#I got out of my loft bed and got on my laptop to write this
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It's Always The Nice Ones
Kinktober Fic: Clark discovers his girlfriend's tumblr.
Warnings/Kinks: Warnings/Kinks: Stomach Bulge, Spanking, Size Difference, Non consensual Recording (is this a bit self indulgent? yes, yes it is. thank you for noticing!)
Word Count: 1.5k
Y/N kicked off her shoes as she entered her and her boyfriend's shared loft. It was a little expensive but the two of them made it work. That was Clark. Sweet, wonderful, and understanding Clark. Y/N loved him with all her heart. There wasn't a thing she would change about him. Well, maybe one thing. Don't get her wrong, he would always leave her satisfied but sometimes Y/N would still want more than what he gave her.
"So the Jamaican place was out of what you usually get so I got you what I get. Kinda works out anyway since you love to steal my jerk chicken," She called out to him as she walked into the kitchen. She was expecting to find him lounging on the couch while watching his favorite fall movie. She was pleasantly surprised to see him leaning against the kitchen counter with his glasses sitting on top of his head.
"What's this?" Clark asked, gesturing to Y/N's laptop. Her laptop was open and the current screen was the homepage of Y/N's Tumblr.
"My laptop? Clark, why do you have my laptop?" Y/N was a little scared. Her Tumblr was her sacred place. It's where her thoughts went to live and she didn't have to be as tame as a real person.
"Mine was dead so I thought I'd borrow yours. Could you imagine my surprise when I found out that my sweet girlfriend writes the most obscene 'smut' on the internet," He said smut in quotation marks. His blue eyes were trained on Y/N. Clark was normally a gentle giant with her but as he approached her, his energy was different. For the first time in their relationship, Y/N felt small. Now Clark being a 6'5 alien was a constant reminder in their relationship but he had never done anything that made her feel small and delicate.
"Clark, I can explain. There like fantasies," She said looking up at her boyfriend and placing her bags on the counter. She could feel the heat rise to her brown cheeks and warmth pooled into the bottom of her stomach. This wasn't fear, but rather horniness.
"I had been gentle with you because I was afraid I might hurt you. Turns out you want to be hurt," Clark leaned down to whisper this in her ear. Y/N's insides practically melted.
"Baby, I-" Y/N was going to explain herself but Clark interrupted her by placing a finger to her lips.
"Hush now. I want you to go upstairs and strip. You'll have to be punished for deceiving me. Don't worry, I'll go gentle on you the first time," Y/N's heart was racing and Clark could hear it.
"Clark," Y/N tried to justify herself once more. She couldn't find the exact words that she wanted to say.
"Upstairs," Clark said sternly and he had dropped his smile. He looked serious.
"Okay," Y/N said stepping away from her giant boyfriend. She quickly found their bedroom and stripped out of her clothing for the day. She sat on the bed anxiously. At first, she was scared but then she found herself to be excited at the sound of the heavy footsteps of Clark as he walked up the stairs. Unbeknownst to her, Clark had placed a small camera he had borrowed from Bruce in the bedroom and it was almost impossible for the untrained eye to spot.
"Imagine my surprise when I found out that my sweet girlfriend wants to be fucked like a desperate whore and writing about it online. To think that I've been holding back. Get on your hands and knees," Y/N did as she was told, not wanting to make the situation worse.
"Let's see. You've deceived me and then tried to cover it up. I think that's worth ten spankings," Clark spoke as he took in the stalk of his girlfriend's body. He looked at every curve, stretchmark, and scar lovingly but once again, Y/N felt small. Clark's cool hands rubbed her ass almost tenderly.
"Spankings?" Y/N repeated, almost tripping over the word. When she had written it, she had never thought that it was going to happen to her. The idea that it was going to happen to her awoke something in her deeply.
"That's what you wrote about, isn't it? You dreamt of a moment like this," Clark said knowingly. He could always read her like a book to the point that she used to think one of his powers was telepathy.
"If at any point it's too much, you can tell me and I'll stop okay?" There was a glimpse of the sweet Clark that she knew.
"Okay," She nodded as she spoke.
"Great, now count," Once again, his features darkened and it was like a different man was speaking to her. This didn't look like the man who made love but rather a man who fucks.
"One!" She said after his hand collided with her ass. Clark grinned at the sight of the recoil of her ass. He wasn't using his superstrength, of course, but a small part of him enjoyed these actions. Y/N continued to count, her ass stinging with every spank. She almost gave out from the pain but she stayed strong even as tears began to run down her face. Clark was just hoping that the camera caught this angle.
"See there's my pretty girl. You feeling okay?" Clark said tilting her jaw up after he had finished. He wiped her tears away with his thumb.
"Mhm," She said as her eyes stopped welling with tears.
"Look at you. You're dripping just from a spanking. Roll over," Clark began to toy with the folds of her pussy while she was now laying on her back. Y/N spread her legs on instinct and Clark enjoyed the sight.
"So good at taking orders," He remarked as he kneeled between her legs. He pulled her waist to the edge of the bed and used his hands to pin her down. Her size didn't matter because he knew he had the strength to hold her down.
Now, eating Y/N out was one of Clark's favorite pastimes. He could do it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He loved to have her wetness smeared all over his face like it was now. Hearing her moans did something to him but he preferred to listen to her heart rate as she got closer and closer to her peak. His tongue toyed with her clit while his fingers took long strokes in and out of her.
"Clark, I'm close, please," Clark simply chuckled as Y/N spoke those words. He pulled his mouth away from her and removed his fingers.
"Wait, why'd you stop?" Y/N said a little upset from her ruined orgasm. She was quickly satiated when Clark replaced his fingers with his dick. She didn't even hear him unbuckle his pants. Clark normally liked to take his time with Y/N and allow her to adjust to his length. Hell, he had spent months just training her to be able to take all of it but now all of that was gone at the window as he pounded into her with fullness.
Y/N thought she was seeing stars as she moaned out from the deep strokes she was receiving. The stinging of her ass couldn't be felt from the pleasure Clark was giving her. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall was the only thing grounding Y/N to reality. She was sure there were dents in the wall but that would be tomorrow's problem. Well, if she could walk, it would be.
Clark was having the time of his life. He could see the faint outline of his cock from Y/N's stomach and began to move harder. Once the outline was much more prominent and pressed his hand to her stomach. Both of them cried out from the new sensation. Clark's cheeks had turned a bright red and his glasses managed to get across the room. He had regretted not doing this earlier.
Y/N's pussy began to spasm with Clark's dick still inside and soon after he finished inside of her. His strokes slowed until he fully pulled out of her. Y/N's legs were tingly and her breaths were deep. Clark kissed her cheek and congratulated her for doing so well before disappearing into the bathroom. Y/N almost felt like she had just cosplayed a Twinkie.
"I'm gonna clean you up and then put this cream on your bum," He said with a warm damp towel in one hand and some sort of numbing cream in the other.
"Clark, sweetheart, you just fucked the living daylights out of me, you can say ass," She said while he cleaned between her thighs. Her hands found his hair and he simply had a dopey grin on his face. After he was finished, he discretely grabbed the hidden camera and put it somewhere safe for now. Just because he knew Y/N's kinks, didn't mean she needed to know his, not yet, at least.
Clark gave Y/N one of his T-shirts and brought up the food from earlier. She leaned on his shoulder as the two ate in bed. She wondered what other boundaries she could push Clark to now that he knew her darkest fantasies.
#x black!reader#black!reader#x black reader#black reader#clark kent x black reader#clark kent x black!reader#clark x reader#clark kent x reader#clark kent#superman x black!reader#superman x reader
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He sat in his chair in front of his newly minted desk with a slight stretch upwards, facing the shining planks and gentle orange glow of the rest of house. A well-worn pen lay on the surface of the desk, next to a new notebook and a small cordial of black ink. Out of a small leather pouch came a small box, inside which rested a nib, which was then screwed onto the pen in place of the old one.
After months of travel, Pixl figured he'd take the long way round with his journaling tonight.
He hadn't had much time to jot things down ever since he'd shown up here- between running from spiders, trying to cobble (hah) enough diamonds together to craft a pickaxe, running from spiders, and visiting the Nether to make some horribly time-consuming roof tiles, he'd been a bit busy. But new worlds were always lots of work, after all, and he'd thrown himself into the hustle and bustle of getting started so many times that the routine was more like supple leather: worn and familiar, the actions practiced and almost a dance.
Ah. There his mind went, wandering again as it often did when he wasn't able to access a pen or paper or (more commonly) a reliable power source to plug his laptop or phone into. Some worlds didn't even *have* electricity as Earth knew it- redstone was just a crude spark of magic dust to them, but he'd gotten lucky this time. At least he'd be able to actually contact people without resorting to magical means.
The pen hovered over the paper, words momentarily forgotten, and with a sigh Pix set it to the paper and starting writing.
"June 6th-
The long gap between this update and the last has an actual explanation this time: I've finally found the world that Fwhip sent the details of, after weeks of getting lost. Walking out of time and space is really weird. I got there in the end, though, hence the new journal and the first entry.
It seems the universe is not done with Pixl the archaeologist, not yet. I arrived- (fashionably) late as I often am) -not in my regular outfit, but something very close to what I'd worn in the second world of Empires. I've discovered that I can pull some rather strange and downright improbable things out of gravel, including lapis lazuli, carrots, and once an entire cake that I refuse to touch. Shelby says it tastes fine, with a faint aftertaste of dirt. I have not asked why she knows what dirt tastes like, nor will I because I do as well.
This world is populated with most of the people who were on Empires but with a couple new faces as well. I'm familiar with Scar, of course, but I've heard of Owen- a pilot who crash landed here and is on a quest to get an origin of his own beyond human. Sausage told me that, and also cheerfully informed me that he blew up the poor lad's camera. I'll have to figure out how to make a new one and also inform him when we inevitably cross paths that being human isn't quite a bad thing.
I myself have spent the past few days seperated from contact with the rest of the world, though, busy running around and gathering samples of literally every cool looking rock I could get my hands on and unfamiliar fauna, including Nether reeds- the lava equivalent of sugarcane- and proceeded to spend the next three days weaving it into roof tiles. No regrets.
I know I'll be here a while, so I've gone ahead and built myself a nice little house on a stony outcrop. It has four wings with things like tinkering tables, my desk, a loft with my bed, and of course, the front door, because I'm not interested in phasing through walls. Again. That was a difficult month and a half.
That's about everything, I suppose. I've been building for two days. I'm going to go to bed now and probably sleep in."
The journal snapped shut with a satisfying thock, glass dinged as the cap was screwed back onto the jar of ink, wood creaked as two feet climbed the ladder, and then the little house was silent for the rest of the night and well into the morning.
#ray's tag#mcyt#nlsmp#pixlriffs#writing#gods. so excited for this. new life smp let's GOOOOO BAYBEEEEEEE#also im removing the readmore because this isnt very long and i've decided that everyone needs to see this#keys' writing
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First Lines in 2024
Welp, @delivish tagged me to give some sneak peeks in the making and thank goodness they did tag me because boy have I been writing! I know I'm practically silent on here, but I do miss Ao3 and I miss the amazing community in the fandom even more! Makes me wonder why I take a long long time to post (besides life being the apparent answer XD). Here are some snippets of two fics that will be posted soon!
A Series of Choices (CH.5)
Kenny lay on the couch, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he played Tetris on his phone, waiting for Karen to FaceTime him. It was eight in the morning and he had been up since five playing, his thumbs moving on autopilot, tapping the blocks into place. The smell of ash filled the room, smoke curling over his head, and for once, Kenny was glad to be home alone. It was a rare moment where he was able to smoke inside the house and no one was around to pester him about his habits. As Kenny tapped a line piece to the right of his screen, Karen’s face popped up on his phone. He moved his ash-filled cup out of view before answering the call.
“Hey!” Karen beamed.
Kenny couldn’t help but look surprised to see his sister’s hair now a different color. “Hey. White?”
“Sort of. It’s actually a really light pink. My roommates helped me dye it and cut it, too. Do you like it?” She asked, shaking her short hair from side to side.
“Yeah, actually. It’s different,” he commented. “So is that the first thing you did when you got off the plane?”
“More like the second. The first was struggle to unpack with two other people in a tiny space,” Karen said. “Here’s the full tour of the dorm, if you’re interested.”
She pushed herself out of the way and her laptop was able to capture the entirety of her room right in its place. He was able to catch the lofted beds, desks, and crammed mini fridge all in one glance. Karen wasn’t kidding when she said she was shoved into a closet.
“That’s it?” Kenny asked.
“Yup. The only thing you’re not seeing is my desk, which you don’t really need to see,” she mumbled as she shuffled a few papers out of the way. “But that’s it,” she confirmed and moved back into view.
“Bet you wish you had your old room back.”
Karen gave a half-shrug. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m just glad I got roommates that I actually get along with.”
“Are you saying your old roommates sucked?”
“Yeah, because at least these ones aren't pigs.”
Forgive Me Father for I Have Sinned
In roughly thirteen hours, Butters will be standing in South Park’s Roman Catholic church, waiting to be wed to a woman he didn’t love. His mother has planned everything, from the guest list to the music to the white rose boutonniere on Butters’ suit. His girlfriend – now fiance – of three months has been teasing Butters about her wedding dress, telling him she couldn’t wait for him to see it and even more excited to walk down the aisle without her promise ring. They will say their vows and seal their fate with their first kiss. During the reception, everyone will gorge on gourmet food as they toast speech after speech, congratulating them on their big day. Perhaps Butters’ parents will finally tell him how proud they are of him. Butters and his new wife will have their first dance before cutting the cake his mother lost her mind. No doubt the baker blacklisted them from any future orders. A perfect tale for any wedding, except when his fiance will appear before the church doors, Butters won’t be waiting for her on the other side.
I'm tagging @lozislaw because I know you beautiful bitch have something in the making XD Of course, if you wish to keep it a surprise, we'll all be waiting with bated breath <3
#sp bunny#bunnysp#sp kenny#south park#kenny mccormick#leopold butters stotch#my fic#tsosc#bunny south park#southpark
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Nightly Escapades
AJ fished her keys from her pocket. Carefully balancing her textbooks in one arm while she opened her dorm door. She plopped her books on her desk once she was inside and collapsed into a beanbag chair under her loft bed. Alyssa stared at her from her desk under her own loft bed at the other side of the dorm room.
“Tough day?” Alyssa asked, turning back to her school computer. AJ groaned in response, vaguely gesturing to the pile of books.
“Not really tough, just exhausting.” She answered.
“I told you it would be easier to use the online versions.”
“Eh, I find I absorb written material better. Screen strains my eyes too much.”
“Welp, better start hitting the gym then.” Alyssa typed quickly on her computer. AJ stared at her blankly, before letting her head fall back against the beanbag again.
“I hate you.” AJ mumbled.
“Love you too.” Alyssa replied. They both sat in silence for a few minutes before AJ sighed. Sitting up slowly. She had a few hours before she was going to do patrol tonight anyway. Although, she could skip patrol and actually get some sleep. Burning the candle at both ends was starting to have its effects. AJ got up to sit at her desk. First opening up her psychology textbook.
“I’m going out tonight. Stuff happening.” Alyssa said, closing her laptop and plugging it in. That would make AJ’s life a little easier. Instead of wasting valuable energy sneaking out she’d just be able to walk out the door. Although, she doubted Alyssa would actually question her nightly escapades. She never questioned anything AJ did on her own, which was strange. Most people would want to know why their roommate is out and about at all hours, but AJ wasn’t going to mess that up by asking her about it. No need to mess up a good thing. If she didn’t ask questions then AJ wouldn’t ask questions. ALyssa grabbed her dorm keys and opened the door. Grabbing her brown pack on the wall hook.
“Have fun.”
“One can only try!” and with that Alyssa was gone, and AJ was stuck with the mountain of classwork she’d been putting off. Picking up a pencil she started to write.
_
“Finally! That took forever.” AJ sighed, leaning back in her chair. She closed her book and looked out the dorm window at the now dark sky.
“When night falls it’s time for work.” AJ pushed back her chair. Walking over to her closet. Opening it she carefully rooted around until she pulled a book from the very back.
“I really need to find another hiding place for you, or actually start memorizing stuff.” AJ ran her hand over the ornate cover. The words Book of Spells gleamed in silver back at her. Holding it carefully against her chest she exited her dorm. Creeping down the halls and off campus. After finding a decent place to hide away from anyone out this late she opened her book. It began to float in front of her and the pages flipped on their own to a simple spell, Glamour Cantatio.
“Sume quod semel erat, et redde illis.” She whispers, her body seemed to shimmer slightly. Fuzzing around the edges like a mirage. Her hair fades into a gray purple and she sighs in relief as purple butterfly wings are freed.
“I always forget how stifling that spell is. Now, where is that armor spell?” The book begins to flip again. Stopping on another spell, Magus Armor. She whispered the written words and her clothing began to lightly glow. Before her eyes light armor replaced them. Light enough to not hinder her flight, but allowing for some protection. Closing the book, she took to the sky. Darting from building to building. Landing briefly to survey certain areas, before flying off again.
She was flying by one of the smaller cafes before something caught her eye. Two people standing at the door. AJ darted out of sight. No need to get ahead of herself if they were just closing up. Unfortunately she instead got to witness the taller of the two kneel down by the lock placing their bag down. They took out some tools and began to try and pick it. AJ rolled her eyes. If they wanted money, they would have better luck at the jewelers 4 blocks down. Although, they probably had better security. These two were definitely amateurs. There was no need to reveal herself. Allow them to trip the alarm, cast an easy restraint spell, and leave them for the cops. AJ opened her book.
“You just gonna let them break it?” A voice behind her whispered. AJ yelped in surprise. Spinning around to face her supposed foe. A raccoon was the only thing in sight.
The two robbers both perked up. The shorter one said something to the other. The taller one nodded and quickly grabbed their items to put back in the bag. AJ sprang into action. Tackling the taller of the two, bringing them both to the ground. AJ’s book was quick to flip in front of her. Spell at the ready.
“liga me inimicum” Translucent ropes appeared around the taller robber and AJ looked up to see the short one booking it down the path. Not even bothering to look back for their partner. As AJ stood to give chase she instead watched as a racoon sped past her. Quickly catching up to the robber and lunging for them. Mid air the racoon turned into a bear. AJ’s eyes widened, her surprise almost breaking her concentration on her spell. The bear pinned down the smaller robber. Growling in their face as they used a singular paw to hold them down.
AJ leaned the first robber up against the wall and carefully approached the bear. The second robber looked about ready to pee their pants and AJ whispered her binding spell. The same translucent ropes appeared and the bear stepped off, dragging the robber to their partner on the wall. The bear took a stepback and assessed the situation. Then with a simple nod AJ watched as they slowly transformed into a honestly snappy dressed human.
“Did pretty good! We make a good team!” The shifter exclaimed. Raising their hand for a high five. AJ ignored their hand, the sound of sirens began to invade the air. AJ snapped up her book and hovered over the ground. The shifter slowly lowered their hand in disappointment.
“Really gonna leave me hanging huh?” They laughed awkwardly. AJ gave them a pointed stare.
“You almost let them get away. Who even are you?” AJ was very frustrated. Sure she knew there were other heroes in the area. It would be impossible to deal with all the criminal activity by herself, but usually they left her alone. It wasn’t hard to see that she rather work on her own. Yet, here was some rando attempting to get chummy.
“Oh! My name’s Mimic. Obviously I’m a shapeshifter.” They poofed from a human to a racoon and then back to normal to punctuate this. AJ narrowed her eyes.
“Obviously. Well, thanks for the help. That I didn’t ask for.” AJ muttered the last part under her breath. AJ took off farther into the sky, but Mimic’s voice called out to her.
“Wait! I didn’t come here just to stop some petty thieves, Flutter. I really need to talk to you.”
AJ looked back at them. It would be unwise to follow this stranger, but yet a part of her wanted to trust them. Maybe it was their bubbly personality, or the fact that AJ hadn’t seen another hero for months.
Chapter 2
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Castle fanfiction
Staring the cast of Castle
Why did you elbow me? 33
Day 53-54
part 10
Castle: pov the therapist was saying how good Kate was doing he gave us a list of fun things Kate had to/could accomplish like goals. Most were easy like going on a little hike or a slow walk. The other paper had info on how many hours of sleep a day Kate needed. He said if she feels tired during the day take a nap you don't want to overdo it. He also told us which Gyms were the best and closest to our loft. Mother and Alexis were making dinner tonight. I helped Kate into the house so she could take a nap before dinner. I woke her up when dinner was ready. The food was amazing, I always thought Mother was a bad cook. I guess I'm wrong about her or maybe she took a cooking class. Kate decided to read a little before bed, while I got some writing done. Kate eats around the same time everyday.
Kate: pov we cuddled in bed for a bit before I had to leave for work. Castle jumped in the shower while I did my stretches. Afterwards I showered while Castle made breakfast, the food was so yummy. He made sure to pack his laptop so he could get some writing done while at the precinct. Today I was starting off with paperwork which was okay with me. Castle said he had a message from his publisher that said Rick Monday meeting at black pawn 12 am. It works out because I have work then and he would be free later for my Pt. Ryan got the call that we had a body at 5th and Lexington.
Ryan: pov me and Esposito arrived on scene turns out the body was flattened like a pancake. Lanie was going to have a hard time with this one because he is so squished. She said the time of death is around 5 am. I checked around for surveillance cameras and possible witnesses. No one saw it happen but it was raining pretty hard last night as the storm was moving through.
Lanie: pov I was trying to see if the killer left any DNA on our victim here but the rainwashed most of it away. Turns out his wallet was still in his pocket but a little wet. His name is Chet blank. It is pretty obvious what his cause of death is.
Esposito: pov Kate was looking at the surveillance cameras. Lanie had I'd the victim. Kate was also looking into his Financials and phone records. And his social media accounts to see if there was any info.
Kate: pov me and Captain Olivia Benson have been trying to get together for lunch to catch up but with me having been in the hospital and having physical therapy, and her working long hours it just has not worked out maybe next week will work. For the both of us. Castle went to pick up lunch for Me, Lanie and the boys. He went to a new place near the precinct, a chicken place that makes healthy food options. Once he was back we all discussed the case, Castle had a lot of theories like possessed steam roller or his favorite guess an invisible killer. The grilled chicken with grilled vegetables was amazing and the tea was also good. We definitely will be heading back there soon.
Ryan: pov Kate said she had a breakthrough in the case when she ran Chet's name in the system it popped up for a past crime but he was never charged. Esposito asked what the past crime was. Kate said murder he was accused of murdering his girlfriend but they did not have enough evidence. I asked if the girlfriend had any family members that we could talk to.
Esposito: pov me and Ryan arrived at her parents house and nicked to very nice people and opened the door. We told them we have to ask you some questions about where you were last night at 5am. They both had alibis for the time of death. We told them the guy who was accused of murdering you daughter was found brutally murdered a steam roller had crushed him to death the mother said how awful we would never wish that pain on anyone. We never believed he murdered our daughter he was like a son to us. We asked them if their daughter had any friends. We talked to the father and said their son is staying with a friend right now his sister's death messed him up and he got in with the wrong crowd. After the fight we had the other night he just left and never came back. He gave us the friends name. Tom. We then went to pick him up and his friend.
Castle: pov Back at the station Ryan and Esposito were interviewing the friend first that way we can catch Tom in a lie. The friend said Tom was angry over his sister dating Chet. He hated the guy for dating his sister. Hmm he said Tom loved his sister and wanted her all for himself. Eww gross wait a minute. Ryan asked him where Tom was the night his sister died because it says he was with you playing video games until 12:am when his parents called. And his sister died at 10pm. Their parents were out late until 12am. well he showed up about 10: 40pm telling me his sister just Died. I thought it was sad. I told Derek the problem was the 911 call was at 11:59 pm by his parents. He said I know he might have stopped at the house, saw the body and ran. That is why I said he was with me so he would not get in trouble. I told Derek if Tom killed his sister Abigail he would go down to excesary to murder.
Kate: pov with the info Ryan and Esposito got from Derek they new Tom had to be the Murder. I called his parents down to the station to tell them what we found and they did not believe me. I had them view the interrogation from the 2 was mirror on the other side of the glass Ryan and Esposito were able to get Tom to confess 2 both murders. His parents could not believe it at all. To be continued. ……..
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can u do little college juyeon(theboyz) and reader?just them being fluffyyy🥺
Prompt: College student Lee Juyeon
Word count: 904 words
Pairing: Lee Ju Yeon x Male!Reader
Group: The Boyz
Genre: Fluff
A/N: this is kind of shitty but I enjoyed learning about tbz (Juyeon might be my bias tho Eric is def a contender for the spot) I am sorry it took so long, I hope you like it 💖
y/n watched languidly from the boundary line as Juyeon laughed with a boy he didn't recognise.
Despite being dead on his feet y/n had decided to come see Juyeon so they could crash in Juyeon's dorm after lectures that day, he hadn't been expecting Juyeon to get caught up playing basketball with a few of his friends but after the stress of exams it was a well deserved break.
y/n had little reason to complain anyways, he loved watching Juyeon play, the happiness it brought to the others face gave y/n enough energy to survive not going of to sleep as he sat there leaning against the gym wall his phone balancing precariously on his knee.
As much happiness and energy as watching Juyeon play normally brought y/n it wasn't enough to stop him from dozing off his head falling limply against his fist as he tipped forward jerking awake.
He looked around in slight confusion shaking his head to feel more awake and then settled back against the wall trying to keep track of Juyeon moving on court.
His attempt at wakefulness failed however and he felt himself falling back asleep too tired even to fight to stay awake longer.
Just as y/n was dozing off again he felt a hand in his hair and looked up through blurry eyes to find Juyeon kneeling in front of him.
"Hi" Juyeon said softly with a smile, y/n grumbled a reply that sounded faintly like a hello.
"Come on get up, let's get you onto a decently soft surface before you dislocate your neck." Juyeon laughed pulling y/n to stand up with him., he ignored y/n grumbling and let y/n rest against his shoulder as he bent down to grab both of their bags.
The trip to Juyeon's dorm usually took about 5 minutes but with Juyeon having to drag y/n and y/n making it a point to drag his feet more every time Juyeon tried to make fun of him it took them the better part of 15 minutes to get to the much desired bed in Juyeon's dorm room.
While Juyeon went about changing out of his clothes and getting himself a snack y/n decided to flop onto Juyeon's bed and try to fall back asleep.
failing to fall asleep he lofted his head to look at Juyeon and was rewarded with his boyfriend pulling off his sweaty shirt distractedly scrolling through his open laptop.
y/n squinted his eyes in a glare trying to get Juyeon's attention on him, when he failed he whistled making Juyeon turn to him with a shocked expression.
"I thought you were gonna sleep as soon as we got here?" Juyeon muttered quickly pulling on a clean shirt to avoid his boyfriends gaze.
"I found something better to do." y/n replied with a small smirk going back to lazily tracking Juyeon's movements around the room with his eyes.
Juyeon hummed his acknowledgement of the remark but didn't look up from the email he was writing. y/n groaned at being ignored.
"Honestly why are you working? we just finished exams, I want sleep!" y/n exclaimed rolling over so he could spread out on the mattress, he winced slightly hearing his elbows popping, a side effect of having so many essay style exams.
"So sleep, I am not stopping you." Juyeon replied looking up from his email with furrowed brows.
y/n turned his head to glare at Juyeon, "I can't sleep if your working a foot away from me, it makes me anxious."
Juyeon just rolled his eyes at the reply he got, "I need to finish this then I'll stop working and you can sleep without MY working a couple feet away bothering YOU."
"Ughhh, you don't get it!" y/n whined flailing his arms and legs in a way that made Juyeon smile while simultaneously wanting to throw the overgrown baby on his bed out of his room.
"What don't I understand?" Juyeon asked bemusedly.
"I need you to stop working and come sleep next to me, you need to rest after this week and I can only be sure you're resting if you're sleeping next to me." y/n explained, Juyeon would have laughed if it hadn't been for the serious expression on y/n's face.
Sighing in defeat Juyeon closed his laptop and moved to push y/n so that there was enough space for them both on the bed.
y/n, unlike the trip from the basketball court to Juyeon's dorm, moved easily and willingly making enough space for Juyeon to lay down next to him.
Once Juyeon was settled comfortably on the bed y/n wrapped his arms around him to pull them closer and so that he could rest his head on Juyeon's broad shoulders.
"Now you can't escape, rest through imprisonment if you will." y/n muttered his tiredness catching up to him.
"Sure, I don't think I'll fall asleep though." Juyeon replied even though he could feel the exhaustion of exams catching up with him.
"Yeah, whatever." y/n replied pressing a kiss to Jyeon's shoulder before he closed his eyes and began drifting off.
The last thing y/n felt was Juyeon pulling his hand up and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, he drifted off with a smile on his face.
My reasearch notes on Lee Juyeon, mostly acquired through a 30 minute introduction to Juyeon video on Youtube:
he likes playing basketball
tan skin (he looks hot okay)
main dancer/vocal/visual
likes ice cream
long arms/large hands
rubs neck often
a little thick and gullible
tall (1.81 m/5'11)
super caring and sweet
very quiet and serious student
23 years old currently
#the boyz#tbz#tbz juyeon#lee juyeon#the boyz x reader#the boyz x male reader#the boyz x gender neutral reader#juyeon x reader#juyeon x male reader#lee juyeon x reader#lee juyeon x male reader#tbz x reader#tbz fluff#lee juyeon fluff#kpop x reader#kpop x male reader#kpop fluff#kpop imagines#kpop x gender neutral reader#x male reader#x gender neutral reader#x reader#male reader#gender neutral reader
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I think I should probably tell you this in case there is an accident
[AO3]
[chapter 1]
Chapter: 2/2
Relationship: Evan Buckley/ Eddie Diaz, Minor Background Evan Buckley /Taylor Kelly
Characters: Evan Buckley, Eddie Diaz, Brief Taylor Kelly
Other: 5x07 coda, canon divergent, confession, getting together, bucktaylor breakup
A/N: *nervous laughter* I finished it? Honestly I have no idea how I feel about it but here's another 1.1k words? Also uh, I have never had a proper break-up? and i don't think i have ever written one before? so idk how to write those, i gave it my best shot. title and chapter titles from Pancakes for Dinner by Lizzy McAlpine.
Chapter 2: I'll be brave enough by then
Hey. On my way back. He types out, the blue cursor blinking at him while he sat on the bench after shifts and a few days that shouldn’t have poked open scars but they had. You wouldn’t have to tell Eddie that, a little voice provides, and he sets his jaw tight.
He finally sends the text, and quickly shoves his phone into the depths of his pocket and exits the station with his brow furrowed.
She’s sitting at the table, lip captured between her teeth, staring at something on her laptop. He drops his bag on the floor and everything settles in his mind. This wasn’t a spur of the moment decision but it still felt as though if he didn’t do it now, he would feel stuck. He finds himself seated across from her.
“Hey, I’m glad you’re here, I actually needed to talk with you about something.” she says reaching her hand out to take his,
“Oh. I uh act-” he tries,
“There’s this story that, I guess inspired me to chase this job, and I finally got a lead on it. So I’m moving.”
“What?” everything shifted a little, and he knew if she suggested-
“And I was thinking we could do long-”
“No.” It was plain and simple in his mind.
“Just no?” her head tilts
“I can’t do that again. I did it with Abby and I just can’t. And I was-” it feels strangled and grips the air like ivy on a stone wall.
“You were going to break up with me.” she states, her voice dipping into her broadcasting tone ever so slightly,
“I’m sorry,” all he can do is stare at his hands, and it dawns on him that it’s rarely been him on this side of the conversation, “I can’t keep hiding.” what he wasn’t sure, but it felt like the only thing he could say,
“I’m hiding too.” he glances up and sees her face for the first time in weeks, a face not focused on a story, eyes that had been hurt, “you know a few nights ago I broke a little with you sleeping next to me.”
“You could've-”
“I know. But the point is I didn’t.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I hope you find what you are looking for.”
“I hope you do too, Taylor.”
He sits and stares at the kitchen while she silently gathers a few items from around the loft.
He just sits for a while, an unsettled feeling returning as his eyes drift to the lipstick stained mug sitting on the island. And then to the few brightly colored note cards that were still taped to the window. And the thought of finding himself in a bed next to the pillow still laced with a mix of her shampoo and perfume makes his stomach turn. And he knows where he needs to go.
He walks in, and immediately feels warm, but something doesn't quite settle until he enters the kitchen and finds Eddie fiddling with a frozen pizza box and the stove,
“Who let you touch the stove?” his voice is thin but he pushes past it,
“Contrary to popular belief, I can make a frozen pizza.” Eddie replies, spinning around, “Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
And he doesn’t know where to start. Does he start with Taylor or Edgar? Either way it ends in the conversation they wordlessly promised to continue, but maybe this time they were ready to finish it. Eddie ultimately decides for him,
“Rough shift?”
“Uh, yeah, we had this call...this guy Edgar, was uh, shot and umm buried alive.” Every word is hesitant. “And it feels stupid, but I just-”
“Needed to see me?”
Buck looks down at his socked feet and studies them, shoving his hands into his pockets so he doesn’t reach out and get closer to what isn’t his.
“You know, what I said last time applies to me too, Buck. You can need to see me.”
“I broke up with Taylor” falls from his lips, confident yet delicate, it floats through the air and dissipates into dust.
Eddie hums, dropping his hand from where it rested, “That’s not what you need to talk about though is it.” it comes out stiff and rigid, more so than anything Eddie has uttered to him since before he broke up with Ana.
And Buck shakes his head, “It’s not what we need to talk about Eddie.” his voice is a little shaky, it feels brittle in his throat.
“I don’t think I can talk about it. I know that I’m hurting. And everything is a little bit off kilter. I hate feeling so fragile. I’m exhausted feeling like there is something hiding around every corner waiting to tackle me to the ground and pin me there instead of helping me up. I hate feeling like I am holding onto something with the very tips of my fingers and I am losing my grip, and I will fall into an empty void. But the one thing that I know is poking holes and cracking all of it, knowing that it’s hurting you too.” it came tumbling from his lips and he couldn’t stop it no matter how loud a voice screamed that it should be kept behind barbed wire.
“That can be enough. You can let yourself fall, and I will be here to catch you.”
Eddie nods and bites his bottom lip,
“Why?” Eddie’s voice cracks
“You know Eddie. I told you last time.”
“I need you to say it. Say it again.” Eddie whispers,
“You and Chris are too important to me to not move heaven and earth for.” He takes a breath, so he can finish what he didn’t say last time, and he hears it now, “Because I love you too much not to.” he lets out a shaky breath and it feels like he might suffocate. Buck can feel Eddie getting closer, reaching for him across the chasm. He can’t bear to look, can’t bear to touch. But he also can’t bear to stop him.
Eddie’s hand gently lands on his shoulder, the gentle touch feels like it's crashing into him, and burns so bright and so hot throughout his body that he nearly flinches. Buck finally raises his eyes from where they had been fixed on the handle of the cabinet under the sink.
“God we are both idiots.” Eddie finally says, and Buck scrunches his brow and lips turn into a deep frown, “I love you too, Buck.” he breathes out, and he rests their foreheads together, “we’ve been telling each other that for years and we just never listened.”
And Buck finally lets himself dip his chin and capture Eddie’s lips in his. It’s gentle and sweet. It feels sacred.
“How do you think Chris would like pancakes for dinner?” Buck whispers breathless as he hooks his fingers in Eddie’s belt loops.
“He might just ask you to stay forever if you do that.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed.”
And Eddie kisses him again.
#useroliii#useryb#tagnic#userweres#buddiefanfiction#buddie#buddie fic#evan buckley#eddie diaz#9-1-1 on fox#9-1-1 fic#taylor kelly#aj writes stuff
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Teach Me
Summary: Bucky’s worried about you overworking yourself at your teaching job.
Warnings: some swearing, cute couple shit
Words: 2014k
A/N: this is my first full fic! I’ve really missed writing just for fun and I have a few more fic ideas and hc ideas in the works! please please please comment and let me know what you think!
No matter what, you always came to bed when Bucky did. Sometimes you stayed up on your phone or reading but you always at least sat on the bed with him. He knew that you had a big week coming up, with your principal coming to observe you, midterms drawing closer, and your students struggling with the new curriculum the district was imposing.
You were a high school English teacher and Bucky had met you when your school had put on an assembly about the history of the Avengers. He had noticed you in the back of the auditorium, wearing a soft blue dress and encouraging your students to ask him questions about his prosthetic. He shyly asked Tony to see if he could contact the school later and get your number. He had rolled his eyes at him and had walked up to you and asked in plain English, “The Manchurian Candidate over there wants to take you to dinner. If I set up the reservation and promise to make him show up, will you go?” Your jaw had dropped and you had numbly agreed. James Buchanan Barnes wanted to go on a date with you? Despite your doubts regarding the reality of the situation, you showed up outside the quiet Italian restaurant and the rest was history.
Bucky smiled at the memory of you dressed in a red silk jumpsuit with your hair braided back. You looked like a modern version of the girls he flirted with during the forties. Only, back then, he had been wondering how to get up their skirts but now he was more concerned with taking his time getting the jumpsuit off your gorgeous body. He felt a twitch between his legs and, smirking, shook the feeling off. He padded down to the kitchen, thinking you had gotten hungry. When that search yielded no you, he wandered through the rest of the downstairs. He noted that your car hadn’t left the driveway and checked the calendar on the fridge to see if he had the opening shift at the mechanic’s tomorrow (he mercifully did not). But he took note of how small your writing was on your to-do list for Monday.
Feeling a pang in his chest, he remembered how he had begged you to let him have your full attention on Friday and Saturday. While you’d reveled in your domestic bliss, by noon on Sunday, you had been buried in your office with your laptop, surrounded by books, papers, and highlighters. Smiling to himself, he realized where you were. He headed up to the attic loft, converted into your office. The walls were a soft gray and the couch the two of you had bought for your tiny first apartment was squeezed against one wall.
Bucky’s heart tightened as he saw you sprawled on the couch, wrapped in one of his massive flannels. Your desk light was on and the desk was messier than he’d ever seen it. Your blinking phone alerted him to the fact that you’d set an alarm for midnight, but had been so tired you’d slept through it, a given considering you were working yourself to the bone and it was two a.m. Afraid to ruin your organizational system on your desk, he returned the pens and highlighters to the little decorative cups you kept them in, saved every file you had open on your laptop before closing it, and pushed the papers in imminent danger of falling onto the floor farther back on the desk.
Content that he had lessened the burden of cleaning you’d have to do tomorrow, he crouched next to the couch. Gently smoothing a stray hair out of your face, he whispered, “baby...come on, get up, let’s go to bed.” You opened your eyes slowly and then jerked upright, sending your phone flying and Bucky scrambling backwards.
“What time is it!” you cried, frantic. You ran towards your desk, frantically pinging your phone from your Apple Watch. Your clock on your desk blinked back 2:05 a.m. at you. Bucky picked up your incessantly beeping phone and handed it to you as you slumped in your desk chair, head in your hands.
“I just wanted to get this stupid assessment plan done,” you whispered. You hugged his flannel tight around you as tears started to fall. Bucky turned your swivel chair so you were facing him as he knelt in between your legs. You dropped your upper body and rested your forehead on his shoulder as you sobbed. The weight of turning in grades, making assignments, checking in with your students to make sure they were doing okay, it was weighing on you. Bucky had noticed you sleeping less and drinking more coffee but hadn’t truly realized the toll it was taking on you. Kicking himself for making you spend time with him instead of alleviating your burdens at work, he pulled you out of the chair to sit between his legs, curling you into him and rocking gently. After a few minutes, you tilted your chin up and scooched back. Sitting criss cross between his legs, you cupped your chin and closed your eyes.
“I don’t know what to do, Buck,” you said sadly. You tugged on a loose button on your sleeve, looking like a lost puppy. Bucky knew how much you adored teaching and how much you loved your students. You were always baking treats for them when they did well on exams, buying bagels so that they could eat breakfast, and extending deadlines for the kids who worked. He knew that the American school system had changed since the 1940s and when you had shown him what you had to teach in a week and just how much time and energy went into lesson planning, he almost formed his own teachers union to advocate for you.
When he found out your dismal salary, he had to take a walk. He spent an hour with Tony railing against your pay and the administrators who punished you for the test scores of students that you had no control over. Tony sat him down after an hour of not being able to get a word in edgewise and finally pledged to harass the local school boards (and the Board of Education if they would call him back) about raising teacher salaries. Bucky had walked home to you pouring over birthday cards your sixth period juniors had given you because they’d gotten a tip that it was your birthday. (Peter helped Bucky hack your Google Classroom). He felt a wave of pride come over him as he looked at you, his selfless girl, thrilled that she was having an impact on the kids she loved the most. You getting so down on yourself broke his heart.
“What’s wrong with your assessment plan?” he asked, intertwining your hands with his. You looked up angrily. “What ISN’T wrong with it is a better question!” you cried. “The district made the test up and it’s on a fucking scantron because what fucking isn’t these days and it’s not taking into account the fact that school is not the main focus for so many of these kids that have to fucking work and help support their siblings and all they are is numbers on a fucking piece of paper that tells you nothing about the effectiveness of my teaching or the district’s ability to educate them as a whole!” Bucky blinked rapidly as you huffed. You didn’t get angry very often, but when you did and you started to monologue, he understood why you received a distinction with your English degree.
“Baby,” he started gently, “can I ask you something you may not like?” He knew that you were a planner and that the odds were you were beating yourself up about a task that had taken your coworkers thirty minutes to do. You always wanted to do right by your kids but if you didn’t start sleeping and taking care of yourself, you were useless to everyone, including yourself. You looked up at Bucky through teary eyes.
“Are you going to ask me if the plan’s done and I’m just being picky?” you asked in a small voice. Bucky stood up, taking you with him. He pressed your frame against him, putting your arms over his shoulders and resting his hands on your waist. He stayed to sway slightly, trying to lull you back to sleep and to try to help quiet your mind. “I wouldn’t say picky I just...look. I’m being selfish. I want you to come to bed with me. I want you to play with my hair and whisper that you love me when you think I’m out cold asleep,” he gushed, noting the slight blush that crept up your cheeks. “You are incredible. Your admin are literally fucking stupid, doll. Nothing you do will change that. You are trying your best and if you think that your kids won’t benefit from the 12 different plans you’ve cooked up, then you’re crazy. Your kids don’t need a version 13, baby. They need you whole, in one piece, and ready to fight for them if they need.” He kissed your forehead, trying to ease your creased brow. Giving in to his ministrations, you sighed. You thought about how this plan should’ve probably only taken an hour. But then you rewrote the plan for the week based off of if your kids took a lot of time on the test, a little time, got anxious during it, caught on fire during it, committed larceny during the test and you had to contact the police. You knew it was overkill but you also knew that budget cuts were coming, contracts were up at the end of this year, and you and Bucky were saving to buy a house instead of living in a condo forever.
“Buck?” you whispered. He lifted his chin off your head and looked down.
“Yeah, doll?”
You felt the exhaustion settle into you all at once. “Can we go to bed?”
Picking you up and putting you in a fireman’s carry, Bucky held you the whole way down to your bedroom. He pulled out a shirt of his for you to sleep in while you brushed your teeth and rinsed off in the shower. He walked in right as you were towelling off and he slipped it over your head with ease. He offered to blow dry your hair but you declined, favoring slipping into a warm sleep with him. He cuddled you close, forgoing asking you to play with his hair in favor of trying to hug all the pride he felt about you into your body via osmosis. Your head was resting soft on his chest, one arm curled protectively around his torso. His metal arm was tucked up and around your shoulders, keeping you comfortable. His flesh hand caressed your arm around him to remind you that he would always be there for you. He loved you more than anything. As your breathing evened and his hand on your side rose in gentle time with your breath, he decided that he was going to call Tony tomorrow. He knew a few people who owed him from his time as the Winter Soldier and if they didn’t want their dirty laundry exposed, dammit he was going to make someone in the district fix the stupid test until it worked how you wanted it to work. He hugged you closer to him, giving you one final squeeze before he started drifting off to sleep. He slipped into a dream where he was a professor and you a naughty schoolgirl and he had just convinced you to bend over to pick something up behind his desk when...a loud snore from you jolted him back to the reality of his exhausted teacher girlfriend wearing his baggy shirt, with hair going every which way. There was no plaid skirt here. Only love and admiration. Bucky kissed your temple and willed sleep to come again.
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Willex and “cat”
When Willie shows up in the studio in the middle of the night, holding three of the smallest cats Alex's ever seen in their hands, he knows he's about to hear a crazy story.
Because nothing's boring with Willie- every single thing they do comes from a probably bad, impulsive decision and crazy circumstances Alex doesn't understand how he manages to get into.
But whatever. He loves it.
"Are those-?"
"Kittens, yeah," Willie says with a smile, raising one of them with their hand- the kitten's white and its eyes are closed, and okay, he's adorable, but still-
"Why do you have so many kittens?" Alex asks, walking towards him and taking the white kitten from his hand. It's so cute, god, he's going to die, again. From like, cuteness overload or something like that.
There's no one else in the studio- Luke and Reggie left to do- something, so he walks towards the couch and sits, carefully leaving the kitten on top of his lap. The cat meows and lays on top of him, moving a little, its paws lightly pressing against his legs.
"I stole them from a shelter," Willie answers, and of course they did.
"You- what?"
"They were going to, you know-" Willie makes a gesture, dragging his hand through his neck, and Alex feels his stomach shrinking. "I couldn't leave them there. They're just babies, Alex, we-
Alex nods, patting the space beside him, inviting Willie to sit next to him. The other two cats are even smaller. One is gray and the other one's orange, and they look like newborns.
"So," Alex starts, passing his fingers through White's fur. "What are we going to do with them?"
Willie purses his lips. "Keep them, maybe?"
"We're ghosts, Willie. We can't have three kittens."
"Why not?"
Alex rolls his eyes fondly. "Well, first of all, this isn't even my studio, it's Julie's. And I don't know if she'll be okay with having three newborn kittens around here."
Gray meows, and Alex raises one of his hands to pet him too. They're just too adorable.
"I named him Hotdog," Willie says, pointing to Gray. "Because of you."
Alex blinks. "Should I be flattered?"
Willie laughs, and then kisses his cheek, and Alex kind of feels like he's melting.
"It's a good name for a cat."
"Did you name the others?"
Willie nods. "That's Hawk," they say, pointing to White. "And this is Tuna," he finishes, petting Orange between its ears.
"So," Alex chuckles. "We have Hotdog, Hawk and Tuna. Oh god."
Willie chuckles too. "Do you think they're hungry?"
It turns out that neither of them knows how to take care of kittens, so Alex and Willie grab the cats and poof into the Molina house, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Alex grabs Carlos' laptop, the one he always leaves on the dining room table, and googles 'kittens' just like Julie taught him to. It turns out that newborn kittens can't eat solid food, or drink normal milk, so they decide they need help.
"Carlos?"
Carlos is sitting on his bed, playing with some those weird- wii stations or something like that. He looks up at Alex with a raised eyebrow and a kind smile.
"Yeah?"
"Do you know where we can get some kitten milk replacer?"
"Get some what now?"
An hour later, each one of them is feeding a kitten with a bright pink bottle Carlos got from a vet store.
It's probably the cutest thing Alex's ever done, with Hotdog sucking from the bottle, swallowing slowly. Willie's holding Tuna, so delicate and gentle and Alex feels like he could stare at him like that for the rest of his afterlife.
And then Julie comes through the door, and Carlos barely has time to leave Hawk in Alex's hands before he and Willie poof back to the studio.
He doesn't know why they haven't told Julie about the kittens yet- maybe because it's been two hours at most and Alex's already attached to them, and he's scared Julie will tell them they can't adopt the kittens after all.
He and Willie hide the kittens in the loft of the studio, letting them sleep on top of one of his hoodies, that's on top of Luke's guitar case. He figures it'll have to do until they can get them an actual bed.
Willie and him sit near them, leaning against one of the walls. Willie's arm is around Alex's shoulders, one of their hands warm against his upper arm.
"We're dads now," Willie teases him, and Alex shoves him playfully.
"Are we? I don't recall signing any adoption papers-"
Willie scoffs. "If you want to I'll take them and I'll leave."
"Nah, I think I'm warming up to them." Alex's about to kiss Willie when he hears Julie's voice calling them.
He poofs in front of her, offering an inocent smile.
"Hey, Jules."
Julie looks unamused. "Where's your boyfriend?"
"Boyfriend? What boyfriend?"
"Care to explain why are three bottles of formula on my living room and why Carlos ran away when I asked him about it?"
They're all idiots.
Alex shrugs. "I have- no idea."
Julie nods sarcastically. "Yeah, right, no idea."
Of course that's the exact moment when the kittens start meowing, their soft noises painfully loud in contrast of the loud studio.
Julie looks up at the loft, and starts walking towards it. That's when Alex starts rambling.
"Willie brought them here because they needed to, Julie, and we can't kick them out! They need us. They even have cool names, Julie, please don't-"
Willie's sitting on the floor, hugging the three kittens close to him, their eyes pleading and his lips pouting.
"Before you say anything-" they start, lifting Hawk a little, who yawns and meows and looks painfully adorable. "Just look at him and let us keep them."
Julie does not let them keep all three of them. Which is fair, actually, because three cats is way too much for three ghosts.
Flynn adopts Tuna. Tía Victoria keeps Hawk -even if she changes its name to Pelusa- and, thank god, the Molina family agrees to let them keep Hotdog.
Alex likes cuddling with both of them- Willie, him and Hotdog, laying on the studio's couch, Willie against his chest and Hotdog purring close to his neck. It's great.
*
Changed "cat" to kittens because I feel like the world needed it. Thanks for the prompt!
*
Send me a ship and a word and I'll write a little something!
#we've all had a long day so#have some willex and kittens#for your mental health#mj kind of writes#probably no one cares#jatp#julie and the phantoms#jatp fic#willex#willex fic#alex mercer#willie jatp
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The Arrangement Ch. 19
Story summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi
Chapter Summary: After the photoshoot you and Yoongi decompress
Previous Chapter here
AN: SO FLUFFY UGH
You slunk back to the elevator and just stood there for a second. What a weird day. You pulled out your phone to double check your work schedule and saw a message from Yoongi.
YG: I ordered pizza.
You smiled.
YN: Oh yeah? Did you order enough to share?
YG: *Eyeroll*
YN: :D Where is this food? Apartment? Studio?
YG: Apartment. Photoshoots wear me out.
You pushed the button for the 18th floor. Other people got on and off as you made your way there; it was the end of the work day for most of the hourly staff. You finally arrived at your stop and headed left.
You opened the door and took off your shoes, immediately noticing the delicious odor of bread and hot cheese filling the air. You had been running around all day and just now realized, other than a few carrots, you hadn't eaten today.
"Oh my God thank you so much." You declared as you walked into the kitchen. You eyed the box sitting on the counter and looked around for Yoongi. “Helllooooooo?”
“Good. I’m starving.” You saw him rise up like a reanimated corpse from the couch.
“You didn’t have to wait on me.” You reprimanded, even though you thought it was incredibly thoughtful. Yoongi just shrugged and walked into the kitchen.
You opened the box and handed him a plate.
“I have no idea if you ‘ll like this.” He said as he took some pieces.
“I like food. My favorite food is the food in front of me.” You took the plate over to the table, going back for some water.
Yoongi followed suit, quieter than normal.
“You ok?” You asked.
“Yeah, just tired. Photoshoots take so much more energy.” He collapsed down into the chair.
The air was filled for silence for several minutes as the two of you stuffed your faces. Finally, you worked up the nerve to ask, “Sooooooo…...did you know Bongcha was asking you out or are you oblivious?”
Yoongi looked up, shaking the bangs out of his face. “I knew. But what should I say to her? "No I don’t want to go out with you" and ruin her day? Upset her at work? It would make things awkward for both of us. Nah. Just request another stylist for a few months.”
You pursed your lips together in thought. “Why not just date her though? She’s cute. You guys get along. Why go through this whole elaborate contract scenario?” You gestured to yourself.
Yoongi sighed. Ugh he had been dreading you asking him about the contract. Things had been going so normal. He thought, stupidly, maybe he could just never think about it again. Of course with Namjoon and BPD up his ass he knew that was unlikely. He realized he had been quiet for too long. “Look, If I actually dated someone I worked with and then it didn't work out, imagine the fallout. The scandal. The wasted time. Plus then I'd have to go on dates and stuff. I'm busy.”
You rolled your eyes "We went to a diner the other night. And the grocery store."
Yoongi blinked his eyes and stuffed more food in his mouth. “Not dates.”
You scowled. "You spent all Sunday driving a van and putting up with my family'
Yoongi chewed, taking as much time as possible to think of a response. “Yeah but I did that because I wanted to."
You rolled your eyes, “You're a weirdo "
"Says the girl who signed a contract to marry a guy she didn't know. And who doesn’t eat their pizza crust. Are you 5 years old?"
"Crust is gross. Anyways. I'm a very good judge of character, I will have you know." You pouted at having been admonished over your crust preferences.
"That's true. You could tell Namjoon was an asshole within 30 seconds I bet." He jested.
"Haha yeah. I could tell he was rich and full of himself by his demeanor and then when he opened his mouth, he confirmed the asshole part. And, I knew Alice was awesome within like 2 seconds.”
Yoongi pushed his plate over a bit and interlaced his fingers. Resting his chin on them, he asked, “OK. So what was your first impression of me?”
You laughed as you recalled sprinting in your work clothes. “That you were busy. Very busy. And a little bit short on patience, but I thought that's because you were in a hurry.”
“Sounds about right.” He took a sip of his water.
“The second time I met you, you were putting on an act for Namjoon. Still not sure why... " You eyed him suspiciously. “You guys have a fucked up dynamic "
"You are right all-around there. Cheers." He lifted his glass in your direction."You did a great job today."
You scoffed, "I literally just pointed at things and handed you stuff.”
“Hey I've been to shoots before, you haven't. Today went much smoother than usual. “
“Really?” You rocked back in your seat.
“Yep.” He stood up and extended his hand." Do you want more? "
"Yes please. Thanks again for ordering. I didn't realize how hungry I was til I got home.”
“‘Same.” He took the plates to the kitchen and returned with more food. Sitting them down on the table. He pulled his laptop over and looked over some things as you guys sat in silence for a few minutes. You scrolled through your phone, returning some texts from Jimin and your brother.
"Do you want to go watch something?" he asked, taking you by surprise.
You raised your eyebrows, “You're not going to work?"
"I told you, photoshoots wear me out. I'm done for today."
"Yeah sure," you stood up and grabbed the plates. "I'll clean up the leftovers and get changed. Pick whatever."
You travelled up to the loft area about ten minutes later, much more comfortable in your leggings and oversized sweatshirt.
Yoongi was waiting on the couch, the remote in his hand as he scrolled through the menu. You plopped down on the other end, covering your mouth as you yawned.
“Grab a pillow. You know you’re going to fall asleep.” He said without looking over.
“No I won’t,” You protested through another yawn.
He shot you a look that told you he knew you were full of shit and got up. He returned a minute later, throwing a pillow at the back of your head.
“Hey.”
“You’re welcome.” He sat back down, adjusting himself into a comfortable position.
You grumbled a thank you as you balled the pillow into a couch-compatible shape and leaned up against it. You pulled back for a second. It smelled just like Yoongi. This was his pillow. You looked over, his eyes were still scanning the screen.
“Since you’re going to fall asleep in ten minutes I’m putting on my favorite documentary.” He said matter-of factly.
“I will last more than ten minutes.” You declared. You heard a small snort come out of his mouth as he dimmed the lights and pressed play. You started to watch the movie and tried to pay attention, but your heartbeat was racing. You kept replaying earlier conversations in your head and also smelling the pillow. You felt like a pervert. The man across the couch was completely oblivious. You stared at him for a few seconds and realized that yes, you did like him. Well Shit. You didn’t have too much time to ruminate on this as your eyelids began to grow heavy. Soon you were passed out, just as Yoongi predicted.
Ten minutes into the NBA show he looked over, a knowing smile crept onto his face. You were out.
He took a deep breath. What the fuck was he doing? He tried not to think about it too much. Every time he thought about you and the contract it left him feeling weird. The thought that you were getting paid to like him and to hang out with him, didn’t sit well at all. But he knew there was so much more to it than that. He picked up his notepad and wrote a few lyrics, the movie playing for background noise at this point.
After several minutes he looked at his writing. Satisfied, he stood up and slipped the notebook into a desk. He didn’t think you would snoop, but better safe than sorry. He looked back at the couch and smirked. He thought it was hilarious you thought you would stay awake when he knew better. He went over to the stuffed animal line and pulled out a Snorlax. Appropriate, he thought as he sat it down on top of your side. He snapped a picture. Sweet revenge. Stretching, he decided to head to bed himself; only slightly lamenting that he had given you his favorite pillow and now he would have to use the flatter one.
NEXT CHAPTER
@lidda @anpanman-sonyeondan @firefairy1 @cuteipat @sugaslittlekookies @janeelizabeth1216 @deeepvibes @gxldenhunny @livelyjay @niniita-ah @bobbyboops @honeysunandsoil @deathkat657 @min-yus @or-worse-expelled7
#bts fic#BTS suga#bts suga x you#bts suga x reader#bts yoongi x reader#bts yoongi#suga x you#suga x reader#suga x y/n#yoongi x reader#yoongi x you#yoongi x y/n#bts writing#bts scenarios#bts imagines
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Can you write something inspired by Bill's look in Do you like the taste of beer?😇 You are his night guest when you are in town for work but he's just a friend of a friend that you think is too pretentious. Cute but nothing special. That's until you see him in just his boxers and without glasses...
The lodging situation was not what you expected at all. Your semi-close friend from school promised a nice, clean apartment where you could spend the weekend with no one to bother you. The apartment belonged to his friend, which made the owner a friend of a friend, and you didn't do so well with people you didn't know.
Your friend assured you'd be alone for the duration of the weekend, so when a tall, bespectacled man greeted you the moment you unlocked the door with a key you got from a hidden lockbox attached to a pole in the parking lot, your blood drained into your feet.
"Oh! Oh my God, did I come at the wrong time?" You asked the brown-haired man standing in the hallway.
"No, no, you're fine. I just wanted to say hi and explain some things to you before you..." he gestured at your arms full of bags. "Do whatever it is you're doing. Getting some work done?"
You looked down at your overnight bag and satchel full of supplies. "Uh, yeah. I'm passing through and didn't want to pay hotel rates. They're insane in this city."
The tall man nodded broadly, having fully understood your complaint. He tucked his palms into the sleeves of his grey sweater and stepped out of the way. You cringed at the thought of making yourself at home in another person's space, but it was too late now.
"You can use the entire apartment, of course," the man announced as he padded through the kitchen toward the counter and a cell phone plugged into the wall. "Have anything you want to eat, although there's not a whole lot. If you want to order food, the buzzer number is sixty-two thirty-four. All I ask is you clean up after yourself. Recycling, trash and compost are all under the sink. Dishes go in the washer. There's a gym on the top floor if you want to work out."
"I'll be okay," you said.
The man pressed the bridge of his glasses and motioned you down the hall. You followed him to an open door into a sizeable room. The setting sun blinded you both until he drew the curtains, cutting off the view of the glinting city. "Here's your room. I'm next door, but you don't have to worry about me."
Confused, you said nothing and set your bags down at the foot of the bed. It seemed your friend had misinformed you, but what were you to say? That you were uncomfortable staying in the apartment when the owner was still there? It would be terribly obtuse to show any kind of ungratefulness. After all, you were paying nothing to use the space, and the loft was nicely decorated and warm—the exact kind of place you'd rent out for a weekend of uninterrupted concentration.
He promised not to be a bother, but warned you might cross paths in the kitchen. He had an ensuite bathroom which minimized the chances of you bumping shoulders in the hallway. After his brief rundown, he left you on your own. You sequestered yourself in the room, put on your headset and texted your friend about the presence he'd omitted.
After a few hours, you forgot all about the man and dove into your work, resurfacing only after you'd chipped off a large amount of productivity. When you slipped off your headset to give your ears a break from pressing into your skull, you heard muttering on the other side of the wall.
He spoke in another language, something Scandinavian and fraught with resentment. You rubbed the shells of your ears to restore blood flow, then replaced the headset and turned the volume up on your favourite song.
The morning forced you out into the kitchen. You could no longer beat your hunger off with a force of will. Shy as ever, even in the empty kitchen, you searched for something to tide you over, then decided you'd pack up your laptop and find the nearest cafe to sit down and order a hot drink and a sandwich. At least there you didn't have to worry about a stranger regarding you in their home.
The door at the end of the hall opened, followed by the slapping of bare feet on the wood floor. The man turned the corner into the kitchen, groggy and without his glasses. Your eyes widened at the sight of him in tight black boxer briefs, cupping a prominent bulge.
"Good morning," he said.
"Hi."
He turned toward the counter, giving you a full view of his broad back and shoulders, the backs of his thighs and his mussed brown hair. Only then did you notice his true size; how tall the man was compared to you. When you had reached for a cup, you had to stand on your tiptoes, getting a knee up on the counter to propel yourself. He didn't struggle at all. Everything in the high cupboards was easily reachable.
And he caught you staring when he turned around. You pretended like you weren't analyzing his figure, but it was too late. It was your nature to watch, to catalogue the people and features and structures around you. But in the uncertainty of another's territory, your scrutiny was inexcusable.
"See something you like?" He asked.
"What?" You chuffed, cheeks suddenly inflamed.
He stepped away from the open cupboard and motioned toward the array of herbal tea. Your lungs deflated, but your skin remained hot.
"Oh, um... No, thanks."
He toyed with the string on the tea bag he'd selected, reaching to adjust the glasses missing from his face. You noticed the unique golden green of his eyes and how they commanded attention by being the brightest things in the room.
"Well, maybe I can interest you in something else?"
You don't know how it happened, or rather, you wished not to admit how easy it was for you to forget your discomfort in favour of joining him on the sofa. With his little boxers around his ankles and your underwear stretched away from your opening, he placed you on his lap and let his cock find your opening.
Driven by hormonal impulse and a lust to explore unusual scenarios, you let the man fuck you as hard as he pleased. He clamped his large hands on your hips and pulled you forward, barred your arms behind your back, reached up between your shoulder blades to wind his fingers through your hair, and kissed down your neck and chest, ignoring your nipples in favour of smoother plains of skin. He let you keep your outfit on. All he wanted was your wetness. He didn't even kiss your lips. This wasn't about romance, and he would not make sure you orgasmed after him.
The only thing he asked was for permission to come inside of you, and when he did, it was no fireworks show. He pumped his cock in and out, enjoying the added lubrication coating his shaft and your insides, then sighed and set you next to him like a used sex doll ready to be packed up and stored away for next time. He stood up and kicked his boxers off his ankles and then swept them off the floor to wipe the residue from his cock.
"I'll get you a towel. Unless you'd rather use the shower?"
Cleanliness was the furthest thing from your mind, but his expectant look made you fear he was dropping a hint.
"Oh... Sure," you said.
"Thanks, by the way. That was nice."
"Was it?"
"I enjoyed myself."
"That's good," you rolled your eyes.
"Sorry, are you not satisfied? You didn't have to ride my dick, you know. You could have said no."
"No, it's fine."
It was awkward to sit on the sofa while he stood nearby, stark naked with one last clear bubble of fluid threatening to plummet from the tip of his spent manhood.
"Oh, I see what's going on here," he stuck his finger in the air. "You wanna come too."
"Doesn't everyone?"
"You're right. How rude of me. Well... If you're spending another night, perhaps we can get together again?"
You said yes, skipped the cafe and waited around until sunset, listening to him argue with someone on the phone out on the balcony. And though you couldn't understand a word he spoke, you knew he spoke to a lover; someone who had no idea you were a pane of glass away and full of this stranger's cum.
#bill skarsgard fanfiction#bill stuff#bill skarsgard smut#bill skarsgard imagine#bill skarsgard x reader
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Hey! I was bored today, and decided to load up Hamilton and thought about your fics. I read them all, they're so good. Any chance you'll bless the fandom with another Hamliza fic? You do such a good job modernizing their relationship. Please consider writing something new, I'll take a paragraph, hell a sentence! lol. Anyway, love your blog and it's always great to see a post from you!
~Notes: holy fuck baby!!! This is so fucking beautiful and kind and so sweet and I can’t even begin to deal😭😭 You are such a sugarplum fairy and I love u to bits!! And the idea that you like my version of them is so crazy!! Ur an angel! And I’m screaming! I just love Eliza so much😭😭 I hope that you like this even slightly!!!!💜💜😌
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A Reblog Is Worth A Galaxy!
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Occasionally— when Alexander is a bit tipsy and a bit lonely and feeling lightly poetic— he thinks of the cobble stoned pieces that patch together the mosaic of his life. He remembers his mother’s faint laughter, and he pictures Eliza’s iridescent grin on the day of their wedding. He alternates reminiscing on the different nights at hospital after the birth of each of his children, how he’d count their tiny fingers and smaller toes while Eliza was slumped besides him— flushed and radiant and so, so miraculous. Though the latter half of that image wasn’t there eleven months ago, when she had given birth to baby Will three weeks after the editorial had been published— finally tipping the precarious state of his world to ruin with a brimstone sort of finality. Three weeks after the affair was made public and the light in her eyes that she had always glimmered with whenever gazing at Alexander, was scuffed away permanently, under the heel of his carelessness and his cruelty and his childish cravings to feel needed by someone— by absolutely anyone.
And as he rocks in the ornate, elm carved chair that his in-laws had bought for Philip’s nursery over sixteen years ago now— with his youngest son in arms— Alexander thinks that it’s right— that it only makes sense that in the handful of memories that are the cornerstones of his existence, Eliza is in the vast majority of them. Eliza with her quiet but strong resilience. Eliza with her breathtaking, but unassuming beauty. Eliza in how she’s always been the beacon of light— a personified essence of hope— in the center of the tempest that is his life. A quiet haven that he’s always depended on like nothing else.
Eliza has always been, and will always be the most vital part of it all, the lifeline that pumps breath to his lungs and blood to his heart and makes Alexander feel like he’s finally standing on solid ground. But he doesn’t get to say that out loud anymore, shouldn’t even think it in the privacy of his own mind. Not after the shattered look in her eyes had been embedded permanently, not after the separation had been officialize, and especially not now, while he’s trying to recall that old, French lullaby that Eliza had always crooned to their children before bed while she’s graciously pretending he’s not here.
It had been a stipulation in the agreement that they scrounged up over half a year ago now. Alexander has been relegated to the loft they keep in Murray Hill while Eliza and the children remain residing in the estate right outside the city limits— The Grange. But because she’s always been touched by an otherworldly kindness that Alexander has never witnessed in another soul, Eliza told him that mornings before school and dinners before bed are open for him to visit while she finishes the work she has for the non prophet she had helped build. “You don’t get to lose your kids just because it didn’t work out with us Alex— They’re your family and I won’t be the one to take them away from you, not ever.”
When she had said as much, quiet and precise and void of the warm inflections he would always lose himself inside of whenever she spoke— Alexander wanted to absolutely ball. He wanted to fall to his knees right then and beg her not to say that— not to toy with the idea that it was really and truly over between them. He wanted to tell her that he loves her, and he loves her and he’ll always love her no matter what.
But for perhaps the first time in his life, Alex had held his tongue and only thanked her for always being the best of the lot. He was afraid if he spoke his true thoughts out loud he’d make that torn, desperately pained look melt back into her features like those first few weeks after the Twitter trends and media frenzy and poisonous gossip spreading through the circle of blue bloods that Eliza had been the heiress of since birth, and where Alexander had fought tooth and nail to belong. But besides that, he thinks he was mostly terrified that she wouldn’t betray any emotion at all— That she’d stay still and frozen and detached— forever out of his reach all over again.
Alexander’s heart twists up in an ugly, painful sort of way at the memory of that tragic brunch between them, and he physically shakes his head— as if the pictures of that afternoon could just fall out his ears and disappear into the powder blue curtains like dust.
Gingerly, Alexander kisses Will’s downy hair, and sets him into the crib with a final inhale to get him through the night before coming back tomorrow morning. And while he pads through the hall, he quietly peers into the bedroom of each of his kids. Listens to the hushed snoring from Jamie and Johnny’s room, before he looked into how Angie has swathed herself with pink blankets in her own, finally glancing into Philip and AJ’s at the end of the hall, bracing himself for how his eldest inevitably tosses him a cursory glance from over his shoulder while he taps away on his new laptop. Philip’s stopped the sneers and the clipped replies after Eliza had scolded him for as much right after the pamphlet’s release, but the ice like overture between them hadn’t lessened, and no matter how much it breaks his heart that his pride and joy doesn’t ever look at him like Alexander is his hero— like he had when he was younger— he’s strangely proud. He’s proud that Philip is steadfast in his loyalty to his mother and has a moral code that Eliza had nurtured in each of them.
“You almost done with that civics paper?” He tries for broke, talking in a hush like he was afraid to spook him.
Philip’s jerky nod is all Alexander gets before he snaps his gaze back to the screen, and he takes it like a sacrament, gently shutting the door once again and shuffling downstairs to the main level of the house.
It feels like his heart lodges somewhere deep in his throat when he enters the living room only to be taunted with the sight of Eliza curled into the side of the sofa, nightgown loose on her shoulders, and dark hair piled into a messy topknot while she nibbles on the end of a pen that she’s most likely using to mark up the novel in her hands. It’s the same volume of Arthurian legends that she’s been paging through for the past few days, and he knows it’s something to do with a child at one of the group homes she visits on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, the one who is enthralled by the folklore of it all.
And it’s like an ache— a gnawing and crippling sort of yearning that he feels as he watches the image of her that he’s seen a hundred times before, wanting to thumb at the ink smattering her cheek and lips and chin. And if this was a year ago he would’ve done just that— Hell, he would’ve kissed them away with tender lips as he gathered her small form into his arms and he would’ve waxed poetic about her and her mind and her body all night long.
Or maybe not.
Maybe he would’ve simply teased her before dropping a kiss to her forehead and retreating to his study to finish the latest bill that the president wants on the house floor before the next congressional recess. Maybe Alexander never really deserved her and it took this— them split apart and tattered— for him to realize all the things he should’ve done. All the exaltations he should’ve whispered against her skin and all the caresses he should’ve massaged against her bones and all the ways he should’ve worshipped her all along. And when Eliza looks up— a strand of hair falling prettily over a large eye and the moonlight dancing atop her with a graceful sort of panache— he feels a sick sort of despair that maybe he’ll never get that chance again. Maybe she’ll leave it to Andre now.
The thought of John Andre makes Alexander’s insides pulse with a sort of anger he doesn’t think he’ has ever known, makes his fucking arteries clog with distain. But he hasn’t said anything about him to Eliza, even though he knows that ever since her ex-boyfriend has moved back into town, he’s been pursuing her non-stop, was regaled about the flowers and the letters and the diamond tennis bracelet by a peculiarly snide, but disappointed Angelica, and he knows that his sister-in-law, between her own children and her own job as the secretary of sate, has been silently rooting for Alexander to get his shit together, to prove himself worthy enough for a second chance with the sister she loves with all her heart. And he thinks that it’s almost funny that one of the most brilliant minds he’s ever known, isn’t perceptive enough to understand that Alexander had never been worthy enough for a chance with Eliza in the first place. So it’s fucking impossible now, with everything that has past and all the ghosts between them.
“Oh,” Eliza says once she finds him just standing their, gazing down at her like some sort of pathetic drifter trying to find respite from a prophet. “Will fell asleep then?”
“Erm, yeah. Yeah he was good.” Alexander replies, tries not to sputter. “Only one who’s up is Pip.”
“Not for long,” Eliza mutters mischievously, tapping a finger against her nose with an endearing sort of diffidence. “I switched the coffee out for decaf before dinner. I reckon he’s got another forty-five minutes in him.”
Alexander can’t help the choked out laughter that spills from his lips, and can’t help relishing in the helium like levity streaming through his extremities— the heady feeling that only Eliza’s ever been able to evoke. “You’re wicked.”
“I’m a concerned mother, and our son is a bit of a spaz if you hadn’t noticed?” She retorts mildly, single brow cocked as she returns to her novel. And no— God no, Alexander can’t refrain from delving back into the easy, life affirming bliss it has always felt when they talked with one another— whether it’s platitudes or past traumas or anything in-between. So like a man about to plunge into the churning ocean waves— ready for death or the best thrill of his life— Alexander eases besides her, three feet apart but close enough to smell Eliza’s favorite jasmine shampoo wafting in the space between them.
“You enjoying the legends then?”
Eliza flickers her bright eyes back to him, uneasy and guarded. And it hurts like nothing else when he remembers how he was once able to read her open face like a favorite book that had been highlighted and underlined to hell. “Uh-huh, it’s an interesting set of stories. I think I understand why Dante enjoys them so much.”
“OH?”
“Mhmm. There’s this one myth, about one of Arthur’s knights, Sir Gawain, who was promised to this old crone and when he kisses her she becomes a fair maiden.”
Alexander isn’t sure what is going on here, knows that this is the most Eliza’s spoken to him outside the children’s schedules for months, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he nods along eagerly, silently pleading for her to continue on with the summary.
“Yes, well. After she transforms, she gives him a ultimatum of sorts. Tells him that either she can stay beautiful in the daylight while they’re apart, or only at night while they’re together.” She meets his gaze head on— steadiness boring into his uncertainty. And even though he still hasn’t a clue what’s happening, he feels it in his bones that this is so very important, so he doesn’t falter, breathes in deep and doesn’t let his glance stray to her lips or her collarbone or where her hands are clutching tightly to the volume now.
“And what did he choose?”
Eliza purses her lips, like she’s not sure to tell him anymore, but something in his expression must’ve convinced her, because she shrugs a slight shoulder while standing and slapping the book shut. “He doesn’t. Tells her it’s her choice and her’s alone.”
And oh.
It’s like a punch in the gut when Alexander finally comprehends.
“Good,” he says, voice gone a bit haggard. “He should just wait until she makes up her mind.”
Remarkably, that seems to have been the right thing to have said, because the ends of Eliza’s plump lips actually quirk up into an etherial grin that’s not so threadbare like all the ones he’s seen for far too long.
“Good night, Alexander.”
“Good night, Eliza,” he replies, feeling like sunlight is finally beginning to filter through the frost when her small hand dusts across his cheek for only a sparing moment. And while he watches her putter upstairs, Alexander knows with all his heart that he would wait for an eon just for Eliza to decide whether he’s worth letting back into her world.
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~My FIC Index~
Is where you can read my other Hamliza works!!!

#HAMLIZA#HAMILTON#ALEXANDER HAMILTON#ELIZA SCHUYLER HAMILTON#ELIZA SCHUYLER#Spilt ink#sweetest missives#you're an angel babe and I really hope you like this
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This Love We’ve Been Working On
Characters: Iwaizumi x GN!Reader
Summary: You and your boyfriend have only spoken in passing for three months. How will he react when you break down?
Song: Slow Dancing in a Burning Room- John Mayer
Genre: a n g s t, fluff at end
Word Count: 1.5k
A/N: This is the first fic I’ve ever written and like the first thing I’ve written in 5+ years. I originally planned on it being fluff with Hinata, but here we are. Thanks to @lydzisanerd for proof reading and encouraging me to write this. Please send me feedback!
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I was the one you always dreamed of
4:32pm. You gaze at the clock thinking about how little time you have until you have to head home. 4 years ago you would have been walking home from classes with your boyfriend babbling about your day. Gazing up at him while he regails stories of practice with a smile, wondering how lucky you were that fate decided you two should be together. Holding hands and dreading getting home when you would go your separate ways. How the world has changed.
It's not a silly little moment/It's not the storm before the calm
5:24pm. You stand on the subway platform waiting for the next one to arrive. Looking around you see businessmen headed home for the weekend, mothers out with their children, young couples going out to dinner before a presumed night out on the town. At some point while scanning you drift into a memory of the last time you and Iwaizumi were here together. Two months ago on the way to a work dinner. The memory is quiet, the silence between you overwhelming the bustling of the station. It is stiff, awkward and impersonal.
“I think we are going to get there just on time, but definitely cut it close” he murmurs while quickly glancing at his watch. You offer back an acknowledging grunt as your train arrives. You both board and --. You are shaken from the memory as your real train arrives. With a sigh, you step on, find a seat and prepare for the ride to your shared midtown loft.
You’ll be a bitch just because you can
Entering the apartment you are hit with the smell of curry and the image of your long term boyfriend Iwaizumi sitting at the table eating dinner. Neither of you spare a glance at each other as you walk into the kitchen, seeing only his serving of dinner, you rummage around in the fridge for a quick meal. Sitting down across from him you take everything in. His wrinkled shirt, bags under his eyes, the sight of his curry, your rummaged together ramen, the tension in his body and the quiet. The sounds of the city in the distance paired only with two people eating two different dinners.
Iwaizumi mentions he's going to go watch a movie once he finishes his meal and washes his bowl. You wonder how his two big deadlines today turned out remembering that he hadn’t come to bed the last two nights. It would explain the bags under his eyes, but the silence? That's something else.
Can’t seem to hold you like I want to
You head into the living room acutely aware of his presence on the couch. Brief hesitation washing over you before you chose to sit in the armchair next to the couch. You don’t remember the last time you both were in here together. Was it last month after your statistics midterm? No, further back, three months ago he answered work emails while you watched a movie. That was it. Drifting into thought, you remember how he hunched over his laptop, running his hand through his already frumpled hair with his tensed up arms.
You realized you are in a similar situation now. The four inches between the chair and the couch feels like a canyon. His body isn’t tense from anxiety but from running on fumes for the past few days. You feel frozen in place, tired, but afraid to break this moment. It's not perfect but it's something. You are both here even if you seem to be in your own worlds.
And you know that we’re doomed
The documentary in the background fades away and all you can do to stay grounded and not get swept up in the over pour of emotions is focus. Breathe. In and out. In. hold. Out. hold. Swallow down the sob. Quiet your beating heart. Suppress the shaking. You don’t realize you haven't blinked in a while until tears start dropping onto your hand. You see them before you feel them. Your hand is the focus of your attention. On the arm rest, just like his arm. Four inches apart. Three months apart. Two lovers apart. One relationship falling apart.
Your brain is moving a mile a minute but somehow you also can’t recognize any of the thoughts. That is until you see that first single teardrop. Something you have been hiding away, deep inside for months. The wave comes crashing down suddenly. You are drowning, you're burning, breathing uneven and ragged, heart racing and your body shakes when that first sob comes out of your throat.
“Y/n-” he starts before turning to you and taking in the sight. He feels like this is the first time he's seen you in a long time. Yeah he sees you for dinner most nights, and whenever he slips into bed long after you fall asleep but he doesn't see you. He is immediately on his knees in front of you staring up at you, uncertain about what to say and whether he should close the gap between you more than he already has. Yes closing space is one thing but physical contact? That's not something he is sure he's ready to do.
Go cry about it, why don't you
You remove your hands from your face looking back at those four inches between you and Iwaizumi. But-- he isn't there and that is when you realize he is in front of you. And he is close. Closer than you have been in months. You can feel his body heat, his eyes pouring into you and an air of something else. Concern maybe? Worry? Fear? You aren’t sure but you didn’t think Iwaizumi would ever feel anything remotely close to those feelings for you ever again.
“H-Ha-Hajime.” you choke out over an increasing amount of sobs. You don’t even know what you want to ask of him, but just that you want, no, need him. Warmth encompasses your hands as he takes yours into his, staring at you. He waits there, still, to ease into whatever will come next. Once you catch his deep brown eyes, you can't look away.
“I don- Y/N, I don’t even know where to start with this. I miss you. My work schedule is no reason to not spend time with you. You’ve always been a light in my life and I pulled away when life got tough. I knew I wasn't in a good place, and instead of communicating that and seeing how you were doing, I threw myself more into my work. Taking on extra projects, working longer hours.” You don’t know when he started crying, but his tears are flowing so freely they pool in your hands. “So I didn't have to come home and face you in shame. How could I face you? I did nothing for you. I don’t deserve to still have you but, fuck, I hope that I still do.”
You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out, just a low cry. The pain in his eyes when he hears that, is something that would have made you look away so you could forget that image, but he beat you to it. Breaking contact with you he stands up and reaches for his phone. His figure shuddering and trying to maintain some semblance of composure while everything is burning down around him. After a few seconds of fiddling around, the silence is broken by soft guitar. The notes each feel like a shot to the heart but, something more. Is that hope in his eyes? In the hand outstretched to you?
We're slow dancing in a burning' room
Iwaizumi’s hand is trembling with fear, just inches away from you. You stare at it, lost in thought. Every single atom on your body was vying for you to reach forward and take it but your heart is stubborn. Do you deserve him and his forgiveness? You haven’t even apologized yet how can you take his hand with confidence? Will the future be like the old days? Or will you both fall into another routine of lonely, silent, cohabitation?
He sees this in you. Being with you for so long means you both understand each other and how the other thinks. He chuckles under his breath realizing if he would have just paid attention earlier, this situation wouldn't be happening right now. He mumbles “C’mon up Y/N,” while closing the space once again.
‘Hajime, I have loved you for years. Three stressful months won’t be able to wash that away, as long as you’ll still have me,” you whisper into his chest as you hold each other. This must be the millionth time holding each other, but it feels new. His woodsy scent holding you almost as tightly as his arms around your back. His warmth drying up your tears. He gives you an affirmative grunt into your neck once you finish speaking. Leaning back he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, and says “We can talk in the morning, let’s just-- just be here.” You agree as you both sway to the music in the background. Things aren't perfect, and there are difficult discussions ahead but, you have him and he you. And you know this isn’t changing.
The room isn’t burning anymore.
Tags: @minseoparkuniverse @lydzisanerd @tedwardos
#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi x y/n#iwaizumi#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi hajime x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#hq#hq!!#kristen writes#haikyuu!! fanfiction#angst#haikyuu fanfiction#john mayer#slow dancing in a burning room#gender netural reader
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lost - knj
pairing: namjoon x reader
genre/warnings: travel!au, roommate!au, bookstore owner!namjoon, strangers to lovers, ft platonic reader x taehyung, fluff, lots of angst regarding uncertain futures, namjoon has a cat named marie
word count: 16,451
summary: taehyung’s warning was simple: stop and you’ll never want to start again or the one where you’re left alone in a loft apartment above a bookstore owned by a man with the sweetest dimples you’ve ever seen.
a/n: my first fic in three months omg...i hope u enjoy it as much as i did writing it :-(
Tiny succulent leaves spiraled outward from a central lobe rooted somewhere in the limited space provided by it’s miniature clay home. The pot rattled with the dips of open road, contained mostly to the corner of the dash and the dusty van window yet a victim of the unforgiving lack of traction still attached to the tires that had carried you for miles up until this point.
One thousand, two hundred and thirty-one miles. And counting.
You tucked your knee into your chest, lounging so the seatbelt started to cut into your neck as your head lulled to the side, eyeing Taehyung’s profile.
“You’ve kept that one alive,” You commented absently.
A noise of surprise broke the hard line of Taehyung’s clenched jaw. He glanced at you, genuine innocence shining through his confusion. It mirrored in his blunt, “Huh?”
You nodded toward the bouncing plant, “If you think about it, killing aloe vera would be kind of ironic…”
“Oh,” Taehyung wrinkled his nose, adjusting his wrist where it laid languidly on the top of the steering wheel, “I think succulents are more my speed. Or at least, the speed of traveling. My daisies didn’t appreciate the darkness of the bedroom. The sunflowers protested the living room on day one.”
“At least if a succulent spills it doesn’t immediately shrivel up and disintegrate…”
By bedroom, Taehyung meant the front section of the shades of beige van he’d acquired in high school, the area with a barely functional bed nailed to the floor of the “trunk”, with windows covered by tattered pieces of flannel you’d hand sewn to resemble curtains. By living room, he meant the back half, where a tiny, rainbow rug sat in the center of splintered wood and a few fold out lawn chairs, matching flannel curtains from the bedroom drawn open to allow sunlight to push through the thin layer of grime gathered in each corner of the windows.
His daisies had spilled fresh potting soil into your clean pillow case, one you’d shaken free of debris by holding it out the open window of the van while Taehyung shrieked with laughter. His sunflowers wouldn’t even balance on the tiny lip between the window and the inside, ceramic pot tumbling through Taehyung’s clumsy fingers and shattering onto the rug. A glittering piece of the white pot still sat lodged between a space in the wooden floorboards.
You grunted in acknowledgement, unfurling your legs to heave yourself forward, snatching the tiny plant from its place on the dash. You turned it gently in your palm, “This would have been nice to have a few weeks ago.”
The tiny seaside town you’d rumbled into by accident of the lack of fuel in the van’s tank lead to three nights of camping in crab infested sands, gorgeous sunset photographs you’d clipped to the twine string zigzagging through the living room, and a horrible ripple of blisters sun stained into Taehyung’s shoulder blades.
He gestured to the scarf you’d prematurely yanked from your luggage shoved into a compartment on the bottom of the vehicle, knee directing the steering wheel as he balled the fleece and tossed it at you. “Good thing it’s almost winter. Put my aloe down.”
You unfolded the pleats of the scarf once you settled the pot back against the windshield, curling it around your arms to settle back into the seat. Your eyes drifted to the scenery beyond the plant, coming first in the fashion of a neon highway sign advertising the next town. You glanced at the tiny red tick on the fuel tank meter.
“Are we stopping tonight?”
Taehyung’s gaze met the places yours rested on. He sighed, palm pressing into the steering wheel first until his fingers gradually curled around the leather. “At least to get gas and dinner, yes. Look and see if there’s any hotels around, please? And then maybe how far we are from our next stop? I don’t want to hang around too long and miss the harvest festival…”
The tiny tag clipped on the digital map of your phone showed a tiny motel with a singular Yelp review from someone named Min Yoongi within walking distance of the gas station Taehyung had turned into. Your legs crossed where you sat on the edge of the blow up mattress in the bedroom, eyes squinted as you twirled around the general vicinity of the tiny town with the tip of your index finger.
“Status update, copilot,” The van rocked as Taehyung took a running jump into the open back, momentum causing him to crouch in the center of the living room. Your mouth parted to respond in time with a tinkling crash to your left.
“There’s a motel across the street,” You uttered in an unimpressed monotone, locating the source of the crash as three similar aloe plants to the one on the dash tumbling off your tiny bookshelf to the rug below. Three sad aloe plants a mess between the sprinkle of potting soil in between grains of rainbow.
A sheepish look crossed the geometric edges of Taehyung’s smile. “I’ll clean it up,” His cupped palm swept over some of the more elevated piles of soil as if to prove his point, “Will you go see if they have anything available?”
“Got it, boss,” You stood, crouched still due to the proximity of the top of the van to your head, and began to edge your way outside.
Your hesitation came near the very bookshelf, the sign of the crime, sole of your shoe squashing into the center of the limited pile Taehyung had created by scraping his hands across the rippled weaving of the rug. You stayed crouched at the waist, fingers thumbing through the titles, titles a cumulative collection from your own personal belongings and the various shops you’d stowed away in the growing months of your journey. Their dusted and rough covers slowly transitioned into the item you were looking for, a slick yellow folder bursting at the pockets with the mixture of paper clipped, stapled, typed, and handwritten papers curled within. You squeezed it’s outer edge, thumb feeling into the tiny rip that was begging to form on the spine of the folder.
“I can’t clean if you don’t move,” Taehyung’s hand wrapped around your ankle, startling you to do a hop step into reality.
The imprint of the ripped folded scratched at the crease in your thumb where you rubbed your palms together, quick strides weaving you down a deserted sidewalk to cross a deserted street where a three story, house shaped structure sat. Your palm flexed into the ends of your scarf still dangling from around your neck, tucking it tighter to you to avoid the stream of words that began to ink across the forefront of your subconscious from the simple touch to the folder.
The interior of a structure whose exterior gave off the impression of outdated was instead rather modern, like stepping out of a deserted movie from the eighties to step into a fifties diner in the twenty-first century. Sleek tile in patterned squares wrapped around a black, raising desk, one that had a tiny stack of business cards and a credit card reader clipped to either side. A man was hunched over a laptop placed on what appeared to be a second level to the desk, it’s lid plastered in various hand drawn stickers peaking over the countertop as fingers continued to audibly hack away at a keyboard.
His black curls bounced when the screen door clattering shut behind you, wide eyes either perpetually surprised or simply shocked at the presence of a person in the otherwise desolate area. You assumed it was a little bit of both once his shoulders relaxed into the black polo hugging his toned upper body but the circular innocence to his eyes remained.
“Hi!” He chirped as you squinted at the gold plated name tag strapped on one side of his shirt. Jeongguk. “...how can I help you?”
“Do you have any rooms available?”
The surprise traveled into the rise of Jeongguk’s eyebrows into his shaggy fringe. It was short lived this time, though, movements instead turning frantic as he lifted the sticker covered laptop to the top layer of the desk, resuming his furious hacking with his tongue poked between his cheeks so that a dimple appeared to the side of his lips.
“I do,” He said after a moment, glancing up at you as his fingers continued to work, “Plenty, actually. Just trying to, uhm…”
“There!” Jeongguk cheered finally, voice an octave louder than before and there was a twinkle in his crinkling eyes as he directed his full attention to you, “How many nights and how many beds?”
“One and two,” You rested your forearm to the counter, thumbing one of the business cards out of its plastic tray. A fond smile curled onto your lips when you noticed the tiny logo was the same doodled design gracing a sticker pasted to the center of his laptop lid. GCF Motel and Design. “Please…”
“Of course, absolutely. Coming right up…” His index finger tapped hard at the touch pad a few times before a different color illuminated the stars in his eyes. He blinked, nodding once to himself before he cupped the credit card reader and dragged it toward you. “It’ll just be fifty for the night. Card reader is here—it works, I promise—or I can take cash. And make change for you, if...you know.”
“I have a card,” You said gently, plucking the plastic from the tiny holder stuck to your phone case. The chip reader clicked to life after a few passing seconds of your card sitting idle in the slot, taking longer in its processing that left you in a silence with the bouncing man across from you.
“Have you been busy lately? There’s that harvest festival a few miles from here this weekend, so I wasn’t sure…”
“No. No, uhm,” Jeongguk glanced at you under the shadow of his bangs, “You’re actually my first guest in two weeks.”
“Oh.” Two tiny electronic beeps signaled you to take your card but you were still delayed in doing so. You smiled warmly at the man across from you instead, “Well, then I’m happy we stopped here.”
“We means you’d like two room keys, right?” The tiniest of red dusted the apples of his cheeks, gaze cutting away to the level of the desk you couldn’t see.
“Please. Tae should be here any minute—”
The screen door clattered harshly when your tall best friend tripped through the threshold, loud in his, “I got the living room clean!” while Jeongguk’s perplexity amplified ten fold.
“Uhm, here’s your room keys. It’s on the third floor. Stairs and elevator are behind the desk,” Jeongguk passed over two green cards, holding them separately to each of you. You accepted yours with a gentle smile, Taehyung with a sleepier confusion that almost mirrored Jeongguk’s. His movements grew jerky again as he rustled behind the counter, presenting two sheets of paper in your direction now. “...and here’s a sheet of stickers. They’re mine. I hand draw them and sell them...I have my own website, it’s listed on the logo sticker in the center.”
You fondly assessed the page as you drew it closer to your nose, eyeing the etched star shape and the shaded in hues of a tiger flower. “Thank you, Jeongguk,” You said gently, holding the stickers to your chest.
“Of course!” He chirped while Taehyung continued to squint between the room key and the sticker page. “I hope you enjoy your stay...don’t hesitate to come find me if you need anything. My room is the only one on this floor if I’m not here at the desk.”
You were gentle in turning the door knob to a close while Taehyung flopped dramatically onto the nearest bed corner, still clutching his sticker sheet that he stretched above his face.
“Motto out the window tonight?”
Taehyung hummed, twisting the sheet to the right and then to the left, “For one night only—” He blinked to the side of the paper at you, “—did you look at these?
The motto hadn’t applied for three nights of your travels, the sleepy town with the sticker making motel owner included, the motto Taehyung’s sentiment that if your head ever touched a real pillow again, you’d want to cease your travels. A just keep going, arbitrary reason for continuing to blow through your college savings to travel the country. The first night had been in a storm when it was simply too dangerous to board up in the back of the van. The second night had been after Taehyung had contracted a cold from sneaking into a resort pool in a downtown tourist center. The third seemed to have no other motive than genuine exhaustion. You blamed the third potted plant spill of the month.
Mention of the motto made your mind drift to your travels as a general cloud of thought, one that generally evaporated into the back of your conscious so that you were able to focus on the paper map Taehyung had shoved into your grip from the last rest stop or the delayed play by play instructions on your phone due to the limited signal or simply forgotten due to your laughter at whatever ridiculous song Taehyung had decided to blast over your carefully wired auxiliary cord.
Just like you ignored your dwindling funds in the debit card you’d just mindlessly shoved into the barely functioning card reader, ones that funded the purpose of the sparkly eyed boy perched on a plastic stool in the lobby. Your purpose remained nothing but the ghost feeling of the rip in your yellow folder still digging into the crease of your thumb.
“You should order some from him. It’d make his week,” You said gently.
Taehyung laughed, “I don’t think he delivers to a traveling address, kid.”
You tried to manage the panic in your voice.
“Tae.”
He didn’t answer, just a grunt from outside the van where he was currently pumping air into the front driver’s side tire. Panic could only manage itself for that one call. You tried again, louder and with a slap of your hand against the nearest open door.
“Taehyung.”
The van rocked again and he answered verbally this time, agitated. A peek of one half of his face became visible, “What?”
“Where’s my folder?”
Taehyung blanched, full features coming into view, “What?”
Your hand did a dramatic sweep across the bookcase, collecting your tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice in your wake to let it drop unceremoniously to the floor. “Where is my folder?” Another book, a title you didn’t recognize but a cover you connected with the flea market Taehyung had insisted on visiting near the beach, dropped to the floor from your grip. “It’s not in its spot any longer.”
“I had to take everything off the shelf to get all the soil up,” One foot made it inside the van as your stack of discarded books continued to grow. “I swear I put it right back but it may have fallen—”
“Fallen out? Of the van?” Two more books plopping audibly to the pile. You thought about Jeongguk and his stickers and what would happen if someone threw out all his sketches. His sense of purpose suddenly gone due to someone’s recklessness.
“—behind something,” Taehyung finished, nudging you aside to retch the shelf away from where it was bolted to the wall. It only came a fraction of the way, barely enough for Taehyung to lodge his fingertips down it and effectively rule out any possibility of your folder being there. Instead, every book still clinging to the shelf flopped sadly to the floor.
The miles you’d traveled up until that point seemed to rush by in your peripheral, every open stretch of rolling road, the glittering nightscape of lively cities, the blackness of the sea current swallowing up ruts in the shore, the decades old gas stations that drained your cash from your wallets into the tank to the freshly renovated rest stops that had patterns pressed into the concrete intentionally and not just because a local raccoon decided to test his luck with some half dry concrete. It propelled you back into the moment, thousands of miles ago, where you’d stood in the same spot in Taehyung’s parents driveway with a cardboard box at your feet filled with things still labeled from when you’d moved out of your college apartment.
“Why did you keep this?” Taehyung had teased with a wrinkled nose, handing over your tattered textbook from your world literature class freshman year, the second volume in a group of three you’d paid a month's rent for. Highlighter bled into the outer edge, marking the thin off white pages appeared a mirage of rainbow that contrasted a shade more neon than the rug you’d stretched out below your feet.
“I paid for it,” You defended, settling the paper back between one side of the shelf and a heavy, dolphin shaped paperweight that you’d stuck felt on the bottom of to keep in place on the road. “Besides, it has full, translated classics in here.”
Taehyung pretended to understand the fascination of literature that came with your education with a raise of one eyebrow and a single, gentle nod that shifted his gaze back to the remaining contents in the box. He ruffled for a second before retrieving one of the items draped on the bottom.
“Okay—” He stretched your manuscript folder up in two hands so as to not let the contents on the inside spill out the sides. “—explain why you keep this.”
You snatched it from him, holding the yellow protectively to your chest. It looked a bit comical, the whole situation, you hovering over the disorganized stack of papers that you’d written off, figuratively, of course, chin resting on top of the folder as you stared hard at the worn spine of the text book you’d just placed to the shelf.
“If anything…” You moved slowly with the folder in hand, stretching it toward the felt dolphin and textbook. One hand clutched it while the other brushed aside things to make room for it, tight palm effectively dragging the weeping edges of the folder apart so a tiny rip formed in the yellow near the top of the makeshift spine. Gradual movements turned frantic as you shoved it onto the shelf, pushing the dolphin to hold it in place as your thumb remained on the newfound rip.
“...I paid a lot of money for the printer and pen ink it took to write all of that. It’s like keeping a twenty dollar bar of gold that can never be converted into usable currency.”
The dolphin was the only thing remaining on the shelf, staring at you while you stared at Taehyung, blank, not moving. Somewhere, up on the dash, the unharmed succulent rattled with the gust of wind that curled against the outside of the van.
“We’ll find it, it couldn’t have gone too far. There isn’t much space to search anyway—”
“Why did you touch it in the first place?” Your sharp cut in didn’t register in your mind as unreasonable, not at first. Instead, your mind drifted to all the times in which he’d be apprehensive of your unwillingness to throw away the folder, to, as he put it, simply transfer all the handwritten files into digital versions to zip away with the ones that were already locked in a cloud somewhere, all the times you’d caught him staring, perplexed as you pulled out the folder and flipped it open to make sure none of the pages had shifted order. “You know how much it means to me.”
“This would be different if I was intentionally trying to sabotage something of yours. I moved it to clean. It has to be somewhere in this general vicinity,” Taehyung held his hands palm up to you. Penance. Until he ruined it with a sighed, “Besides...don’t you think it’s time we throw it out anyway. I don’t think a constant reminder of rejection is—”
“Go on with your trip,” You said suddenly.
He paled in front of you, knuckles and all where they grew tighter on the edge of the unhinged bookcase. “Our trip…” He corrected, drawing out the silence at the end as punctuation.
“Your trip,” You shoved yourself off the floor, stepping past him to hurdle to the cracked concrete outside. “Help me get my luggage.”
Taehyung spluttered, lips foaming like a puffer fish out of water, eyes narrowing like you’d just grown a third hand from the tip of your nose. “Dove, we’ll find your folder. We can keep it up front so it never gets lost again. I wasn’t trying to insult your situation, I just care about you and—”
“Tae,” You said his name gently, the calmest you’d managed to spit it out in the entire ordeal, calm like the ghost of a smile that dimpled into your cheeks, “It’s not about the folder.”
“Go on. Go to the harvest festival. Hit the next few cities. I’ll be fine here.”
His eyes bulged now, “You expect me to leave you here? There’s nothing here and I’m no stranger to how our funds have been dwindling.”
“There’s a motel. And a cafe somewhere according to the map. I’ll find a job. Maybe I can rake someone’s leaves when the seasons start to change,” You smiled, “I’ll figure something out.”
“And when I come back? Will you want to go with me?” A bit more forceful, Taehyung set his eyebrows and added, “I will be coming back for you.”
You shrugged, opting for simple, “I don’t know.”
The tension sagged from Taehyung’s person, all the confusion and frustration and bubbling anger, returning him to the default of your best friend complete with a tiny half smile. A loaded inquiry in the way he tilted his cheek into his curled fist.
“Why, dove?”
“The motto,” You stretched out a hand toward him, “I quite liked the bed in the motel.”
“...so I think I’m going to stay around a little longer,” You finished your, shortened albeit, story to the pouty lipped cafe worker, offering a tentative smile.
The man who’d introduced himself as Yoongi and the owner of the tiny building, removed a hand from where it had been perched on his hip, gently plucking the wad of bills you offered to him. The register opened with what would have been a small puff of dust if the space around it weren’t so meticulously clean, the sleek black counter top and the checkered floor free of any imperfections. Yoongi had swept away the little particles of gravel you’d tracked in after he’d handed over your carefully crafted club sandwich.
“So, are you planning on staying at Jeongguk’s place?”
You blinked, a useless piece of collected information about the town in your short twenty-four hours there slipping out. “Are you the Min Yoongi who left a review on his motel?”
A charming smile crossed over the man’s gums, shoulders bouncing silently as he began to pool your change in his cupped palm for you. You took his nonverbal answer, leaning closer on your elbows, “Is Min Holly some of your relation? They left a review, too…”
Yoongi’s nose wrinkled when he laughed a second time, plopping your change down in a small tin next to the register when you motioned him to keep it. “...something like that.”
“It’s a fine place to stay, by the way. Just a dumb joke we have going,” He fished behind the counter for a rag, rubbing it over the places in the counter that had been touched. Dark eyes assessed you playfully from under white fringe, “There’s a review hidden in ours that says we make grilled cheese sandwiches without cheese.”
“Are you...in need of any help making those bread sandwiches?” You panicked when one of his eyebrows disappeared into bangs and a snort racked his shoulders, “Sorry, that was really forward. I just...my travel funds have been running low regardless of me stopping here. I really need a way to make money during my stay.”
“I don’t think Seokjin would appreciate having to split his already limited tips,” Yoongi continued to wipe at the counter, shuffling down the row of bar stools you sat at and back up.
“...you said you have a background with literature, right?” You nodded. “You could check with Namjoon and see if he has any odd jobs for you. He owns the bookstore on the next block over…”
“If anything, he could have you paint the outside,” He meticulously began to fold the rag, shaking his head, “The place looks like it just time traveled from the eighteenth century.”
Yoongi wasn’t wrong. All the buildings in the town seemed to be situated in a similar fashion, curled into strips of three or four businesses about three or four blocks long yet, it appeared that the majority of the buildings were abandoned or at the very least, not functioning businesses any longer. You pinpointed the specific building you were in search of on instinct that the one centered in the middle of a strip of buildings that appeared completely out of place had to be the one Yoongi teased about the exterior. Chipped cream and dark brown lined the paneled walls and thick frames around doors and windows, two stories of windows coated in a visible layer of dust and webs on the corners. As you strolled closer, you could make out the beige pink hue of plastic letters pasted onto the inside of the left display window, Monie’s, with a looping cursive font displaying a phone number and a website. Propped up in the thin stream of dust and crumpled window stickers was a sign, black coated in specks of brown with neon orange advertising help wanted.
You wrapped your fingers around the door, pulling it open to step inside.
The first thing you registered was the temperature difference, winter chill just starting to nip into the air outside but the bookstore was coated in something that somehow bordered the favorable side of cozy and unbearable. Minimal lighting added to that ambiance, bulbs caged in thick metal where they were screwed in planned intervals above the bookshelves. Plants littered the empty spaces in between already crowded furniture, bonsai trees to be exact, curling in their awkward shapes out of hand painted pots. Any decorations that maybe could have been placed on walls occupied by floating bookshelves instead littered the displays in each of the front windows, a massive plastic snowman, fake holiday grass plopped on top of fake winter snow, a myriad of specialty figurines ranging in sizes and shapes and colors all centered around a wooden table that appeared as though it had been made directly from a fresh stump. Perhaps, judging by everything else, it had.
The books were another thing, appearing more like library shelves than those you would see in chain bookstores or in the aisles at various department stores. Titles varied in size, in their positions in how they laid against each other. In fact, there seemed to be no reason to the way they were organized, obscure children’s books tucked in between used biographies of a fourteenth century royal and three new copies of the first book in the latest dystopian young adult series.
You turned down the last aisle, one that seemed to harbor anything from an entire encyclopedia set to preschool board books, to find a steep staircase at the end of the shelf. The dark wood matched that of the outside of the building, leading upward into a shadow until you could no longer see where it went. Careful footsteps carried you across creaking wood covered in various colors of woven rugs, testing a hand onto the rail of the staircase. One foot on the first stair and it creaked worse that the floor, the second a wail just as bad.
Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the tiger striped cat that bounded down the stairs past you.
You yelped, clinging to the staircase as your knees gave out in your brief moment of panic and had you sinking to a crouch. A deep swallow into you cradling the posts between the stair railing and you managed to get your heart rate to calm by pressing the blunt end of your palm against your chest.
A voice acted like the pull start of a generic lawn mower, kicking the roar of blood in your ears back to life.
“Where are you going?”
It was spoken kindly, a genuine inquiry in which the tone matched the man who stood within the row of books. Namjoon, your conscious presumed. He was tall, a long navy coat fluttering against his khaki jogger covered ankles. A deep maroon t-shirt showed off the glitter of a pendant necklace dangling between the defined planes of his chest where the terror of a cat was now cradled. Thick rimmed glasses rested on the very tip of his nose, deep set brown eyes magnifying when he nudged the frames up with the tips of his index and middle fingers. A gentle smile indented permanently into his mouth, showing off dimples that became deeper set the more his laughter grew at your prolonged silence.
“Oh, sorry I...I was just—”
“Unfortunately, my business is not enough to harbor a second floor,” His nose wrinkled with his smile as he dropped his gaze enough to place the cat onto the floor before effectively shoving bracelet covered wrists into his pockets, “Can I help you with something else?”
“I’m looking for a job,” You blurted, still standing firmly on the second stair while the cat, calmer this time, scurried past you once more. It creaked again with the two movements, the cat and the nervous shift of yours, and you allowed yourself to wince this time.
The man tilted his head, dark brown locks sticking behind the glass and frames. “And why would you come here in search of that?”
“Yoongi sent me,” You blinked, “Uh, Min Yoongi. The guy that owns that cafe up the street? I’m going to be staying in town for a little while and I’m in need of something...I have a literature background, if that makes my case any more compelling. At the very least I could reorganize your shelves or something—”
“My shelves stay as they are,” He cut in absently, waving a hand. Go on.
“—besides,” Your finger pointed dumbly toward the window display behind him, “You have a help wanted sign in your window.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the trajectory of your finger, shaking his head, “No...I don’t think I do.”
You clambered off the staircase, pointed in brushing past the tall man to stalk determinedly for the opposite window display. The sign stuck to the window in some sort of build of debris that you didn’t particularly care to question but instead made it hard for you to pull up when you were straddling a tiny train set and a mountain of fake snow in an attempt not to harm any of his decorations. It came in a cloud of dust, coating your fingers and glittering in the baths of afternoon sun that cut through the window.
You found that he’d trailed after you, close enough that when you stumbled out of your awkward stretch position you could press the sign just spaces from his chest.
“See.”
He took it from you, that trace of a smile still prominent as he squinted at the object in his grasp. His sleeve curled over his fingers, gradual in clearing away the grime build up over the printed words.
“Oh,” He simply, “I suppose I do.”
More than the confined heat of the sun through the windows warmed your body from his gentle carmel stare, something that curled your toes into your shoes as your hand had the opposite reaction in jutting out towards him. Quietly, you offered your name.
“Namjoon,” He settled his free hand in yours, giving it a firm shake without pulling away. Instead he tilted his head, “What’s your story?”
You tilted your head in the opposite direction, “Is this my interview?”
His smile grew warmer when his teeth appeared under his lips, “And if it is?”
“I’ve been traveling with my best friend for the past few months. We started after our university graduation and didn’t look back,” A halfhearted laugh followed the slip of your hand out of his, “Truthfully—” kind of, “—I was starting to run out of money. Your town seemed to be about my speed,” You set your shoulders, “...so I told Taehyung to leave me here. Now I’m in your store asking for a job.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The motel, Jeongguk’s right?” You brushed your foot into the floor, “He told me I didn’t have to pay for anything until I left, or at least built up enough to afford his rates, but—”
“That won’t do,” Namjoon dismissed. Curtly, he turned, stalking off between the shelves with the sign tucked to his chest.
You were sure you looked like a personified exclamation mark wrapped around a question mark but you allowed yourself to stumble after him anyway, trailing him between the awkward route of shelves you’d yet to explore in your short venture through the store. Finally, you arrived at a small desk, one with a clear glass top with flyers and charts and business cards lodged underneath it. A register, the most modern item of the entire store, took up most of the desk space, placed directly next to an illuminated desktop computer that displayed a background of a light blue koala character etched out in a vaguely familiar art style. You noticed the cat from earlier had wandered back into view, now perched on a red leather stool that was placed behind the counter and let out a particularly discontented mrow! when Namjoon shooed it aside to take a seat.
Ring clad fingers began to clack away at an outdated keyboard for the modern monitor, features scrunched at the center. Namjoon’s glasses slipped down the length of his nose, this time purposely, as he leaned closer to the screen, mouth parted as eyes darted over the contents. His entire expression shifted when he leaned away, soft smile returning as he gestured for you to join him on the opposite side of the counter.
“Have you ever worked with any type of cataloging software?”
You blinked at the foreign objects on the screen, a whirlwind of passwords and edit options, and ISBN numbers that you didn’t understand other than how to finesse the cheapest textbooks when you were still in university. His whirlwind explanation that hadn’t allowed you any time to answer the initial question ended with a single syllable laugh.
“I’ll help you,” Namjoon promised, spinning on the stool to face you. His gangly legs crossed, elbow meeting the thickest part of his thigh as he cheek settled into his palm. “And dusting? How are you with a rag?”
A smile broke out of your tense uncertainty, “That I can definitely do.”
He hummed, drumming his fingers against his cheek, “I think I can find plenty for you to help me with here, if you’d like. I can’t promise much pay.”
“But no staying with Guk. You can stay here as part of your payment.”
You subconsciously glanced outward around the store, to the crowded shelving and potted plants and lopsided books, as if maybe a bed would manifest somewhere that you hadn’t seen it before. To that, Namjoon laughed, louder and so that his face scrunched up around his eyes.
“I live in the apartment above the store. That’s where the staircase leads. I have an extra bedroom…”
“But that’s only if you’d like,” He rushed suddenly, voice growing an octave as his hands flailed, “I know we just met so if you’re not comfortable living with me, you can absolutely continue to stay at the motel. I just thought it might be easier on you financially and travel wise if you were already here, you know. The bedrooms are on opposite ends of the apartment. There’s two bathrooms, too—”
“Thank you, Namjoon,” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, waiting until he relaxed under your touch, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I accept your offer, if you don’t mind having me, of course.”
He started to shake his head only to be interrupted by a strangled meow from below your feet. You watched as the cat curled in between your legs, butting into your shin while an audible purr rumbled into its next meow.
“You’ll have to bargain with her for use of the bedroom, actually. It’s unofficially hers at the moment,” The tiny cat continued to nuzzle into your jeans, tail curling happily each time she threw her body weight into you, “It seems like you’ve passed the Marie test.”
You crouched, allowing her to inspect the curl of your fingers before she happily began to settle her chin into the crevices of your palm, rubbing back and forth until you began to flex your fingers in her fur.
“Miss Marie, can we be roommates for a little while?”
She mewled in response, bypassing your hand to jump into the open space on your thighs. You adjusted her in your arms instead, stretching back to a standing position to smile at Namjoon.
“First task complete.”
Namjoon cocked an eyebrow, “Which was…?”
“Befriend the cat that ratted me out,” You grinned, bouncing her a bit in your arms, “What’s next, boss?”
“Why don’t you two start by cleaning out those window displays while I go to retrieve your things from Jeongguk,” He slipped his glasses off between the pinch of his fingers, allowing them to twirl back and forth for a moment, “Who knows what other hidden treasures are in there.”
You found your things stacked in a neat pyramid on a bed. Your bed. You clutched the ‘treasures’ you’d uncovered in the window displays a bit tighter to your chest.
It was a modest room, full size mattress squeezed into a vast majority of the room, leaving just enough room for a dresser and closet doors that folded open to one side. Your things looked massive in the center of the bed, particularly with how they’d been stacked in awkward, Jenga like angles. You frowned until you found a slip of paper dangling off the very top piece of your luggage. You cradled Namjoon’s things, a curly haired teddy bear and a miniature pair of leather shoes, into one arm to pluck the note.
It was another sheet of stickers, different from the first, with a handwritten note in swirling purple marker scrawled to the blank side.
Come back and visit me! Or maybe I’ll come into the store more now...Here’s some of my newest designs as thanks :)
“Jeongguk insisted I bring you those.” You crinkled the edge of the paper in hand, startled by the soft voice. It was Namjoon, now without his long coat, arms folded across his chest where he leaned against the doorframe. He nodded toward the other contents in your grasp, “What are those?”
“Oh!” You passed aside the paper to grip the bear and shoes in separate hands, stretching the items toward him. “Just some things I found hidden in the displays…”
He pushed himself up off the door, pulling the bear into his grasp first. Long fingers tucked into the wirey fur of the toy, scratching gently as a fond smile slowly worked upwards into his cheeks. Crinkles formed underneath his eyes as he pressed the bear underneath his arm, cradling the two tiny shoes next, raising them up above eye level for inspection.
“You’re right, I forgot about these,” Namjoon passed the shoes into one palm, closing his fingers to hold them at the center of his chest. “Thank you for doing that, by the way. It looks wonderful.”
You returned his grateful smile, unsure of how to accept a thanks for a task assigned to you as an employee. It was the first time since the morning that you’d allowed yourself to think of the yellow folder, one that symbolized the exact opposite of the gracious, polite expressions Namjoon had yet to fail to provide.
It’d been less than twelve hours, but you had no reason to assume he would offer anything otherwise. A less than conventional situation with a less than conventional job offer with a less than conventional boss with less than conventional job benefits.
His mouth fished once, twice, gawking at the shoes in his hand before his gaze settled back on you. Lips pressed together, head tilting.
“...would you like some tea?”
The disarray, library aura the maze of shelves in the store provided came as a result of the equally disorienting ordering process from Namjoon, so you learned. He avoided section titles, author groupings, or series shelving. Instead, there was some mental list of steps all based around bogus marketing techniques that accounted for the haphazard strew of books to the point where you weren’t quite sure he had meaning to it anymore and was simply doing it to stay to some imaginary regiment he’d convinced himself of.
Best selling young adult dystopian novels were on the far shelf, the one closest to the desk, and hidden behind the busy leaves of a bonsai in the back left corner. There were three copies of the first and second books but only two of the third book. Children’s books were placed backwards on the shelves, spines facing inwards, the shapes giving them away. Biographies were always placed on the third shelf from the bottom, eye level.
No romance made the cut to “easy on the eye” locations.
“I’d be replacing them every day,” Namjoon explained as he gave you the third tour of the store with a third set of instructions for shelving. You weren’t sure how to politely tell him that he wasn’t in the position to assume he had that much patronage daily.
In the end, he’d left you isolated to cataloging month old shipments, boxes piled high with novels at the top of outdated best seller lists scattered in between obscure titles of obscure genres with obscure authors that you often found yourself squinting at in wonder with their unfinished tab open on the blinking monitor in front of you. Cataloging meant updating the system first so that when your second customer of the eight hour day came in, you could properly run their crossword puzzle booklet or copy of the town newspaper through the bar code scanner without having to employ the help of the tiny red calculator hidden within the contents of the desk.
Eventually, you convinced Namjoon to let you update the website too, starting with the boxes you still had left to do and moving onto those things already existing on the shelves when a customer appeared for something new on the shelf simply because they had seen it online. Namjoon had eyed the customer like they were leaving with a third arm rather than a newly acquired how-to manual on toothpick crafts and promptly requested you do whatever that was.
Your reorganization of the window displays had done a number in themselves, cleaning away the cobwebs to make the neatly arranged scenery, now free of any cheap decorative foliage or precipitation, visible from the sidewalk. Three different individuals had appeared with comments about such, one in question of if the newly cleaned window decals had always been there, one asking if that was the current working phone number, and the third asking if the store was under new management due to the “new changes”.
Aside from updating the website and reorganizing his conglomeration of acquired decorations, you couldn’t get Namjoon to budge on anything else.
Especially not ordering some more romance novels. The best sellers in your short time as an employee. The genre tab you were constantly updating on the website.
You tried to mention it casually over a cup of tea one evening, your feet propped up on a wooden coffee table similar to the one you’d placed fresh flowers on in the shop.
“Okay, former literature student,” Namjoon swung his feet off where they had been resting across from yours. The patchwork red recliner he sat in creaked as he leaned forward, white mug cupped in two hands with the rim resting on his smiling bottom lip, “...and I can’t believe I didn’t ask you this already. What are some of your favorite authors? Go.”
You hesitated. Of all the classics, the literature tailored for a specific class genre, the novels you’d exhausted class discussion after thesis on, you’d still honestly answer that easy to read, cliche romance were your favorite, especially when written by a select few authors you’d claimed to some sort of unspoken circle you trusted.
There were things to learn in even the cheesiest of cliches, in generally the most ideal situations that were few and far between the reality you’d seen, love could and would prevail. Love was the start, the middle, and the end to the spines of worn romance novels, ones often criticized for having the same plot hidden under ten different covers plastered in warm pastels and photographs of flowers draping over bicycles and down the sides of beach side houses.
But just because it’s ideal and not realistic doesn’t mean it shouldn’t exist in what you strive for. At least, that’s what you stood by, particularly when your pencil or your fingers moved to creatively express that very mantra in the plot of your own romance story lines. They were romance at the surface, or at least hidden underneath the flaps of your tattered and lost yellow folder.
The tear itched at the bend of your thumb and you rubbed it as you squinted at Namjoon, pretending to be in thought. “That’s a hard question.”
“Is it?”
He’d garnered enough information about you in the last weeks to understand you were well versed, at least enough to recognize, to understand, and to adapt. Lying could work but would be virtually useless in the face of your almost stranger roommate. The laymen’s, internet speak resting in the deepest recess of your conscious cooed to you quietly.
It’s not that deep just tell him you enjoy the occasional Nicholas Sparks novel.
Instead, the cursed part of your conscious blurted, “Have you ever read Twilight?”
Namjoon didn’t laugh at you but with you. “I have, actually…” His lips puckered to take in enough tea to coat is tongue, another gentle laugh shaking his shoulders, “Is this your way of saying Stephanie Meyers is your favorite author?”
“No! No, I mean...not necessarily,” You shrugged, “I enjoy the occasional cliche. Even in the easiest cliches there can be a lesson to be learned. Just with some padding. Like bumpers on a bowling lane, you know. You still make it to the pins just with some extra help.”
“Right,” He lounged again, taking the natural rock of the recliner with him before releasing his foot so it swayed his relaxed stature, “That makes sense.”
“The artistic value isn’t lost simply because it’s popular or it’s based on something popular, you know,” You glanced behind his head, to one of the various artwork pieces he had nailed throughout the apartment. This one was a canvas coated in navy birds, ones that grew sloppier in shape the smaller they grew towards one corner. “It wouldn’t be popular otherwise…”
“I don’t disagree,” Namjoon narrowed his eyes but they crinkled on the edges, “I also wouldn’t fire you if you told me the Twilight franchise was the peak of literary and cinematic history. I just would...respectfully disagree.”
“Would you fire me if I told you I write romance?”
“Is it about vampires that sparkle?”
“No.”
“Then no,” He grinned this time, “If you can’t answer your favorite author question then who inspires you when you write? Most art is modeled after that of which we’ve already consumed so I can’t imagine you’re any different.”
No thought of the yellow folder burned through the itch on your thumb as you rattled off your extensive list of ever evolving authors, ones you adored in middle school then reread in college to find new light (or some glaring darkness you missed in the naivety of your uneducated youth. See: the glitz and glamour of The Great Gatsby) within, those young adult novels of dystopian future in which you’d always wanted to teach your own university course on all the way down to the grossest cliches that had you and Namjoon wrinkling your noses.
“They’re still wonderful,” You bargained, “In every sense of the word. Wonderfully awesome, wonderfully terrible. Refreshing to read, refreshing to pick out eyebrow raising and quite frankly glaring issues that high school teachers choose not to point out in their lessons.”
“Have you ever thought about ordering more for the store?”
“There are plenty of popular titles in the store,” Namjoon resisted immediately. His mug of tea was empty now, nothing to divert his attention from staring directly at you. For a moment, you feared you’d imposed on something like when you’d offered to reorganize the shelves.
Gently, you tried to express your point and correct him, “Yes, but not that’s currently popular in the last five years, or even the last decade. It would be a good selling point, at least to garner a bit more profit—”
“No.” He wasn’t harsh. Just firm. “I’m content with our current inventory.”
“However, if you would like for me to order you something to read, I would be happy to do so. You know where the catalogs are.”
That’s not the point. You sighed in the defeat of your changed window displays and online catalog update.
“That’s okay, Namjoon. Thank you anyway, though.”
“So, what do you think?”
There were two expectant pair of eyes blinking at you, one the curator of the dish placed just beneath your nose, the other wholly hoping for your features to be unable to hide the disgust of whatever cheese, tomato, and bread contraption currently resting on the part of your bottom lip, ready for a taste.
“I haven’t even taken a bite yet, Jin,” You laughed, testing the warmth of the sub bread against. You turned the sandwich in one hand, wincing when some of the cheese spilled out and singed at the skin of your palm. “It’s hot.”
“It’s delicious,” He argued, dragging the bar stool closer to you.
“It’s already on the menu,” Yoongi mumbled.
“It’s not,” Seokjin slapped his palm on the counter, ears growing red as he fumed at his boss, “This stromboli has nacho cheese instead of mozzarella. Instantly better.”
“If it’s good, you can make it for everyone who orders it,” You eyed Yoongi as you gave it another temperature test and he smiled shyly, “The nacho cheese gets too hot...I don’t want to have to handle it.”
Tentatively, you jutted your teeth out to take a nibble off the corner of the steaming sandwich, managing to acquire a mouthful of bread, pepperoni, and of course, the seeping nacho cheese. Yoongi was right, it was scalding, but it burnt your taste buds enough to mask any horrid taste that may exist and you managed to swallow it down with a minimal wince.
“Amazing right?”
“They can’t even speak—”
“They can’t speak because it’s so amazing,” Seokjin nudged your side while you tried to digest the burning coals currently sliding down your throat, “Right?”
“It’s not too bad,” You croaked finally, making prolonged eye contact with a viscarly annoyed Yoongi as you dragged your ice water closer and downed two, three, five gulps. “Would probably be better if it weren’t the temperature of the sun.”
“That’s not a yes—”
“Maybe, but it’s also not a no,” Seokjin happily clapped in the seat next to you, making a full rotation on the bar stool in victory before he swiped the plate from under your nose and went to take a bite for himself.
His high pitched screams muffled by the way too large bite of yeast and runny cheesy came in time with the ding of the cafe door that had Yoongi straightening and you snorting.
Namjoon ignored the way Seokjin’s palm began to rapidly slap against the counter top as he waddled directly for you, a large cardboard box cradled to his chest as he happily chirped your name in time with the slap of his sandals against the tile. He deposited the box to the empty bar stool on your opposite side, only then allowing his gaze to deviate to a violently coughing Seokjin.
“Is he okay?” He asked simply, that same comforting calmness etched deep in his tone.
“Loaded question,” Yoongi grumbled.
“He’ll be fine,” You dismissed, waving your hand over your shoulder. Seokjin coughed in outrage. You placed both hands on either side of the taped lid, tilting your head, “What do you have here?—” After a second, you perked up, “—Is it this week's shipment?”
Namjoon’s hands covered yours, soft with the vanilla pine lotion you knew he kept on the bottom shelf behind the counter in the store. Gentle thumbs nudged your appendages aside, instead tucking his nail underneath the tape and flicking across it.
“You reviewed my final order list, right?”
You nodded, “Yeah, you were going to order some extra crossword books and replace those couple copies of encyclopedia that Marie...had an accident on…”
“Right, but—” He balled the tape when it reached the far end of the box, still holding your eye contact as he began to fold open the flaps on the box, “—I added a few more things before I sent it in.”
“Oh yeah?” You couldn’t help but grin too, “And what did you order?”
“Well, first of all…” Namjoon shuffled around, trying his best to shield the contents inside from you until he retrieved what he was looking for. An exclamation point coated his features when his fingers wrapped around the desired book, drawing it out with a giddy grin.
“Is that Gatsby?” You gaped, reaching for the paperback book in his hand. You took in the horribly refurbished cover, sighing blissfully as you looked at Namjoon. At the same time, you each breathed, “Hate Gatsby.”
“I bought ten copies I think,” Namjoon took it back from you, flicking it back into the box like a frisbee, “If anything, we can put them to Marie’s litter box. Lead her there.”
“I like this already. Show me more.”
“The next one I bought for you, if you want it,” He shuffled a bit longer this time, eyebrows meeting his hairline when he finally latched onto the item yet seemed to struggle a bit more with lifting this one. The veins in his arms strained, bottom lip tucking under his teeth as he threw his shoulder into it, letting the heavy hardback hit the top of the counter with an audible thud that silenced Seokjin’s moaning behind you.
“Twilight?” You laughed, stroking your fingers over the raised text, “I can’t believe you brought yourself to write this on an order.”
“I can’t believe I did either,” Namjoon beamed, glowing in the rays of your praise, “I thought you’d like it and I wasn’t sure if you had a copy of it so…”
“My copy is in the van,” You flattened your palm to ignore the itch on the bend of your thumb, forcing the rush of emotion down past the sudden lodge in your throat, “This is a nicer copy than mine, anyway.”
“Isn’t that the book about vampires?” Yoongi deadpanned. You slid it toward him, letting him turn the heavy text over to read the soft pink cursive that curled a summary across the back cover. He eyed Namjoon, “You...ordered this?”
“I got a few copies for the shop too,” He ignored Yoongi, addressing you as he instead shoved a stapled packet of paper toward you, bits of other paper and an envelope fluttering to the top of the box in the process. “And I...consulted some of the newer best seller lists and ordered the things that sounded interesting from those. I’ll let you shelve them, if you want.”
“You haven’t read this, have you Joon?” Yoongi continued to gape at the cover, flipping it back over to stare open mouthed at the table of contents.
“I could help you next order too,” You flipped through the list, running your index finger over the highlighted titles, “...if you like.”
“Uhh…” You heard an excessive amount of extra fluttering, peering over the top of the packet in your hand to see him ruffling at the papers and envelopes that had slipped out of his grasp when he passed you the list. You watched as he pried open the singular envelope with crooked index finger on the flap, wincing as he did so. “Yeah...yeah maybe.”
“What?” You asked gently, trying to laugh, “Is that the bill for all this fresh content?”
“Yeah—” Yoongi had stopped where he’d been rubbing at bits of nacho cheese Seokjin had spilled over the counter, watching Namjoon carefully. A smile met his lips, one that never even touched the crinkle around his eyes or the sparkling softness in his irises, “—something like that.”
“Can I tell you something?”
You paused where you’d been mid chopping vegetables, a task you’d handed off to Namjoon only for him to show sizable difficulty with. You tasked him with dishes instead, handing off each new soiled piece for him to dunk in the basin piled high in bubbles. He hesitated with his wrists hidden underneath the suddy mess, fingers holding onto the wire edges of one of the charred racks from within the oven.
After a second, you started again, allowing the slice of metal through the onion slices under your moist fingers to fill the cramped kitchen once more. “Of course,” You glanced at him once you’d finished the row you were on, absently sweeping the pieces back and forth across the cutting board underneath a cupped palm, “What’s up?”
“I’m not very good at ordering books for the store,” He held up a palm when you tried to suppress your reaction, “I know you know this, but I’m just...acknowledging that it’s always been like this. I don’t like to think of myself as pretentious, but I suppose my ordering and stocking habits are a bit on that side.”
“In the beginning, I had a reason for it, or at least, what I convinced myself was a viable reason. I’d purchased the shop after living in the apartment above a quickly failing bakery for far too long. I wanted it to be something that thrived in this secluded little town.”
“Like a bookstore,” You nodded without any sort of teasing or malice. You were a book person, after all. You craved the homey feel of a locally owned bookstore in any crevice of the Earth, probably contributing to some twisted fate in the universe to how you ended up in one particular place in one particular line of employment after being lost on the road for so long.
“Right, but not just any bookstore. I wanted to give the place something unique,” White bubbles gathered and slipped down the length of his knuckles when Namjoon drew his hands out of the water, letting them grip on either side of the sink as he leaned into it, “A scavenger hunt of sorts sounds appealing, right? Once you find the book in the store, there’s some sort of satisfaction to it. Especially if you don’t really know what you’re looking for and you end up stumbling upon an extensive history of stuffed animal fur.”
You wrinkled your nose, “We have that?”
“Somewhere,” Namjoon nodded gravely, cracking a smile at your indignation, “I would have no idea where it is.”
“And to an extent, that business plan works. Keep just enough popular titles to appease to the general public. Keep more obscurity to draw the crowd craving originality. Garner revenue from individuals on any spectrum of literature pretentiousness,” He shrugged, letting his shoulders roll up to his ears as his chin dropped, “It worked for maybe five months. Then the newness wore off.”
“I’ve never really been able to recover even with our normal patronage. Now that there’s appeal for business in neighboring towns, all of us have started to suffer. People would rather stay in a Hilton next to a Panera and shop at the three story Barnes and Noble than tour our locally owned amenities that provide damn near the same thing.”
“Jeongguk and Yoongi have been able to adapt, though,” Namjoon’s shoulders relaxed again, letting his hands dip down into the water to grab at the wire rack. He passed the rough edge of the sponge over the edges now exposed out of the water, soft enough that the fibers barely pulled any of the grime from the utensil. “I can’t seem to find my way out of a rut.”
“Have you tried?”
Namjoon laughed, “I ordered Twilight, didn’t I?”
“But did you order New Moon too? Or the other two books in the series? What about the DVD adaptations?” You started to dice the onion now, speaking to the tiny pieces you nudged aside with the tip of the knife, “Did you put them in alphabetical order? Or did you at least consider creating a young adult section? Or a vampire romance section? I can offer more recommendations—”
“I can’t afford to pay the bills,” Namjoon said gently. “Not...not anymore. Way before I hired you, even.”
You grew silent, letting yourself sink into the lip of the counter top.
“I had to start using my monthly order funds to pay rent on the store. And my personal rent. And the light bill. And…” He sighed, dunking the wire rack a few times in silence to rinse it of the bubbles.
“That’s what those envelopes were today. Notice of eviction.”
Your mouth fished, pursing at the seam of your lips and puffing your cheeks out as you pondered the terrifying thought. Never mind that this was your temporary home and temporary place of employment but this was Namjoon’s livelihood, his greatest accomplishment, his love.
Behind convoluted marketing strategies and a quietly picky selection in what he read in his personal time, there was a man who absolutely adored the power of literature in its simplest form, tangible, physical books. You’d witnessed the way his eyes lit up when the tiny bell at the front of the store tinkled with the arrival of someone new, his long legs and eager persistence quick to beat you out from behind the counter to assist the customer, whether that be to point out a general area as to where something may be located, to recommend something of his own, or to simply offer a casual conversation over a cup of coffee he offered in a floral paper cup from the tiny room underneath the staircase.
“So, what do we do?”
He was puzzled only for a moment, the furrow in his eyebrow traveling upward with the smile that appeared as he dragged his hands out of the water. Massive palms dabbed to his thighs as he backed away from you, bumping into the edge of the counter on his way but he found his target, the massive stack of sliced open mail. Some ruffling with semi damp hands that splattered visible water droplets over the counter later, his pinched fingers appeared triumphant holding a mint colored envelope with a red printed logo stamped on the return address corner.
“There’s uhm…” Namjoon’s fingers pried inside, drawing a folded piece of paper out. Through the back, you could see the same red logo, bold and in the center of the page this time. “One of the companies I order from sent this not too long ago. I don’t know if it’s a sign but it kind of seemed like a sign.”
You abandoned your chopping to accept the paper, now doused in vague water spots, from his grasp. He voiced the contents your squinted eyes began to scan.
“Basically, if we can get sales above a certain threshold by the end of the month, I can apply for a grant worth—” He was in front of you now, reaching his index finger over to hover above a bolded monetary amount, “—that. That would give enough time for you to help me implement some of your ideas…”
“And if none of it works,” Namjoon shrugged, folding the paper back into it’s neat little pamphlet, letting it dangle to his side, “then I guess this wasn’t really meant to be.”
A small part of you envied him in that moment. Perhaps there was more than what presented itself outwardly, but Namjoon was frustratingly calm about simply giving up something he worked so hard to achieve simply because of a couple of setbacks. The yellow folder that triggered you to step off the trunk of Taehyung’s rickety travel van certainly could not relate.
Instead, you blurted, “You want my help?”
His normal composure fractured a bit, longer pauses, hums even, stationed between stumbled words, “If you’d like to, yes, I’d love to have your help. Outside perspective is the only way I’m going to change my ways. I don’t think I could do it, not productively, by myself.”
“And of course, if you’re still around by then,” Cautious brown irises met your own, swimming in something unreadable, a guard almost, “I know you’ve said you aren’t sure when Taehyung will be back. If he does come back—”
“He’ll be back,” The skin behind your neck grew hot with how quickly you assured that, a statement mostly spoken to sate the tiny nagging part of yourself that was left lost with your entire situation as a whole. Namjoon blinked, unwavering, chin twitching just enough to nod.
“But I’d be happy to help for as long as I’m here,” You allowed yourself to smile even if the line wobbled a bit. You resumed your chopping in silence, only long enough to finish off the vegetable underneath your palm before you were sweeping your work space clean, dusting your fingers off in the process.
“Where should be start, boss?”
You were tasked with reorganization while Namjoon took to his computer, conjuring up flyers dedicated to those few events you’d agreed upon after exhausting a list of potential, quick ways to garner attention and profit. Aside from making the store more navigable for the average person (as well as setting aside some funds specifically to order the missing books in series), bringing people into the store seemed like an obvious answer to gaining short (or long) term interest in the store.
An easy way to bring people into the store was to host events.
Armed with three massive stacks of flyers in the basket on the front of Namjoon’s spare bike, you took off on an advertising run. You stopped at Yoongi’s, watching Namjoon wallpaper flyers to the glass windows outside the cafe while Yoongi looked disgruntled between the spaces in the fluttering paper yet made no attempt to remove any of them and quietly took a stack you handed him to hand out to customers as they came in. Jeongguk barely let you get the question out of your mouth, appearing with a sheet of thick, round, metallic stickers of his own design that he used to plaster the various event flyers over the front of his desk and a promise to photocopy the flyers and post them to every gaming community he knew online.
The first event advertised was in connection with the local elementary school, parents pouring through the doors one Wednesday after school while their beaming teacher brought up the rear. You settled them in with fresh baked cookies and hot chocolate while Marie made her rounds, resisting gooey chocolate off of chubby fingers and happily deciding upon a small girl in the corner who was completely enamored with a dinosaur themed pop up book she’d discovered with Namjoon’s help.
You’d watched quietly where he knelt next to her on the shorter shelves, one’s you’d specially arranged for the event and as a way to pinpoint the location of the children's books previously scattered aimlessly about. He’d murmured gently too her, offering books on the shelves she couldn’t quite reach until she made grabby hands at a slightly disgruntled stegosaurus when Namjoon had flipped open the first thick page.
Hoseok, their teacher, drew you out of your fond trance. His arms were filled with educational books, ones a level between the ages he taught and that of high school, glossy pages filled with just enough text and just enough pictures to appeal to all ages. Wavy red hair parted down the middle, fluttering against shining apple cheeks as he beamed giddily at you, rainbow cartoon smiley faces in a repeated pattern on his shirt almost blinding you all the same.
“I did some shopping while you two watched over them,” Hoseok admitted bashfully, a slight pink tinting his ears as he glanced at the book on top of his stack, a midnight blue cover with an abundance of jungle animals spilling across the surface. “I hope they weren’t too bad.”
“Not at all,” You softened, pulling your gaze away from Namjoon when the little girl proudly parked herself in his lap and began to chatter absently about the next dinosaur that popped into view, a triceratops by first glance. “I could give you a discount since they’re for the school?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t—” Hoseok’s eyes widened, tossing his fringe as an absent habit, “—I’d like to support anyway. I feel as if I don’t do that enough lately.”
“It would be no problem.”
He brushed past you to place his towering stack on top of the counter, already digging deep in the pocket of his bright purple jeans. A wad of cash was pushed across to you before you could even begin to swipe barcodes through the system.
“Consider it a donation.”
The dinosaur popup book sold during the event along with a dozen other children’s books that Namjoon assured you were relics, books he’d forgotten were on the shelves at all let alone ones that would sell instantly upon being relocated to an easy to find vicinity (whether that be grouped or closer to the ground where two foot tall humans could scan at eye level).
Other things started to leave too, filling the space in between scheduled events. You saw a fair amount of hand sized romance novels leave the door, ones you plopped randomly onto a singular turnstyle you assembled from multiples hunks of plastic in a dusty cardboard box in the room underneath the staircase, flowery covers with fraying spines shoved into purses and jacket pockets. Magazines started to go, new and old issues alike after you ordered them in stacks on Namjoon’s wooden table as it sat in the front window display. Series started to go as a whole, limited in quantity but at least as a whole rather than in the first and third book with the second book to be ordered from an online delivery or serviced from a nearby chain.
You sold out of crossword puzzle books when the second event came, murder mysteries and a fair few of the popular horror authors leaving the store too when the local florist used the space to teach a beginner’s bouqet workshop. The blonde headed man, Park Jimin in all his charming giggles and devastating smile, brought in his self written gardening manual, giving Namjoon a sizable check to be able to sell them while he did his workshop.
You had every reason to believe it wasn’t the atmosphere of the bookshop that had elderly women kissing red lipstick stains into his blushing cheeks and selling out his small stack of green pamphlets but Namjoon wasn’t one to turn away the check.
“What do you know about daisies?”
Jimin’s expression immediately grew amused, glancing at you from under shaggy fringe as he hunched to untie the cat covered apron pressed to his stature. He freed the knot at his spine, straightening once more as he shrugged it over his head and began to meticulously fold it.
“A lot,” His eyebrow cocked, letting the apron fall to his now empty table, “What are you wanting to know?”
“Let’s say you were trying to grow a plant in a moving van—” You crossed your arms, “—could you do it?”
His nose wrinkled at the bridge, “With a lot of finesse, probably. But if we’re talking about a plant that’s good with traveling...succulents might be a good bet.”
The dip between your thumb and palm itched and you rubbed it at your hip, smiling, “That’s what I figured.”
Locations around the store were progressively growing blurrier each time you glanced up from the harsh lighting off the computer monitor in the shop. There was a soft glow from the moon where it reflected on the floor panels at the front of the room but it didn’t quite reach through the rows of thick shelves (you’d rearranged books, not furniture. Namjoon wouldn’t budget on layout) but otherwise, you worked in the dark, fingers working on muscle memory around the keyboard as you continued to plug in information to the online application.
The events worked, giving the store a two month boost in sales that granted you, at the very least, a chance to save the store. It was just that, a boost, nothing that could sustain long term even with newfound organization and aggressive attempts at community engagement. Even with all that, you lacked the funds to properly distribute across all things that needed tending to, particularly the ordering that would require you to keep up with the amount of product that went out the door after the first event.
It was a curve, one with a sharper downfall than the first.
Creaking on the staircase alerted you to Namjoon’s presence, phone flashlight outlined Marie where she sat cradled in the curve of his elbow. He placed her on the floor when he reached the bottom, allowing him to properly balance the basket curled on his opposite forearm.
“...alright?” He murmured. The wicker container was slid to the counter top next to you as he slid onto the free stool.
You hummed, flicking your index finger up and down the scroll to send the typed text whirring by. “Just about done,” You placed your chin on your shoulder, gaze cutting away from his gentle smile to nod at the basket, “What do you have there?”
“Oh!” Namjoon thumbed at the lid, digging inside to present you with two plastic wrapped sandwiches. He placed those aside, returning with a metal thermos next, followed by two paper plates and forks you recognized from the utensil drawer in the apartment. “I packed us a little paperwork picnic.”
You dragged one of the sandwiches closer, careful in picking apart the wrap to discover sliced tomato, floppy lettuce, and careful strips of bacon stuck between two fresh buns. Lemonade was dunked into two plastic cups by the careful hands of Namjoon, his smile growing when you shot him an inquisitive glance.
“I said packed for a reason,” He teased, nudging you when you pinched at one of the ranch drenched piece of greenery, “Jin insisted I take them when I was picking up lunch earlier.”
“Was the picnic part your idea?” You accepted a glass from him, drawing it to your bottom lip without taking a sip.
His gaze remained unwavering as his hand dipped back inside the basket, tripping it across the glass counter top a bit but managing to retrieve the checkered strip of fabric at the bottom of the basket in the end. It fluttered from its folded position when he lifted it higher, showing that it wasn’t a full checkered blanket but instead a strip of fabric, sheared at the edges and appearing to be a leftover from something sewn. It was just big enough for each of your glasses to sit with a comfortable distance from each other, something Namjoon completely by gently drawing your cup out of your grasp and settling it next to his.
“Maybe,” He watched as you continued to squint at the end of the sandwich, “...that means the food is safe to eat. Promise.”
You let yourself take a sizable bite, chewing thoughtfully through the crunchy bacon. You swallowed, serious into the next nibble you tested, “You have more trust in Seokjin than I do.”
It was quiet as the two of you began to dig into your meals, the first of any sizable food you’d had the entire day as a result of being cooped up in a mountain of tax papers, profit spreadsheets, generic online bell curve generators, and the daunting application that hung on the thread of an accidental click to send its incompleteness spiraling into the cloud of uncertainty for the store.
Your typing resumed in silence too, scrolling rather as you simply scanned over the answers you’d provided for the longer answers, open ended questions reminiscent of essay portions of school applications. The words by themselves registered but the combination of such into sentences didn’t comprehend in your mind, subconscious elsewhere as the pixels flashed through your blurred peripheral by means of your own flicking fingertip.
“So what’s your story?”
The screen stalled at your command, shoulders sagging. Softly, you wiggled the mouse to click out of the screen at hand, bringing up the smiling koala cartoon whose name you’d learned was Koya. “Is this another interview?”
Namjoon’s fingers warmed your wrist, pulling your hand toward him until your stool spun on its own accord. He continued to hold onto your wrist, thumb traveling upward to brush across your knuckles.
“No,” His voice grew warm, quiet for the ambiance created in the quaint shop near the midnight hour, “I only know a fraction of your story, the rising action, maybe? I’m not too sure. I don’t have enough information to even begin to plug it into the imaginary literary equation.”
“You graduated with a literature degree and you have questionable yet defendable taste in books read in your free time,” Namjoon squeezed your skin, “What else am I missing?”
“I write sometimes,” The words came so quick that your conscious had to pause to gather your next thought, trailing your gaze over Namjoon’s head. You squinted, blurring the darkness of the children’s shelves a bit more as you corrected, “I’m a writer.”
“I had a book deal right out of graduation, something I’d worked ages on. Revised three different times to appease to different agents, none of which ended up signing me. Self publishing was an option I just saw the other side. Heard too many pitches that made me a bit too hopeful.”
“And then finally I found someone who wanted to take me on. Who assured me that I could make big waves within their agency. Said they’d never quite seen anything like my writing style, something that didn’t quite fit in my declared genres,” You laughed bitterly, letting your hand drop from Namjoon’s to rub across your lap, “Said they’d never quite heard anyone as headstrong about my particular beliefs either. Said it was a good thing, made me memorable.”
“I got all the way to their corporate office in the city to sign off on the rights. I even went to the effort to type up my notes and my drafts and whatever else I could find—” You offered a smile, “—I prefer handwriting—” sighing, you spread your fingers apart, pressing at the bend in your thumb, “—Had it all stapled and put together in a nice folder.”
“Then they told me they couldn’t sign me. I don’t remember the exact reason. I think I stopped listening to them after my potential agent was called out of the room for a phone meeting with another prospective client.”
A shaky inhale kept the mist of tears that involuntarily gathered in your waterline at bay, gaze darting to your wringing fingers, “Have you ever played that jelly bean game? The one where half the blue ones taste like raspberry and the other taste like disinfectant wipes or something? It kind of felt like that. Going in expecting one thing and leaving with the exact opposite.”
“I didn’t know I could feel that lost,” You admitted out loud, further elaborating, “I had no plan other than that. It seemed like all my other friends were graduating with a perfect bridge into their new lives,” You let yourself smile, “...even Taehyung. He was always planning on traveling after graduation.”
“He never really understood what I was going through. I didn’t expect him to. Like I said, he had his own plans, one that hadn’t included me until a week or two before they were to begin. I don’t blame him for not understanding how to handle me. And in a way...I feel guilty for placing that kind of responsibility on him. He didn’t need to feel obligated to care for me but he did and he always had and for that I’m sorry.”
“I guess I thought doing something impulsive would give me a purpose again. At the very least, maybe it’d renew my purpose. Maybe I’d want to start a whole new book. Maybe I’d want to try self publishing if I forgot about the horrors I endured through the other process,” A tear appeared now, slipping down the bridge of your nose as your lips wrinkled into a shriveled petal and you shook your head, letting your palms lift and fall back into your lap with an audible slap, “Nothing.”
You startled when something scuffed on the floor, gaze focusing on what you could see in front of you once more. Namjoon had shuffled closer, bringing his stool with him until his knees bumped into yours, close enough for the warmth of his palm to cup your cheek this time soft in using the curve of his thumb to collect the stream of tears as they began to fall more freely.
“Can I tell you something?” You murmured, waiting until his silent gaze met yours.
“This gave me a purpose again. You gave me a purpose,” You grinned, some of the excess tears spreading over your tongue, “At first it was just wanting to figure out why this strange man with a cat wanted to arrange his bookstore like that.”
“Old dog new tricks,” Namjoon insisted, voice gentle for the first time since his initial question.
You let both your hands cup his wrist, holding his hand against your face, “You reminded me of my initial purpose. What I grew so far from...that there’s so much warmth in literature and books and the written word.”
“There’s always worth in spreading that type of love to the community,” Your lips curled in the edge, not quite reaching your teeth, “It’d be a shame if you didn’t get to continue to do so.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” The intimacy expanded outward, encasing your statures in a safety bubble when his forehead touched yours, holding you there by means of his hand on your cheek and your fingers around his forearm. He waited until he no longer felt new splashes of tears underneath his diligent thumb before he spoke again.
“Have you ever thought about trying again?”
Namjoon was so close, the warmth bleeding off his dark irises giving your uncertain heart a squeeze. It didn’t cut into your confusion, “Try what?”
“To get another book deal,” He straightened just enough to pick at your opposite cheek with his free hand, placing stray hairs aside in a meticulously soft way, “Just how far have I inspired you, honey?”
You swatted at him, squawking until he held up a hand in surrender.
“I haven’t, not with...that book anyway. Truthfully, I trashed everything but my handwritten notes that day. I think I even impulsively deleted the files or if they’re still out there I wouldn’t know where to find them.”
“I suppose my next question as to if I can read anything by you is moot now.”
“I’m sure there’s some embarrassing poems out there on my undergraduate literary magazine website…”
Namjoon cocked an eyebrow, “That’s a scavenger hunt I’m willing to have.”
“And it’s one I’m willing to help you with—” You giggled, managing to catch his hands when they went to do grabby hands around your body at the computer mouse, “—after we submit this paperwork.”
“Ah, right,” Warm hands landed on your hips, spinning you to face the monitor while a heavy chin settled on your shoulder, “The whole save my passion thing. I suppose the poems can wait.”
You wrote a poem in undergraduate about a divorce as told by the family cat, the detached perspective of an animal who has no conscious understanding of anything in the human world, yet is still watching his life crash before his eyes. He’s not getting food as often. Everyone is always yelling. Suddenly, dad isn’t there anymore. His tiny human, the child of the family, comes and goes in a confusing schedule. But he still has to be a cat.
The script on that section of the university page barely functioned any longer, drawing your poem into mismatched fonts with spacing that surely wasn’t what you’d originally intended. The flit of your gaze over the up and down scroll of the page fit the same detached sense that the cat in the story had.
Life still went on around you as the crippling rejection email for the store grant hovered in the next tab over from your poem. Namjoon’s absent restocking of the shelves at the front of the store proved that.
You clicked out of your poem, letting the etched red logo at the top of the email cover your vision once more as you sighed. A bitter tap of your index finger later and the image was hidden, just leaving the wall of text that was just several different ways to say you didn’t receive the grant. You’d opened all their resource links, those hovering in the next browser over while Koya watched on behind them.
None of those would work, either. You didn’t buy from their partner supplier. Your store square footage wasn’t enough. You didn’t specialize in one specific genre. You didn’t offer library-like services alongside the business aspect.
One tab had the generic question plugged into a search engine, easy ways to make money. You felt like you were applying for school again, scrounging for scholarship opportunities on survey websites that did nothing but implore armies of viruses into your hard drive. Some of those resources still sat in unorganized folders in your email, ones you mindlessly scrolled past with your cheek scrunched into your curled fist, fingernails pressing crescents into your palm the harder you squeezed.
University emails changed from graduation subject lines to assignment subject lines to personal sprinkled within, exchanges with members of group projects or monthly subscriber updates from clubs you participated in.
Junk emails continued to pour in on the daily even if your email was virtually untouched since you’d sat out on the road which meant the folder continued to dump an unprecedented amount of data into your deleted file never to be cleaned out where you used to diligently empty it. You did that with a clear conscience, a small victory in your hazy consciousness as your finger misjudged and you found your drafts opening.
There was a singular email, the body text left blank and the subject line half typed. Manuscript...A tiny paper clip indicated that something was attached.
For a second, you feared you’d overloaded Namjoon’s system with the file size until the PDF materialized across the screen, blank at first until the last of the near eighty pages downloaded and you found yourself face to face with the typed contents of your lost yellow folder.
Your laughter drew Namjoon from his task, his silhouette shadowing over what was already dark in the store, another late night venture between the two of you when the news of rejection had the both of you searching for something to do that wasn’t nothing. He was smiling at first until he caught a sheen on your cheeks, laughter slowly materializing into sobs before he could properly reach you.
He uttered your name, hip catching on the edge of the counter as he lunged for you yet reeled back at the glaring title on the screen. The initial hug his instinct wished to provide stalled, hands instead landing on your shoulders as he squeezed.
“What’s this?”
“I think this thing is haunting me,” You groaned miserably, “Either that or your computer itself is haunted.”
Namjoon kept a firm grip on you as he shook the mouse, minimizing the tab and all the others until Koya’s smiling face spread across the screen. Gentle pressure turned you, hands leaving to spread palm up, fingers wiggling.
Softly, Namjoon encouraged, “Let’s go to bed.”
Marie’s meow managed to piece some of the scrambled pieces together once your slow advancements at the lead of Namjoon’s hand paused, leaving you to realize this isn’t your room.
“This is your room,” You audibly expressed, flinching away from one of the two foot tall character’s he had curled in the doorway.
He let go of your hand to allow you to make your decision, assuring that his searching gaze ducked to find your own. “Is that okay?”
Your whimper welcomed the stretch of one of his hoodies across your torso, snug to the fresh coffee ground and fresh rain scent that clung to his duvet as long fingers tucked it around your body. He settled in next to you, just close enough to stroke at your cheek with his thumb and the flat of his mouth.
“Hey Namjoon?”
He shifted closer, curled knees encasing yours as his fingertips began to stroke down the back of your head. “Yeah, love?”
“Do you want to try again?” You regarded him with just your eyes, mouth and nose hidden underneath the hem of his sheets. “To keep the store?”
His lips lingered on your forehead this time, cradling the back of your head until the shaking of your shoulders subsided. The tip of his nose pulled back to brush where yours would be underneath the blanket, nodding so the skin brushed accidentally a second time.
“What else is there to do?”
You found a warm bagel and a handwritten note on a napkin in place of Namjoon’s stature when you woke. Raw eyes found it difficult to decipher the shapes he’d quickly scrawled with a blunt tipped marker but somehow you made out store. You abandoned the plated bagel and headed for the staircase.
“If that’s not Marie I don’t want you down here,” A laughing voice ordered your descend when you’d barely made it to the fourth stair.
“Why?”
“Did you not read my note?”
“It said that you were working in the store.”
“And that you’re not allowed down here yet.”
You continued your descent a few slow stairs at a time, “I won’t look.”
Namjoon snorted, an image you saw when you already broke your promise to find him seated at the counter completely swamped in crafting materials. Strips of construction paper, jagged cardboard, stacks of printer paper still half hanging out of their packages.
“What are you doing? DIY decorations?”
He looked up where he was furiously spinning a shard of pipe cleaner, “I thought you said you wouldn’t look.”
“Oops,” You shrugged, bare feet chilled all the way up your legs to where your sleep shorts began as you shuffled toward him, squinting at the mass chaos he’d created. Your gaze trailed upward from the browns and purples and metal utensils, starting to offer a generic question once more until you found your manuscript still open on the computer monitor. “What are you…Namjoon what are you doing?”
He grunted into the last spin of his fingers, securing the last, electric blue pipe cleaner in the poorly jabed hole through the top of the object he held in whitening knuckles. An audible breath slipped through his lips, hanging ajar for a second before his lips drew upward into a smile.
“I, uhm,” Namjoon thrust the object toward you, “I made you something.”
It appeared to be made of three separate pieces of cardboard, a front and back cover with a sizable strip bent to accommodate either, acting as a mock spine. Purple construction paper was glued over the brown substance, dobs of glue staining some of the edges but flat otherwise. A trio of electric blue pipe cleaners sat in neatly spaced, tightly spun balls on the far left side, binding the ball of pages instead that had already begun to bend at the cardboard covers. The same messy handwriting that covered the napkin now forgotten in Namjoon’s bed graced the front, the title of the novel larger than your name. The back held similar penmanship, the synopsis you’d provided to various companies scrawled just above a tiny, attempted portrait of you.
“I know you said you got rid of the other one but if you ever wanted to try again, you know, to get it published—” Namjoon smiled, tucking his arms between his legs shyly as he leaned toward you, “—now you have a potential mock up to show them, too.”
You kissed him with your palm pressed into the pair of scissors he’d dropped when he heard you descend down the stairs, body leaned awkwardly over the counter until he stood to intercept you. His palm held onto the side of your neck while you clutched the book to your chest, breathing into the open seam of his lips.
“Thank you so much.”
“I’d make you ten more copies if you wanted me to.”
Your laughter stopped just a hair short of kissing him again when there was a knocking at the front door, gentle at first and then frantic when you jumped away from Namjoon. Through the spaces in the shelves, you could see Jeongguk, his over exaggerated waving growing smaller as you and Namjoon approached.
“Was I…” Jeongguk’s gaze flashed to Namjoon’s flushed cheeks when you pulled the door open, “Was I interrupting something?”
Namjoon did an astounding job of holding in his irritation, “What do you need, Guk?”
“Oh!” He perked up again, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. A sheet of paper was thrust against your chest, “Special delivery. You need to look at it now.”
“What—”
“No time to explain,” Jeongguk shot you a thumbs up, taking backward steps that had him stumbling over pieces of gravel on the sidewalk as he went to dash in the opposite direction of the hotel, “See you later!”
Namjoon went for the sheet of stickers while you came to inspect the tiny piece of notebook paper balanced on top of it.
“Are those tiny aloe plants?” He continued to awe, pointing at the characters on the sheet.
Hey dove, good news! I found your folder. If you want it uhm...look up. I guess.
Taehyung stood across the street, hair entirely longer than how’d you’d left him, adorned in a matching baggy grey sweatsuit with your yellow folder clutched against his chest.
He braced for the impact of your arms throwing themselves around his neck yet still managed to stumble back two or three paces in a fit of laughter as you clung to him. “Hey there,” He greeted, nose in your hair as he managed to properly weave his arms around your waist and squeeze. “How’ve you been?”
The initial joy seized in your heart as you pulled away to look at him, softening, “I’m not going to go back with you.”
Taehyung’s grin grew wider, all geometric edges and bouncing fringe as he nodded. A gentle understanding, leaning in closer to murmur, “I didn’t think you would, kid, not from the second you stepped out of the van—” After a second, he said a bit louder, “—and besides. That’s not what I asked you.”
You hummed thoughtfully, glancing over your shoulder to where Namjoon continued to regard the interaction fondly. You smiled, turning back to Taehyung.
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
He shook his head, gentle in sliding his hands down your arms before taking your hands, shaking them gently between your bodies, “I’m not going to stay much longer,” One hand left you to take the folder he’d shoved underneath his arm, “Just wanted to bring you this.”
You took it gently, rubbing thoughtfully at the old rip in the spine. A few more had joined it from whatever turmoil it had endured in the last months. “Where did you find it?”
“I’d put it underneath your seat when I cleaned. To keep it safe,” Taehyung’s smile was regretful and amused all the same, “Forgot I put it there…”
“Are your succulents okay?”
“Mhm…” His hand cupped yours where you held the folder, “You still haven’t answered me. Are you okay?”
Another involuntary glance behind you to Namjoon who offered you a thumbs up this time. “Yeah,” You nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, Taehyung, I’m great.”
Taehyung’s smile was equally as fond, nodding once to your rapid ones, “I’m glad…” He trailed off, patting the folder in your grasp, “Well I, uhm, just came to return that to you so—”
“Can you keep it?”
“What?”
“Can you keep it safe for me?” You pressed the folder back against his chest, “I don’t think I need it anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah I can…” Taehyung gradually pulled it closer until it was hugged against his chest, taking a step backward, “Yeah. I’ll keep it safe.” He made prolonged eye contact with you, smiling, “I’ll see you?”
“Of course,” You touched his chest, “And hey, Tae?”
“Hmm?”
You patted him and then your folder.
“Don’t get lost out there.”
#bts reactions#bts scenarios#bts imagines#bts x reader#namjoon imagines#bts fluff#namjoon fluff#namjoon x reader#fic: lost
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BTS Reaction: Staying Inside With Them
Jin:
The two of you set up in your living room, pulling the coffee table in front of you, resting on it the console that connected to the television, Jin passing you a controller once it was all switched on. “I hope you’re prepared to lose; I am the king of this game, no one has ever beaten me.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” you chuckled, snatching the controller from him, resting your feet on his lap.
“Is this your way of distracting me?” He asked, tickling his fingers lightly against your soles.
Your head shook, tapping against his leg. “I don’t need to do anything to distract you, I already know I’m going to win this. Only a cheat would do such a thing.”
“Even JK hasn’t beaten me, and he always wins everything else.”
“It’s a good job I’m not JK then,” you reminded him, “don’t get complacent, I’ve got nothing else to be doing right now, so I’ve been getting a fair it of practice in.”
His eyes widened, giggling, “how come you never told me about that?”
“I’m not going to tell you what I’ve been doing, that would be giving you an advantage,” you warned, “now, are we going to play, or not?”
“Oh, it’s on, prepare to be humiliated Y/N.”
Yoongi:
His light snores next to you were making you chuckle, most of the morning had been and gone, but he was still fast asleep, making the most of the time he had at home with you. “Yoongi, you do know you have to get up at some point today? Staying at home doesn’t mean we can do nothing.”
“It sounds like a great idea to me,” he teased, reluctantly opening his eyes, smiling across at you.
“We’ve still got things to do, you’ve still got work to do,” you reminded him, giggling as his eyes rolled in displeasure.
He tapped his shoulder, moving you down to lay against him, “work can wait, it’s got plenty of time. Don’t you want to just lay with me for a while?”
“Of course, but it would be nice to do something whilst we do.”
“How about a movie day then,” he suggested, “now more than ever is the perfect time to start a franchise or have a super long movie marathon.”
You nodded, “you’ll just fall asleep like you always do.”
“I won’t promise,” he argued, sitting up in the bed to make his point, “there’s no chance I will sleep, I want to stay awake with you.”
“Alright, then let’s set the laptop up then.”
Hoseok:
He set up his tripod and camera, making room in your living room for the two of you, looking at the viewfinder to make sure it was perfect. “I just want to be absolutely sure that you know the routine, because we can go through it one more time if you want us to, it’s not a problem.”
“It’s Chicken Noodle Soup, trust me, I know what I’m doing,” you assured him, bouncing around whilst he set it up.
“The fans are going to love watching this,” he smiled, placing the camera on a timer, getting into position beside you.
You chuckled, going through the routine in your head one last time. “I bet they’re really interested in what we’re doing at home.”
“You’d be surprised, the number of messages I receive asking the question.”
Just as he finished speaking, the camera beeped and the recording began, the two of you going through the chorus twice, with big smiles on your faces.
“Let’s watch it back, I’m excited to see it,” he chuckled, grabbing his camera.
“I’m pretty sure I messed it up halfway through,” you laughed, sitting down beside him as he played it back, smiling at how the two of you looked.
“I love that, and the fans will love it too.”
Namjoon:
Being stuck indoors, you knew that Namjoon couldn’t take it as an excuse to forget about work, but the majority of his time was spent in his studio going through all his lyrics. “Namjoon, do you fancy dragging yourself away from the computer for a few moments? I’m getting worried about you.”
“You don’t need to, I’m happy just here,” he smiled, tapping at his desk, turning back to his desktop.
“You need time for yourself away from it all,” you argued, walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
He looked up, flashing you a wide smile. “I just need to get all of this done, it’s harder being at home when I can’t talk to anyone, everything takes so much more time.”
“I appreciate that, but a break will probably do you more good.”
“You’re probably right,” he sighed, resting back against your tummy. “I’m lucky I’ve got you to look after me, aren’t I? Always keeping an eye on me.”
You nodded, kissing his forehead. “So, will you come and take a break?”
“Yeah, you’ve managed to convince me, we could do something together, I’ve got a new jigsaw in the wardrobe,” he suggested.
“As long as you’re not working, I’m happy.”
Jimin:
Being at home gave him the perfect chance to get in contact with all the fans, sitting in his studio with you by his side, he pressed live on the V Live app, waving to all the fans. “We’re getting really bored stuck at home, so we thought we’d come and say hello.
“How are you all doing? Let us know what you’re up to,” he spoke, beginning to scroll through the thousands of comments you received.
“We’re looking for ideas of dome fun things to do,” you requested, smiling at them all.
Great ideas soon came in, you tried your best to write as many of them down as you could before they went past. “Being at home is harder than I thought it would be.”
“He’s still used to being on the road, and apparently I’m boring.”
“That’s not true,” he chuckled, jabbing your side. “We’ve just been doing so much together, we thought we’d come on here for something different to do.”
“He’s missing you all really, that’s what this is about.”
He nodded, resting against your side. “She’s not wrong, I’m missing all the Army and listening to you all singing and watching you dance to the music.”
“I’m pretty happy to have him home though.”
Taehyung:
Your family was never just the two of you, Yeontan was always on hand to keep the two of you on your toes, whenever you got bored, he was there to bring a smile back to your face. “I think he wants to go out for a while, his ball is in the basket by the back door.”
“You’re coming too, he loves you more than me, Taehyung chuckled, pulling you up from the sofa to the back door.
“It’s cold and windy, you can’t do this to me,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around him.
Around your legs, Yeontan ran around, barking in excitement. “How can you argue with that handsome face? He wants you to come out with us too.”
“Don’t guilt me with the dog, you know he’s my weakness.”
“Then listen to him and come play, fresh air will do you good,” he encouraged, opening the back door, the breeze sending a shiver down your spine.
You sighed, reluctantly following him out. “I hate you for this.”
“That’s not true, you love the two of us so much,” he teased, throwing his ball before wrapping his arms around you. “We’re your favourites.”
“You’re not wrong, you are my favourites.”
Jungkook:
He pulled the box down from the loft, it was packed with board games that you’d collected over the years, perfect for times like this when the two of you were indoors together. “I’ve already spotted Monopoly, that is a must, I am a master at building the best houses, and winning all the money.”
“Well, I’ve spotted Scrabble, and I’m always the winner then,” you pointed out, snatching it from the top of the box to hold onto.
“If anything is going to break us, it’s going to be our competitiveness,” he chuckled.
You nodded, helping him place the box down, “you’re probably not wrong, but just so you know, I will beat you at all of these.”
“Why don’t we put a stake on it, make it a challenge.”
“How about for every game someone loses, they are the ones responsible for cooking dinner that night,” you suggested, “but they also have to wash the dishes after.”
“I like the sound of that, I always enjoy your food.”
Your head shook, rolling your eyes. “It’s a shame that you won’t be able to taste it for a while, but I promise I will enjoy eating every one of your meals.
“You could not be more wrong about this.”
---
Masterlist
#bts#bts imagine#bts reaction#bts reactions#bts scenario#bts scenarios#jin imagine#yoongi imagine#hoseok imagine#namjoon imagine#jimin imagine#taehyung imagine#jungkook imagine#jin#yoongi#hoseok#namjoon#jimin#taehyung#jungkook#bangtan#bangtan sonyeondan#kpop#kpop reaction
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