hero and a killer

mark my words (m)

pairing: reader x sugar daddy!kim namjoon

genre/components: smut, crack, fluff // kim namjoon had money and a taste for sweet little things with the sharpest tongues 

count: 15,548 words

also extended, rewritten, crossposted to ao3 as minjoon

a/n: for anon who requested it months ago im so sorry this took so long but i hope it was worth :^) 

The blinking line on his blank document was laughing at him. He swore it was laughing at him and has been laughing at him for the past half an hour since he sat down and fired up the program. One word, backspace. Three words, backspace. One fucking sentence, he fucking backspaced. He let out a growl of frustration as he pushed back from his desk, rubbing his eyes as if the pain would clear up any part of his brain – preferably the one that didn’t make him sound like a five year old storybook. He might as well have typed “The wife is a sadist who accidentally killed her husband mid-fuck.”

Grabbing his robe, he quickly tugged it on and padded over to the kitchen to pour himself a blistering hot cup of coffee. His answering machine had picked up seven missed calls, probably from his editor cursing him out for missing his calls.

He couldn’t be bothered to listen to any of them or even handle his editor’s desire to tear him a new one when he was so tempted to do it himself. His last book had been published a few months ago. Usually, by the time one was stocked up on the shelves, he’d be working on the next as he cashed in whatever the latest one was making. However, with the last few miserable months, everything he printed looked like a shit stain on a piece of paper. Even his editor, who was down to his last string of patience, thought so.

Things used to come naturally to Namjoon. All the sophisticated whatnot, all the carefully intricate plots that wove themselves onto the blank pages in fabricated fiction. He didn’t know what happened to him. He’s never had a muse except for his own messed-up life so it wasn’t possible that (as what his readers and critics believed at least) his inspiration had evaporated into thin air.

Namjoon perhaps knew what had been happening, what he saw from three books away. But he wasn’t about to fucking admit it because that shit didn’t happen to the genius, versatile writer, Kim Namjoon. Whatever he wrote turned into gold, selling nearly as many copies as the holy Bible. If his jittery nerves wasn’t enough evidence of his problem, then the coffee cup shaking in his earthquake of a hand was. As the realization sank in, he was finally hit with the cold hard truth.

Kim Namjoon had hit writer’s block.

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ok but i feel like we’re underappreciating Yoongi’s dancing skills a lot, like god damn son, you move fine af and you wanted to be a producer? bless whoever decided on him becoming an idol tbh. we keep thirsting over the dance line’s dancing skills and we praise Namjoon and Seokjin on how much they’ve improved but we’re missing out on the background silent killer hero that Yoongi is. like really, why aren’t we talking about this????? and i don’t mean that Yoongi is a good dancer ‘for a rapper’, i mean that he can actually dance really well, maybe he isn’t a born dancer with the feel like Jimin or Hoseok but holy shit he has the MOVES. he is so good seriously smh wake up america

anonymous asked:

Could you possibly give me any prompts about a female killer and a male cop that like each other? They flirt but know they can't go further because she's planning to leave and he's supposed to enforce the law.

• She’s actually a test for the officer to assess him on whether he will uphold the law or be over shadowed by his emotions.

• “What if you’ve been luring me in this whole time to kill me?”

“My typical victims aren’t as handsome as you are; you know that.”

• She uses him, feigning attraction/trust/etc. to gain information about the investigation on her.

• “This… Us… It can’t happen.”

“I know; long distance relationships hardly ever work.”

“That’s the least of our problems.”

• “Come on,” she purred, sliding her perfect nails lightly down his cheek. “A goodbye kiss.”

He clenched his jaw and brushed past her, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “This is so wrong. You’re a murderer. You’re crazy, violent, unpredictable, incredibly-”

“Attractive,” she interjected.

He rolled his eyes. “Incredibly problematic. Now, you’re leaving.
If you stay another day, I’ll turn you in.”

“Oh threatening me now, are you? As you said, I’m the bad guy here. But I’ll comply as long as I get that kiss.”

• The cop is falsely accused of an awful crime, so he flees the authorities. He seeks the killer for help.

• “I could kill you right now.”

“I know you can, but you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re too fascinated by me, the concept that a stereotypical good guy hasn’t turned a criminal like you in.”

“True, but that fascination has come to a close. I’m leaving. Mention me at all, and I’ll come back to kill you. Fascinating or not.”

• “You’re as bad as me.”

“I’ve never killed anyone.”

“The world will not be destroyed by those who do evil, but by those who watch them without doing anything- Albert Einstein.”

“You’re not evil. Misdirected, but not evil.”

• She leaves, gains a new identity, and comes back, training to be a cop in order to make up for her past actions.

• She evades ever being caught, and he’s convicted of knowingly aiding a criminal. One day, she breaks him out.

It is a beautiful thing to be as trusting as you are, darling
But it is a dangerous thing all the same.
If you are so trusting, you’ll reach out
And grasp onto the hand of the first boy your desperate fingers reach
And expect him to pull you back up the cliff
Perplexed and stunned when he leaves you dangling,
Dependent and needy and vulnerable
And no closer to safety than you were on your own.
Girls who are too trusting hold their breath
As they sink to the floor, hiding in the closet
Knowing if they make a single noise
He’ll find you, and you don’t want him to find you.
Girls who are too trusting wind up with boys
Who give you aches and broken bones
And the prettiest little bruises just for you
“This will just be our little secret, baby-girl”
Girls like you, too trusting wind up with boys like him
Who call them dollies and treat them like them too
He knocks the wind out of you
He wraps his hands around your neck
He gives himself an excuse to give you mouth-to-mouth.
“Call me your hero, baby. Call me your god.”
You’re not my hero. You’re my killer.
—  Do Not Be So Trusting, By Elena Shandro