#the keyboard noises thing isn’t me projecting AT ALL

[calowlmitygoddess]

Ill fill the writing meme because i love talking about myself lmao

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting? Standart arial, and don't care, tought i tried the comic sans trick a few times

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil? Probably not, my handwriting is terrible, actually unreadable to anyone but myself. Ive used to write on papper back in highschool when i had to write basicly everyday, now i havent touched a pen in ages.

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed? No standart ritual aside from needing music, anything else distracts me. The two songs i listened the most while writing is Respite on the Spitafields by ghost and Sacred Worlds by Blind Guardian

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral? Can't think of any rn :^

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true? I dont think i have any

6. What is your darkest fear about writing? That it all will be meaningless/no one will read what i do

7. What is your deepest joy about writing? Doing Something TM the whole, creation aspect

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go? No dialogue, just write a piece of someone going trought their day, ive wrote a small exercise a while back that fit this.

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know No. Unless i hear a Noise TM then they are very real

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you? All my unfinished things haunt me daily. So much promise and so far nothing real. I had to write a thing to help let go of their ghosts

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve? Only when it fits the narrative. I dont like killing characters whitout a major reason, usually thematic, otherwise it feels cheap.

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules. Have the skill needed to make my Big Project reality, Have it reach some form of Good greater recognition/popularity, the last one i would keep for later.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy? Hard topics in general, big issues, relationships in any realistic way.

Literally just characters vibing, introspection, Over the top stuff.

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back? No one ever asked for a book to me but id have no problem doing so. Im the one people shouldnt ever lend any books because i am very careless and would likely end up dropping coffee or something accidentally on it

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends? I dont write in margins, but i did dog eared books in the past, and i use the jacket(?) of the book to mark my pages.

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark? fuckenn... i dont remember tbh, again i use the jacket.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text. I have a post with a bunch of lore about the dragon species, i cant find it tought. But they are mammals that lay eggs, have no gender, their society mostly resemble that of bees, they have no currency, and the watsonian reason the main character goes by gendered terms despite not having one is because she thinks the words sound nice

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage. I dont think theres any passages that have interesting enough backstories.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going? My dream since childhood was to write a book, ive always liked to tell stories, read and such, i would dictate stories that my mom would write down before i learnt how to do so. But then i got really into drawing and started to foucus more on that, and ended up shifting the foucus from writing text to comic making since every artist with ocs does that. I also changed foucus on projects faster than light, so i would write 2 chapters and give up the next day, or change the entire story the next week and such.

I stuck with comics as my goal for like the past 6 years, and only early this year i came to the conclusion that i really hate the comic making part of making comics, and that i like writting much better. Im very rusty+ the fact im not as avid reader as i used to, and the quality is not really good, but im having fun.

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

Wip, finish the wip, thats all i wanted since i was 10, what even is the point of this question.

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not? I just started writting 'seriously' so i dont want to quit just yet. Also i have a massive undeserved ego, i dont think even the most discouraging,awful negative review could make me quit doing it.

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud? I have one google doc, with outline+ chapters as i write them, i used to have different docs for lore/outline/chapters but its easier this wau

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

In the inn i stay during the week and my actual room in my house are essentially the same place, Is my room, its messy and damp but its confy enough. My table is turned to the small window and during the morning the sun hist right in my face. The table is equally messy, with cups and glasses over it, pappers stained with coffee and tea cover its surface. My one company, a small succulent that rests near the window, and a carved small owl that i need to constantly clean because its constantly molding due to the dampness.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it? Idk what kind of prep work you would do. I just sit and write mate.

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story? Godamn i cant think of any rn. Most of my Extremely well developed characters are from my BIg Story, but it literally doesnt exist anywhere outside my head yet, so idk what is and isnt relevant to it. For my current wip is a little harder since the characters are like less than a year old. idk...Orick looks like a cat person, i think he would like to own a cat.

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place? I go "what would a person in this situation with this background do" and try my best to guess.

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why? Any character thats like a stategist or planner, because its hard to make them look smart without making it look like bullshit or predicting the future

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why? Meira. Her narration came very easy to me, guilt ridden but still professional and calm, also Big Gay.

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry? I was never a very original kid, im a vampire that sucks the soul out of other things to fuel my own. My current Wip main characters are based out of HK characters they resemble nothing of. Im always on the prowl for new media to steal from be inspired by

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

Sort of. I've dreamed with plots before, and i usually do my best to remember, but while at the moment i wake up feeling like that was the best idea in the world, after a while when i think about it again, its just sort of nonsense

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

Literally Thank you to anyone who ever gave me the time of day. Im still a little haunted by those i dissapointed by never fininishing stuff but the fact that yall liked enough to make me feel guilty for giving up is also good in a way <3

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

'sometimes a dream is enough' - the last line from one of my favourite books. In context it drives me insane, it makes me rabid. But out of context its just neat

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate? Im a Drawer! also tried sculpting in the past. And YES, my current dream is to have an illustrated novel.

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go: No idea what an oxford comma is and at this point im too afraid to ask

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens? POV character being the protagonist, i just found it such a neat concept. Also the protagonist needing to be a Good Moral Character.

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know? Dinossaurs, i wanna write a story about dinossaurs one day...

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you? Gay. Also very into dragons

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us? I dont have any Weird habits i think? I can only imagine some kind of complain about how their current food sucks.

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up? Not to be dark in the funny meme but giving up would literally remove one of the things that give my life some form of meaning

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

idk how to write poems sorry

#owl memes

[moth-based-cryptology]

Race has spilt water on his keyboard on stream before I can't let this headcannon go

oh 100%

he’s a gay italian that knows sign language you think any water glasses are s a f e when he’s in the room?

albert has started making him use his water bottle with the straw top so he can’t accidentally murder the whole gaming set up

his own keyboard for editing though? still not safe it bluetooths to his laptop cause he needs the key-clacking noises to focus (shoutout to adhd) and he ruins a keyboard every couple months

#newsies #livesies #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #never not read the tags #ralbert #spam ralbert gang #chaotic red and radioactive racer #youtuber ralbert #youtuber!au #race is a dumbass and i love him #the keyboard noises thing isn’t me projecting AT ALL #don’t look at me like that #anyway #i love he <3 #albert’s done with his shit though

[thefanficmonster]

Corpse’s Girl

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Bullying, Swearing, Derogatory Terms

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Y/N’s life as a regular college student is forever stripped away from her when her relationship with the famous YouTuber Corpse Husband is accidentally revealed during an online class of hers. How will she cope with the sudden spotlight and the unwanted attention, some of which crosses into bullying?

Requested by my amazing Tumblr friend @itsminniekat 🥰 She’s been reading and liking my works since day one and I honestly couldn’t be more grateful. If you’re reading this, all I can say is thank you, darling. Thank you so much for sticking by my blog even when I posted some crappy fics. I’ll make sure this ain’t one of them. Love you with all my heart. ❤❤❤

P.S. - I named the mean character with my name so I hope no one who reads this has the same name. Wouldn’t want any of you feeling like the villain 😘

Who knew online class would be even more boring than being physically present for a lecture? Seriously, I find myself doing the weirdest of crap to entertain myself - like trying to balance a pen on the tip of my nose for example. I jot down some notes every now and then but that’s basically it. My mind can not fathom the concept on concentrating on whatever my professors are going on and on about. Well, full disclosure, I couldn’t concentrate even if I wanted to, especially with my boyfriend streaming in the other room.

He’s currently playing Among Us with his usual gaming squad. Listening to his input during the discussions, I can always tell when he’s lying. I honestly find it hilarious that his friends can’t pick up when he’s bullshitting them. I sometimes wonder if he has brainwashed them. And that’s one of the main reasons we don’t play Among Us together - he can’t lie to me. Not only do I pick up on his con with ease, but he always says he feels bad when he lies to me which is just the sweetest thing. Also, I refuse to play cause I’m shy. His friends are all well-known content creators and I’m a literal nobody. Every now and then I find myself wondering why Corpse is even with me. He’s always quick to push those thoughts out of my head and make sure they don’t return on a long notice, but they do interrupt my peace from time to time.

“Y/N, do you know?“ The sound of my professor saying my name takes me out of my eavesdropping of Corpse’s stream.

I panic, but quickly improvise, “Sorry, my internet is slow, you cut out for a second. What was the question?” I feel my face heating up, making me glad we are allowed to keep our cameras off.

“Question number 15 on page 82 in your textbook. Do you know the answer to it?“ My professor repeats himself, his tone annoyed.

I look down at the page that’s already opened in front of me. I let out a sigh of relief, seeing that the question is rather easy.

“Yeah, um, it’s...“ Suddenly, Corpse’s laugh reaches my room loud and clear. There’s no doubt my mic picked up the noise, especially since the door to my room is open.

The color drains from my face as I hurry to say the answer and remute myself. My eyes are wide as I stare at my screen, hoping no one will acknowledge that very recognizable laugh.

“OMG Y/N, are you watching a Corpse Husband stream in class?” One of the bitches in my class, Vy, speaks up, “Not a very goody-two-shoe move on your part, dear.” 

I purposely unmute my mic to mumble a quick ‘Shut up, bitch’ that somehow manages to fly under my professor’s radar and the class continues. It’s the first time something like this has happened and I’m not sure if I handled it properly or not.

The class ends shortly after, allowing me a sigh of relief as I disconnect from the meeting. 

“Fucking finally.“ I mumble to myself, leaning back in my desk chair. Tilting my head backwards, I see Corpse standing in the doorframe. I grin, not only because his presence itself makes me ten times happier, but also because he’s upside down from my viewpoint. “Well, hello there! How long have you been spying on me?“

He struts over to me, leaning his face over mine, “Long enough.” His lips linger above mine without any actual contact before he pulls away, allowing me to sit up straight and proper in the chair. “You still have classes?”

I nod my head while disappointedly rolling my eyes, “Yeah. One more. Shouldn’t be too bad since it’s English Lit. You’re done streaming?”

“Yeah, I just have some other things to do. I haven’t done a narration video in a while, I miss making that type of content.“ He plops down on my bed, running a hand through his messy black curls.

“Weren’t you recording some lines a few days ago?“ I frown as I try to recall if what I’m referring to actually happened or my brain is too fried to decipher reality from my bootleg perception of it. Online class, man - messes with your head like sleeping pills - makes you disoriented and exhausted with barely doing anything other than trying to wrap your brain around a lecture or two.

He hums affirmatively, “It’s not a finished project and I don’t even know if I’ll use those or rerecord them. I’ll have to listen to them again before I make a final decision.“

I tilt his chin upwards with my pointer finger, a gesture he has told me he finds very endearing, “I’m sure they’re great and you just refuse to be satisfied. Everything you do is great.“

He smiles a small, shy smile, his fingers gently wrapping around my wrist, holding my hand in place, “You’re biased. You like me too much to tell me when I do some bullshit.”

I scoff, “You know that isn’t true. If someone’s gonna kick your butt in formation, it’s gonna be me.“ I give him a quick kiss on the forehead before pulling away from him, “Go on, now. I have a class to attend. You distract me enough while you’re in the other room, I can only imagine how hard it’d be for me to focus if you were right by my side.“

He smirks, bowing a little as he makes his way out of the room, “You flatter me.”

I playfully roll my eyes, getting my headset back on as I tap the last class for the day. We have an assignment due to the start of the class which we’ll have to present if the professor approved of it. We basically had to write a psychoanalysis of a character from any book of our choice. I chose Heathcliff from ‘Wuthering Heights’ which is one of my favorite books of all time. I’m proud of what I wrote and the way I wrote it, but I’ve always barely scraped by with a B in this class, a B+ if I’m lucky, so I’ve never gotten any major credit, even when I put my 110% in the assignments and projects.

Well, color me surprised when the professor calls on me first to read my work, complimenting it on its detailed and specific nature. I get my printed assignment out in front of me and unmute myself.

“I wrote a psychoanalysis on for Heathcliff, a character from Emily Bronte’s novel ‘Wuthering Heights’.“ Just after I say this line, Corpse’s voice booms throughout the whole apartment, no doubt being picked up by my mic. It doesn’t sound like he’s actually talking, he can’t be that loud. I put two and two together when I recognize the lines he’s saying - the ones he recorded a few days ago. They’re coming from his computer speakers. He probably didn’t check the volume before playing back the recording.

I mute myself as quickly as possible, but it’s too late. The voice dies down as Corpse probably turned down the speakers.

My professor, who is already done with this lecture, just annoyedly remarks, her words overdosed with sarcasm: “Read your assignment and you can go back to whatever it is you are watching.”

“Wow, Y/N! Again?! Are you one of those crazy obsessed fans or something? Is Corpse Husband all you watch?“ This bitch is really poking a stick at me, huh? The only crazy obsessed fan here is her, and my friends but they are allowed. Little do all of them know, I am obsessed but not simply over a YouTuber. I’m obsessed with my boyfriend who just happens to be a YouTuber.

“No commentary, please.“ The professor scolds her, “Go on, Y/N.“

I finish reading without any other disturbances. The professor compliments my essay again when I’m done, the small incident at the beginning forgotten already. Well, not by everyone. One of my friends shot me a quick text to joke about it which only earned an eye roll from me.

My friends don’t know that I’m dating Corpse either. As I said, they are simping HARD over him while I act the most indifferent on the subject. Whenever they ask my opinion on him I either say ‘he’s OK’ or just avoid answering completely. I know saying anything more enthusiastic than that would turn into a snowball rolling down a snowy hill - I’d just keep babbling about how nice, amazing, wonderful and a gift to this world Corpse is, inevitably revealing our relationship in the process.

I’m afraid of revealing my relationship with Corpse in front of these people. They are all run on jealousy and selfishness and I can only imagine how mean they’d be about it. I’m already not too fond of them, it would only be worse if any of my personal life was exposed.

When the class finally ends I remove my headset, putting my forehead down on the desk, barely missing the keyboard. I groan in frustration and anger at myself for not fighting back. I could’ve and should’ve said something - ANYTHING. But what? That’s a question I can’t find the answer to.

“Hey...“ Corpse’s hesitant voice comes from behind me, “You ok?“

I straighten my posture, turning to him with a smile. “Yeah, but these people suck.”

I get up from my chair as he approaches me, basically falling in his arms. The comfort I feel radiating off of him makes me relax, forget the past hour or so. He has always had this effect on me. Like my own personal kryptonite to my anger and anxiety.

“Did I get you in any trouble because of that?“ His voice shows clear concern and guilt. 

I wrap my arms around him tighter, burying my head in his chest. “No, don’t worry about it.“ 

And I really wasn’t in trouble. Not until now that the video is officially posted....

I can call these people dumb all I want but they sure put two and two together awfully fast. They recognized the lines they heard during class as the same ones from his new video that came out almost a week after the incident, aka two days ago. It’s safe to say I haven’t touched my phone or computer since.

“This is all my fault.“

Of all the horrible things I suspected would happen this has to be the worst - Corpse is blaming himself for it. I am prepared to take all the shit these people have to throw at me but seeing Corpse beating himself up over this is killing me. No amount of convincing can change his mind. Nothing I say helps.

“Please, stop doing this to yourself. Non of this is your fault, Corpse.“ I’ve repeated this sentence more than a thousand time these past forty eight hours, each time saying it more and more desperately.

“All of it is my fault, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I hate myself so much.“ Has been his reply single time.

 I can’t watch him be so mean to himself. It’s the most conflicting thing when the person you love most is torturing themselves. It’s easy if it’s someone else doing it, you just kick their ass. But what are you supposed to do when the person you want to protect is the same one you need to protect them from.

Corpse has shut himself away in his recording room these past few hours and though he clearly needs to be alone, he still left the door open just a crack cause he knows I’ll be worried sick otherwise.

While I’m alone in the living room, I’ve finally managed to brace myself and build enough courage to power up my laptop. Last time it was on it was going mad with notifications.

“It’s digital. Only digital. It can’t hurt you too badly if it can’t touch you, right?“ I mumble to myself, already frustrated despite not having yet seen all the horrors that await me.

And horrors there were. Everywhere. Twitter. Instagram. Facebook.

My grades. Some pictures of me no one has ever seen. My school files. People from my class tweeting Corpse to ‘expose’ me for the ‘slut’ or ‘bitch’ I really am. Corpse hasn’t touched social media either and I plan on making sure it stays that way. God only knows how much worse he’ll get if he sees these claims.

And then, like a notification sent straight from hell, an email from my professor.

Practical lectures on Friday. Be here at 9 AM. Don’t forget your mask and gloves.

Good thing I opened my laptop when I did. Friday is tomorrow and I need to prepare for this day. Not only do I need to hit the books but I need to toughen up a bit. I can’t go there looking like I feel - like a mess.

Alright, time to put the brave face on. No more wallowing in it, at least not until tomorrow afternoon.

I make a study plan and hop in the shower. I feel the need to apologize to my hair for washing it so roughly, basically yanking at my strands from frustration that has been suppressed for too long.

I get our of the boiling hot shower, red as a lobster, and change into some clean comfortable clothes and put my ass in study mode. I remove all the scary expectations of the morning to come from my mind and let the information the textbooks has to offer seep into my brain.

                                                            *  *  *

I’m about to head out and, despite my put-together composure, I am a wreck inside. I actually put effort into my appearance, I mean - I even styled my hair. A pretty façade to hide a ruin.

I saw my friends’ texts last night, all three of them ending their friendship with me because they felt betrayed. I haven’t yet decided how to feel about that. Doesn’t matter at the moment, there are more important matters at hand, aka surviving the next three hours.

My college is within ten minutes walking distance from our apartment. That ten minute walk has never been so stressful, not even during exam season. The air feels a little harder to breathe, the path a little shorter to walk. And my moment of reckoning a little too close.

I feel eyes on me the second I start walking through the park of our campus. Sure, I could just be paranoid, but the feeling is too real to be just my imagination in overdrive. I’m glad I have my hair down and a mask on so the redness of my cheeks and neck isn’t on display. That’s a sign of weakness right now.

We have two an hour and a half long classes between which we have a snack break that’s half an hour. I usually enjoy that period but I’m dreading it now. These assholes can only be so mean in the presence of a professor, but during lunch break they can increase that tenfold. 

“Well if it isn’t Corpse’s girl.“ I hear that a lot. The whispers are not so much whispers as intentionally loud enough for me to hear remarks. I’m not bothered by them, it’s the least they can do. If I let such a simple thing get to me, I’d be crumbling by the end of first period.

I hear some shuffling behind me and out of the corner of my eye I see, yeah you guessed it, THAT bitch. She’s standing as close to me as she can without violating Covid regulations. A mask is covering her face but the menacing look in her eyes tells me all I need to know about the interaction that’s about to go down.

“I’d ask how much he pays you for the hour.....“ her long nails tap the wooden desk, “but that’d be rude. I bet it’s tough being a maid. Do you just clean or are you a multipurpose lap dog? No offense, I’m genuinely curious.“

“Vy, would you be so kind as to give Y/N some room to breathe?“ The professor asks as he nonchalantly walks in.

Vy rolls her eyes, batting her eyelashes at me, “Talk to you later, sweetheart.” With a fake friendly wave she’s out of my hair, at least for now.

Remember what I said about these people not being as dumb as I pegged them to be? Yeah, scratch that. These fuckers actually tried getting away with taking pictures of me with flash in broad daylight. Like, HELLO! I have two functioning eyes and a brain, I’m onto you. Sadly, me having figured out their childish but hurtful methods of humiliating me doesn’t change much. They still posted the pics they took, using the most derogatory terms they could find in the English language, always making sure to tag Corpse and me both.

Needless to say, these were the longest three hours of my life.

                                                              *  *  *

Shutting the door to our apartment behind me causes relief of the highest levels. I feel like I’ve locked out all the bad shit I have had to deal with these past twenty four hours. 

I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted. I feel like a discarded piece of paper. 

And it all starts crumbling. A wall is bound to start slowly falling apart after being hit over and over again, each time feeling the blows with a stronger intensity. 

I slide down the door sitting down on the floor and slowly taking my shoes off. I put my bag beside me and wrap my arms around my knees, hiding my head in the space between them and my chest.

One tear slides down my cheek.

Another follows.

And another, this time accompanied by a choked sob.

A pair of arms wraps around the ball that my body has been shaped into. One of his hands comes up to stroke my hair gently, feeding me the comfort I have been longing for since I left the apartment this morning.

“I saw it. All of it. All the shit they talk about you. All the names they call you. And I’ve never wanted to beat so many people up simultaneously.“ His words make me raise my head from its low position, giving him a knowing look. “I wish I could. I would, but that would land me in jail. Which doesn’t even sound so bad cause I don’t like going out. Only problem is you wouldn’t be with me. I wouldn’t want you to be there with me, don’t get me wrong, I’d never want you to end up in jail. I-...” I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. A quick kiss that says so much but mainly shows the immeasurable gratitude for his support.

Seeing those awful tweets and comments had the complete opposite effect on him. He no longer blames himself but the people who actually deserve the blame - all those jerks from my college.

I pull away, giving him a small smile. “I would never let you go to jail.” 

He smiles back at me, overjoyed that my mood is slowly being lifted, “Come on, I have a nice crowd that would like to meet you.”

I know exactly what he means. Felix, Sean, Rae, Dave, Sykkuno and the rest of his friends. The people I’ve been so shy and afraid to meet since day one. Being shy doesn’t really make sense now, seeing as how they know I exist and that I’m a part of Corpse’s life. 

What do I have to lose?

“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.“ Corpse’s black avatar runs around my cyan one in the Among Us lobby.

I can’t help but giggle when I unmute my mic, “Hi everyone! It’s so nice to finally meet you.“ They each introduce themselves, expressing how happy they are to be meeting me too.

It’s the first time in what feels like a while that I’m truly having fun. These people are wonderful, each so unique and lovely. They never brought up the scandal nor acted as though they knew about it. I know they did and I am beyond grateful that they never mentioned it or treated me any differently because of it. Also, Corpse was streaming the whole time. I had my phone on his stream, my eyes nervously scanning the chat every now and then. I couldn’t believe it. Corpse’s real fans were just as wonderful as his friends - they were nothing but supportive and happy to have met me.

Now, I can either choose to believe these people were being so nice to me out of sympathy or I can believe they really like me and appreciate me for who I am and not for what happened to me. 

I choose to believe the latter.

And while I’m still getting accustomed to this whole new spotlight, I know I’ll be able to handle it as long as I’m holding Corpse’s hand in the process. All I need is to have him beside me and I’m prepared to tackle anything.

“They love you.“ Corpse tells me once the stream is done and we’ve hopped out of the Discord call, “But I love you more.“

His arms wrap around my waist while mine instinctively find their way around his neck, “I love them, too. But they’re at the number 2 spot.”

He smirks at me, “I wonder who’s at number 1.”

I push up on my toes, putting my lips an inch away from his, “Hmm, I wonder...”

He doesn’t let me finish, silencing my teasing with a sweet, loving kiss.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat

#corpse #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband #husband #corpsehusband #corpse imagines #corpse simp #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband imagine #fluff #angst #romance #love #comfort #x reader #reader #reader insert #x y/n #y/n #requests open #requests

[outercrasis]

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: References to sex, masturbation (nothing actually occurs)

Summary: After meeting Mando, you just can’t seem to get him out of your head. (events directly follow Introductions)

A/N: Thanks for the kind reception to the first post of this AU! I’ll be making a masterlist soon for easier navigation :) Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future posts or if I’ve missed a warning.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Lingering Impressions

Your day ended up being an exhausting one. Mando had been your most exciting session for more reasons than just the obvious. You'd reviewed the papers of two freshmen, a junior who wanted you to basically write their paper for them, and another graduate student who disregarded every suggestion you made. Needless to say, Mando's gratitude felt extra special after all of that.

Getting home, you're greeted with the welcome smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen as you throw yourself face-first into the couch. The open floorplan of your tiny two bedroom apartment allows Layla to spot you as you wander in.

"Hello to you too!" she calls over. "I'm making chicken marsala."

You lift your head up from the watermelon-shaped throw pillow to smile at her. "You are a saint and I don't deserve you."

"You totally don't," Layla teases back, happily returning to the stove. You flip over on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone while she finishes making dinner. A comfortable silence fills the room, interrupted only by Layla's hums and the discordant sounds of cooking.

Layla has been your roommate since your sophomore year of college, randomly paired together by the dorm sorting system and inseparable ever since. The two of you clicked, a friendship forged over the awkwardness of early adulthood and a shared love of terrible reality TV. Both of you keep busy schedules while pursuing your respective master’s degrees and help each other out where you can. Making dinners for each other is just a part of that.

It’s not long before Layla brings over two steaming plates of food to lay out on your thrifted coffee table. She sits opposite you, preferring to sit on the floor rather than the couch. You’re eager to dig in, groaning at the first bite.

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Layla grins, tucking into her own meal.

“God yes.”

“Long day then?”

You groan again, this time in irritation rather than pleasure. “Yes. I don’t know how many more know-it-all grad students I can deal with.”

She’s heard all about your nightmare sessions with students that think they already know everything. You’ve questioned more than once why they bother booking the session if they're just going to ignore your advice and decide their paper is perfect as is. It seems like a total waste of time for both you and them. 

Layla sympathizes and shares her own gripes about some of the assholes she's forced to put up with while working on her research project. After all, no group project is complete without the one person who does nothing but acts like they know everything. Giving each other time to vent another small way the two of you take care of each other.

As you think back on your day and sessions your mind inevitably drifts to Mando. He hadn’t been anything like you’d expected. He was kind in his own way and by far the most amenable session you’d had all day. Not taking off the helmet was odd, as was not giving out his real name, but neither of those had really bothered you when it came down to it. If anything, they only serve to fascinate you further.

“Did something else happen today?” Layla asks, a spark lighting up in her eyes. She can always read you, something that can be either a blessing or a curse depending on what it is you're hiding. You take a few more bites before answering, already anticipating her reaction.

“Well I might have also met Mando today,” You try to throw it out there casually, hoping that if you treat it as though it’s not a big deal she’ll follow your lead. You should have known better.

“You what!? Tell me everything,” Layla screeches at you from across the coffee table. She pushes her food off to the side, clearly deciding that your unexpected meeting with campus's resident celebrity is far more important.

"He came in for a session. His paper was really good, it-"

Layla is quick to cut you off. "I literally couldn't care less about that and you know it. Tell me about him, what's he like? Is he terrifying?"

You can’t help but snort at that. You know why she asked of course - the rumors flying around about him getting out of hand these days - but when you think about him now they all seem ludicrous. The gentle way he spoke to Grogu and offered his hand out to the kid before leaving. The sincerity in his voice as he spoke to you, eager to hear any advice you had to give him. No. Mando was decidedly not terrifying. “He’s… just a guy,” you tell her, not really sure how to explain his unique presence.

The eyeroll you receive in response is warranted. “Are you kidding me right now? You probably know more about him than anyone else on campus and you’re going to tell me he’s just a guy?”

You shrug, shoveling another bite of food into your mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you Lays, I only spent an hour with him. He was nice, really sweet with his kid, and I’ll probably never see him again.”

You’re not sure why you feel a quick sting in your chest at that thought. It wasn’t like you knew him well or that he even owed you anything. Considering the fact that you’d gone weeks without so much as glimpsing him on campus you’d probably only have another chance to see him if he signed up for another session and there was no guarantee he’d return.

“So the kid thing is true?” Layla asks.

“Yeah. Really cute kid, pretty quiet.” Very quiet now that you think of it. You don’t have much experience with kids that young, but you’re certain kids Grogu’s age can talk. He hadn’t said so much as a word, only letting out an occasional noise or two. It was odd, but then he could just be shy or something. Another question you’d probably never have an answer for.

“Is the kid his?” Layla presses.

“I don’t know, it didn’t exactly come up while we discussed his paper on unique material applications,” you snap back at her. You wince a little at your sharp reply. It wasn’t deserved. Layla was simply curious and now the victim of your long day and swirling thoughts.

You quickly follow up with an apology. “Sorry. I just- I had a long day and I really didn’t learn much about him, okay?” 

There’s a small sense of relief when Layla nods, backing down from her inquisition. “It’s cool, I get it. Just promise you’ll tell me if you see him again?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” 

The rest of the night passes like usual. You wash up after dinner, a fair trade since Layla cooked, and the two of you get to tackling homework that’s begun to pile up with the semester entering its full swing. Nighttime study sessions have been a regular occurrence since your undergrad days and have only intensified while pursuing your respective graduate degrees. It’s more about solidarity and accountability than shared workload, what with your program being in English and Layla’s in Marketing, but it’s nice. Simply having company is better than doing it all by yourself.

Around 10:30 you call it, eyes bleary from staring at your laptop. Layla is deep into a PDF reading so you leave her to her work and shuffle off to the shared bathroom. While the water heats, you brush your teeth lazily, going through the motions of your nightly routine. You test the water with your hand before deciding it’s warm enough to step in.

Your thoughts drift aimlessly as you stand under the hot stream, unfocused until they land back on him. It’s like you can’t help yourself, the way your thoughts have been returning to him all night. You’ve puzzled about him before, but only in the abstract. A hypothetical more than a real person. Wondering if rumors are true isn't quite the same as wondering about the man himself. 

All throughout the night he kept popping up. One moment you would be considering the symbolic use of color in your assigned reading and the next you would be puzzling over Mando’s favorite color. Maybe orange, if his gloves were anything to go by. Layla's favorite song played and while she sang along you couldn't help wondering what kind of music he listens to. Rock probably, or was that too on the nose? As you sipped your drink you wondered what his drink of choice would be, alcoholic or not. Did he even drink alcohol at all? Something told you he wasn’t much for losing his inhibitions.

It's all the little things, all the little details that actually make up a person that no one bothers to speculate about that consume you now. Who cares about his favorite movie or favorite food when you can guess on whether or not he's been to jail?

As you wash the grime of the day from your body, your mind continues to drift further, settling onto the first thing that captured your attention earlier today. His hands. Those gorgeous sun soaked hands, how fluidly they moved across his keyboard. The firm hold of them when he shook your hand.

Eyes fluttering closed, you can't help imagining that it's his hands skating across your skin. You can almost feel the gentle roughness of them, the way he'd squeeze and hold you - tight, but not so hard that it hurts. Almost unconsciously, your hand begins to drift down your body, only to be interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door. Your eyes snap open, confusion and embarrassment replacing your fantasy.

"Hurry up in there! I need to pee," Layla yells through the door.

You grumble in response, knowing she can't hear you, but quickly finish your shower. It's not quite as relaxing anymore, flustered by your wanton thoughts. 

Getting back into your room, you check your email before setting your alarms for tomorrow. There’s the usual spam from online stores reminding you of limited time deals, a reminder that rent is due next week (lovely), and a couple generic university emails. Your eyes fall to your new tutoring appointment emails and you flick through them mindlessly to clear them out, knowing they’ll all automatically appear on your calendar. 

Just as you’re about to close out of the app and get some well needed rest, a new email pops through. It’s another appointment alert scheduled for next week. You tap to open it and your heart flutters when you read the name on the form. Mando. No need to wonder about if you’d ever see him again now. You’d be seeing him Tuesday at 3 PM. Somehow you know he won’t miss his appointment.

×××××

Din is exhausted. Between Grogu, classes, and trying to find ways to make money, he barely has enough time to do basic functional adult things. Things like showering regularly, eating more than a required minimum of once a day, or heaven help him sleep. 

He wishes he could afford a regular babysitter, allow himself some occasional reprieve but it's not possible. He makes just enough to keep the bills paid and at least Grogu's stomach full. There's also an ever present paranoia about letting a stranger into his home, much less to watch his son. Only Paz and Cara have ever babysat for him and even that was mostly against his will.

Din slumps onto his couch, exhausted from the long day. He’d found the couch on the side of the road. It’s well worn and has a couple holes in it, but it was devoid of fleas, comfortable, and most importantly, free. His helmet is off, sitting on the kitchen table where he’d left it after getting home from campus. He’s mostly used to it these days, but sometimes it can still feel suffocating underneath the custom bucket. Taking it off at the end of the day is always welcome, especially when Din sees Grogu’s eyes light up at his exposed face.

He allows himself just a moment of rest, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Grogu had finally gone to bed, demanding three stories before he fell asleep and Din not having it within him to deny the requests. A small smile rests on his lips, thinking of Grogu's excitement at his mediocre storytelling. He already loathes the day when Grogu won't ask him to read anymore.

There are about twenty other things he should be doing right now other than sitting on the couch. The apartment hasn't been cleaned properly in weeks, dishes are piling up, laundry needs to be done, he needs to find a job for this weekend, should probably find better daycare for Grogu, has an exam to study for, and a paper to finish writing. He should be doing all of that and more, and yet he can't find the will to move. He stays planted firmly on the couch, letting his thoughts drift. A few different ideas and ruminations swirl around, but his mind settles onto one. Her.

She isn't what he had been expecting. When his professor had recommended a session with a writing tutor he'd been a little miffed at first. Din knew words weren't his strong suit, but he hadn't thought he was that bad. He probably wouldn't have even considered it if she hadn't immediately assured him that it was only a suggestion because she saw potential in his work.

He had still only been considering it, form half filled out, when Grogu had hit submit. He’d looked for a way to cancel the appointment, but couldn’t figure it out with the school’s poorly designed website, so instead he had resigned himself to going. After all, just the one session couldn't hurt and he'd already be on campus.

He thought the tutor would be some irritating know-it-all, pointing out all the mistakes in his paper. Either that, or that they'd be too nervous to make any real criticisms. He’d noticed the way people froze up around him, sometimes too timid to even look in his direction. She wasn't either of those things.

She was all smiles and kindness, not hesitant around him for a moment. Even Grogu took an immediate liking to her, as evidenced by the gift of his frog drawing. Din had more of those than he could count, but very few others had been bestowed the honor of his sacred amphibian themed artworks.

She challenged him in a way he liked, not rude but still forceful. Encouraging him to figure out what it was she was guiding him towards with the paper. Not taking ownership, simply identifying where ideas could be made stronger or clearer. They’d only worked through a few pages in the session and Din already felt more confident in his writing. 

What he liked most though was that she hadn't even asked about the helmet. It was all he heard from those brave enough to speak to him. Where did he get it, why did he wear it, did he ever take it off, what does he look like underneath, and so on. Avoiding all of those questions got to be draining. She didn't even acknowledge it.

She had mentioned the rumors that were apparently swirling around campus about him but that was it. He was a bit grateful for that though, entirely unaware of how popular he'd apparently become. The stares that followed him on campus were hard to ignore, but he didn’t know about their accompanying whispers. He still isn’t sure if the rumors are a good or a bad thing. Her reaction hadn’t given him all that much to go off of. He wishes it had.

That thought stops Din short. Where did that come from? Why did her opinion of him suddenly matter after a single one hour session? Din can’t remember the last time he considered someone else’s opinion of him. Probably when he first brought Grogu home to meet everyone. Now here he is, wondering what his English tutor’s thoughts were about the rumors everyone has been spreading about him. He needs to get out more.

Din shakes his head free, trying to ponder other aspects of his life. Like when he’d be able to get the Razor Crest up and running again. She’d broken down again after only the second week of classes. Paz makes fun of him for riding on such an old bike, but she’s a classic. Din can’t get rid of her, no matter how much she likes to break down on him. In the meantime he could make due with the loaner truck from Peli.

Thoughts of his motorcycle only distract him for so long though. He realizes half-way through the fantasy that he’s imagining taking her out on his bike, feeling her hands clasped around his waist as he rides through the city. The way she’d hang on just a little tighter, pressing herself against his back, as he hits the throttle just a bit harder.

Din sits up on the couch and mutters to himself. “Come on, Djarin. Pull it together.”

She’s beautiful, yes, but to already be fantasizing about taking her for a ride? That’s a bit much. It has been months since Din has seen any kind of action, but he shouldn’t be this desperate after spending only an hour with a pretty face. Still, now that he’s thinking of it, his mind wanders to what she’d be like. 

Would she take charge, calm and in control like she was earlier today? Or would she submit to him, allow him to do whatever he wanted? A small groan escapes Din’s lips at the thought of having her beneath him, begging for him to take her. How she would look spread out on his bedsheets, how sweet she’d taste. He can already imagine how good she’d feel wrapped around him, the way her eyes would look all strung out and cockdumb. It would be a beautiful sight if he’s ever lucky enough to see it.

An alarm Din forgot he set suddenly blares on his phone. He can’t even remember what he set it for as he’s yanked from his lewd imaginings, scrambling to turn it off. There’s a small wave of embarrassment as he registers where he allowed his thoughts to drift. 

Ignoring the uncomfortable pressure in his jeans, Din pulls up the tutoring appointment form on his phone and signs up for another session. There’s an option to select a specific tutor and he’s quick to open it up, choosing her name from the drop down menu. 

There’s nothing wrong about this, right? She’d helped him with his paper and Grogu liked her. She even asked if she’d be seeing him again. That was plenty of reason to have another session. His renegade fantasies had nothing to do with his decision to go back. Din is a man in control of his urges. If anything, this next session would prove that his thoughts were all just fleeting, just a simple result of going too long without anyone in his bed.

.

.

.

taglist: @honestly-shite​ @booksarekindaneat​ @wonderless-screwup​ @pinkninja200​ @captain-jebi​ @ajeff855​ @leias-rebelion​ 

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated 💕

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #college!din #college!mando #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian au #pedro pascal x reader #mandocrasis fic #sessions

[marvelettesassemblenow]

Distracted

Pairing: Steve x F Reader

Summary: Steve is reckless on missions – especially those when you are supposed to guide him through

Word Count:  ~2.7k

Warnings: a few swear words, a little bit of jealousy

A/N: this was in my drafts for two weeks I think. I’m not really satisfied with it, but I thought I might post it while I’m still busy writing my next Bucky piece – which is currently 6.5k long

“Would you please stop fussing so much?” Bucky complained.

“Well, I would, but I’m not heartless. I care about you and I won’t apologize for worrying about you when you go on a fucking mission. So cut me some slack when I want to make sure that everything is working.” You were fumbling on Bucky's metal arm until he took it away from you.

“Stop it, we’ll take care of him. Well at least as much as he let us which means none,” he admitted and didn’t need to elaborate who he was talking about. It was no secret to him that you harboured a crush on Steve Rogers. It wasn’t also a secret that Steve was reckless on missions. And that Bucky knew why you were fussing so much about him, because you couldn’t do it with Steve.

“We both know that this is a dead promise. And now give me back your arm, I will take one last look to make sure it works fine this time. Last time it gave me a heart attack when it stopped working.” You weren’t kidding. On the last mission when Bucky tried to stop the wall from falling on him and Natasha his arm didn’t move anymore and fell down. That was on your head and you were damned if you let something like that happen again.

“Hey, is everything okay over there? We need to leave in five, if Bucky's arm isn’t working properly, he needs to sit this one out,” Steve voice came from near the quinjet.

“No, it’s working,” Bucky answered quickly and stood up so your hands didn’t have a grip on his arm anymore.

“I didn’t want your confirmation,” Steve said and looked from Bucky to you and you only nodded. They were busy taking the last of the things inside and on their last round they all gave you a sideway hug and a heads up.

“Wear your coms,” you yelled over the noise of the starting plane and Steve just tipped his ear before the hatch closed. Steve, Natasha and Bucky were on this mission and so you walked back into the compound ready to sit behind a computer and watch the whole thing. You weren’t really sure if it was a good idea for you to see everything or if it would be better if you were left in the dark.

“So, what are the stakes this time?” you asked when you walk into the room full of superheroes not one bit intimidated. These were your friends.

“Two says Steve will ignore a warning and walk into 10 opponents, one vote for Bucky's arm will fail,” Clint started but at this part you let out an enraged hey that they doubted you, “Natasha having someone in a headlock while saying something sassy,” he went on.

“I’m in with Steve ripping his coms out,” you said after you sat down in front of a computer and putting your headphones on. You preferred to have some monitors in front of you including a keyboard instead of the holograms Tony, who had just walked into the room, preferred.

“I’m in on Bucky and Steve bickering like an old married couple,” he said and started to project pictures and information in front of him.

“They always do that, it doesn’t count,” Clint chimed in and you had to agree.

“Okay guys, we see your body cams, I need a check if you can hear us,” you pressed a button to make sure they could hear you.

“Check,” you heard three times and Natasha bent forward right in front of Bucky's body cam and pulled her thumbs up. “So, what are the stakes today?” she asked.

“Tony needs to place a different wager, because his one is a daily occurrence.”

“Fine, well I think I write mine down,” you heard Tony through your ear that wasn’t occupied by a headpiece. You wondered what it was as you saw Clints smirk when he accepted the paper.

“Done, you call the shot,” you said through the mic. It had happened one day and now it became kind of a game. The ones who weren’t on the mission would say what would happen. If you were right, great. If you were wrong you had to do whatever the ones on the mission decided.

“Loser has to do the next press conference,” Steve said with a smirk. There was a lot of groaning in the background, but you said that everyone was on board with it.

“We’re close, I can get into the security system now. Y/N you should see it on your left in 3, 2, now.” Right on cue you could see the security systems. And just like that the atmosphere changed from playful to work.

“At least 8 people on the second floor, maybe more. Four on the ground, two at the main entrance, one at the back and one is on walking duty. If our research is correct the data I need is on the second floor.” Tony continues talking about security measurements when Sam pointed at a few people you hadn’t seen before.

“Correction, at least 12 people on second floor,” you added. The talk continued for a while, when Clint could cross out the Natasha and headlock part. Bucky's arm was still working so far, so that was safe. But when you told them they needed to get to the second part and started talking about the dangers there Steve ripped his com out and stormed into the opponent without a second thought. “Bucky, Steve needs help. I’m ripping him a new one when he comes back. Natasha, can you follow them and see if they can get you a clear way to the computer and insert the flash drive so I can hack into it?” You were freaking out, but you still needed to keep a clear head. When you saw that Natasha had insert the flash drive you gave Sam your headpiece so he could keep a watch on the Avengers while you were busy getting into the system.

When everything was done you were so fed up you stormed out of the room. “Well, I didn’t lose either,” you heard Tonys voice before you walked back to your room.

You went showering, getting rid of the sweat that had gathered on your body after watching everything unfold on the screen. When you were finished and at least a little bit calmed down you walked down to your lab. You started writing the mission report while playing your music until you heard a soft voice calling your name. You turned around and saw Steve who stood awkwardly in the door to your lab. Your gaze flew over him and you noticed a wound on his arm.

“You should go to Med Bay,” you said when your gaze lingered on his injury.

“It will heal soon,” Steve replied, his voice still soft.

“You know the protocol. Med bay first. And by the way your bodycam is still on, might need to turn that off. Last time we got an eyeful of Sam. I don’t even know why there had to be so many mirrors in that bathroom,” you shuddered while you heard a loud laugh. Bucky walked past Steve and let himself fall into a chair that he knew all too well. “Med bay, Steve,” you said before you turned around towards Bucky.

You asked a bit of questions about his arm when you saved your file and went over to him. You started your adjustments when Bucky suddenly started talking. “Have you asked Steve why he always rips his coms out?”

“Because he is stubborn and doesn’t like to take advice that might save his life?” you replied quickly while you twirled a screwdriver in your hand before you lost it and had to bend down to retrieve it.

“You should ask him,” Bucky simply said while he watched you bumping your head at the table when you came up again.

“Maybe,” you shrugged and went back to his arm. You spent a while on that but couldn’t figure out what was wrong, although Bucky said it didn’t work as fast as it used to. You got a message from Friday that there was food available and you both decided you would get some.

When you sat together at the table you noticed that Bucky had no problem using his arm. What you didn’t notice was that Steve looked at you and saw you checking out Bucky. “Talking helps, you know?” Natasha said when she walked past the blonde super soldier to get a refill. Steve didn’t respond and looked at the food he put on his fork, so he missed the glance you threw his way.

It was a few days later when you walked into the training room. You greeted the team loudly and got a few responses. You weren’t often in the trainings room, but you weren’t an unusual sight either. When you walked over to the two super soldiers you tried to stay on Bucky's left side and picked up a conversation when you nodded slowly. You couldn’t really see it, but your plan had worked. There was a knife in Bucky's metal hand, thrown by no other than Black Widow. What you didn’t plan on was that you had to see that from the floor because you were laying on the ground with Steve on top of you.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Steve exploded and jumped up and offered you a hand so you could get up also. Bucky still stared at the knife in his hand and before Steve could walk over to ask Natasha if she was out of her mind, you pulled him back by the hand that you still gripped.

“I asked her to do that,” you said.

“WHAT?” came from Bucky and Steve at the same time. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Buck, there isn’t anything wrong with your arm. I did test after test, I lay awake to find out why it sometimes isn’t working like it should be. But I watched you and it always worked when you didn’t focus on it. Just like now, you knew I was in danger and stopped it. It isn’t your arm, Buck.” Your voice went softer as you continued the speech. “The arm is working just fine, it's something else. Maybe you just don’t want it to work sometimes,” you concluded.

“And to test the theory you almost get yourself killed?” Steve wheezed.

“Oh, you don’t get to lecture me! I knew Bucky would keep me safe, also if it would have failed you stepped in, see? And I told Nat to not hit anything that would kill me immediately.” You turned to Bucky and told him to come see you soon. You let go of Steves hand, nodded at Natasha who walked over.

“I don’t know why you don’t see it, but the two of you match,” she smirked.

“Hey Steve, do you have a minute?” you asked him when he walked into the kitchen to grab himself something to drink. He nodded in your direction. “I want to talk about Bucky.” You couldn’t see the eyeroll that escaped him as his back was turned to you. He poured himself a drink and turned around.

“Of course, what’s it about?” he asked and sat down in front of you.

“You should let him sit out the next mission. Maybe the one after that too. He needs to see a therapist and figure out what the problem is. If he even wants to be out in the field, you might need to consider that he wants to do something different.”

This took Steves attention. He asked if Bucky had mentioned anything, but you declined. “I’ll think about it. Actually I’ll talk to him, thank you for noticing and telling me,” he said honestly and stood up and grabbed your hand, which he squeezed lightly.

“We haven’t spent time together in ages, do you want to hang out tonight?” you asked him. Steve was surprised, but he agreed quickly and told you he would pick you up from your lab. You spent the evening together cooking food and sitting down afterwards and just talked. Neither of you noticed Bucky and Sam walking by who considered joining you, but decided against it when they noticed how close the two of you were.

The next mission Steve went on Bucky sat out. You gave him the headphone while you managed the computer to get the info's. You were so confused when you lost the bet this time because Steve didn’t rip out his com. Which meant you had to do the laundry for him, Clint and Sam. That wasn’t something you were looking forward to. “Why didn’t he rip off his com?” you asked baffled.

“I told you to ask him,” Bucky just said.

“Wait? Is it because of me?” It dawned on you. No one was complaining about the fact that Steve stopped your communication but you. You hadn’t thought about it, because what would trigger that? You thought you and Steve were on good terms, especially after the evening the two of you had spent together. Steve had even asked if you could repeat that. “Bucky?”

“I told you to ask him, not me,” he said. You wrote your mission report with Bucky and then you excused yourself and walked back to your lab. It would take a while before Steve came back.

“Hi,” you heard him greeting you after a few hours.

“Med bay? Body cam?” you asked without turning around.

“Everything done,” you heard his reply and when he walked into the room and you turned around you saw that he was in his civil clothes and not his stealth suit.

“Why do you keep getting rid of your coms when it’s me that guides you through a mission? You didn’t do it with Bucky today,” you said. Steve let out a sigh and looked behind him before he sat down at the edge of the desk of your co-worker.

“Because,” he started but never finished.

“Do you know how that makes me feel? That I have to watch you through a monitor seeing you walking into a mob of enemies and not once listening to my warnings? A few of your injuries could have been avoided if you had just listened to me and don’t say anything about that serum protecting you. That serum won’t protect you if you get a bullet through your head.”

“I can’t concentrate,” he admitted silently.

“Come again?” you asked because you weren’t sure what he meant.

“I can’t concentrate when I hear your voice through the coms. It’s like I can’t think clear and so I pull them out because I have to finish the mission. I didn’t think about what that must make you feel and I’m sorry,” he had pushed himself from the table and had taken your hand into his own.

“And that’s an excuse to walk right into 10 opponents? Steve this is just stupid!”

He let out a light chuckle. “Yeah, I bet you could have a conversation with Bucky for hours about how stupid I am.”

“Oh, we already had it. Almost every time Bucky was here. We’re actually cofounders of the ‘Steve is stupid club’,” you didn’t wait long for a comeback. “Steve, you need to look after yourself more, we can’t spend the whole day worrying about you. Please be a little bit more careful,” you looked into his eyes while you said that and the blonde in front of you had the audacity to smile.

“So, you are thinking about me,” he tried.

“Oh for fucks sake, just take me out for dinner, Rogers,” you took your hands from his and grabbed your things while he looked dumbfounded at you. “What? I’m not finished with ripping you a new one and also I haven’t heard a promise and I’m starving.” When you had all of your things you looked expectingly at him. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled and grabbed one hand of you while he shut down the light of the lab with the other one.

Masterlist

#steve rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #marvelettesassemblenow #steve x y/n #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you

[tkapuckit]

someone new - matthew tkachuk

an: hiii everyone!! This is an idea that just popped into my head a few nights ago because I heard the song on tiktok and forgot how much I loved it ahaha!! I hope you enjoy and please feel free to give me feedback, let me know if you catch any mistakes, and message me with your own ideas!! I’d love to hear then!! Thank you for all the love and support:)

hozier- someone new

warnings: none, fluff

word counts: 1k

You were sitting at the island in the kitchen of your shared apartment with your boyfriend Matthew working on your laptop. You had your eyes glued to the screen as you typed away, fingers flying across the keyboard. The last month has been super stressful on you. With finally moving into Matthews apartment with him, to crazy amounts of things to do being thrown at from work, to Matthew in and out of the apartment because of his hectic schedule. You haven’t even had time to fully unpack your things, boxes strewn across the whole place.

Matthew walks in to see you seated at one if the barstools of the island. He knows you’re stressed. The last little bit has been a lot for you to take in, and him too. He feels as though he hasn’t been around a lot to welcome you fully into moving in with him. The Flames have a stretch of home games with a few days off in between so he’s happy he can be home with you now. Your boyfriend stands in the entrance way of the kitchen, watching you before an idea pops into his head. He smiles softly to himself. Matthew goes over to the cupboard to take out the first large coffee mug he sees. Your eyes still glued to the computer screen, deep into your work. Matthew walks over and places the mug on the opposite end of the counter you’re sitting at. Out of the corner of your eye, you’ve started to watch him. You notice him fiddling on his phone while leaning with one arm outstretched, hand on the counter.

It doesn’t take long before you hear the first few chords of your favourite song.

Someone New by Hozier.

Matthew really knows you so well. A smile slowly creeps onto your face as you realize. With a smirk on his face, Matthew turns the volume up and places his phone into the mug to project the sound louder throughout the room.

“Matthew, I really don’t have the time for this bub. I need to have these pages done for Friday and then send a million emails and then-“

“y/n,” he says, “Friday is in three days, you’ve got time. You’ve been so stressed you deserve a break my love.” Matthew looks at you with a gentle expression on his face. You sigh, looking at him standing opposite of you. He’s now got the biggest, goofiest, stupidest smile on his face, one that you will never get sick of seeing. “you should really smile with your teeth like that more often…you look cute.” You say as he looks down to hide the soft blush you’ve caused to spread across his cheeks.

“I know you’re not going to let me dance on my own” Matthew says in reply, flashing you a wink.

You look back and forth between your computer screen and him.

He looks at you, wiggling his eyebrows starting to shimmy his way closer to you. You can’t help but throw your head back and laugh at how stupid he looks.

He puts both hands out towards you signaling for you to put your hands in his.

You look at your computer one last time and close the lid and jump out of your chair and move towards Matthew. He does a little victory dance before you grab hold of his now outstretched hands and he pulls you towards him just as the chorus starts:

And so I fall in love just a little ol' little bit
Every day with someone new
I fall in love just a little ol' little bit every day with someone new

If anyone had seen you two in this moment, you would be very embarrassed. You were both pulling the most stupid dance moves that your body would let you. You couldn’t stop laughing at each other. Both of you felt so comfortable around each other that you knew this wouldn’t be the only time you’d have a little dance party together. Hands up in the air, plenty of twirling around and spinning for the both of you. The whole apartment is filled with Hozier and giggles coming from your kitchen. You can feel all the stress you’ve been in over the past month slowly leaving your body.

Before the song ends, Matthew pulls you in close, dropping one of his hand to your waist and keeping one hand in yours. You do the same, instead putting the hand that wasn’t in his on his shoulder. You’re now slow dancing in the middle of the kitchen. You close your eyes, placing your head on his shoulder, drinking up everything happening at this very moment, wishing you can stay like this forever. The moment is a quiet comfortable one. Matthew is the first to speak, to be the only other noise in the room other than the music.

“See but that’s not true.” He says. You furrow your brows, not knowing what he’s on about now.

“What isn’t?” you ask, lifting your head from his shoulder to look up at him, still confused. He looks at you, again, with the softest look in his eyes.

“I don’t fall in love everyday with someone new. Hozier doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He chuckles to himself, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind you ear.

“He clearly hasn’t met you. Because ‘I fall in love just a little ol’ little bit everyday’ but it’s just with you” he sings along with the song as he holds you close, changing the words at the end and kissing your hairline softly as you burry your face into his neck, knowing that you’ve never felt so in love before.

#matthew tkachuk #matty tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #nhl

[skeezsbbygirl]

call me that too + kim seungmin

this one’s for anon who requested a seungmin scenario with a dash of oppa kink. i didn’t go too overboard hehe, just a sprinkle of a suggestive theme at the end (i’ll leave it to your imagination asdjhfrirgjgl cuz i can’t handle them feelssss ugh)

nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy! oh and thank you for the love that you guys are showing for “peaches + bang chan” uwuuuu (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

REQUEST BOX IS STILL OPEN. STREAM GOD’S MENU AND VOTE FOR OUR BOYS.

[5:12 p.m.] A yawn escaped your lips as you managed to go through all your assigned lectures for the day. You logged out from your university's portal and shut your laptop close, not wanting to stare at the bright screen any longer. You sauntered towards the kitchen and opened the drawer that contained all your caffeine-related pick-me-ups. As you were about to grab a mug, your actions were halted by your phone's ringtone, signalling a call as it rang on the coffee table from your apartment's living room. You managed to accept the call before it was dropped.

SeungMong <3

"Hey," you answered, sauntering back to the kitchen as you cradled your phone in between your right ear and shoulder to keep your hands free. "Baby, are you busy?" Seungmin asked. You shook your head but you mentally facepalmed as you remembered that the boy on the other line couldn't see you, "No. I just finished some school stuff. What's up?"

"Can you come over? Chan-hyung wants to take us out for dinner," Seungmin replied and you could faintly hear Jisung and Changbin screaming in the background -- something about Chan covering food expenses for the first time. You lightly chuckled and responded, "Yeah sure, I'll be there in twenty."

An hour passed and you were all gathered at the boys’ go-to restaurant, which was three blocks down from your university's dormitory.

"Am I dreaming?" Jisung teased as he hopped off Chan's car, Changbin and Jeongin not far behind him. “Somebody drive him back home,” Chan groaned to which the younger one giggled, jumping on his back in the process. “Hyung, come on. I was just poking fun at you,” Jisung cooed at the elder, earning him a light flick on the forehead from Chan.

You beamed at the sight of the boys playfully bickering. “Pay attention to me,” Seungmin whined and nudged your shoulder. You broke into a cheesy grin and gave his cheek a peck, “You always have my attention.”

Seungmin extended a hand towards you, to which you gladly complied, squeezing his hand three times as you intertwined your hand with his -- your silent way of saying ‘I love you’. 

Soon after, you guys were seated inside the restaurant and you fell into each of your own said conversations. 

“How was your day?” Seungmin asked as he adjusted his seat closer to yours. “Better now that I’m with you,” you said in a voice soft with affection. Seungmin chuckled, “Stop it.” You shook your head, leaning closer so that your forehead touched his. “You’re so cute,” you teased, which earned you a pout from the older male. “You do know that I’m a year older than you, right?” Seungmin bragged. You rolled your eyes, “Your point being?”

Seungmin sighed in defeat, opting to plant a kiss on your lips, but you were interrupted by multiple groans and a chorus of complains. “Get a room already!” Felix exclaimed with his hands covering his eyes, a poor attempt to discard the sight of yours and Seungmin’s “sickening” affection, as Minho described it. You stuck a tongue out at Felix, “Stop being so bitter.”

Felix faked sob and Jeongin joined in on his act, embracing the older male and patting his head.

Soon, your playful banter came to an end as your orders arrived. You guys were eating in silence, uttering a compliment here and there towards the dishes that you were served, until Hyunjin called for your attention.

“Oh, (y/n), before I forget,” the older male started, only stopping for a second to sip on his drink. “I found that outline you’ve been looking for,” he continued. “Please tell me you have it,” you pleaded, eager to finish the book review that your professor has quested upon your class a week ago. Hyunjin nodded, “The copy is in the car, I got you.”

You cheered as you reached out your hand to give him a high-five. “You’re the best, oppa.”

With your response, Hyunjin immediately side-eyed Seungmin’s reaction. He might have known something or at least sensed something, specifically when Seungmin blabbered -- well, more like ranted -- about you not calling him the said endearment you just used on Hyunjin a few seconds ago. 

Let’s rewind, shall we?

Hyunjin was an hour away from a deadline, and yes, he admits that he may have finished his project sooner, but a certain someone, who goes by the name of Jisung, decided that it would be more fun to play video games over at Felix and Changbin’s dorm. “That stupid project isn’t even due for another day. Chill out, dude,” Jisung claimed with burgeoning excitement. Instead of turning his friend down -- or better, kicking his tempting ass out of the dorm -- he caved in.

Hours later, he was cramming at least two days worth of work into an hour. Then comes your boyfriend, Seungmin. “Hyunjin!” the younger male called out from their dorm’s entrance. “In here!” Hyunjin hollered, his fingers still hot on his laptop’s keyboard, seven more questions and a descriptive about his said stand on the project, and he’ll be done -- both figuratively and literally, his brain’s slowly pan-frying itself to destruction. He mentally cursed Jisung.

“Procrastination at its finest,” Seungmin mocked as he entered Hyunjin’s room. “You can nag me later, bur right now I have to finish this and then kick Jisung’s ass,” Hyunjin said with firm persistence. The younger lad sighed and sat down on a bean bag at the corner of the room. “I don’t have the energy to nag,” Seungmin whispered, but Hyunjin still managed to catch his words. He jokingly rolled his eyes, finding slight amusement towards Seungmin’s puppy expression.

“You and (y/n), had a fight?” Hyunjin asked, his attention still on his laptop but he figured he needed Seungmin for a little background noise to keep him sane, plus the guy’s one of his best friends. “Not really,” Seungmin disagreed. “Then, what got you all gloomy?” Hyunjin insisted, but he was only met with silence.

“Seungmo, come on, spill.”

“She addresses you as an ‘oppa’,” Seungmin blurted out after a few seconds. “Who addresses me as what?” Hyunjin asked, his eyebrows contorted in confusion. “(y/n),” Seungmin answered as he buried his face in his arms. “Seungmo, you do know that she does that to everybody that’s older than her, right?” Hyunjin replied, “It’s called being polite.”

“Well, I call it being unfair.”

Hyunjin chuckled in amusement, “Please elaborate.”

“You and I are the same age, which means that I’m older than her too, but she doesn’t call me that,” Seungmin whined.

And that’s how Seungmin ended up being silent for the rest of the night. You, being unaware of the situation, shrugged it off, thinking that he was just exhausted from his vocal lessons. Until, Hyunjin decided to let you in on the puppy’s cause of gloominess.

“Here, now go ace that literature course,” Hyunjin handed you the outline he promised, giving your head a pat in the process. “Thank you, oppa.”

“One more thing, (y/n),” Hyunjin said as he leaned down and whispered, “Seungmin wants to be called that too.”

“Huh?” you turned to him in confusion, but Hyunjin just stared at you and decided that you would come into revelation in a few seconds. “Oh,” you gasped, eyes lighting up in the process. “That’s why he’s been acting weird,” you added. Hyunjin smiled in approval, “Do something and wipe that pout off his face.”

The car ride back to your dorm was silent. Seungmin kept his eyes on the road, no words were exchanged between the two of you and he clearly showed no effort of doing so any time soon. You’re slowly running out of time as your building came into view a few minutes later. Seungmin slowly stopped the car and got out, he jogged towards your side and opened the door for you.

Go time.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” Seungmin said. His expression was sad but he still managed to give you a kiss on the forehead. He was about to pull away but you prevented him from doing so by holding his face in your hands. You stared at him lovingly, thanking the universe for bringing this man into your life. 

“I love you, oppa,” you whispered, but loud enough for him to hear you. 

A soft gasp escaped from his lips as his eyes widened, “What did you just call me?”

“Oppa, why?” you giggled and gave his nose a kiss. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel like I’m on top of the world right now, but you never call me that,” Seungmin wondered, his arms now wrapped around your waist, allowing him to pull you closer. “Let’s just say, a little bird told me,” you teased.

“Hwang Hyunjin!”

You laughed, “Don’t get mad at him.”

“Listen,” you called back for his attention, “I don’t call you oppa because I use that on everybody who’s older than me, well close friends of course, but you know what I mean.”

“And you, Kim Seungmin, are not just anybody. You’re my person, my everything, my whole world. You’re special to me and you matter the most,” you explained, pouring your feelings out for the said man. You were about to say more in order to get rid of Seungmin’s doubt, but he cut you off with a kiss.

You guys were practically making out in your dormitory’s parking lot, but it’s the least of your worries right now.

You pulled away first as you tried to catch your breath. “I love you so much, (y/n),” Seungmin confessed, his expression now darker as you witnessed his eyes fill with desire. “And I’ll prove that to you.”

“What do you mean, oppa?”

Seungmin leaned down, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Don’t test me, baby.”

You whimpered in response, “Do whatever you want. I’m all yours, oppa.”

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #seungmin #seungmin scenarios #seungmin imagines #seungmin smut #bang chan scenarios #bang chan fluff #chan drabble #bang chan smut #lee know #minho scenarios #lee know scenarios #changbin scenarios #changbin smut #changbin imagines #hyunjin scenarios #felix scenarios #felix imagines #jisung scenarios #jisung imagines #i.n #i.n x reader #i.n scenarios #i.n imagines

[flowerwrites06]

mint ocean — myg

Plot: Yoongi clashes with a lyricist. 

Pairing(s): Music Major!Yoongi x Lyricist!OC (Name: Kiku) 

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 3k+

Genre: College | Fluff/Angst

Tags & Warnings: coarse language, sexual references.

Authors Note: i didn’t realize people would like this little oneshot so much but here you go! 

“Another party?” Yoongi scorned, throwing his head back as he sat on the chair trying to rest his eyes from the books in front of him. How Namjoon managed to organize so many fucking parties in a year almost terrified the mint-haired male. “Didn’t you just have one like yesterday? With the jelly shots and shit.”

“Yoongi, that was a month ago.” Namjoon corrected, fixing his pink tresses while looking at the mirror. “I think it’s nice to have gatherings…you know to consolidate relationships.”

He scoffed obnoxiously. “You just want to fuck that singer with her little plaid skirt still on.”

The younger male immediately glared at his roommate. “Don’t talk about Minnie like that. She’s a nice girl, alright?”

Despite the light smirk on his face, Yoongi took a step back from his commenting. He didn’t know too much about the girl truly but from what he saw she was extremely beautiful to say the least and had a kind smile. He never really talked to her one on one. “So what’re you trying this time?”

“I’m not trying anything, it’s just doing a bit of socializing.” He shrugged.

Yoongi gagged mockingly at the ‘s’ word. His pink haired counterpart definitely proved to have more social skills in his one pinky finger than he did in his whole body. Which was something he both envied and took pride in. Knowing people was always beneficial clearly since Namjoon got a lot of opportunities from it but interacting with far too many people meant being worried about too many useless feelings. “I’m only coming for the shots.” He mumbled, tapping his pen against the open notebook scribbled with a few bits from yesterday’s lecture.

Namjoon chuckled. “You say that but I still manage to see a pretty someone sneaking out of your room in the morning.”

He pointed at the man with his pen. “It’s ‘cause of the shots.”

“Sure.” He grinned knowing the mint-haired male despite his demeanor did like a little bit of attention when it came to him.

-

“A party?” Kiku peered through the glass, whispering in the serene silence of the library while skimming through a few sources for her next essay. Blue tresses falling over her face despite the loose restraint of her long ponytail.

Minnie nodded sitting on the other side with her laptop open on her right and her notebook adorned with the neatest writing. “Namjoon said it was a small gathering so no need to worry about too much noise and all that.”

“You know what he’s trying to do, don’t you?” She leaned in so she could raise her voice a little but not have it echo throughout the entire room.

“Not this again.” She lowered her head, doodling a little on the corner of her page with her brunette waves framing her face.

“Please tell me you’re being careful.” Kiku searched the others’ expression. Namjoons’ intentions were a little blurry since she found him to be a decent student at least in the music classes and various music projects they shared. But anyone could be great at school work and terrible at treating women. It made her extremely suspicious especially since his attempts always involved a party with booze.

“Of course I’m being careful.” Minnie muttered, tapping her pen against the table. “There’s nothing wrong with going to a party.”

“A lot of college girls would disagree.” Bitterness laced in her tone as she scribbled a few words on the corner of her notebook maybe hoping to add some of them in the new song.

“Namjoon isn’t like that. He fights about stuff like that, you should hear the kind of music he makes.” Minnie defended.

Kiku sighed. “Speaking of music…how did they like the song?”

“They loved it as usual.” Though the girl did not sound enthusiastic in the slightest. “How long do you expect to keep your identity secret from everyone else? What if someone finds out before you can come out?”

“Then they find out.” She shrugged. “Everyone loves you and your voice. Let them think it’s some mystery producer that no one knows about.”

Their conversation got shorter and shorter about this whole situation. Minnie would try to convince her to show her real self to the public instead being under an alias. Kiku simply suggested that she preferred not being bothered about her songs. Writing songs without the credit allowed her to be more personal.

“Will you at least come to the party with me then?” Her expression grew a little desperate. Okay she did really like Namjoon. The two had been conversing and trying to spend time with each other for a couple of months now. “It’ll be better if you were there so nothing bad happened.” Namjoon would never let anything bad happen but it was more to reassure Kiku.

After a moment of thought, the blue haired girl spoke. “Fine. An hour.”

-

Regret seeped into Kiku’s body quicker than she expected when they walked into the loud and slightly crowded house. Minnie held onto her hand tightly to ensure no one got lost as they slid through following Namjoon to a circle of couches. Sweaty bodies all around them, Kiku wished she had not just opted for a fitted crop top and some baggy pants.

“You can sit here.” The pink haired male smiled patting the space next to him.

Kiku suppressed the urge to roll her eyes as she sat on the other side of Minnie, eyes struggling to meet the gazes of all the people in the group. Two girls were sat around a mint-haired male while two other boys sat on the floor in front of the coffee table centering them. If it weren’t for the loud music and people making babies in the kitchen then this would have resembled a quiet game night.

“Minnie, you know Yoongi.” Namjoon spoke softly gesturing towards the mint-haired male who gave the two a small smirk. “I made him listen to your songs, he loves it.”

She giggled nervously while Kiku merely smiled. “Thank you.”

“You write really well seriously.” Yoongi commented, eyes flickering over to the full head of grey-ish blue sitting quietly next to her friend. “What’s your source?”

“Honestly my producer writes most of the lyrics.” Minnie kept her voice pretty gentle despite the booming of the beats. She accidentally glanced over at Kiku when talking about her producer. “She’s the talented one.”

“Well you’re the one who’s singing it. Otherwise it’s just a bunch of random words on paper, isn’t it? A page from a diary instead of a real song.”

Namjoons’ smile disappeared hearing his friends’ comment and attempting to give him a warning look but Yoongi did not see him.

“Lyrics are still important though.” Minnie explained softly, not really wanting to see Kiku’s reaction anymore.

“Yeah they are.” Namjoon continued knowing Yoongi thought the same thing.

“Of course…when added. By itself, it’s nothing.”

“They can’t just be ‘nothing’” Minnie still smiled and it made Namjoon even more angry at his friend.

He knew Yoongi despised these parties and made it a mission to show how bad they can get but in front of the girl he liked?

“He’s right.” Kiku spoke up this time, all of their eyes flickered over to her now.

Minnie’s brows furrowed silently trying to tell her not to bring herself down in that manner. So many people found it easy to diss on her lyrical ability because she never actually showed herself to them. So they both had to quietly sit there and tolerate the incessant commenting until headaches ensued.

“Lyrics are nothing but random words without the song.” Kiku continued with a neutral expression. “Just like rappers are nothing but drug using whores that talk fast.” She smiled at the man whose smirk slowly disappeared. “Or MIDI producers are nothing but fingers tapping on a fake keyboard.”

Her comment injected silence amongst the group including a proper glare from Yoongi. One of the girls muttered something about Kiku being extremely rude while Minnie did not know what to feel. “I’m gonna go get a drink.”

Barely ten minutes into the party, Kiku already regretted being there and even trying to converse with someone who had the personality of a grain of sand. What kind of a music student talks about lyrics like that? Who the fuck did he think he was? Lyrics took so much time and energy. She could not even count the amount of times she cried or got angry whenever she wrote them.

“I need to go check on her.” Minnie muttered to Namjoon gently. “Sorry.” She touched his arm lightly hoping he understood why she had to prioritize Kiku tonight. Aside from literally helping her in her career, she always tried to keep her safe no matter what.

Namjoon stammered as the wonderful girl walked away from him to check on her friend. An immediate glare now shot to Yoongi.

“What?” The mint-haired male winced. “She said things too.”

“Because you were acting like an idiot with Minnie.”

“I’m not the one who’s desperate to impress her.” Yoongi shrugged.

“That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be rude. You’re my best friend, I wanted you to like her too.”

The older male sighed as one of the girls leaned in to tell him it was okay but he knew it wasn’t. If Yoongi—god forbid—ever wanted to be with someone seriously then Namjoon’s approval would be top priority. The two went through so much together and there was no reason to dedicate themselves to someone if the other didn’t like them. Namjoon must have really liked Minnie for him to be so adamant on Yoongi liking her too.

Slithering through the heated crowd, Kiku finally stumbled towards the drink table where she poured herself a glass of vodka and some cranberry juice. She hated how one simple conversation still lingered in her mind like a disease. Hopefully a few chugs of the funny tasting juice burned through most of the memory.

“Hey…” A slurred voice lingered on her left followed by a trail of alcohol stench breath infecting the air in her personal space. “What’re you sitting here so lonely for?” The snap back man hummed sneaking closer so his shoulder almost pressed against hers.

Kiku immediately moved away with a roll of her eyes as she attempted to walk back to the circle of couches. But something held her arm back. “Don’t touch me.” She yanked away from his grip, briskly walking towards the couches now until she saw Minnie walk straight towards her.

“I thought you left.” Minnie smiled a little, moving the pair over next to the stairs where there was less of a crowd. “Look don’t worry about what Yoongi said, okay?”

“I’m not worried about him.” She shook her head, feeling like her words were a lie. “People have said worse. I honestly expected worse, he’s kinda soft isn’t he?”

“Hey! I was fucking talking to you.” The same slurring man stumbled towards the pair again, standing uncomfortably close to Kiku. “Do you know who I fucking am?”

“Someone who desperately needs a mint and better social skills.” Kiku snapped in a gently vicious demeanor which of course only angered the stinking beast. He grabbed her by her arms again this time enough to cause pain before trying to slam her against the side of the stairs.

Before Minnie could jump in, the attacker was pushed off of her and dropped onto the ground with a thud causing a deafening silence amongst the crowd including the music.

Standing in front of Kiku­­—at least from where she could see–leather jacket and a head of mint hair, back facing her.

“You know the rules, Kwan.” Yoongi spoke calmly though his body radiated even more frustration than normal. The party was irritating enough but a few frat guys seemed to think it was a breeding ground for assault. “Play nice or get out.”

Kiku rubbed her sore arm absentmindedly as she watched the drunkard struggle back on his feet while all eyes were on him in judgement. Namjoon already stood by Minnie’s side keeping a close gaze on Kwan.

“Just having a bit of fun, Min. No harm.” Kwans’ reddened eyes flickered over to Kiku who only glared back at him.

“I feel bad for everyone who had the misfortune of fucking you if you thought that was fun.” Yoongi smirked. “You had your drinks, get out.” He nodded to the exit.

Kwan looked around at all the faces staring right at him knowing it would be embarrassing to be chased out in this manner but even more so if he just stood here. So he simply chose the first option and walked away.

Once the beast was gone, everyone quite easily faded back into their normal atmosphere of dancing and drinking while Yoongi turned to face Kiku.

“Good rule.” Kiku muttered, folding her arms over her chest.

“Kwan just invites himself sometimes.” He glanced over at the entrance to check if he was out yet before facing the girl again. The question lingered at the tip of his tongue for a while before he spoke. “You okay?”

She nodded though her arms still had a dull ache.

“You think you should stay here for the night?” Namjoon suggested glancing over at Minnie.

Kiku slowly held onto Minnie’s hand. “No, that’s fine.”

“Ku, it’s okay.” She muttered, patting the back of her hand.

“Sorry that didn’t sound right.” He scratched his head, chuckling nervously.

“What my awkward friend is trying to say is Kwan might still wait outside after the party’s done so you can stay here till morning. We’ll sleep on the couch and you can take our rooms.” He gestured upstairs. “Gonna take all night to clean this shit up anyway.” He glared at the clear mess of booze and a few bras on the floor.

The more cautious side of her screamed to the top about a possible trap which may lead to extra problems then just going back to their dorms. But not a lot of frat boys would place literal protection rules in their house during parties. Hell they would be just as drunk and intense as that Kwan idiot. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea staying. Besides Kiku brought her work in her bag just in case the party got boring anyway.

Still keeping a firm grasp on Minnie’s hand, she nodded. “Okay.”

-

The party settled down after a few hours and all was left were the remnants of a whole lot of bad decisions. Kiku even spotted a used condom laying around on the hallways as they were led to the two bedrooms.

“Fucking hell…” Namjoon hissed looking inside his room making Minnie giggle a little.

“I told you to lock your room.” Yoongi spoke as he unlocked the door and led Kiku inside his private room.

A little untidy which was not surprising. His study table littered with papers either readings from his units or just scribbles that were hard to decipher. Bed somewhat unmade and his closet overflowing with unfolded clothes.

Yeah it was a mess. But Kiku couldn’t really judge him, it was heavy assignment season and her side of the dorm looked exactly like this too. Pushing off her shoes she placed it neatly next to the door. Padding over to the bed she sat down quietly while Yoongi grabbed whatever he needed so he didn’t have to disturb the girl.

“If you get hungry, there’s—water in the mini fridge.” He smiled nervously as he looked inside the little bar.

“Good to know.” She couldn’t help but mimic the smile.

“You can—use a T-shirt or something if you want for sleeping. Use the ones on the rack.” He gestured over to the closet. There was a subtle awkwardness behind him that Kiku could not understand considering how he acted in the party tonight. Did he never have guests in his bedroom before? Or maybe at this point he would be doing something else with the guest by now instead of acquainting them to the area.

Either way Kiku felt kind of safe with this new side of his behavior. “Thanks.”

Yoongi hummed in acknowledgement before padding out of the room, cursing a little under his breath at the mess made.

-

The whole night spent out with Kiku working more on her essay and then proceeded to jot down some ideas for Minnie’s songs. She tried to label them properly so she didn’t mix up the school work from the paid work. Sleeping in someone’s else bed proved to be more difficult than she expected despite putting on a comfortable black T-shirt that was offered to her kindly.

The surface of the bed was now just as littered as his study table but it allowed Kiku to concentrate a bit better.

Rummaging and vacuuming echoed throughout the whole frat house which would have been distracting if Kiku did not feel bad for the boys having to clean all that mess by themselves. They did organize the party but the aftermath still was not deserving of anyone.

Fixing her glasses back up on her nose bridge, the door opened behind her with a messy haired and clearly annoyed looking Yoongi walking through.

“Sleep well?” He asked.

“Didn’t really sleep.” Kiku smiled nervously. “You could’ve just slept here, you know.”

“Would you have been able to resist my charms?” The cheekiness seemed to seep in a lot more when he was in an inconvenient position.

“It would have been incredibly difficult but I could power through.” She stretched a fake grin before looking back at her work.

Yoongis’ eyes flickered over at some bold words written ‘For Minnie’ with a pending title next to it. Brows furrowed and head tilted, he looked closer at the words on the page. “Is that a—is that a song?”

Her heart jumped quickly looking at the page and trying to grab it but Yoongi beat her to it. Kiku practically flew off the bed, following the mint-haired male to try get the lyrics back. “This is invasion of privacy.”

“You’re in my bedroom.” He retorted, still reading the words intently. “And all you did was study…well—study and write a whole ass song, do you do this often?”

The blue haired girl averted her gaze in annoyance. “Yes, I write a couple of her songs.”

“A couple?” Yoongi raised a brow. “Funny, the last time I checked the credit for all her songs there were only two producers. Minnie and someone called Chrys.” His bottom lips jutted out skimming through the song again. “I just thought it was a fancy way to make Chris interesting but I’m guessing it’s short for Chrysanthemum. As in…Kiku.” He smirked handing the paper over to her now.

“You feel real smart, don’t you?” Kiku took her paper back and stuffed it back into her files before tidying everything else up.

“Not that smart. I’m surprised people don’t talk about you more.” He shrugged, fluffing up his hair a little.

“Well it’s like you said…” Kiku sighed. “Lyrics are nothing but words on a page, right? Why would people talk about me at all?” She smiled sadly, keeping her gaze on her things rather than the mint-haired male. This partnership and her own decision went on successfully for a long time without the girl feeling like she was being exploited or taken advantage of. Why was it that saying all of this to Yoongi out loud made the whole thing sound so wrong now?

Yoongi let out a deep sigh as his words replayed back in his head. “I didn’t actually mean to say that.” He muttered a little shyly. “I was…” Wow he sounded so stupid already. “I was just trying to be an asshole.”

“It worked.” Kiku unzipped her bag before facing him again. “But you made up for it too so it’s okay.”

He nodded before rubbing his face out of exhaustion. “Your lyrics are really good though. I’m not surprised you’re the only producer Minnie trusts.”

“Are you just being nice now?”

“No that’s too fucking tiring.” Yoongi chuckled and she couldn’t help letting one out as well.

“Thank you…again.” Kiku played with her fingers. “Did you need some help with the cleaning?”

“Namjoon owes me a few hours of cleaning, he decided to abandon me for a while to f—uh entertain Minnie.” He gestured towards the door.

Kiku raised her brows not being able to control the small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “So are you here to entertain me now?” She teased.

“No, no no—oh…” Yoongi cleared his throat.

“Don’t freak out, I won’t pounce on you or anything.” Kiku giggled lightly. “Besides seeing the girls who were stuck to you at the party you and I wouldn’t work.”

“And why’s that?” Eyes unintentionally flickered up and down her body. It only took him now to see his T-shirt hugging her curvy body, plump boobs and luscious curves poking out even in the slimming color.

“One too many assholes spoil the soup.” She pretended not to see that wild gaze running down her form.

“On the contrary, it makes it more tasteful.” He smirked. “You know…spicy.”

“Spicy…” Kiku chuckled. “Sure.” She turned on her heel to check on Minnie, fully aware that Yoongis’ wild eyes would follow down.

You’re a respectful man, Yoongi. Put your eyes away. It didn’t really help when that beautiful ass swayed as she walked and her gorgeous waves bouncing a little. Fuck he wanted some of that soup.

#yoongi #thebtswritersclub #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #college au #bts college au #yoongi college au

[ly-canthropewrites]

Pregnant Love

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: 1247

Rating/Warnings: SFW

Henry doesn’t even hear your footsteps when you approach, too submerged in his work to acknowledge any noise or comment from the world around him, his head spinning with script lines, production dates, and training schedules.

“Henry?”

He hears you faintly, humming in response to let you know he heard you but he isn’t completely pulled away from his world, long fingers tapping away at the keyboard as he begins to write an email to his assistant, Leah. You sigh, your eyes fixated on your husband’s back and anxiously you play with the hem of your large shirt, willing yourself to find some courage and spit out the words that have plagued your mind for the last few days. 

You know Henry isn’t purposely ignoring you. You understand how busy he has been trying to sort out details for the latest film project that is rapidly approaching, putting in hard work to maintain his training and diet. You don’t blame him in the slightest, proud of your husband's determination and passion for his craft, but sometimes, you just can’t help the doubts that run rampant in your mind without his soothing nature to combat them. 

It’s easier to ask with his broad back facing you actually, not finding yourself chickening out since he isn’t looking directly at you. You stare at the curls that kiss the nape of his neck as you prepare to speak.

“How do you know you love me?” You ask softly. 

That gains his attention and the tapping at the keyboard ceases immediately before Henry swivels around in his chair. Azure eyes fall on you; his pregnant wife standing shyly in the doorway of the office, nervous fingers twirling the hem of your shirt. A shirt that is stretched tight over the bump of your first unborn child, barely able to contain the 6-month belly, and your eyes flicker between him and the ground.

“What?” he says, puzzlement laced in his words and he needs you to repeat your thoughts, finding himself unable to comprehend such a question. 

“How do you know you love me?” you repeat, voice quiet yet it echoes across the room and hits Henry hard. 

You both know that your love is endless for each other and there is no shadow of a doubt that you don’t love one another, but that’s not what you are asking. You are asking something even deeper; how does Henry know that he is in love with you, what has he fallen in love with?

He sighs. Pausing, contemplating with a furrow. He should be spitting out an endless stream of words, reassuring your erratic mind with sweet nothings and innumerable reasons of why he loves you. But that’s not the question and Henrys’ mind draws a blank. He doesn’t know how to describe the emotions that you make stir inside his chest, the warmth that engulfs when he just simply looks at you. How can he make sense of these indescribable sensations? 

Patiently you wait, recognising the heavy concentration on Henry’s face and you shift your weight, trying to ease the pressure on your swelling feet and Henry notices. 

“Come here baby,” he says, raising a hand and gestures for you to come towards him and obediently, you obey. 

Shuffling over, you move to stand above him, hands resting on his broad shoulders when suddenly Henry’s hands tug behind your knees, forcing you to yelp as you begin to fall directly onto his lap. He makes no sound as he catches you on his lap, smiling as your legs fold either side of him and you straddle him as best as you can with your large bump in front of you. Your round stomach brushes against Henry’s front and he chuckles at the close yet far distance. He knows it annoys you, being unable to press yourself close to his chest or lay your head above his heart without having to rest at an awkward angle. 

One hand falls to your waist, stretching out to cover as much of your enlarged stomach as he can with one hand whilst his other rests on your leg, thumb brushing repeatedly over bare skin. You know the contact helps him truly think. 

The words become lodged in his throat, a jumbled mess that makes sense in his mind and his heart but is nonsense on his tongue. The words are thick to form but once he says the first syllable, it is impossible for him to stop the waterfall of emotion. 

“I know that I love you because the only place I ever want to be is with you. Even when I’m on set, I’m thinking of you. I know because I look at you and I am content. I know because every little thing you do makes my heart race, even if you are doing nothing, even if you are hanging up washing or doing something mundane.”

“I know because when I am with Charlie or Jason or Mum, all I want to do is just brag about you - or tell them how I saw you crinkle your nose in a funny way and it made me grin stupidly, because it was so damn adorable. We’ve been married for 2 years and I still have the same love sick feeling in my chest that I had when I got to see you walk down that aisle towards me, the same feeling when you finally said yes to going on a date with me.”

His words just keep on going and going, tugging on your heartstrings and your eyes water as you listen to him list the small details that he loves about you, little things that you never knew that he noticed. The only reason why Henry stops his gushing is when you sniffled and raised a delicate hand up to your face to brush away the falling tears. 

“Come on baby, don’t cry,” he pleads. 

His hands move up to cradle your face and you give your husband a weak smile, sniffling once more and you don’t contain the joyous chuckle that wants to escape. 

“I love you” you murmur, replicating Henry’s gesture and you cup his cheeks with your own hands. 

“I love you so much, my dear,” he responds, gentle blue eyes looking at you with such pure love, and the answering warmth that rests in your chest burns like wildfire. 

“Now do you understand how I know I love you?” Henry chuckles, bringing himself closer to you and he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing with each deep breath, and a sense of security washes over you. 

Wordlessly, you nod, a sheepish smile on your lips and in retrospect, your question seems awfully silly but Henry took it in stride and it’s just another thing that you love so deeply about your husband. 

“Oh my love,” Henry muses as he moves to brush his lips over your forehead, a little smile adorning his face. “Can I add one more thing to the list? The way you look carrying our child. The glow.”

His eyes gleam as he thinks back to the many moments where his breath got caught in his throat as he was taken away by your beauty, the glow that surrounds you making you look ethereal. 

You snort, breaking him out of his vision. “Don’t forget the fat ankles.”

He laughs, pulling you close and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “Well, I love them, too.”

[Thank you to my lovely beta @yespolkadotkitty​ for helping me!]

Tagging people I interact with on my main:  @solariumss @cavillish @laketaj24 @littlefreya @toomanystoriessolittletime @viking-raider @jaskierhastwohands​ @yoursecretsmutblog​ @mrsaugustwalker​ @lovely-cryptid​ @onlyhenrys​ @oddsnendsfanfics​ @angelic-kisses13​ @thethirstyarchive​ @ladyreapermc

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill imagines #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x you #henry cavill/reader #henry cavill/you #geralt #geralt of rivia #nomis #walter marshall fic #napoleon solo #ly-canthropewrites #henry cavill fic #henry fic

[bookwormscififan]

Silence and Chest Pains

Buy me a coffee?

Read on AO3!

A/N: Finally finished this! Yay! Here’s how Jackie became a hero.

Warnings: there is a near rape, but nothing really bad happens, so I won’t tag it.

He had always been deaf. He was born deaf, and had learned some sign from a young age.

He was also an inventor. He was always adapting things to make his silent life more practical. From text-to-speech beepers to Morse code wristbands that drummed translated code into his skin, Jackie had tried everything.

His inventions weren’t just for the benefit of himself, however. He made things to help other people, earning him the title ‘Technological Hero’ by the age of twelve. But he never saw himself as the hero. He just helped people to improve their lives.

He had gotten quite used to a life of silence, until he learned about the wonders of sound.

As he was making a delivery of an invention, Jackie found himself in the middle of a dark alleyway, relying on his eyes to know where he was. Marvin had been helping him, but when he stopped to get directions, Jackie had wandered off, getting lost.

The gloom settled in around him, shrouding him in darkness. A single lightbulb at the end of the street flickered, then burst, deepening the blackness surrounding him. A chill ran down his spine, and he silently sank into a crouch as he let his fear take over.

And then his wristband began to drum into his wrist.

.--. --- --- .-. / .-.. --- ... - / ... --- ..- .-.. Poor lost soul.

.-- .... --- / .-.. . ..-. - / -.-- --- ..- / .... . .-. . / .- .-.. .-.. / .- .-.. --- -. . ..--.. Who left you here all alone?

Jackie froze as the code tapped into his skin, and he slowly turned around in search of the source of the text. His eyes went wide as the moonlight illuminated the grinning face of a tall man towering over him. He took a shaky breath, then slowly stood up, waiting for the man to speak so he could read his lips.

“I wonder if you make any noise?” the man mused to himself, moving closer, causing Jackie to step backwards in fear. He kept moving until his back hit the wall, and he cowered under the predatory stare of the man as he moved to be as close to Jackie as possible. His breath stank, hitting Jackie’s face like a punch as he leaned forward.

Just as Jackie closed his eyes, something grabbed the man and pulled him away, leaving Jackie feeling cold and shaking in fear. The wristband on his arm tapped a command into his skin, which made him open his eyes.

.-.. . .- ...- . / -- -.-- / -... .-. --- - .... . .-. / .- .-.. --- -. . Leave my brother alone!

Standing across the alley from him, Marvin towered over the man, who was crumpled on the ground, holding his head. The magician turned to look at Jackie, running over and taking hold of his hands before beginning to sign to him.

Why did you walk off? Are you alright? Jackie read the signs, nodding slowly before raising shaking hands.

Marvin… you saved me… His brother nodded, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leading him out of the alley. Jackie looked at his brother’s face, reading his lips as they walked away.

“That man is a creep. Next time, please don’t wander off.”

When the brothers returned home, Jackie and Marvin sat in front of the fire together, Jackie wrapped in blankets and leaning against his younger brother. Marvin was sitting deep in thought as he fiddled with a deck of magic cards. Suddenly he put the cards down, tapping Jackie’s shoulder to get his attention.

The code thing isn’t working. You need a better hearing substitute. Jackie read the signs, then raised his own to respond.

What would be better? I can’t hear anything. Hearing aids help those who can hear a little bit, and the code thing works… most of the time, he thought to himself, scratching his ear as he looked aside.

Marvin sighed, then stood up, adjusting his shirt as he looked at Jackie.

If you won’t try to adapt new substitutes, you’re going to get hurt. And I won’t always be there to save your life. Someone might get you from behind, and you won’t hear them coming. He turned to leave the room, stopping to sign one last thing.

You can’t save everyone else if you can’t hear anything. Trust me.

—

Jackie spent the following nights testing and modifying systems, creating new products to aid him in the quest for sound. He modified a digital watch to pick up police radios, pinpointing places for him to help out.

The issue he had was hearing. Nothing was helping him to hear at all, and until he found something, Marvin wouldn’t let him leave the house. Jackie sat in his room day and night, ordering and experimenting with technology, trying to develop a product to suit Marvin’s wishes.

Marvin came into his room with a pair of hearing aids, holding them out to his brother as Jackie looked up. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then began to speak.

“Apparently these hearing aids amplify sound in a different manner to the other ones.” He shrugged as Jackie looked up at him, then continued.

“Maybe you could adapt it to help you?” His brother took the aids and inspected them, then smiled at Marvin.

Thank you.

—

The design of the hearing aids was complex, but Jackie could figure them out. They amplified outside sounds and projected them into the inner ear, moving deeper than other aids. As Jackie inspected the device, he began to think about ways to adapt them differently to the other trials.

Pulling out a notebook, Jackie began to brainstorm ideas for his next experiment.

—

It took a few days of trial and error before Jackie was confident enough to test the device. Slipping the aids into his ears, he turned on his laptop and prepared to note his findings. Taking a deep breath, he turned on the device and stood up, leaning over his desk to open the window.

His arm knocked over his glass of water, liquid splashing onto his keyboard. As the water seeped into the computer, sparks began to fly out of the device, and Jackie felt a spark go through his body.

As the shock set in, he jumped, arms knocking things off the desk. Jackie froze as he heard his laptop fall, hitting the chair before snapping as it hit the floor. The tinkling of broken glass felt like thousands of needles scratching his head. He winced as the rustling of clothes assaulted his ears, and he clapped his hands over them as he curled into a ball, the sounds of the world beginning to give him a headache.

—

Marvin raced up the stairs the second he heard thumps from Jackie’s room. Outside his brother’s room, waited until the noises stopped before slamming open the door. As he dashed inside, he immediately crouched beside his cowering sibling.

“Jackie, are you alright? Jackie!” He tapped Jackie’s shoulder, leaning back as his brother stared at him with wide eyes. He took a deep breath, calming his hammering heart, then raised his hands slowly to his ears and cleared his throat.

“Loud…” his voice was croaky, evidence that he’d never used it before, however his pronunciation was clear, proof of his years of mimicking Marvin’s speech patterns. His brother gently placed his hands over Jackie’s ears, carefully removing the hearing aids and placing them on the floor.

When Jackie was looking at him again, he began to talk.

“Are you alright now? Is there anything I can do?” His brother paused, looking to the side as he thought, then he carefully put the hearing aids back in, rolling his finger along the back of the device to turn the volume down.

Clearing his throat, Jackie looked at his brother.

“Will you… take me to… test these?”

—

The brothers wandered around the park, Marvin holding Jackie’s hand and telling him the names of the sounds he heard. Despite it being a weekend, Jackie was grateful that the park was relatively empty, as he wasn’t as overwhelmed by the noises.

Marvin sat him down under a tree, well away from other people, and leaned against his older brother. Jackie closed his eyes, bathing in the new sounds, before Marvin tapped his arm. He looked down, seeing a question in his brother’s eyes.

“How are you able to talk so well? You haven’t spoken in all the years I’ve known you.” The older sibling smiled, motioning to his eyes as he began to speak.

“I watched you talk. When you would sleep, I’d imitate everything I saw you saying. I may have been deaf, but I know how to speak.” He ruffled his brother’s hair lovingly, smile widening as the sounds of Marvin’s laughter graced his ears.

The duo sat under the tree a while longer, listening to the world pass by, until Marvin suggested looking for somewhere to eat dinner. As they stood up, Jackie removed his hearing aids and put them in his pocket, shrugging to Marvin as the younger sibling gave him a questioning look. He pointed to his head, giving a short sign that he was getting a headache.

—

As Marvin and Jackie walked down an alley on their way home, a presence made itself known with an electrical charge to Marvin’s leg, causing him to grab Jackie’s arm on his way down. Jackie looked at Marvin, then behind them to find the man from so long ago, smiling at him.

“You’ve come back. I wondered if I’d get to see you again,” Jackie read, watching the nicotine-stained lips move. The man moved closer, taser flickering in his hand, before pressing the device into Jackie’s chest, causing him to shake as electricity coursed through him.

He fell, watching as Marvin feebly reached for something to help him up.

—

Marvin stood shakily, readying his hands as he turned toward the intruder.

“Don’t touch my brother. You can hurt me, harm me, but if you touch my brother again… I’ll kill you.” The man just laughed, stepping closer before dropping his weapon as Marvin delivered a blow to his inner elbow.

—

Jackie watched, occasionally twitching, as his brother fought the intruder. He closed his eyes as a surge of heat rolled through his body, then an immense pressure built behind his ears before bursting, and he jumped as he suddenly heard the sounds of the fight.

He crawled to a stand, hand against his chest as his other hand pressed against his ear. Something in that taser had made his hearing return, and he wanted to help.

—

Marvin stared as Jackie joined the battle, dodging the attacks with a speed only achieved by… a sense of hearing. His eyes widened as he looked at the taser on the ground, and began to connect the dots.

As the man stumbled away, Marvin hooked an arm under Jackie’s own and helped him back home.

—

“That taser gave you your hearing, didn’t it?” He asked as soon as the siblings returned home. Jackie paused, turning to Marvin with wide eyes. He glanced away, rubbing his arm uncomfortably as he began to speak.

“I think so. I don’t really understand how, but I could hear things suddenly.” Marvin nodded, thinking, before he looked decidedly at Jackie.

“We’re getting a hearing test tomorrow. Keep working on the hearing device; maybe it can help in a different way.”

—

The hearing test revealed that Jackie’s hearing was about 75% of the level that the average person had. When Marvin came to pick him up, the older sibling was standing outside the clinic with his hearing aids in.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d need those,” he commented as he hugged his brother.

“I modified them last night,” Jackie replied, taking one side out and handing it to Marvin.

“Test it. I programmed it to work in higher frequency chirps and beeps, and developed my own code to interpret them. I can hear things from a distance, and figure out what’s going on if I really want to.”

Marvin smiled as the words Jackie said were translated to lines of beeps that he couldn’t understand, then moved to hand the device back.

“Keep that side. I’ve got this one, and both of them in give me a headache.”

—

Months after the hearing test, Jackie was sitting at his desk, fiddling with his digital watch. Marvin came into the room, holding a box of magic tricks, and sat on his bed.

“What are you doing, Jackie?” The elder sibling leaned back, holding the device as he rubbed his eyes.

“Developing something. I’m looking into helping people.” He held the device up toward Marvin, who watched as sever blinking lights flashed over a map of the town. He looked at his brother, whose eyes were shining.

“I’m going to be a hero.”

#Writing #Fanfiction #jse fanfiction #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye community #jse egos #jackieboy man #marvin the magnificent #ego backstories

[hamhamneedstochill]

The Early Morning Muse

My list of things to do continues to grow.

How many things do I have to write? I don’t know.

I type at my keyboard, with no end in sight.

I’ll type until I pass out, in the early morning light.

I’ll click-clack away until my thoughts run dry.

But they’re back in the morning, and I wonder: why?

I guess my muse has moved in, and it’s here to stay.

But sometimes I wish it would just— go away!

There’s projects and tasks, again, thrown to the side.

All I can say is; I tried.

“Tried?” I hear them say, shocked, their minds caught in a stall.

“You didn’t even look up from your keys at all!”

Yes, you are right, you’ve got me there.

But stop, please, and ask me; is it fair?

I write, and type, and compose, hoping to near the end.

But my inspiration, you see, is a villainous friend.

It whispers these ideas, assuring me; “It’s just one more word!”

You see, that idea is completely absurd.

Those words turn to sentences, paragraphs, pages, and chapters.

Novels into series, my mind a toy to these captors.

I cry: “Please, no more! I have other things to look after!”

But what I hear back is uproarious laughter.

“You must be joking, these gifts are just that!”

“Why are you so picky? You spoiled little brat!”

I shout back: “You don’t understand what it’s like!”

“I want to do this, so please, take a hike!”

Instead of silence, I’m rewarded with more noise in my brain.

I’m reminded, once again, why it’s such a huge pain.

I’ll be minding my business, perhaps I’m at work.

And then I hear it, it’s lips curled in a smirk.

“What about this? Couldn’t you write that?”

“This idea will leave, you better jump on it, stat!”

So I rush to some paper, or perhaps to my phone.

“God damn, this idea is a novel on its own!”

With a sneer, I shoot back: “You tricked me, again!”

“This trend will repeat, I just don’t know when!”

Actually, I know the answer. It’s now, almost dawn.

I’m sitting here writing this, fighting a yawn.

I’m a sleep-deprived author with a relentless muse.

But this curse, I know, isn’t always a ruse.

The things I write are diverse and unique.

Even if my humor is a bit tongue and cheek.

I can craft words to make people cry, smile, or cheer.

And then why I write finally becomes clear.

I can make people feel, without being there.

To this feeling, nothing can compare.

So I gladly sit here, typing away.

“Okay muse, you can stay.”

#writers #poetry #my writing

[slytherinlesbian3]

YOOOO! TO ALL YALL TOH FANS THAT FOLLOW ME (or don't, that's cool)

I FINALLY STARTED A LUMITY FIC! (You can find ch1 HERE)

Yes luz is main character, I love her

Gus and Willow are in it! :D I love my babies

It's set in Roman times/Rome. I've got an idea, trust me

It'll be angsty (just a sprinkle)

I bumped their ages up! I feel uncomfortable writing anything about characters that are younger than my own age, so I made them young adults (it also fits the story better)

Amity's parents are still ✨assholes✨

But Luz's are not! Or Gus'! Or Willow's! HEALTHY FAMILY REP, WHOO!

I am leaving a lot of characters out because I don't want it to be too big:( I'm sorry y'all, my brain isn't strapped in for that yet. Buuut...we'll have the main/semi-main ones, which...well, it's a lumity fic. I could leave everyone except Luz and amity out and my goal would be complete, anyway-

The chapters are 1k words each - I'm already working on (rn 85 pages) another fic that's too complex and I want this to be a side project, so not too complex, not too long

Last but not least, I NEED A SCHEDULE! To all y'all folks interested, give me a day! Give me a time! Actually, just a day- I'm bad with times. When do YOU want ME to update? Tuesday? Sunday? Friday?? I NEED TO KNOWWWWWW!! (Every Friday)

Ladies, gents, folks, nb, trans, bisexuals, those that identify as "sexy", owls, tea drinkers, Red Bull lovers, fantasy football players, popcorn chewers, keyboard warriors, console gamers, and everything in between (let me know if I missed one), PLEASE let me know! Or don't, that's...cool...I guess...*sad hoot noises*

It will be posted (when I get a day) on: @bookshelf-imagines , aka my writing side-blog.

If there are questions, plot ideas (yes, give me ideas! This thing is based off of three ideas I had that aren't until mid-end of the book, I'm dying here), concerns, tips, tricks, advice, whatever it is, don't be afraid to come forth! Whether its comments, DM, asks, or reblogs, or even in the tags, I'll do my best to answer it. I'm really hyped for this fic, so please, please, PLEASE help me 💕💕✨

THANK YOU!! 💕💕💕

#toh #the owl house #Luz noceda #amity blight #Gus porter #willow park #lumity #lumity fic #ummm...running out of tags here #Roman au #Luz gets armor:) #do y'all even read these? #I could rant forever #but......I won't. #I LOVE YALL SM ❤️❤️❤️ #have a good day please:) #or night #goodbye- #my fics #chasing light

[bloody-bee-tea]

Hey there! For the sleep deprivation prompts, if you’re in the mood to have Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian exhibit some care for each other? How about “…What was I doing?” Thank you and have a great day!^^

I am always in the mood for some brotherly feels!!! I hope you are having a great day too!

Jiang Cheng wakes up to a loud crash from the kitchen.

“Fucking what,” he mumbles into his pillow, debating for a short moment to simply let whoever just broke in rob them, when he remembers that it could also be Wei Wuxian.

He had still been furiously working on his project for the company when Jiang Cheng had gone to be bed, and now that Jiang Cheng thinks about it, it seems more likely that Wei Wuxian is the cause of the noise instead of a random robber.

“That better not have been my favourite mug,” Jiang Cheng grumbles into the pillow as he pushes himself out of bed and stumbles over to the door.

There isn’t any light on anywhere in the apartment that Jiang Cheng can see, but the living-room is lit by the artificial blue of a computer screen and Jiang Cheng heaves out a sigh.

Either Wei Wuxian fell asleep over his work, or--and this really is the more likely scenario--he’s still working.

Jiang Cheng makes a detour through the living-room and peers at the screen of the laptop and frowns when he sees mostly senseless babbling on there. Jiang Cheng isn’t sure if Wei Wuxian fell asleep on the keyboard or if he can seriously make sense of this, but he knows his brother, so he saves all the progress without changing a thing and then he powers the laptop down.

Clearly Wei Wuxian is more than ready for bed.

Finally, Jiang Cheng makes his way over to the kitchen. There hasn’t been another noise, which makes a tiny spark of worry grow in his chest, and so when he reaches it, he slams his hand down on the light switch.

He himself winces at the sudden light, but he forgets all about that when Wei Wuxian yelps and stumbles a little bit.

“Ow,” Wei Wuxian whines and presses his eyes closed so the truly epic eyeroll Jiang Cheng gives him goes unnoticed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jiang Cheng snaps at Wei Wuxian as he eyes the shards of a ceramic bowl on the kitchen floor.

He wants to berate Wei Wuxian for breaking a bowl yet again, when he realizes that Wei Wuxian is still standing in the middle of the shards and that he’s not wearing any shoes.

“Don’t move,” Jiang Cheng orders him sharply and probably just to spite Jiang Cheng Wei Wuxian turns around towards him.

“...What was I doing?” Wei Wuxian asks him, and he doesn’t sound fully awake.

“Hell if I know,” Jiang Cheng grumbles as he moves to get a broom. “But don’t you dare move!” he snaps again, when Wei Wuxian lifts his foot as if he wants to walk just straight through the shards.

“Oi, you’re so mean to me,” Wei Wuxian complaints and Jiang Cheng levels him with a look.

It really is too late for this kind of shit.

“Say that again and see if I care if you cut open your feet,” Jiang Cheng threatens him, as he carefully swipes the floor right in front of Wei Wuxian. 

He doesn’t bother picking the shards up, and any kind of more thorough cleaning will have to wait for the morning, because it’s the middle of the night and Jiang Cheng is tired, goddammit.

“Come here,” he instructs Wei Wuxian and takes his hand to guide him through the path he cleaned for him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jiang Cheng asks him once again when they stand in the living-room and Jiang Cheng made sure that Wei Wuxian didn’t cut his feet, and Wei Wuxian stares at him with big eyes.

Eyes that are decidedly bloodshot and Jiang Cheng swears he’s going to wrangle Wei Wuxian into bed if he doesn’t go there on his own.

“I think--,” Wei Wuxian slowly starts, “I wanted to make some coffee.”

“With a bowl?” Jiang Cheng incredulously asks and Wei Wuxian shrugs.

“I figured the bigger the pot the less trips to the kitchen I have to make.”

Jiang Cheng fights the urge to facepalm at that, and instead grips Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

“Didn’t it occur to you to, I don’t know, maybe--,” he starts, but get’s cut off when Wei Wuxian makes a delighted noise.

“Use the coffee pot as my mug, Jiang Cheng, I’m so stupid!”

“Go to bed!” Jiang Cheng yells at him and Wei Wuxian blinks confusedly at him.

“Why would I? I’m not done yet,” Wei Wuxian protests and then looks around, clearly in search of his laptop.

“Oh no!” he breathes out when he sees it shut down and closed. “My progress.”

He sounds like he’s seconds away from crying and Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I saved it all, I’m not completely stupid,” he mutters and then turns Wei Wuxian around and bodily pushes him towards his own room.

“And you are going to bed now,” he tells a protesting Wei Wuxian and doesn’t care much for his attempts to turn back around and go straight back to work.

“I can’t,” Wei Wuxian says and struggles in his grip, “I have to get it done, I’m not finished, let go of me Jiang Cheng!”

“Wei Wuxian, for the love of everything, if you do not go to bed right now, I’m going to knock you out,” Jiang Cheng hisses at him, because he knows that this is the second night in a row that Wei Wuxian decided to work rather than sleep.

And for all that he napped during the day, he didn’t have more than two consecutive hours and Jiang Cheng will sit on him if that is what it takes to get him to sleep.

“You’re always so mean to me,” Wei Wuxian complains. “I’m going to tell shijie.”

“See if I care,” Jiang Cheng gives back, just as he pushes Wei Wuxian into his room, and secretly he hopes Wei Wuxian does tell A-jie. 

She’ll be on Jiang Cheng’s side, he knows it.

“Jiang Cheng, I don’t want to sleep,” Wei Wuxian tries again. “I have really good ideas at this time of the night, you know that.”

“Oh yeah?” Jiang Cheng says and pushes Wei Wuxian down on the bed. “Tell me one of them.”

There is a very telling silence when Wei Wuxian just blinks up at him and despite everything Jiang Cheng has to bite back a smile.

“Drink coffee straight from the pot?” Wei Wuxian eventually offers and Jiang Cheng fights the laugh that bubbles up at that.

“You are a hazard to your own health,” he instead tells Wei Wuxian and wrangles him under the covers. “And I will not stand for it. Sleep, or I’ll make you.”

“As if you could,” Wei Wuxian gives back, but his voice is already slurred and by the time Jiang Cheng pulls the blanket over him, he’s already fast asleep.

Jiang Cheng lets out a deep breath at that, irritated beyond belief, because he definitely is awake now, but he also pushes Wei Wuxian’s hair out of his face and tucks the blanket around his shoulders more securely.

Then he goes back to the kitchen and closes the door, before he stops in the living-room again.

He gets a pen and a sticky note and scrawls a Shards in the kitchen, BE CAREFUL. Eat before you work, you moron on it and sticks it to the laptop before he goes back to his own bed.

Which has long since gone cold. Sometimes Jiang Cheng really hates Wei Wuxian.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng wakes up when a body wriggles itself under his cover.

“Go away,” Jiang Cheng complaints as he tries to pull the blanket closer to his own body, but Wei Wuxian is relentless, and in the end they are pressed together under the blanket.

“You’re cold,” Jiang Cheng grumbles but he puts his head on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

He’ll warm up faster like this.

“I figured it out,” Wei Wuxian lowly tells him and Jiang Cheng blinks up at him.

“How to drink coffee straight from the pot? Don’t do it in my bed.”

“Rude,” Wei Wuxian says and flicks his forehead. “The problem. It was right there in my babbling notes, so thank you for saving all of that.”

“Whatever,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “Did you cut yourself on the shards?” he then asks because he knows Wei Wuxian and despite the fact that he usually goes straight for his laptop first thing in the morning, there is always the possibility that on this day, he decides to be a functional human being and get some food first.

“Found your note,” Wei Wuxian tells him. “I cleaned it all up. I made breakfast, too, if you’re hungry.”

“Mostly I’m tired, because some idiot made me crawl out of my bed in the middle of the goddamn night,” Jiang Cheng gives back and Wei Wuxian chuckles at that.

“And this idiot is really grateful for it,” he gives back. “I made pancakes.”

“Ugh,” Jiang Cheng replies to that, but he figures if Wei Wuxian really made pancakes, a trip to the kitchen might be worth it.

“Made some with extra chocolate, just for you,” Wei Wuxian goes on, and now that is just pure bribery.

“Did you break something else?” Jiang Cheng asks, suspicion clear in his voice and Wei Wuxian laughs at that.

“I didn’t, I promise I didn’t!” he gives back. “It’s just--a thank you,” he finally admits and Jiang Cheng is too tired to roll his eyes at him.

He hopes it comes across anyway.

“No need to be like that, I just wanted to do something nice for you,” Wei Wuxian complaints and finally, Jiang Cheng pushes himself up.

“There better be coffee,” he threatens as he climbs over Wei Wuxian to get out of bed.

“I even poured it into a mug,” Wei Wuxian promises him and Jiang Cheng can’t help himself, he huffs out a laugh at that.

“You better,” he says over his shoulder and leaves Wei Wuxian right there in his bed.

The pancakes are calling to him and those are much more important.

Now with some wonderful, adorable fanart!

[Sleep Deprivation Sentence Starters]

{Buy me a kofi}

#bt writes #the untamed #mdzs #yunmeng brothers #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #lindsayraindrops #brotherly feels #jc cares a great deal #as does wwx #fluff

[homebody-nobody]

you’re a part of me

(WHAT?? Jax wrote ANOTHER fic?? THREE FICS?? in TWO WEEKS?? I know, I’m shocked too. We’re gettin closer and closer to bein a Real Fic Writer lads.) How many juke first kiss fics will you write, Jax? all of them. as many as I want. I dunno. you're an adult obsessed with a tweeny-bopper show. shut up. who even has the patience for 5 +1s in this house it's 3 +1 and only barely bc I don't know how structured fic works so it's not even separate like it's supposed to be. anyway enjoy some dumb teenagers falling in love if the dialogue is cringe sorry lol I was trying to stay in the tone of the show and may have gone a little bit too disney channel (Also if you see typos/the same adjective used twice in one sentence/paragraph, no you didn't I don't edit it makes me nervous)  ------------------------------- (ao3) ------------------------------ '... Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity. Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable.'

(3 times Julie and Luke almost kissed and 1 time they did) ------------------------------------ Luke is overly physical. Theoretically, Julie already knew this. She’s seen him with the boys, the way he lives in other people’s space, hanging off Reggie and lurking next to Alex, not caring where his lanky limbs or knees or elbows end up, even if it’s in other people’s ribs. He was never like that with her, too afraid of the crushing disappointment that came when she phased through his hands. But now, there isn’t the strange, tingles-up-her neck way-weird, way-wrong sensation that came when she accidentally brushed through him. So even though Julie’s used to keeping a respectful distance, Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity.  Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable. 

She notices it the first time during rehearsal, when they’re hashing out the particulars of a melody -- Luke wants it to go down, and Julie thinks it should go up. She plunks herself down at the grand piano to prove that her idea will sound better, fanning the half-finished sheet music out across the top, pointing out the measure they’re arguing over, smudged and crinkled from repeated erasings. 

Luke narrows his eyes at her from across the room, his face set in his trademark (adorable) grumpy expression. “It just sounds better!” she argues. “Listen.” She puts her hands on the keys, left hand hitting the chord, right dancing over her proposed melody. “So please, keep chasing me…” she sings, building to the last word and sliding her voice over an intricate run ending in a step up. Looking up, she tilts her head, her wild hair piled into a tenuous bun, curly tendrils framing her face. Luke’s stomach does an interesting flip. “See?” 

He stands up, swinging his guitar strap down across his chest before walking around her, putting his right hand over where hers had just been on the paper. He stands just behind her shoulder, sending goosebumps down her spine. “It should go down,” he insists. “It’ll flow better with the next line and then the break before the chorus makes more sense. Listen.” He puts his foot up on the bench and swings his guitar back up like it's an extension of him, playing a riff and singing the line they’re arguing about before dipping in to the next. “So please keep chasing me,” he sings, his voice gracefully stepping up and then back down, “Cause even though I’m runnin’, I know you’re the one I need.” 

“You’re making it too simple!” she cries, slamming her hands down in her lap and turning to face him. She opens her mouth to continue the argument, but when she looks at him, she starts, finally realizing just how close he is. The toe of his sneaker brushes her leg, and he leans over the sheet music, closing her in against the piano. His dark eyebrows pull together, mouth slightly pinched as he concentrates, solid and strong and very much in her space. “Um --” she says. 

He shrugs, shaking his head a little bit. “What,” he says, not understanding what she’s having a problem with. Julie’s eyes drop to his mouth, close and stupid kissable, and he notices the motion. The air crackles as both of them unconsciously draw closer, song forgotten, focused only on each other. Luke leans in, half an inch, and Julie’s breath hitches in her chest. This is stupid. She knows this is stupid. Luke is dead. Full ghost. Not real. Well, real, but not a viable option. He might have a physical presence now -- a very strong, very warm, very attractive physical presence -- but that doesn’t make him any more possible. And yet, here she is, pulled into him like he has his own gravitational field and she’s helpless to it. Luke licks his lips, and Julie tilts her chin up, fractional motion tiptoeing toward something irreversible and dangerous. 

Just as she’s about to step over that uncrossable line, there’s an almighty crash. Both of their heads whip up in time to see Alex topple off his stool -- he’d fallen asleep as they were arguing. The noise wakes Reggie, whose head was lolling against his amp. “I didn’t do it!” he yells, flailing into sitting up straight. 

Julie clears her throat and turns back to the keyboard, stretching her hands over the keys. “You’re, uh --” she says, glancing at Luke out of the corner of her eye to find him smirking in an infuriatingly adorable manner. “You’re right. It should go down.” He stands up straight, mildly surprised at his easy victory, and backs off from the piano to show Reggie the chords. They sketch out the verse and Alex adds a backing beat, the moment forgotten. 

That is, until Carlos comes in to nag her to eat. Alex poofs out and Reggie dives behind his amp. Since the whole discovering-corporeality thing, they’re not totally sure if Julie’s the only one who can see them still, and they’d rather not have to explain to Julie’s dad what three teenage ‘holograms’ are doing living in his garage. Carlos delivers his message and then darts back inside, eager for dinner, and Julie stands up from the piano, gathering the half-finished song and tucking it into the folder she keeps her in-progress projects in. 

Reggie emerges in a comic mess of limbs and grins at her, Alex poofing back on to his stool. “I’ll be back after dinner to finish this,” she says, hoping they don't notice the shake in her hands as she tucks the folder away. Luke pops his chin over the edge of the couch, behind which he’d taken cover. 

“Hey Julie!” he calls, and she turns back to look at him. “Just remember; KISS.” 

Her brain short-circuits, heart tripping over itself as she remembers his eyes on her, his shoulders and his hands and his stupid concentration face. “I, uh -- What are you --” she sputters.

A shit-eating grin spreads across Luke’s face as he puts his elbows on top of the couch and pushes himself up. “Keep it simple, stupid.” 

Julie practically runs out of the garage. Alex raises an eyebrow, his gaze arcing from the door to land on Luke. “That was uh…” Luke schools his expression into one of false innocence. “Bold.” Luke rolls his eyes and brushes him off, but Reggie gives Alex a knowing look. Their friends are idiots. 

It happens again one afternoon when Carlos has a baseball game and Julie has the house to herself. Or, so she thinks. She’s lazing around on the couch, avoiding her history homework spread out on the coffee table, Adventure Time babbling on the television. She’s slowly working her way through a bag of gummy bears and m&ms (her favorite candy combination),  wearing an enormous hoodie that used to be her mom’s, home alone; life is fantastic. Until -- 

“Oh, sweet, cartoons!” Luke poofs into existence directly next to her on the couch, and she starts violently enough to shake candy into the couch cushions. Some of it lands on his chest, and he holds up a green gummy bear with a wistful expression. Julie just stares at him, still mildly in shock, definitely still annoyed, and really not in the mood to endure his moping about food when she was having a perfectly nice time by herself. 

“Hey,” he says, either ignoring or unaware of what he’s just done to her heart rate and her peaceful afternoon. “You think now that I’m corporeal --” (he over-pronounces the word, having just learned it from Flynn days before) “I can eat like, regular human food?” It isn’t until he looks to her for an answer that he realizes what he’s just done. “Oh, sorry,” he says, that same stupid-ass grin settling on his face, not sorry even a little bit. “Did I spook ya?” 

His glee at the pun, which he definitely stole from Reggie, sparkles in his gray-green eyes, and Julie’s heart, which had just started to recover from his sudden appearance, trips over itself one more time. Emerging from the shaken-up snowglobe of her brain, she blurts out her first thought. “You’re the worst,” she says, even while thinking the opposite. 

He looks genuinely hurt for about half a second before turning the gummy bear towards her, too, and speaking for it. “You should be nice to Luke,” he says in an absurd voice. “He’s so handsome and talented!” He laughs at his own joke and pitches his voice up to continue with the bit, but she snatches the candy out of his hand and pops into her mouth, grinning. He feigns shock. “That bear could have had a family, Julie.” 

“If they did, they’ll all be happy together in my stomach,” she says, eating another one to punctuate the statement. Luke laughs, and the sound has a heart-stopping melody of its own. It’s comfortable, the relationship that they’ve developed with each other. He always laughs at her jokes and is the first to offer her a compliment after rehearsal, and she loves his dorky sense of humor, even when she gives him a hard time about it. They write music and goof around, and even with the (very strong) undercurrent of romantic (she hopes) tension between them, a friendship sits comfortably on top. He’s only been in her life for a short time,  but she can’t imagine it without him. Her feelings for him endanger that, so she does her best not to let it show. He asks her what she’s watching, and she explains the basic premise of the episode so that he can understand what’s going on. 

She’s hyper-aware of him as they watch the show, and  she envies the ease with which he occupies her space, his shoulder brushing hers, their knees occasionally bumping. He slouches all the way down on the couch, one foot kicked up on the table, turning the remote in his hands and messing with the battery cover, completely at home. (He’s always fiddling with something -- a pen, his necklace -- or bouncing his leg, or clicking a guitar pick between his teeth. It’s a habit that’s mostly adorable and only sometimes annoying.) If he notices her staring at him, he doesn’t say anything. 

It takes a couple more episodes, but she finally relaxes, and the distance between them -- already spare -- vanishes, her shoulder tucked under his, her head angled toward him, their feet bumping on the table. Half her attention is on Finn and the land of Ooo, and half on the boy beside her, who doesn’t seem to give any indication that he’s thinking about this as much as she is. Luke has a way of pulling her in until she’s closer than she ever planned to be, like she can’t help but touch him. Ever since the night they played the Orpheum, he’s become magnetic, his presence a force she can’t resist. If she tilted her head down, just a fraction, it would be resting on his shoulder. What would he do? Would he shrug her off, or rest his head on hers? She watches his hands play with the remote, imagining what his strong, slender fingers would feel like laced with hers. She’s had crushes before, of course -- she liked Nick all the way from seventh grade up to this year -- but nothing so real and powerful as this. 

“Don’t you think Finn sounds just like Reggie?” Luke asks, pulling her from her thoughts. She looks up at him, and he looks down at her, and -- oh. 

He’s very close. 

His eyes always remind her of an overcast sky, swirling with unknown depth, and they widen when they meet hers, filled with awe. Blood rushes in her ears, muting the TV, tuning out anything that isn’t him. Her heart is beating so hard and so fast she wonders peripherally if he can hear it, and then that thought fizzles out with the rest of any kind of logic when his gaze drops to her mouth. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her!! Panic and elation and anticipation all scramble in her chest. She’s never kissed anyone before, and even though she’s never asked, she knows he probably has. What if she’s bad at it? She’s half freaking out and half telling herself to shut the hell up as he turns his entire body towards her, his hand reaching up to hold her face and -- 

The front door slams open, announcing Carlos and Ray. “Mija!!” her dad calls. Luke jerks back from her like he’s been burned, eyes filled with absolute terror, before he disappears. 

“JULIEEEEE!!” Carlos hollers, launching himself across the living room at her and landing on her stomach, knocking the air out of her. Her arms come up around him automatically, despite all the sweat and the diamond dirt sticking to it. Feeling mildly shell shocked and like she’s been hit by a hell of a lot more than her little brother, she barely listens as Carlos and their dad babble over each other in an attempt at telling the story of Carlos’ game-winning home-base slide. She’ll be happy for him once her heart rate slows down. 

Luke stays away for almost a full twenty-four hours after that particular mishap, long enough she almost asks Reggie and Alex if he talked to them about it. There’s about a thousand reasons not to, but mostly, she doesn’t know if she can even explain just what happened. She does tell Flynn, who launches into a very confusing monologue that starts with her admonishing Julie for thinking anything good can come from involving herself with a literal ghost and ends with her gushing about how many cute love songs they could write together, zero percent of which makes her feel better. 

The only reason he doesn’t continue avoiding her is rehearsal, which, of course, he would never miss. She’s hoping to talk to him before they get started, but then the bus gets stuck in traffic and all of her boys are already set up with their instruments and having an impromptu jam session by the time she gets home.  “What --” she hisses as she heaves the doors shut behind her. “Did I tell you guys about playing in here without me?” Alex shrugs and apologizes, and she can’t really be mad at Reggie, at least not for long. 

But Luke -- he barely looks at her, nervous fingers dancing across a complicated riff even as the other boys stop playing. It takes a second of silence before he looks up to see the rest of his band staring at him. “Oh,” he says, the phrase ending in the discordant sound of fingernails on steel strings. “Yeah, right. Sorry.” 

They get started, but nothing sounds right. Luke rushes the tempo and refuses to make eye contact with anyone, spinning off into fancy riffs that have no place in the song they’re working on. Reggie keeps trying to keep up with him, tripping up Alex and frustrating Julie, and when the song grinds to a cacophonous halt for the fourth time, she stands up from the piano. Reggie takes a step back. 

“What is your problem?” she practically yells, stomping over to Luke. He’s been surly and unusually stubborn, and the shift from his usual cheerful, passionate demeanor builds her own stewing anxieties to a dangerous head.

“It’s not my problem you can’t keep up,” he says, and then, after watching the words register in Julie’s expression, immediately regrets it. Alex’s eyebrows shoot up and Reggie makes a very soft ‘ooooohhh’ noise under his breath.

“It’s not keeping up if you can’t hold a steady tempo,” she says, too upset over his refusal to cooperate to catch the reaction from her bandmates.

“Okay, so maybe I was rushing,” he admits, trying to walk it back. But Julie’s on a roll, and once she gets started laying into him, she very rarely lets up.

“Thank you!” she yells, the sarcasm clear in her tone. She’d been especially fond of the product so far, a song she thought embodied the perfect blend of Luke’s harder edge and her singer-songwriter roots. His sudden, uncharacteristic left turn is as much an interruption in their rehearsal as a knock to the tenuous pride she’d been building in the piece.  “And what are all those riffs you’re tossing in? You have to hear how they don’t fit.” 

“Oh come on,” he says, proud in his ability and therefore less willing to step down. He rolls his shoulders back and moves toward her, the challenge set in his spine. “I was shredding and you know it.” Luke is sweet and kind and silly and compassionate, but he’s also a musician, and a lead guitarist at that. His ego, though it rarely becomes an issue, is far from insubstantial. 

“If you want a solo, fine!” she cries with exasperation, her hands flying through the air like they always do when she’s upset. “But you have to say something so we can give you room for it!” Her annoyance has turned down the sensitivity on her Luke-nonsense monitor, caught up enough in the trouble that she can’t see that he’s riling her up on purpose.

“What, you afraid of a little improvisation?” He’s smiling now, and his obvious glee, such a stark flip from where she thought this was going, throws off her tirade. He starts walking toward her, and his newfound physicality gives him an ability to fluster her to a much greater degree than before.

“No --” she stammers, stumbling backwards, distracted out of anger by his sparkling eyes and the power in the body approaching rapidly. “That’s not what I --” There it is again, that power he has to turn the rest of the world into radio static, her vision blurring and her hearing dulling until it’s just Luke filling up the world in front of her. 

“C’mon Julie,” he says, and right now she hates his stupid smirk and the stupid way he rolls her name around in his mouth before letting it out. “you have to take risks once in a while.” She’s backed up against the piano now, her hands wrapped tight around the lid, and he’s still pushing it, strong and warm and undeniably, frustratingly male in her space. 

But Julie isn’t one to let him intimidate her into silence, no matter how cute and well-muscled he may be. She takes a breath and looks him in his ridiculous sparkly eyes, poking him in his absurdly firm chest.“I am not afraid of taking risks, mister,” she says, “Let’s not forget who performed in front of her entire school to get back into the music program --” 

“My idea,” he scoffs, not backing up. Why isn’t he backing up.

“Or who fronts a band of actual ghosts!” she continues, her voice increasing in volume again, and the speed of her heart tripping over itself could be from the argument or the boy who’s collarbones are less than a foot from her face. Both are entirely possible. 

“Less ghost now,” he reminds her, tilting his head, his weight leaned one one leg, his hand resting on the head of his guitar, relaxed when they’re supposed to be arguing. 

“You just get to poof out after we perform!” she says, only about two-thirds of her mind still focused on the fight itself, the other third completely wrapped up in the feeling of Luke in front of her. “I’m the one who has to stick around and ask questions!” 

“So you’re saying you take chances,” he says, diabolically diplomatic instead of challenging. He leans forward, putting his hands on the piano behind her, caging her in with his arms. She refuses to back down again, even though his face is now inches from hers. “You’d take a leap of faith?” 

“Yeah,” she says, only half-certain, because she’s not totally sure they’re still talking about music, and her heart is in the base of her throat and her stomach is somewhere around her shoes, and suddenly her hands are sweating when they definitely weren’t a minute ago. This definitely isn’t an argument about the song anymore. 

“Oh yeah?” he says, and there’s the challenge again, except this one sounds more like a dare, and he’s definitely looking at her lips this time, not even trying to be subtle about it, and her hands are braced on his forearms and when did they get there? And Luke is warm and when she looks up, his eyes are on hers, and despite all that bravado and provocation there’s still a question there, and all she would have to do to answer is lift up on her toes and finally, finally press her lips against his, and -- 

Alex coughs. The oxygen goes out of the room like someone opened an airlock, and Julie feels herself sink, just barely, back down on her heels. The world fills back in, colors and sounds suddenly too bright, too abrasive. Tearing her eyes off Luke, she glances over his shoulder to where Reggie and Alex are, still with their instruments, watching them intently. Alex looks politely put out, his eyebrows tilted up with incredulity, like he's asking if they seriously just made him watch that. Reggie, on the other hand, hides nothing in his expression, shock and amusement there in equal parts as he glances between Alex and the two of them still tucked close against the piano, jaw askance in a surprised smile. 

"Are you done?" Alex asks, in a tone that sounds less like a question. "It’s not that I mind…" he gestures between the two of them with a drumstick. "This, but like, time and place, dude." He's not talking to Julie. Luke clears his throat, appropriately chastised, but still looking smug as shit. 

"Um, sorry," she mutters as he returns to his spot next to his amp. 

Alex shrugs. "Not your fault," he says, "from the top?" 

"Uh," she says, frozen for a moment in embarrassment and confusion. She looks to Alex, and he gives her one of his soft, kind smiles, the sort that makes her feel like everything is going to be okay. “Right, okay,” she finishes, as her hands twitch and she settles back into her body. Rushing back around to the bench, she flexes her hands over the keys, curling them into fists and then back out again when they tremble. “From the top.” 

The rehearsal goes -- okay, after that. The magic is missing; therefore, while she usually feels inspired and courageous and empowered walking out of the garage, she just feels exhausted and drained. She eats dinner with her family, and her dad definitely notices that she’s uncharacteristically quiet, but saves asking about it until after Carlos is safely sequestered with his iPad. “How ya doin, kiddo?” he asks as she helps him clear up the dishes. “Everything okay?” 

Julie looks at her dad with mild alarm, wondering what exactly he knows. He does his best, he really does, but it took him a while to even notice she was in a band. Not to mention, he still believes they’re holograms. “Um,” she says convincingly. “Yeah?” 

He smiles kindly, in the way that means he’s very politely calling bullshit. “Alright, mija. What’s going on?” 

Heaving a sigh, Julie keeps her eyes on the dishwasher she’s loading, trying her best to plan an escape route out of this conversation. “I promise, Dad,” she says, “It’s nothing.” and then, what she thinks are the magic words. “Boy stuff.” 

But Ray’s been prepping for this, had conversations with Rose about it before she passed, while the cancer slowly ate her alive. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to be there for her daughter through the time in her life a girl needs her mother the most, and she wasn’t about to let him hide behind toxic masculinity and leave Julie to figure it out on her own. “Okay,” Ray says, trepidation clear in his voice but also not unwilling to approach the topic. “What’s his name?” 

Julie almost drops the pot she’s scrubbing. “Does it matter?” she asks, her voice crawling up several octaves. 

“Just trying to learn who is in my daughter’s life,” he answers diplomatically, sitting down at the counter to make it clear he’s not letting her out of this one easily. 

“I promise, Dad,” she says, doing her best to frantically dodge the interrogation she knows is coming, regretting she brought it up at all, cursing herself for being so obvious. “It’s dumb. You don’t even know him.” 

Ray nods slowly, pretending to believe her. Julie goes after the pot a little harder, because maybe if she just finishes the dishes she can go upstairs and bury herself in her bed and not have to have this conversation anymore. “It’s not that guitarist, is it?” he asks, and her spine goes stiff as a ramrod. Ray’s her dad, but he’s not blind. He’s seen the way they look at each other when they perform, the way the boy follows her around the stage like a puppy, desperate for her attention, disappointed when she jams with the other members of their band and not him. He’s an excellent musician, but Ray knows too many stories of near-legends gone sour with misdirected young love. 

“No!” Julie cries immediately in an obvious lie. “Of course not!” She turns, half-laughing, explanations falling out of her mouth “We’re just friends,” she insists, lacing her fingers in front of her and nodding exaggeratedly. “Just friends. Only friends. Uh-huh. Friends. And!” she continues, gesturing widely, “he doesn’t even live here! So that… wouldn’t even make sense!” she laughs awkwardly. “So no way. That it’s him. No way it’s him.” 

Ray sighs out a laugh that Julie’s too panicked to hear and leans forward on his elbows. “Alright, nina. Just be careful, okay?” She’s nodding along, edging her way towards the stairs. “You and your band…” She looks like Rose, in that hoodie that practically swallows her, hair piled messily on top of her head. Her mom was also a terrible liar, he remembers fondly. “You have something special. Don’t throw that away for a boy.” 

Julie nods rapidly and then bolts, thundering up the stairs before throwing her bedroom door closed behind her and diving headfirst onto her bed, burying herself in decorative pillows. How does everyone  know?? First Flynn and then Reggie and Alex and now her dad? Is she that obvious? (Um, yes.) She flops onto her back, staring up at the colorful tapestries slung across her ceiling, the string lights and posters and art. Usually, she loves her room, the feeling of her creative mind as a space she can inhabit, exploring her heart and the things she loves without having to shut out the outside world. But tonight, she feels trapped in her own head, so she grabs her notebook and squeezes out the window, perched on the roof outside her room. 

The evening air is cool and crisp, the gentlest bite warning the oncoming winter, as much as there is a winter in LA. She spends a while scribbling down half-baked lyric ideas and doodling angry black scribbles around the edges of the pages when nothing comes out right. It’s harder to write on her own, now, without the steady pulse of Luke’s genius behind her, the electricity that flows between them as they create impeccable harmonies. Sometimes, it feels like music belongs to the both of them together, a joined force, like they’ve given up their individual melodies for something greater. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. 

Eventually, she just ends up holding the notebook open to ‘Perfect Harmony’ with one hand, the other arm wrapped around her legs, her chin propped on her knees. She still hasn’t shown it to Luke, afraid of how real it feels, how clear it makes her feelings for him. Also, it’s a ballad, which they haven’t even approached yet, and she has no idea how Reggie and Alex will feel about such an explicitly romantic duet. She’s thinking that maybe she might be able to vague it up, maybe even make it a solo piece, when Luke appears next to her, like thinking about him draws him to her. (Which might actually be true -- she hasn’t examined that very closely.) 

“Hey!” he says cheerfully, all awkwardness from the evening’s rehearsal ostensibly disappeared. He plucks the notebook out of her hand, using the other arm to hold back her immediate demands for its return. “New stuff?” he asks. This is not normally such a grievous invasion of privacy. Ever since they started writing together, their songwriting journals have become common property, and half the pages in hers are marked up with his handwriting and vice versa. 

“It’s not ready yet!” she cries, pushing against the (stupidly strong) arm he has across her collarbone, willing to climb bodily over him to snatch the notebook back. Luke’s face very slowly falls as he reads it, the lyrics sinking in, and her protests trail off as she stops scrambling to grab it out of his hands. 

He stands suddenly, pacing across the roof. “Did you --” he starts, breathing shallowly, his tongue tucking his teeth between his lips, nostrils flaring before he speaks again. “Why did you copy this out of my songbook?” It’s not accusatory, only a question, born of true confusion. 

“I didn’t,” Julie replies without skipping a beat, equally baffled. 

“I wrote this after the garage party,” he says. “How is it in your notebook?” 

“I wrote it at school before the garage party,” she replies, doing her best to keep down the memory of the Luke in her imagination and the song coming to her fully formed in the form of a Patrick Swayze-esque daydream. She didn’t even tell Flynn about that part. 

“At school…” Luke repeats, studying the lyrics with a furrow between his eyebrows, and as much as Julie is also reeling from shock at the mystery, it’s kind of adorable to watch him try and solve it. “This doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking up at her, signature grumpy expression in place. He tilts the notebook flat, like he’s presenting it to her, hoping she has the next steps. Like he’s reached his conclusion, and it’s that he’s confused. 

“It doesn’t,” she says, and it comes out as half a laugh unintentionally, just looking at his ridiculous, adorable face. 

“Why are you laughing?” he demands with exasperated urgency. “This is super weird!” He rushes over and collapses next to her, a mess of flannel and limbs and beautiful dumbass. He shoves the notebook back into her hands as she folds her legs underneath her, relinquishing her grip on her knees. 

“Yeah,” she sighs, unable to wipe the grin from her face. “Yeah, it is.” Luke looks like he wants to ask her what she’s smiling at, but then he starts smiling, too, because her happiness is his happiness. Julie’s already past the strange coincidence, lost in the joy of his gray-green eyes and the feeling of him next to her. She’s too used to strange, to the ever-changing rules of the afterlife and the constant uncertainty that Luke and her boys bring to her life. Yes, it’s strange, but she’s in a ghost band and her crush is dead and still manages to look at her like that so she has a certain level of perspective when it comes to things like this. 

“What are you --” Luke tries to say, but her eyes are on his and they’re warm and brown and kind and he’s finding it a little hard to form sentences. 

“This is ridiculous,” she says, and he’s nodding without knowing what he’s agreeing to. “We wrote the same song on the same day,” she laughs, and he nods again, half-listening, half lost in her. She’s excited now, about the possibility brought on by magic and her connection -- their  connection -- souls tied together with passion and music and love. “That’s impossible!” It cements something for her, the feeling of coming together, of sliding into place. They’re so solid, tight, together, on the same wavelength… musicians have put it a thousand ways throughout the years, to communicate the feeling of a co-writer, a bandmate, a partner, reading your mind, singing the next line, playing the next riff that was just in your head. Julie and Luke get the added bonus of being inexplicably spiritually linked. Nothing can break that, or replace it. She’s not scared of it, anymore. 

“Impossible,” he echoes. He always feels a little bit stronger, a little more alive whenever he’s with Julie like this, just the two of them, hanging out or writing music, and he’s in her immediate proximity, soaking in the warmth of her brown skin and brown eyes and the chaotic energy of her wild, incredible hair. She pulls him in, without knowing the power she holds or the light that she emits, casting a golden glow over everything around her. 

“Luke,” she says, and he tunes back in, realizing that he’s steadily leaning toward her as they sit on the roof, Julie cross-legged, Luke angled toward her, one leg stretched out, his elbow propped on his other knee. “Are you listening?” 

“Um,” he swallows, “Yeah?” but he’s looking at her lips, not her eyes, and he’s thinking about kissing her, just once, just to see what she tastes like, remembering the smell of gummies and m&ms, hoping she’ll be just as sweet. She doesn’t say anything, mostly because she forgot what she was going to say in the first place, watching his eyes watch her mouth, breathing him in. He’s too close again, closer than any friend or bandmate should be, and there’s no mic between them, and the door to her room is closed, and there’s no bandmates or brothers or dads, and her heart pounds in her chest. 

When she tilts her chin towards him, she feels ready, finally, knowing what he means to her. Only a breath separates them, but they both stop, waiting for the inevitable interruption, the door slamming open, or someone calling up from the yard below, but it doesn’t come. Realizing what they’re both waiting for, they breathe out a simultaneous laugh, their foreheads dropping together. The tension fades, and Julie’s smile feels uncontainable, demanding every inch of her face as this beautiful, goofy, genus, talented boy adores her while she sits there, falling in love with him. 

It’s easier, this moment, than the one before, because it feels less laden with the weight of someone pulling away, unsure or unwanting. This moment is comfortable, joyful, the two of them acknowledging every minute of want and disappointment and hilarious misfortune over the past few days, acknowledging what they would have asked for instead. And when Luke finally reaches up, pulling her in gently with his hand on her neck, his thumb sliding over her jaw, it’s with confidence and tenderness, reassured that she wants this, too. Julie leans easily into the touch, and when their lips meet, the spark and rush is better than any performance, any screaming crowd drowning in lights. They kiss each other, moving together, leaning in as one, harmony made in the movement of mouths and the press of lips, and this moment -- it’s perfect. 

#jatp #juke #julie and the phatoms #julie x luke #luke x julie #jatp fic #julie and the phantoms fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #homebodynobody #julie molina #luke patterson

[maisondenachtai]

Boss pt 2 (Y’lan Noel x Reader)

Part 1 

Late nights were nothing new to you. You were well accustomed to seeing the office clear out and hearing the stark noise of silence punctuated with the sounds of vacuums and the gentle hum of electricity. You knew almost all of the janitors that came up after hours to clean up the office, and knew to give them ten minutes or so, so they could clean up your area without you being in the way.

What you were not used to was another person being in the office with you while you were working late hours. Y’lan Noel, or Y’lan as he kept reminding you, was also grinding gears after hours. You could see him pinning things to a board through the clear windows that gave you an open view of him. He was completely focus on his project, not even noticing you had been staring at him for a least five minutes.

No, you had not been staring. Just observing.

You had observed that when he seemed to get stumped on something, he placed his hands in his pockets and stared at it like he was doing now. You wondered what he was stumped on, you knew whatever it was he would figure out and come out of it amazingly.

           Despite your words with him days before, you knew he was a talented editor and writer. Christine had talked about him so much, that he was a star and that he was going places. At the time you hadn’t heard of him, but after researching him and reading a few of his pieces, you saw what she saw and yeah you were impressed. He hadn’t just been handed the job because he was a male, he earned it and deserved it. But of course, you couldn’t tell him that.

           You tilted your head a little as he bounced on and off his toes. Whatever had him stumped really was throwing him through a loop. You were just about to smirk and laugh when his head quickly turned and his eyes lit up when they met yours.

“Shit.” You mumbled, focusing again on your computer, typing up a storm as if you had never stopped to stare…observe him.

It was too late though; you heard the wind slightly woosh as he opened up his doors and could hear him make his way over to your area. You continued to type though, willing yourself to pretend that he wasn’t there.

“You’re dedicated.” He said.

You didn’t say anything, only kept typing. Wide leg pants are in-

“…I saw you looking at me. No need to front.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“I was not staring at you.” You stopped typing, looking up at him. He had settled himself against the wall behind your desk set up, leaning across as if he was a neighbor talking over a fence.

He smirked, “I never said you were staring.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m busy.”

“I see that. You know since you’re working, you could still be on the clock.”

You shook your head, “This isn’t work. This is a competition. So no, I can’t be on the clock.”

Y’lan shook his head, “It’s work. If you win, your magazine becomes the month’s issue so, it’s work. Doesn’t matter, I clocked you back in hours ago.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” You folded your arms.

“You don’t have to ask me. I’m your boss. It’s my job.” He smiled and turned around about to go back to his office.

“What’s your angle?” You stopped him in his tracks and he turned around again, walking back over to your area.

“I don’t have an angle.”

You rolled your eyes standing up from your desk. You stretched your neck first, then the rest of your body. When you opened your eyes from stretching, you noticed that Y’lan’s eyes were just coming back up from a long trip down your body. You fought the smirk coming to your lips.

“Of course you have an angle. Everyone does.” You sat back down, leaning back in your chair making a long line for Y’lan to admire with his eyes. “When I first got here, I was angling to become editor in chief in five years. So I sucked up. I’m not proud of it but it got me far. Nancy in graphic design has been flirting with every higher up at every office party, she wants a higher position. That’s her angle. You are being very nice, what do you want from us? What do you want from me?”

Y’lan’s hands were in his pockets again, but he wasn’t bouncing. He stood confident, staring at you like you were a new problem to solve. “I want what every magazine editor wants. A good staff that produces good results. I’ve been at publications where the work environment was hell and the editor was a disgusting human being. You know what that publication is doing now? …Nothing. It shut down two years ago. Bankrupt. Bad work environments leak out. I don’t want that for Black Style.”

You nodded, “That’s commendable. I’m not mad at that.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head a little. “I’m glad I got your approval. …As for you Ms. YLN.”

You leaned forward eyes widening, “As for me what?”

“You asked me what I wanted from you all…and you specifically. I told you what I wanted for the company as a whole. Now I want to tell you want I want from you specifically.” His voice had lowered significantly and it made you draw into him, leaning closer than what was probably appropriate.

His eyes drifted down your face quickly and then back up to your eyes. You gulped a little. “And what is that Mr. Noel.”

He smirked, letting the silence linger for a moment, “I want your respect. Even if you win the competition, I want you to respect me as a peer in the field.”

You let out a small breath, for a moment you imagined that he might say that he wanted you, in the physical sense. You couldn’t deny the fact that Y’lan was quite handsome and had confidence about him that absolutely made you hor-

You could deny it. And you absolutely would.

“Ms. YLN.”

“Yes. Sorry.” You picked at a piece of imaginary lint on your shirt. “Respect is not given it’s earned.” You said, talking down to that imaginary lint that was still stuck to your shirt.

His hand reached out and gripped your chin gently, only pressing upward with the barest of force. You looked up at him all on your own, and found yourself looking at a man with no fear, and the most beautiful smile you had ever seen.

He was over stepping many of the boundaries HR laid out for you all, but honestly...you couldn’t care at this point. “I know.” He was speaking just so you could hear, barely over the sound of the vaccums and the powerful AC in the building. “And I fully expect to earn all of your respect.” He grinned at you and then moved his hand off your face, turning and walking away from you. “Oh, and those are really nice pants.” He shouted back, throwing up a hand in goodbye. “And that is wildly inappropriate!” You shouted back, awaken from your stupor.

He turned around, smirking, “It would be...if I was on the clock. Do you know how bad it looks for a Editor to give himself 4 hours of overtime, especially for something that’s not work related? What kind of Boss do you think I am?” He chuckled, going back into his office and closing the glass door behind him. You grumbled and went back to typing, nails clicking the keyboard harder than before.

“Bastard.”

___________________________________________________________

This looks a little different huh? ...Yeah...I don’t feel like doing all that title stuff. Yall know what this is lol! This has been sitting in my drafts for a month or two? lol.

@chaneajoyyy @wawakanda-btch  @blackmissfrizzle @quietpoeticheart @bigsisbria  @toni-toni-toni-toni  @blvkqueen1​  @palmstreesallday​  @hey-taylor-hey​  @myakai13​  @shinywrites​

#y'lan noel x reader #y'lan noel x black reader #y'lan noel #y'lan noel fanfic

[fizzingwizard]

I fell asleep so here’s day 5 a bit late to party... Day 6 will surely be late too xP Again, thanks for the comments last time, I enjoyed them, even the ones hidden in tags haha.

Koushirou and Taichi have a talk post-Bokura no Mirai. Watch out, cuz both boys have mouths on them. Taishiro if you squint.

---

Tri week day 5 - Survival - They Make Miracles

Taichi texted him wanting to hang out over after school, and as Koushirou had spent the day at the office, that meant Taichi came there. He spread out on the couch, flipping through the pages of some comic book. Koushirou sat at his desk. They had a bottle of cold oolong each and a bowl of shrimp crackers. Out the window, the din of rush hour traffic filtered in from the Tokyo streets below.

Some might look at them and think they were ignoring each other, each occupied in separate activities, only looking up to acknowledge there was someone else in the room when their hands bumped reaching into the cracker bowl. But their friendship worked like this. In fact, if the long stretches of silence bothered Taichi at all, he would have ditched Koushirou way back in elementary school.

That was something about Taichi not everyone understood: he could get as wrapped up in his own head as Koushirou did. Sometimes it seemed like Taichi sought him out because he wouldn't have to feel pressured to make small talk. He wanted to think, and he wanted someone else to be there while he was thinking, but not Sora, who would want give him advice, and not Yamato, who would stay quiet but coiled with tension until Taichi finally said something to bring them back to known waters. Koushirou, at least, understood the need for privacy for his thoughts, even if he didn't quite get why Taichi still wanted another body there anyway.

So it came as a surprise when Taichi shattered the silence, a page of the comic book suspended in the air as he paused mid-turn. "I'm never going to know if it was a mistake or not, am I," he said.

Koushirou looked up. Taichi's gaze was fixed on a random spot on the coffee table. But then he straightened, throwing his arms over the back of the couch in a deceptively casual move. His face, though, he kept turned away.

On days like this, Koushirou tended to be so involved in his work that, even if Taichi did have something to say, all he'd get in reply was a vague "Hmm." Later he might not even remember that they'd talked. It was a habit that drove Mimi up the wall, but once again, Taichi never seemed to mind that much. Of course, most of the time the conversation was along the lines of "Look at the cool play this soccer star made," or "Can you believe Satou-sensei expects us to finish the group project by tomorrow?" and "Hmm" was, more or less, all the response needed. Plus Koushirou was pretty sure Taichi sometimes took advantage of it to insist he had agreed to things he couldn't recall ever discussing.

Too bad he couldn't pretend this was about a mistake on some test.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard while he weighed his options. "... The world isn't divided into good and bad, Taichi-san," he said at last, though once the words were out, they felt pale and trite horribly inadequate. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice. Really the only choice."

He didn't add the rest: that he viewed killing Meicoomon as akin to chopping off a gangrenous limb. A terrible choice to make, but without it, the necrotic tissue would continue to spread and infect until there was nothing left. The metaphor worked, but he felt pretty sure the depersonalization wouldn't sit well with Taichi.

Taichi made a noncommittal noise. Something knotted in Koushirou's stomach. Probably, more than any of the others, Koushirou was the least upset with how things had ended with Meicoomon. In his wildest dreams he'd never imagined separating a Chosen from their partner, let alone - let alone killing one. When he'd realized Meiko might know the password to unlock the Digimons' sealed memories, hope had struck him like a bolt of lightning: all those dark predictions he couldn't see his way out of were about to be swept away by a miracle. Just like when they were kids.

That was the fatal error. There hadn't been any miracles when they were kids.

It had only felt that way because they didn't know how else to explain the unexplainable.

He and Taichi had talked many times over the years, about the fact that they were killers. The others didn't get a lot out of putting it into words like that, but it was true. They'd been killing since they were ten years old, killing to protect, killing to survive. It was just that, this time, they'd killed someone that loved.

"I just," Taichi swallowed thickly. "At the time, we... there wasn't any more time, but... now I just wonder... no one else wanted to do it, they all followed my lead and maybe... Sorry, I'm not making any sense..."

"We followed your lead like we always do, Taichi-san, because you lead us well." In a sudden fit of nerves, Koushirou pushed off the polished surface of his desk and stood. Once standing, though, he felt infinitely more awkward and wished he hadn't.

He was trying to think of an unobtrusive way to disappear behind his workspace again when Taichi at long last gave up staring at the wall. He looked over at Koushirou with liquid brown eyes. It was only the briefest of glances before he hunched over on the edge of the couch, fingers digging into his scalp.

His next words were muffled and wet-sounding.

"Nishijima-sensei died. I was - I was so messed up. I shouldn't have made that decision. I shouldn't have made any decisions. I was - what's the word they use -"

"Compromised?" Koushirou offered.

"Yeah, that."

Fuck.

Why did Taichi have to come to him for comfort? Yamato or Sora would be so much better at this.

If they were better, he would have gone to them, Tentomon's matter-of-fact voice in his head pointed out. Tentomon was in the digital world at present, but Koushirou didn't need him there to know what he'd think about this.

Then another voice, one that didn't sound like Tentomon at all, added: Maybe comfort isn't all he wants.

"You witnessed something... unspeakable," Koushirou said gently. His feet seemed to move as if on automatic, making a winding path around the desk to stand at the coffee table's edge, an arm's length away from where Taichi had begun to collapse in on himself. "It had to affect your judgment."

A beat. Taichi gave a tremulous nod.

"It doesn't follow that your judgment must have been mistaken, Taichi-san."

The hands smoothed down his face. "But I'm never going to know," he said in a dull voice.

Folding his arms, Koushirou sat down on the opposite seat. "Let's not deal in vagaries. Here's what I know," he said, careful to keep his tone level, bussinesslike. "I know the world was going to change, at that moment, one way or another. I know a lot was at stake." Lives, the entire world - Mochizuki and Meicoomon. Taichi was certainly thinking it on his own. Koushirou forced himself to hold his gaze as he went on. "I know Meicoomon's data had been corrupted beyond recognition. I know Yggdrasil and Homeostasis both intended to move regardless of how we felt about it. I don't know how much was ever really salvageable. But I know you salvaged control. We're not their unwitting pawns, and that's thanks to you."

A slow smile crept over Taichi's face, brittle at the edges. "Isn't that thanks to you? Every time we need a miracle, Koushirou, you -"

"There are no miracles," Koushirou interrupted, with a stubborn set of his jaw, "that don't sacrifice on the altar of mysticism the ones who broke their backs to make them happen."

Stunned silence. Taichi gave a startled laugh. "Wow... I'm not sure I understood all the words there."

"Maybe there was a way to save Meicoomon." The words spilled out like a runaway train, and he had no idea if he was helping or hurting, but he couldn't stop now. "And maybe there was a way to save the digital world that didn't involve abducting eight children from their homes and making them fight for their lives, resetting their innocence, teaching them how the world assigns value, whether something is cheap or precious, based on circumstance, on convenience. We all handled it the best way we knew how, and sometimes - sometimes that way wasn't very good. The whole time, there was one thing that got us through it, day after day. Taichi-san, do you know what it is?"

Taichi looked as if he were hanging onto what Koushirou was saying like it were a lifeline. He nodded. "It was hope."

"No, Taichi-san," Koushirou said viciously. "It was you."

Taichi's throat worked, and his long, dark lashes stuttered. He seemed to try to answer, but lost the words he'd been looking for. "Fuck," he choked out after a while, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling.

Koushirou gave him time to get a hold of himself. He'd seen Taichi cry before. Always out of guilt. Well, not this time - not if he could help it.

The ping of an incoming message lit up his computer, followed by an insistent buzz from his phone a moment later. He didn't get up.

"I-I wish-" Koushirou listened in silence as Taichi tripped and stumbled over his unruly emotions. He suspected it had been a while since Taichi had done any sort of maintenance on them. Not since Meicoomon, probably.

"I wish we could have saved Meicoomon, Koushirou." He'd never sounded so much like a child, not even when he was one.

"We all do."

"But I don't know if it's because I regret what I did, or because I don't like the way Yamato and Sora treat me now, like I'm about to break down any second, or because Hikari will never look up to me the same way again-"

"None of the above. It's because you're a good person, Taichi-san."

The look on Taichi's face was somewhere between bleak and utterly desperate. "How can you be so sure about that?"

"I know many things," Koushirou said. "I think you'll agree with me there. I could be wrong about any of them, but not that one thing." He didn't smile, he didn't let his gaze waver. "Never that."

I don't wany any leader that isn't you.

"Fuck you," said Taichi, voice breaking, but there was unexpected laughter at the end of it. "Geez, Koushirou. What am I supposed to with that?" He shook his head, looking exhausted. "I couldn't talk about it before. I couldn't - make things all about me, when Mochizuki's the one who-" He stopped, fists curling and uncurling on his knees. "Yamato will beat me up if that's what I want from him. Sora will tell me everything's fine even if it's not what she really thinks. Hikari won't talk about it all. I figured you at least didn't hate me for what happened. Out of all of us, you would have thought everything through for yourself. At least your opinion would be your own."

"It is," Koushirou promised.

Taichi nodded. The color had begun to return to his face. Slowly, as if carding through his thoughts, he said: "I'll never know if it was a mistake. But it's done."

"It's done."

"That's not much of a balm for the soul," Taichi sighed.

Koushirou looked down. "I guess not," he said. "It's real, though."

Another silence followed. Like the calm after a storm, Koushirou thought. He did feel as though they'd just weathered some catastrophe, or perhaps escaped it by a hair.

"She says she doesn't hate me," Taichi said after a few minutes passed in therapeutic quiet. "Mochizuki."

"Ah."

"But she's... y'know. Kind. She's the type to blame herself for things that aren't her fault."

Koushirou shrugged. "Seems like you two are a matched set, then."

Taichi gave him a sharp look, but didn't say anything. He took a deep breath, whole body swelling like a cresting wave. Then he reached for a shrimp cracker.

"Damn... heavy talk makes me hungry."

Koushirou couldn't help it. He laughed. And reached for his bottle of oolong. He was parched.

"Koushirou..." Ah, he knew what was coming now. "Thanks. When I came over, I didn't mean for..."

"I don't want thanks. Or apologies." I just want you. But, no, that... he wasn't at a point where he could say that just yet. "I just want you at your best. I still think we can change the world, Taichi-san."

A hesitant grin. "That's a promise," Taichi said, only it sounded more like "fash a fwomish" with his mouth full of cracker.

Demons couldn't be defeated in a single afternoon, over oolong tea and shrimp crackers, despite best intentions. Koushirou knew that. He'd dealt with his fair share of demons and they were intractable little brutes. But Taichi could out-stubborn anything. He wouldn't have been able to lead them this far if that weren't true.

As for Mochizuki Meiko - even if Taichi couldn't quite admit it yet, Koushirou thought he understood why she was being "kind." Because though what they'd taken had been enormous, they'd done their utmost to give back what they could. It might be small, but seeds always are. Mochizuki had a future stretched out before her too, free from the designs of any government organization or mysterious otherworldly power. Teeming with possibilities, neither good nor bad. Simply there.

Taichi was going to change the world. Koushirou meant to do the same. People would say they made miracles, but the two of them would call it something else.

They would call it living.

---

as usual i am an overdramatic bitch

side note: I was gonna have Koushirou call out Taichi for saying Yamato would beat him up, but just didn’t find a spot for it. So for clarity’s sake, this is Taichi being hard on himself, not indicative of what Yamato would actually do. We all saw him cry after losing his bestie *wibble*

I don’t know how they can both reach the shrimp cracker bowl if Koushirou’s at the desk and Taichi’s on the couch, by the way. I guess it’s hovering in the air between them, or they both have Elastigirl arms :P

#triweek2020 #digimon adventure tri #koushirou izumi #taichi yagami #digimon #fizz writes