, looking back through my archives, I apparently didn’t make a tumblr post about my goals this year. I definitely had some, though. Lemme list ‘em off real quick, and then we’ll go through them point by point.

1)      Pay off all my student loans 2)      Finish some song comics 3)      Make art for my Redbubble account 4)      Finish the first rough draft/script of a game I wanted to make 5)      Practice ASL 6)      Sew some stuffed animals 7)      Finish some fan fictions 8)      Work on Ghost Switch 9)      AMVs 10)   Do some original writing 11)   Make illustrations for my fan fictions

Okay, first off, the student loans. I was actually SO CLOSE to successfully completing this one bUT THEN MY CAR HAD TO BE A WHINEY PISS BABY AND HAVE ITS ALTERNATOR DIE ON ME WHILE I WAS ON THE HIGHWAY AND THEN A BLOW OUT THREE WEEKS LATER.

GOD, if I had to summarize this year in two words, for me it would be “Car troubles”. I swear I spent more on auto repair in the first third of this year than I ever have just freakin’ OWNING a car. All four of my tires had to be replaced, my alternator failed and my car literally just SHUT OFF while I was driving, and I was barely able to coast into a gas station. Both my front breaks and rear breaks were worn down the metal and I only learned this when my car was barely able to stop after I had to slam the petal down full force!  I went in for an oil change, and they found some problems and then I didn’t get my car back for three days! I don’t even like owning a car! I hate driving! I hate my country’s refusal to provide universal, free public transportation! I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS!

Oh-kay… number 2. Finish some song comics. I didn’t finish any. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t work on them. I have made tiny progress, but that’s certainly better than no progress. One of these song comics I hope to be realizes is going to be a collab with one of my friends. It’ll be a long-time coming as it’s pretty low priority for the both of us, but if anyone else out there was disappointed with KH3’s ending, we’re gonna have ya’ covered… With SONG!

3. Make some redbubble art. I actually did this one! Not in the way I expected, but I added (technically) 3 new designs to my redbubble in the middle of the year. If you like butterflies and dragons, I got some product for you~!

Number 4, finish a script for a game I want to make. I… thought about this. I thought about this a lot, but I never put pen to paper, so… oops. It almost happened! I debated making this my main writing project for NaNoWriMo this year, but ended up having more inspiration for another story. Maybe next year? (god, I hope not. I don’t want to wait a full year just to write something)

Number 5, practice ASL. I just straight up didn’t do this and I only have myself to blame. Still keepin’ up that Danish Duolingo streak, though. 4 years going strong and not a day missed yet.

Number 6, sew some stuffed animals. Again, another one I just straight up didn’t do, but I have an excuse of trying to save money while my car crashed and burned in every other sense except literal this year. Hopefully 2020 will be different. I’ll definitely be able to pay off this last loan within the first half of 2020, and then I can start saving for whatever I want to buy.

Finish some fan fictions was number 7, and I did this! Well, I only finished, 1, but it was a story I’ve been working on for over 3 years, and it came out to over 200 THOUSAND words long, which is the longest thing I’ve ever written, and I’m quite proud of myself. Now that the big story is out of the way, and I’ve gotten into a good rhythm of working on Ghost Switch, maybe I can squeeze in some short writing sessions more frequently. (either that, or just wait for my car to break down again and then go on a writing spree in a pepboys. The lord and the fan fic discord know that’s solely why I finished my other fic this year)

Speaking of Ghost Switch, working on it was a goal this year too, and I did that! I kept it up all year and took a vacation in November and it was wonderful. While the major plot points have been in place since before I started drawing, I still need to script each arc beyond Snowdin, but hey, by the time we get there, it’ll be 2022 so I got time. (Note, don’t do this, kids. Script your stories and comics thoroughly before publishing. The road I’m on is paved with misery and pain and it will only end in tears unless I change lanes soon)

Number 9, amvs. Do people make AMVs anymore? Idk… the last one I made was... Jesus, 5 years ago? (it was a gravity falls/fall out boy crossover, if you were curious) I’ve been wanting to do 2 more for just as long, but in order for me to do that, I’d have to spend time re-watching the shows to find the footage, and then actually edit them together, and I just don’t…. feel like it. Maybe someday, but not any day soon.

10; do some original writing. I did this! For nanowrimo! I wrote the first draft of some original fiction I’ve been planning for a year or two now and it completely sucks! But it’s on paper now and I’m happy. Will I revise and edit it? Sure, but not for a while. I want to let it sit and forget about it and look at it with new eyes months from now so I can be sure I can make it better when time comes to rewrite.

11, make illustrations for my fan fics. Now that You Monster is done, I want to go back and add pictures to it. I didn’t do any this year, but I did keep a list of scenes I wanted to draw, so I have plenty of ideas to do as warm up sketches next year~ I kinda want to stream them~

So, that was 11 goals, and I successfully fulfilled 4 of them! That’s! Not a very good ratio… QmQ So, goals for 2020. Some I’m gonna keep from this year, some I’m gonna drop and some I’m gonna add. In short I would like to,

1)      Finish paying off that last student loan 2)      Put more stuff on my redbubble 3)      Illustrate my own fan fics 4)      Sew at least one stuffed animal 5)      Make an enamel pin 6)      Read one new book a month 7)      Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic 8)      Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make 9)      Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch 10)   Boost my patreon

Most of these I think are pretty self-explanitory, but I’ll go into detail just a bit because I’m on a roll and typing my thoughts helps me feel less alone in the middle of the night when you’re super tired and you know you should probably go to sleep, but the toddler in you is throwing a tantrum and doesn’t wanna go to sleep just yet, but you can’t fight the progression of time either way.

Number 1- I should be able to reach this goal by the end of March. End of June at the absolute latest. Once that goal is met, my secret new year’s resolution will be unlocked as well!

Number 2- I want to put more art of my OCs on redbubble. These OCs are tied to the game I want to make. There’s already some art of them up there, but I want at least one piece for each character.

Number 3- Mostly for You Monster. Embrace the cardinal rule of fan fic and apply it to fan art. If you want to read about see art about certain ideas, scenarios, or what-ifs, you gotta make it yourself.

Number 4- I have 3 potential ideas to sew. One is definitely leagues easier than the other two and will probably be chosen if/when I have the time and materials.

Number 5- This year I got really, REALLY into the idea of making enamel pins. Unfortunately it’s a pretty big investment (like, $350 to make 100 pins you  might not even sell). If this happens, it’ll probably be towards the end of the year, and if I get enough interest. I’m currently torn between making an original enamel pin and one based off Undertale. We’ll just have to see where this goes.

Number 6- Back in 2018 when I paid off one of my many student loans, I rewarded myself by spending over 200 dollars in used books. All these books had a theme; they were focused on dragons because I have a problem. I have not yet read a single one of these books I have bought, and I would like to fix that. I have, like, 20 unread dragon books, and even if I only read 12 out of 20, I would consider that an amazing accomplishment and money well spent.

Number 7- I currently have about 8 different WIPs I could work on. (well, I don’t know if I can even call them wips. More like, a general idea and a title written down.) I want to build good writing habits, and if I can write just 200 words a day, hell, even 200 words a week and just one of my 8 stories done, I would consider this goal met.

Number 8- I’m torn between making my game in unity or ren’py. I know jack shit about both. Ren’py is more user friendly, but unity will allow me more customization. (Lol, can you guess what kind of game I want to make yet?)

Number  9- I really just want the full story to be done and written incase anything goes horribly terribly wrong in my life and I find myself unable to continue making ghost switch in comic form. Then at least I can finish the story by other means, you know?

Number 10- It always surprises me every month when I get that patreon email saying I got paid. Sure, I don’t even make double digits on it, but it still awes me enough to know that people out there like my work enough to throw me a tip. I can’t thank my patrons enough for supporting me and I hope to one day be in such a good place I can update my comic/song comics/writing frequently enough without need for goals or milestones. But until that magical day arrives, money is always a great incentive for anything, I suppose. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

 ALRIGHT. PART 2 OF 2: SHIT THAT HAPPENED TO ME IN 2019

Cheesus crust what a year. This year started off great! Back in late January Kingdom Hearts 3 FINALLY released, and let me tell you a little story. Back in the summer of 2006 I was a 13 year old middle schooler with no way of making money other than by doing house hold chores at a rate of 25 cents a task. A few weeks ago, I had a sleep over at a friend’s house and they let me play this weird game called “Kingdom Hearts” and god, I was instantly hooked on it. That summer, I did over 800 chores, enough to earn myself 200$ and buy myself a playstation 2 (just in time for the ps3 to come out, gg me) The only games I had for the ps2 were KH1, 2, Re:CoM and Okami, and I beat them all… except Okami. Miffed that the PS3 wouldn’t allow for backwards compatibility, little 13-year-old me made a promise. I looked myself in the mirror and said “I will not buy the next playstation console until KH3 comes out, AND BOY that was probably a good choice for me to make with my level of gaming. I’m even less of a casual gamer than the average casual gamer, but I have been waiting 13 years for this piece of closure, and I even told my friends and family that “the day Kingdom Hearts 3 comes out is the day I will buy a playstation 4”. My dad apparently thought this was the funniest shit, because he literally took the day off from work that Friday to drive me on base to get the game and console (he thought it would be less crowded than a regular walmart, I suppose). I paid $400 on a ps4 pro while he bought me the game. Again, I have an impecible sense of timing seeing as the PS5 is now right on the horrizion, but just like before, I’m not buying a new console until the next KH game is released. See you in 2045, sony~. While I was at the gamestop on base, I also picked up Okami HD and The Last Guardian. For all of February and even early March, I took my time playing through KH3. And…! It was the best disappointment I’ve ever played. After a month away from gaming, I started The Last Guardian and finished it in a couple weeks. I love trico and would die for him, but trying to get 100% completion on that game is udder insanity. Okami, HD, however… again after a month break after finishing TLG, I started replaying Okami. I think I had only managed to get about halfway through the game before I just… stopped playing it on my ps2 version. I am currently SO CLOSE to getting a 100% on the ps4 version. In fact, I’ve beaten the game. I only (techinically) need 2 more trophies to be done; 1st, escape the water dragon without being eaten, 2nd, I need to beat that dumb stupid race with Kai, in order to get the last bead on my rosary, as well as the top dog trophy. I hate her so much. I hate this race so much. It’s awful and bad.

Flash forward to December! Earlier this month I was at Barnes and Noble, buying myself a planner for 2020. I exit the store and notice that there’s a gamestop across the street. For shits and giggles I go inside to look at their game selection, and I find KH 1.5 and 2.5. Now, my PS2 died a few years back (it just won’t read my discs anymore, I don’t know why) and I haven’t been able to replay any of my other kingdom hearts games since. If you had seen me the day I finished kingdom hearts 3, after the ending credits rolled, you would have heard me say “Man…. I wish I could play kingdom hearts 2 again”. AND NOW I CAN, ALONG WITH BBS which I had never even played yet, but knew the story of. I’ve restarted playing kh1, and I was so happy to hear that familiar music when I booted the game up for the first time. While at the game stop, I also picked up Rime and Tearaway, two games that had looked interesting to me. At the time of writing, I’ve finished Rime and am 25% done with tearaway. Rime was…. An interesting experience. I learned about it through Jacksepticeye’s channel a couple years back and thought the art style was enticing. For a super casual gamer like me, I found the puzzles just the right level of challenging and exploring was a blast! The music gave me VERY strong Princes Mononoke vibes, but the overall story left something to be desired. Overall I had fun, and enjoyed completing this game to 100%. Now for tearaway. Can I just say this game is super fucking adorable? I know the original was on the ps vita and the gameplay there was arguably more diverse and imaginative, but this game is just so fucking cute I don’t care?? ALSO, this game’s sound track is ABSOLUTELY incredible and I’ve only heard the first fourth of it! Listen to The Orchards, Pig Riding, and Gibbet Hill Pilgrimage for a taste of their wonderful beats and fantastic use of string and woodwinds! God, I’m so excited to get some more games in 2020. I’m proud to say I currently own more ps4 games than I ever did with my ps2 (and now the majority AREN’T Kingdom Hearts titles!), and I’m still hoping to play Journey, The Witness, and Abzu before everything becomes ps5.

What else happened to me this year. Oh, I went to a doctor for, like, the first time in seven years. I also had my blood drawn for the first time ever, and the nurse said the most disturbing thing to me while she did it. Now, whenever I get shots, I refuse to look. I did that here. So she thought it would be appropriate to say to me “Can you feel your blood leaving your body?” Lady… You can clearly see I am uncomfortable with what is happening here. Why, of all the things you could say, did you choose to say that. Unfortunately, while my doctor is nice, she keeps wanting to run tests on me, that I just cannot afford with my current salary, and my monthly insurance is about to go up to 200$ a month, so I’ve cancelled my next appointment with them, and don’t plan to go back until it’s absolutely necessary. Capitalism is fun, guys. Preventative healthcare is for wusses.

I started going to a chiropractor on a monthly basis. Story time- I don’t know when it started, but sometime late last November I began to notice that I had a headache that just... wasn’t... going away? And each day it was starting to get a little worse. It made it hard for me to find a comfortable position to sleep, it made it hard for me to be in bright areas or move fast. So I said to myself “Okay, if this headache persist through the month of december, then something is proooobably wrong and I should go see someone about it. And hoo-boy were thing wrong with me. By the time this January rolled around, I couldn’t even stay on my feet for more than a few hours without it physically hurting to just BREATHE. So I started going to this chain called The Joint (A+ name, I know). THey aksed me “How are you doing?” I said “I’m in pain” and they said “We can help fix that!”. I’ve only been to a chiropractor once before in my life a few years back after my freshmen year of college because I began to notice my hips weren’t able to support me? LIke, I would lie on my back, and I couldn’t push my hips up when my feet were flat on the floor. I also couldn’t climb anything steep, because my legs just couldn’t push me up if my knee had to bend more than 90 degrees when I lifted my leg up. (Turned out both my hips were apparently out of place). This time only one of my hips were out of place (which they fixed. they said one of my legs was an inch “longer” than the other because I had been leaning all my weight on one leg when I stand). But two of my ribs were apparently “Stuck” which was why it was hurting for me to just breathe, and one of my shoulders was missaligned too, causing one of my trap muscles to constantly be streched, which was pulling on my skull, and causing the headache. Anyway, after they popped all my bones back into place, I still felt terrible, but by god, that night was the first time in weeks I was able to sleep without a migrane. A chiropractor can’t magically heal your arthritis, or fibro, but I definately think they have merit to keeping your posture good and helping your body with things like circulation. 10 outa 10, would recomend. It’s all the fun of getting your neck snapped without the dying!

Earlier this month I got together with two of my friends and we baked Christmas cookies. It was a lot of fun, as well as a great learning experience. A member of my family has a gluten allergy, so we used rice flour for most of the cookies. We learned this is a bad idea! The cookies will just fall apart! A few member’s in one of the friend’s family have nut allergies. Other friend and I knew this and were careful to avoid cookie recipes with nuts, bUT THEN COMPLETELY FORGOT THAT ALMOND MILK AND ALMOND EXTRACT COUNT AS NUT. IN FACT, ALMOND EXTRACT IS PURE CONCENTRATED NUT JUICE AND WE FELT SO BAD FOR ALMOST ACCIDENTALLY POISONING THE FAMILY.

Earlier this year me and these same friends took a field trip to Hobby Lobby and just dicked around the store for a couple of hours. It was super fun, 11 outa 10, would recommend, a great date idea for your artsy S.O.

Back in May I went to a wedding for the first time in my life. (well, not true, but the first one I could remember) we left at 5am, drove 5 hours to get there, hung out at a zoo and spent the night in a la quinta before the wedding day. I slept on the bathroom floor because my mom was snoring too loud in the main room and keeping me awake, and the rest of the day was just spent me trying to keep myself together because I was pissed off and tired.

Other than all of that, nothing really major happened to me this year. I guess one more thing I’ve tried to do this year is started the process of breaking certain internet addictions so I can use my free time for more personal projects. Seriously, I found myself watching way too much youtube and following blogs that didn’t even make me happy. I had a personal intervention with myself where I sat down and asked myself, “why do you watch these videos and youtubers? Why do you follow these blogs? Do you really enjoy their content? Do you really care? If you stopped watching/following them, would you even notice?” After critically thinking it over, I’ve found myself unfollowing several channels and blogs and suddenly I feel so much happier. I thought I would miss it, but I realized I didn’t really care if I saw their content or not. I wasn’t missing much. And now I feel like I have more time to draw, read and write. If you think you spend too much time consuming and not enough time creating, I suggest you try and de-clutter your internet habits as well. It’s done wonders to un-fuck my headspace.

And… well, that about sums up my year. How are your holidays going? Anything fun, exciting, dramatic happen to you this year? I hope your new year is warm and safe! Good night, everybody!

[julianxsantiago]

1 UNREAD MESSAGE

He hadn’t been avoiding it. He didn’t know it existed. Checking email had been the last thing on his mind. The final days of Identity were within sight, only to bring The Boy Venus to his workload. He couldn’t allow anyone else touching Jessamine’s hard work, tainting his vision, or worse: letting it slip through the cracks that so many other projects went through when their stars got cancelled mid-production. That could be Tomas. That could be Claudia’s reputation. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.  

Jessamine, you fucking cabrón, why would you do this? What did we talk about? What did I tell you? About Miguel? About drugs? Stay away. Stay away. Stay AWAY.

Questions he had resigned himself to being left unanswered. This was par for the course. This was Luis again. He had tried so hard to keep him alive. Did he not try hard enough with Jess? They were roomed together and he couldn’t stop it. He let his friend die.

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

1 UNREAD MESSAGE

Jessamine’s username was at the top of the list. The personal e-mail account Julian used to stay away from Prometheus’ servers. He stared at it, cursor hovering over it for one second before clicking it open, tearing through his chest as he read.

Dear Julian,

Fuck. That sounds pretty fucking final. And pretty fucking pretentious. I guess pretentious is fitting though. Weirdly. But now I’m just rambling. 

I hope they don’t find this. You can delete it once you’ve read it, if you like. I don’t want you to remember me like this but -- I want you to remember me. Just… think about who I was, if that’s any better. If you even want to remember me. And if you want to forget, I can’t stop you. Still rambling. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry to leave you behind, I’m sorry I gave up, I’m sorry to hurt you -- ​you’ve been hurt enough. I don’t want to add to that. Honestly, I’m not sure whether I’m a bigger burden alive or dead. Though by the time you’re reading this, I don’t suppose it’ll matter that much. You can be the judge of it. Anyway, ​I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you, or the Boy Venus (or Tomas, in a weird way. He’s a good kid. He’ll need your help). But I am so tired of fighting. I keep thinking, ​when will this be over, please let it be over. You know, I used to run away from home when my parents were fighting. Escape. It felt good, to get away from it all -- but I still remembered it. I remember ​everything. So I guess that’s what I’m doing now. Running away from life. Running away from all those memories. 

My dad killed himself, I think. I don’t know, maybe he just accidentally overdosed then drowned in the bath. That’s something I wish I could forget: his face, all dead and distorted under the water. I guess I am following in the family business, fucking everything up for everyone I’ve ever touched and checking out before I can make up for it. At least I won’t be able to hurt you anymore once I’m dead. If you grieve, it’ll lessen. It has to. 

I don’t know why I’m telling you this, except -- it has to be you, doesn’t it? You’re the one I have to tell not to grieve too much for me, not to hold on to me too much. Please, don’t let me hurt you. I can’t stay but I really don’t fucking want to hurt you.  

Shit, I’m crying now. I don’t want to go. If you read this before -- please, come and get me. ​Please, you did it on the roof, I wasn’t kidding, please do it again. I’m scared. But I ​can’t ​ stay. I guess this part is a bit like the shit part in awards speeches when they thank their mom and their dealer and whoever the fuck else, except now I apologise to all the people I screwed over.

If you see Claire around, tell her I loved her. I know she didn’t love me back, but -- fuck, I always fall in love with my friends. I wasn’t even her best friend, but she meant ​so much ​ to me, I wish I’d had the balls to tell her. But that bridge was burnt a while ago. Little firecracker, she was ​married, but I still loved her -- you know when you love someone so much it hurts? Every time I saw her, it was like someone fucking stabbed me.

And Carys. Fuck, I think I killed her. I-- when we worked together, I thought we were unstoppable, I loved her so much and I think I broke her. She always wanted to go one better, go a bit deeper, and all I did was push her over the edge. We met up, a few weeks before she died and she said she was ​fine ​ and I shouldn’t have been so stupid, I just swallowed it, then she was ​dead. She laid herself out beautifully, just how I would’ve done it. All that red, and they took photos of it, but I think that’s what she wanted, to be remembered.

Fuck. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want ​you. Sorry. Just my rotten fucking luck again. Falling in love with someone who doesn’t or can’t return it.

It hurts, just like Claire, it fucking ​hurts ​ loving you and I wouldn’t have it any other way because you make me feel human, hurting is what it is to be human and when you grabbed me on that rooftop, that was love, I wish you’d done it harder, I wish you’d left a bruise. I wish you’d scarred me and I’d have something to remember you by, even when I’m buried you’d still have left a mark on me. Don’t let them cremate me, please, don’t forget me. And if love is hurt, maybe I should want you to grieve for me, but please don’t. You already hold on to Luis too much, I don’t want to be another ghost that haunts you.

I’ll be watching over you, ok? When you want to give up, and I know it’s hypocritical because giving up is what I’m doing right now, but when you want to give up, when you want to cry, when you’re happy too, I’ll be with you. I hope there is an afterlife, I hope I become a ghost, just so I can be with you. Even if all that hurt is what I’m running from, I could take it all for you.

I guess what I’m saying is, you should stop reading here, because this ​isn’t your fault ​ . Please, stop reading here, but I have to get this down somewhere, so just skip the rest of this email. 

I think I could take it all with you. If I had you. I do. I do, I keep reminding myself of that, but do you know it? Do you even want me around? It isn’t your fault, it isn’t your fault, this is a me problem, not a you problem, but -- ​god, I wish I had you. Properly. I wish you’d hold me and bruise me and be with me forever and I hope you don’t find me in time because if I live through this I don’t want you to force yourself to love me because that won’t be real love and I’ll be hurting you but I have to say it, I have to beg you, if this is my ghost talking then that’s very fucking fitting. Because I was too proud to beg, but I’m doing it now. ​Please, please, if you ever loved me in any way, please come and find me, even if you don’t get here in time to save me it would be salvation enough if you would just hold me.

Please don’t forget me. Don’t let me be forgotten. But don’t let me hurt you.

I guess I finally get to say it: I love you, Julian Santiago, and we’re going to see each other again in a better place someday and I’m waiting there for you. Don’t follow me too soon, will you? 

Give them hell for me, Jess

The laptop stared back. The screen was white. Drowned out by Julian’s vision unfocused, fingertips pressing into his scalp to somehow draw it back, force himself out of a mind that seemed hollowed out. Any conscious thought was not in English, dragged out of the very basics from his mother tongue in fragmented pieces, trying to be filled by those equally as jagged pieces from Jess’ email that rattled around. Words were replaced by images, snapshots replaced by memories, running through him like a projection reel.

Jess on the rooftop, how he snatched him back, how he threatened him if he’d do it again. What did it look from his perspective?

He knew now. He wished he didn’t.

Mierda.

The laptop shuts closed in a whirlwind while Julian swallows, eyes shut with his thumbs pressing into the lids. There is sickness swimming in the pit of his stomach, bile made of regret and hatred, and it’s all towards Prometheus.

It will never end. Not like this.

Jess. You were robbed of love so many times you didn’t know in the end what it was. You were burning alive here, and no matter how much you screamed, no one heard you.

It has to end. It has to burn. It has to die.

A knock on the door lifts his head. It brings with it a box. The timing couldn’t be worse. Yet it couldn’t be better the moment he tears it open like he needs the distraction. A Smith and Wesson is inside, bringing with it narrowed eyes. He goes backwards, reading the note that he immediately bypassed.

Santiago-

My condolences for your loss. End your pain or play nice, will you? It’s interfering with your work.

-Sebastian Steele

[daydreamindollie]

m.yg x f.r |“She’s Just My Neighbour” | 01

Chpt. Summary: One gain is one loss is just how the world works and after you've gained something you've desired for so long, unfortunately, what you've already had for a longer period of time is taken away.

Call it fate or just bad luck.

Genre: fluff + angst

Length: 3.4k

A/N: Hey my Lovely Dolls! I'm so sorry this took such a long time to come out but I had, unfortunately, lost all of my planning for this entire series, which really discouraged me from writing it. I'm slowly getting the plot back together and am hoping to continue on with this at a good pace. Thank you all for being so patient and I'm so sorry for the short chapter, I'll make it up to you all in the next one - That's a promise!

Love you all so much!

Enjoy the read!

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It’s was a regular Sunday afternoon and you were out in your garden. You were a very big fan of flowers and so was your cat, it seemed. She loved laying down in the sunspots beside them, it was as though she had an exquisite sense of smell that attracted her to the mature scent of your roses. Aside from the flora, you also loved growing your own produce, it was all too satisfying to eat the very vegetables and fruit you’ve been able to grow yourself, there was a new found appreciate you had for them - unlike the ones from the shops. Being frugal was also convenient for you, seeing as the ‘local’ shops were an hour’s commute away and wasting gas for something that you could make on your own, was something that you felt wasn’t as productive for you.

“Hey, Duchess~” you coo a greeting as your Persian cat makes her way over to you. She’s always been a little more affectionate than most other cats so she takes a moment to rub up against your thighs as your knees dig into the dirt. “Pretty kitty~” you coo and giggle as she leaves your side after having had enough of your gentle pets and scratches. She doesn’t go far, settling in the sunspot beside your ankles as her soft, waving tail tickles the small stretch of skin your old, ankle-cropped jeans couldn’t cover. Smiling down at her, you sigh in content before going back to tend to your flowers.

Not many more minutes drag by before you’re getting up to have a stretch, throat parched and eager for a cold glass of water. Bringing your gaze down, you find Duchess already staring up at you but still curled up and contentedly flaunting her cotton-white tail up and down. “Are you going to be okay out here, kitty?” you muse, reaching down and giving the soft tuffet of fur atop her head a rub. Flashing a brief smile, you make your way into your house and wash your hands before handling ice into a tall glass cup. Eager to get back to working on your flowerbeds, you walk out after inhaling half of your glass and was about to get back to work when two voices cut through the quaint silence in the air.

“So here it is.” came a familiar voice. It was Jisoo - the real estate agent that usually handled the people that were interested in accommodating the other half of your semi-detached house. “The other half is already accommodated but the half you will potentially be living in has been kept in good shape.” a deep, gruff grunt of acknowledgement directed your eyes to a male with an unreadable face. Aside from that, he was really handsome, true, his hair was very dishevelled and his clothes appeared to have been put on with not much care. His jeans were faded and ripped at the knees while his black, oversized hoodie draped all the way down to his mid-thigh. Piercing, half-lidded brown eyes met your own as you hurriedly tried to dust down your worn and dirt-crusted jeans, inwardly wincing at your ugly green pleaded button up shirt.

As you opened your mouth, about to greet the two, your mind reeling and hoping that if you couldn’t make the best first impression appearance-wise, then you can certainly compensate with your personality - which is what counted - the unnamed male was already making his way towards you.

“Is it busy around here?” he asked with a voice deeper than the ocean and rougher than the most coarse fabric you’ve ever touched.

“N-no-” you cough, ridding of your timid voice, “It’s actually really peaceful-”

“Are you loud?”

“Wha-?!” you splutter, unable to comprehend his rapid-fire questions but also feeling quite weary of his enquires.

He rolled his eyes and you pretended not to notice, “Will you be loud?”

“Umm…no. I don’t even own a speaker-”

“Would you mind in I blast my music?” so he liked music - it’ll be wise for you to play towards his interests.

“Of course not-”

“Good…” and he ends the interrogative conversation there, turning on his heel to walk back to Jisoo, who flashed her usual smile.

“That’s (y/n), she’s a great person and am sure will make you feel right at home-” the two of you briefly meet eyes and you give her a thankful smile. She was a good friend of yours as you had plenty of time to talk with her as she gave multiple others a tour of the living space the house provided.

“Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you, I’m Min Yoongi,” he goes to shake your hand but already pulls his hand away before you could reach for his in the middle of bowing, “I think I’m done for today.” he shrugs having already turned around to face Jisoo, causing both you and the estate agent to blink in surprise. He was definitely someone who knew what he wanted and although he was quite rude, your heart stuttered just by his entire aesthetic.

“B-but Mr.Min, you haven’t even looked through the house.” she tried to explain but was still speechless at the fact that he had booked this appointment, and yet, wasn’t willing to spend all of his allocated time.

“It’s alright. That woman, (y/n), had been able to answer all of the questions I needed answered.” you see Jisoo attempt to coerce him into, at least, stepping into the house. “and besides, I could tell from all the pictures on your website that the interior is well kept. There is no furniture left, is there?” he asks, stepping closer to the car he arrived in.

“N-no, it’s completely barren in there,” Jisoo confirms. Never before has she met a client that was so sure of themselves. It wasn’t all that bad but it was so unlike the others that it was only just beginning to sink in how refreshing it was to direct someone who knew what they wanted.

“Alright then.” with that being said, they were already leaving. With such a brief and expeditious visit, you were reluctant to hope that he would end up choosing to buy the space. Sighing in discontent, you stared down at Duchess, who stood up at your sudden shift in mood, that was able to bring you some form of comfort, knowing that she knew you well enough to tell when you were the littlest bit upset. It wasn’t a surprising fact though, you had gotten Duchess when you had turned sixteen and you were already twenty-four, making her eight years old already. For an old cat, she looked as adorable as you had first gotten her as a three-month-old kitten.

“I’ll be okay, kitty,” you assure with kind eyes, crouching down to pick her up in your arms where her now non-moving tail hangs off your makeshift cradle, as if to mimic your downcast mood, “I have you looking out for me, and that’s all I need.” with a giggle, you decide to abandon your work for the day, no longer in the mood to dig around in the dirt for the benefit of your flowers. “An early, mini dinner sounds like a good plan right about now, don’t you think Duchess?” you coo, attempting to distract yourself.

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It had been a week and the exchange between you and the handsome but also very blunt man had been long forgotten, and you only have Duchess to thank for being your one distraction. Your friends, who live in the city, have also made their regular calls with the usual gaggle of gossip about incompetent coworkers and the like, also aided in your lapse of memory. Only the concise interaction was forgotten, however, and unfortunate for you, you were able to remember his gorgeous face and times where you’re left in the silence to contemplate your thoughts had you biting your lower lip at his hunky appearance. Having a love interest wasn’t a big fantasy of yours and so you hadn’t determined an ‘ideal type’ of guy for yourself, although, if you had to imagine one, he would be the perfect example. It comes totally unexpected seeing as your appearance is the exact opposite of his aesthetic. He seems to prefer dark colours in a very casual and comfortable style. You, on the other hand, leaned more towards pastels and nudes with the occasional patterned shirt or jumper, you were proud, though, that you are also someone who appreciated a casual comfortable look.

Sighing into your glass teacup, you took a cautious sip of the steaming beverage. This morning was very busy with you talking to clients on the phone whilst making spontaneous designs onto your desktop, all this was then followed by answering multiple emails of past and potential clients and that work carried onto confirming details on designs and setups. You were glad that you had something to do and that your small private business was thriving and getting popular every day but you would have better preferred being out in the garden. It’s an ironic thought, however, seeing as you used to hate digging your knees into the dirt and having to sweat under the blistering gaze of the sun but over time, you had come to appreciate the benefits it brought you and the therapeutic sensation it brought about amidst your hectic occupational commitments.

After the workload you had to mentally force yourself through this morning, however, you were too tired to be out tending to your flowers and cleared up work on your calendar to have time for them tomorrow. For now, you’re settling down with some spicy tea and a warm book, your legs curled underneath a woolly blanket as Duchess purrs in your lap. At some points, she’d weakly look up at you with pleading eyes, which you could never say no to and would reach out to rub behind her ears and stroke down her back. You don’t know if it’s your worry over her old age that is making you realise that she’s seeming a lot weaker recently but you’ve seen her have very lazy times, especially when you know she feels lonely.

As you contemplate phoning into the vets or simply paying more attention to Duchess, you hear the robust noise of a large vehicle. Glancing down at Duchess, you find her already staring up at you, “Who could that be Duchess?”

Inhaling a gasp, your feet almost push off the carpet and fly to the door and sprint its way to the movers so that you could help with anything but looking down at your attire and fluffy socks, you shake your head with a laugh. You could be so silly sometimes. “We’re getting a new neighbour Duchess!” you cheer down at her before taking another glance out of the window from behind your curtains and instantly flush a brilliant red when you make immediate eye contact with your fantasy man from last week. “Yoongi…” you muttered under your breath at which he raised his brow at, clearly having read your lips. Squeaking, you turn away, your face becoming hotter than your steaming cup of tea. The outfit he had on today had your knees turning weak as his smouldering eyes pushed your knees to quake beneath you.

He was in all black: black belt, turtleneck, jeans, shoes, cap, mask and the killer black leather jacket. You begin to wonder what type of job he has, was he a model of some sort? Why would he move all the way out here? He says he likes music so could he be a musician of some sort? He certainly has a similar eccentric air to artists of a particular craft, you just have yet to uncover his speciality.

“It’s Yoongi, Duchess…” you whisper down at her, quickly turning to look past your curtains again in hopes of catching another eyeful of him, only to sigh in disappointment when it appears as though he was beginning to help the movers with the boxes. That was sweet of him but your greed overrode that appreciation, wanting to desperately drink more of him in. Willing yourself to turn away from the window, you looked down at Duchess who was beginning to fall asleep curled around your feet. This was a really cute habit of hers and it always made you giggle at how adorable she could be. “Can you believe he’s going to be our new neighbour?” you watched as the overgrown white fluff ball yawned and began grooming herself, “Why don’t we making him some cookies so that he feels truly welcomed around here? I hope he likes chocolate chip.”

Humming happily to yourself, you set to work. You wanted to hurry so that you can get it to him on time before he starts getting tired from all the moving around of boxes. From first-hand experience, you know how tiring moving can be and you always end up napping whenever you’re tired, so you don’t want to be the reason why he has to wake up from a nap. Thankfully, the window from your kitchen faces the front yard and you’re able to see the gradual process of the movers as well as Yoongi's and, as much as you’d like to ogle the man, you don’t want anything to go wrong with the cookies you’re preparing for him. A good first impression as his neighbour is what you’re determined to convey to him.

To you, it’s fairly easy to bake cookies because you’ve made them multiple times seeing as they’re your favourite snacks, and so, you’re able to get them into the oven in no time flat and patiently wait for them to cook through to perfection. There’s still the added few minutes that you have to allow for them to cool but you aren’t worried about time, from the looks of things, you’ll be able to deliver them with perfect timing.

It seemed to take forever for the cookies to come out the oven and cool down enough for you to take over to your new neighbour, however, now that you were standing right in front of his door with the cookies wrapped up in food-safe decorated paper, forming a cute little pouch of goodies that you tied off with a rustic length of string, your nerves were acting up. Some minutes dragged by with you just standing there, the wrapped cookies in one hand as the other was lifted up and curled into a fist, ready to rap against the front door.

You’ve been so lonely and had been waiting so long for this moment, for someone to start living beside you so that you can have conversations over the garden fence, exchange words of advice and greet each other a good morning for when you both start your days. There was a lot of pressure on you to make a good first impression. It was a sad fact, though, that you were in desperate hopes for this happening when the normal average single woman your age would be hoping for a love story to unfold much like the romanticised ones in movie theatres.

Shaking your head to rid yourself of your delaying thoughts, you inhaled deeply and quickly knocked on the door during exhalation. Now that you had notified him of your presence, you weren’t only left to your distressing thoughts but also to a sudden need to fidget with your hands and feet and mouth. Your teeth were anxiously gnawing at your bottom lip as your hands twirled the excess string extending from their tie on the pouch and your feet shuffled beneath you.

Was it your poor perception of time or did the wait you were forced to endure outside his door last longer than it did when waiting for your cookies to cool?

Eventually, however, you were able to hear the pounding of feet down the staircase through the wooden door, which only added to your already trembling nerves, and before you know it - faster than it took for your cookies to cool - you were face to face with a glum and exhausted looking Yoongi. Completely disregarding his appearance because, admittedly, he’ll always look handsome to you no matter the circumstances, you held out the cookies you had so prettily wrapped.

“U-umm, I wanted to drop by and say hello. I also made you some chocolate chip cookies, I-I hope you like them-” you began and was about to say more if it weren’t for the grunt he gave in thanks before snatching your cookies away and closing the door in your face.

This left you stunned.

Did that really just happen?

In your head, the fun fantasy of all the neighbourly things you were going to do with your new neighbour was slowly shattering and falling to pieces at your stagnant feet, no longer shuffling in anxiousness but remaining still in disappointment and crushed hopes.

✚

✚

Did you, perhaps, have really high expectations from simply having a neighbour around? You often wondered to yourself nowadays, seeing as all of your little daydreams about finally having someone living in the house right beside yours wasn’t at all what you had expected it to be.

You expected - wanted - morning interactions over the small picket fence separating your two front lawns, you wanted casual conversations about things that didn’t matter but things you were still interested in, all in all, you ultimately just wanted someone to cure your lonely life away from the city. Yoongi, however, had other plans and seemed perfectly content with being anti-social and not having to face you or greet you 'good morning' like you always wanted.

Sighing heavily, you tried to continue with handling your garden chores for the week but it was really hard to get on with it due to all of your heavy, lingering thoughts. It wasn’t until the afternoon music from Yoongi’s house started playing through his walls that you were able to muster up a small smile. If you couldn’t have what you wanted from your fantasy neighbour, at least you had the music Yoongi was constantly playing in the afternoon to comfort yourself with. It wasn’t much but it was something, in fact, it was the only thing you had to remind you that there was someone living right beside you. Thinking about it, that is also very agonising to think about and you couldn’t help but huff out a bittersweet smile.

You have hope, however, as you stare down at your elderly cat who was, once again, sleeping in a sunspot beside your feet, you have hope that he’ll come out of his shell and see you as someone that he knows he can greet every morning and be confident that he’ll receive a response from instantaneously.

Sometimes, you’d wonder if you were being too unrealistic, after all, you can’t expect everyone to meet all of your expectations just because they have a certain role in your life as your neighbour. All you need is a cure for your loneliness and you’ve somehow placed all the responsibilities of that onto your neighbour even before you had one and now that you had one, you were utterly disappointed that it wasn’t at all what you had expected.

You took a second to momentarily immerse yourself in the music Yoongi was blasting through the powerful speakers you had seen him bring into his house from the moving van, “At least I have you, Duchess…” reaching out to your sleeping cat, you gently stroke down the fur of her back and frown at the realisation of how fragile her old age has made her.

✚

✚

It’s been several hours since you’ve last seen Duchess and you were beginning to worry. You allow her to have the freedom to roam but she was always back before it got too dark because she loves having her dinner, however, today, despite all of your callings, you were getting no response.

It was odd, very odd, especially for her. And you were beginning to really worry and stress for her safety.

“Duchess, where are you?!” you were almost sobbing, fearing the worst of the worst and when you had finally turned your gaze towards the road, your heart and entire world shattered before you at the sight of your loyal companion laying dormant beside the pavement, splashes of bloodbloodblood red staining her usually pristine white fur.

[a-secondhand-sorrow]

Chapter 5: improve all of your strong points, and hide things that you lack

*gordon ramasay voice* finally, some good fucking Alana Beck

that’s right; we’ve got an Alana-centric chapter coming up... right now. after this, she’ll be a more recurring character (like the musical)

chapter title from ‘Alyssa Greene’ from the prom

prologue | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

***

When you’re Alana Beck, nothing is enough.

Take any AP class that will have you. Pick up every extracurricular that seems vaguely prestigious. Babysit any neighbor’s kids that might need it. Do any extra credit you can pick up. Volunteer any free hours you have left hour. Keep moving, keep going, stay occupied, anything to stop yourself from slowing down and being stuck inside of your own head.

(Anything.)

And that’s the status quo, from fourteen on; because if you’re constantly busy, you can’t think about the empty lunch tables you conquer at the lunch hour, or your grandmother’s clammy, skin-stretched-over-bone hand grasping yours imploringly, or the pit sinking into the depths of your stomach as your best friend mouths freak at you and your heart aches and you’re broken, wrong, something is wrong with you.

(In for four, hold for seven, out for eight)

So Alana takes any distraction that she can, because the panic attacks and nail-breaking-skin stress are preferable to the alternative, to allowing herself to fade completely into the background. To disappear.

***

And then, senior year, Alana gets the email.

Connor Murphy. Connor Murphy, the kid who kicked her ass in four square every day in first grade, who checked on her in eighth grade after she had sped-walked through the halls to get to the nurse when her lungs had begun closing with panic, who had delighted in calling Huck Finn anything but, who had smiled appreciatively at her rambles when they were lab partners even when he was dead to all else, that Connor Murphy had killed himself.

And her world shrinks just a little, narrows just that much. Because even though she’d never admit it to anyone, much less herself, any hint of human interaction was sacred to her. Connor’s half-smiles were more than Alana was ever granted from most, his brief moments of kindness shining out like a lighthouse, a beacon of hope. He was unpredictable, but in a lot of other ways he was steady. She knew he’d be there when she turned around.

She didn’t even know why she cared. It wasn’t like she knew him all that well; he was, at most, an acquaintance. A close acquaintance. Logically, she knew that the reason she was upset was because it was tragedy close to home. Someone she knew was dead, so of course she’d have trouble processing that.

(just like you had trouble processing before?)

Maybe the real reason it shook her so hard was because if Connor Murphy could kill himself, anything could happen.

Maybe she could—

(In for four, hold for seven, out for eight, and then your mind is clear, you have purpose, you are the Alana Beck everyone expects you to be.)

—do something, to commiserate Connor’s life. He was only an acquaintance, but she knows that his family must be hurting. Or other students, like her, could be upset about what happened. She didn’t know Connor, but she knew what grief could do to a person.

So she put on a brave face. She comforted a crying Dana P., tweeted out messages of support, gave a firm chastisement to anyone who trash-talked Connor. She hugged Zoe Murphy when she got back to school, even when all Zoe did was give her a weird look. She searched, every day, for something to do. Something more than carrying on with her everyday life.

Salvation arrived in the form of Jared Kleinman.

“Hey, Alana!” She just managed to turn her head as Jared trotted up to her, plastering a smile on her face.

“Hi, Jared! What’s—” she’s cut off by Jared opening his coat-a down coat in the middle of September, what the fuck- “what are those?”

“My crocs,” Jared replied, earning a death glare. He cleared his throat before continuing. “They’re remembrance buttons. For Connor Murphy? Like the bracelets Sabrina Patel was selling.”

As Alana looked closer at the lining of Jared’s coat, she could, in fact, see Connor’s tiny, shiny face staring back at her. Something about it unsettled Alana, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. “Did you get the Murphy’s permission?”

Jared shifted a little, but seemed largely unconcerned. “Well-no. I tried to sell Zoe one, but she just told me to fuck off.”

“Jared!”

“What?” All Jared got was another glare. He at least had the class to look sheepish. “Okay, it might have been a little insensitive, but-”

“Try extremely.”

“-Evan didn’t seem too upset by it, so I figure it’s okay.”

“Evan...” Alana searched for a moment, trying to think of an Evan who would be relevant to their conversation. The only Evan she could think of would be Evan Hansen, who beyond speaking to for a little in the hallways, she didn’t really know. “Evan Hansen? Why, is he related to them?”

There was an out of place expression on Jared’s face, one that seemed almost regretful for bringing him up. “No, he and Connor were-they were best friends, apparently.”

This shocked Alana. As far as she knew, Connor Murphy didn’t have any friends.

(Just like her.)

“I though you two were best friends?” She threw out, not fully paying attention to the words. She missed Jared reaction, but his tone had grown slightly quicker.

“What? No, no, we’re just family friends-well real friends, but, you know.”

Alana looked back up at him. His expression was unreadable again. “Okay,” she said, kissing herself away from her locker. “See you later, then.” And in a moment, the smile had slipped back onto her face with the same forced cheery tone. “I hope you have a great day.”

She was frowning again as soon as her back was turned.

***

So Alana had another purpose: find Evan Hansen, and talk to him. It might not be much better than hugging Zoe Murphy or tweeting plastic-feeling condolences, but it’s something.

(Anything.)

This proved easier than she might have expected. First thing the next morning, she managed to corner him in the hallway.

With that same false-cheery voice and plastered smile, she said “Hi, Evan! How are you? How is everything?”

Evan looked a bit like a deer caught in headlights. He blinked rapidly one or two times, before responding. “Um. Fine? Thanks.”

She doesn’t give him much time to process before she proceeds (in for four, hold for seven, out for eight, and then your mind is clear, you have purpose, you are the Alana Beck everyone expects you to be) forcing the same inflections as before. “Oh my God, Jared told me about you and Connor, how you guys were so close, and you were, like, best friends.”

Evan visibly deflated at the mention of Connor. “Oh...he did?”

Alana nods. “Everyone is talking about how brave you’ve been this week.”

A few people had overheard her and Jared’s conversation; and while it wasn’t strictly true that everyone had been talking about it, there was a fair amount of chatter, given the short time block.

He fidgets with the straps of his backpack; Alana couldn’t remember him doing that before. “They are?”

Alana forged on. “I mean, anybody else in your position would be falling apart. Dana P. was crying so hard at lunch the other day, she pulled a muscle in her face. She had to go to the hospital.”

Evan gave her a funny look. “Isn’t Dana P. new this year? She didn’t even know Connor.”

Feeling a grimace come to her face, Alana responded, “That’s why she was crying. Because now she’ll never get the chance.” Or at least, that’s what Dana had told her between sobs as Alana waited with her for her parents to arrive. “Connor is really bringing the school together, it’s pretty incredible. People I’ve never talked to before, they want to talk to me now, because they know how much Connor meant to me.” Here, Alana paused for a moment. It was only after she said it that she realizes this may seem insensitive to Evan, who was really friends with Connor. (you always do this why can’t you just stop talking) “I actually started a blog about him, a sort of memorial page...”

“Were you friends, too?” Evan looked a little surprised, yet still overall wary.

“Acquaintances. But close acquaintances.”

Evan nodded, as though that made sense. Knowing Connor-or not knowing Connor, rather-it could have. “Oh.”

The conversation was not going where Alana had hoped it would. She picked up Evan’s hand and squeezed it, hoping that it came across as a friendly, comforting gesture. “If you need anything, just DM me. Or let me know. Whatever’s best for you.”

Evan nodded again, looking slightly more uncomfortable. “Thanks.”

With that, Alana let go of his hand and turned, throwing a little wave over her shoulder.

Maybe her opportunity would come later.

***

And it did.

Alana awoke to a Facebook message, her phone buzzing harshly in the half light of the morning. She reached for it groggily, the light blinding her.

It was from Evan.

could we talk about something?

I have an idea. I don’t know if it’s good, or if it’ll work, but...

it might help people like Connor

[selinenuli]

MADE of STARDUST

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5 - high hopes, new words

a new chapter! yay! Please read and review!

As she busied herself with chopping onions, one particular subject won't leave Lauren's mind. Astrid might have been an innocent little girl... but she asked good questions. 'Cause maybe she was a bit lonely. It has been a while since she talked to any of her friends, and it's been ages since she'd seen her brother. But... but she was alright. She wasn't the most social person, but she was alright. And now she had Astrid. A little girl who was more than a handful. She sighed. Astrid was oquping herself, so she had some time. She grabbed her phone and quickly typed a message in the group chat, and hit send before she could regret it. She had sixty two unread messages, but she would go over those later. LaurenA: so guys... sorry i haven't been around lately, but i sort of adopted a kid. And of course it was only a second later regret started crippling through her thoughts. Anxiety sucked. But then her phone buzzed so many times in a row. Emmy_L0u: What???!! JJ_jake: When? How?? Why??? WnDennis: OMG, what happened??? JJ_jake: And what about college?? JJ_jake: Laurennnnn!!!!?? LaurenA: Okay guys, calm down. Emmy_L0u: Tell us everything. NOW. Lauren rolled her eyes, a slight smile at her lips. LaurenA: I think I'm gonna finish my classes online. For now, at least. LaurenA: Long story. Her name's Astrid. She's ten. Been living with me for about two weeks. She even added a picture. The one with the dress and bunny ears hat. And of course, her friends thought Astrid was adorable. Emmy had a thing for kids and Dennis had a three years old son. And Lauren tried to answer their question the best she could. She didn't want to lie, but neither did she want to reveal Astrid's origins. So she settled for an easy half-truth. Astrid's parents were dead and she ran away from the orphanage. She loved the stars, and used to sit outside the cafe Lauren worked in. They became friends. Lauren didn't want her to go back into the system. It was believable. Or so her friends seemed to think. She briefed Astrid, telling her to repeat the story if anyone asked. The kid seemed suspicious. Saying she wasn't supposed to lie. Lauren had to convince her that sometimes lying was okay. Only when it didn't hurt anyone.

They were eating dinner when there was a knock on the door. Lauren tensed. It was late, and she wasn't expecting anyone. "Stay here", she told Astrid, and went to answer it.

The man standing there was wearing a suit and a natural expression. A typical agent. An agent of what? That was beyond Lauren.

"Can I help you?"

As expected, he took out his badge. "Special agent Harlan. May I come in?"

"Do you have a warrant?"

He seemed to be surprised by that. Taken aback. But in her defense, Lauren had every right to be suspicious. She hadn't had the best experience with secret agencies.

And what if he was there for Astrid?

The agent sighed. "I would like to talk to you about the young girl currently in your care".

... that wasn't good.

"I have no idea what you're talking about".

He definitely knew she was lying. But, oh well. It's not like he had proof.

"Ma'am, we'd like to talk to the child. We've become aware of her... unusual origins. We'd like to confirm that information".

She could hear Astrid's footsteps not far behind. She couldn't't let him see her.

"Come back with a warrant or something".

He glared at her. She glared back. Then slammed the door in his face.

And god, that felt good.

Astrid was now standing right behind her, wand in hand. "Who was that?"

"No one".

"Didn't seem like no one".

"No one important". "You sure that wasn't someone wanting to take me away?" she asked, face furrowed in a mix of fear and confusion. "Go finish your dinner". She didn't seem convinced, not at all. But (surprisingly) she did as she was told.

They ate in silence. Astrid glared. Lauren tried to glare back.

How the hell did she manage to lose a staring contest with a nine year old?

The next day was saturday. Astrid was up since six am, driving Lauren out of her mind. She was bored, as she declared several times.

"Why don't you just... watch a movie, while I look for something for us to do?"

"Can I watch Tangled? I wanna watch Tangled".

Lauren sighed "Sure". She checked her emails, most of them from her professors. Than she opened the group chat. LaurenA: Hey guys... do any of you know what I'm supposed to do with a stir crazy nine year old? It took less than a minute for her to get a response. WnDennis: Take her to the park.

Emmy_L0u: Museum. JJ_jake: The movies. Museums are boring. Emmy_L0u: No they're not! I loved museums as a kid. I learned a lot. JJ_jake: That's because you're a nerd. Emmy_L0u: And proud. Lauren rolled her eyes. LaurenA: Thanks. LaurenA: And guys, we're all nerds. We met at a science convention, remember? JJ_jake: ... WnDennis: Right... Emmy_L0u: LOL. Lauren put her phone away. Going to the movies seemed like a good idea. It'll keep Astrid occupied and might give Lauren a few hours of quiet. She checked the schedule in the closest theatre. There was a kids movie in only a few hours. Animated, cute. She showed Astrid the trailer and she liked it. So until Tangled ended, Lauren made breakfast. And the movie was nice. Not too boring. Astrid enjoyed it. They spent some time in the playground before going to mcdonalds for lunch. "Okay, slow down. You're gonna choke". Astrid shrugged. "Why are there no other kids around?" she asked, scanning her surroundings. "Oh. It's noon. They're probably all still at school." "Am I supposed to be at school, too?" "Maybe". Actually, sending Astrid to school wasn't a bad idea. It'll give her a chance to interact more with the human world, and give Lauren more free time. It'll be good for the both of them. But the legal part was gonna be more difficult... Technically, Astrid didn't exist. And Lauren certainly didn't have a niece. That she knew of. It's been years since she talked to her brother. "Com'on, time to go home". Astrid pulled a face but didn't complain much. Just made Lauren put on disney song on the drive back. Lauren rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop pouting. You had fun, didn't you?" "What's that word?" She glanced at her for a second. "What, pouting?" "Yeah". "It's that thing you do with your lower lip when you're sad". "Oh". Astrid sighed in a very dramatic sense "Why do you humans have so many words?" Lauren chuckled. "It's called a language. We need it to communicate." She paused. "Hey, I have an idea. Every day, I'll teach you a new word. That way you'll talk like a human in no time". Astrid shrugged. "Sure, why not. I don't think I'll be human for much longer though. I'm gonna find a way home". Lauren decided it was best not to comment on that. She would hate to ruin that little girl's hopes.