#Hash String

[danielnelsen]

god how many months years is it gonna take me to learn my way around the veilguard files in frosty gahhh

[gojos-nightmare-box]

shaking my fist at the sky crying leetcode

[zepskies]

'Twas the Night...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean listens, sometimes when you least expect it. This year, Christmas begins to become something new for both of you.    

AN: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa gift for @eldritchlibertine! The idea is based on this request from @whichwitchwanda (a story prompted from the header image).

Word Count: 2.4K

Tags/Warnings: Fluff and more fluff! Christmas feels. ❤️

A door burst open, and your eyes raised from the page. You nearly dropped your book into your lap when you saw it—the wide, bristled top of an evergreen tree trying to shove its way through the door of the bunker.

Or rather, it only seemed that way.

All the way up at the top of the rod iron staircase, grumbled cursing and muttering and arguing filtered down to you in the common room, where you were leaning back in your seat with an old copy of Wuthering Heights. You sat up, an incredulous smirk beginning to curve your lips.

“Dean, it’s not gonna fit.” That was Sam, obviously. You’d recognize his testy bitching anywhere.

“You kiddin’ me? All that work I spent sawing this thing outta the ground, I’m gonna damn well make it fit. Come on, put your big boy pants on.”

The equally familiar gruff, grousing tone of your man’s voice almost made you snort. You set down the book on the table and debated whether you were going to get up and try to help, or let them hash it out. You were surprised they hadn’t called out for you yet.

After a few more seconds of listening to their frustrated huffing and puffing, you shook your head and got up. You reached the top of the stairs, and their sounds of irritated, breathless struggle became even clearer.

“Dean,” Sam protested.

“Shut up. I’ve almost got it…”

“You’re gonna break the damn frame—”

“Something tells me you didn’t get this thing at Home Depot,” you remarked.

There was a pause, and Dean called your name questioningly. He also sounded a bit embarrassed.

“Yep, I’m here, Chevy Chase,” you said, laughing as you grabbed the branches that were stuck in the doorway. You bent them at the angle the guys needed to get the whole thing inside, and all too quickly you had to step out of the way as Sam and Dean broke through the doorway with the rest of the tree.

Sam caught himself on the wall, while Dean threw a hand out to grasp at the railing of the stairs. You grabbed Dean’s arm to help steady him. Once he had his feet planted, he slung an arm around your waist and looked down on you with a satisfied smile—one that he then aimed at Sam.

“See? Told you it would fit.”

“Where did you even get this thing?” you asked. You eyed Dean in curiosity, even as you were helping him stream the lights around this seven-foot monstrosity. You’d also taken great delight in putting on some holiday music. Now, Frank Sinatra’s “White Christmas” was playing from a Bluetooth speaker on the War Room table.

Dean shot you a distracted smile as he worked in concentration, bringing a string of lights around the part of the tree that was closest to the wall. He handed off the other end to you, and you wrapped the line of multicolored lights around.

“Eh, there’s a nice bit of forest a few miles out of town,” he said. Your brows raised high. You’d suspected, of course, but you still shook your head with a smile.  

“You know you need a permit for that, right?” you said.

“I tried to tell him,” said Sam. He was on his way up the stairs, heading out back to the car to get the box of ornaments he and Dean bought at Walmart this morning along with the pretty multicolored lights, all while you were still sleeping.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother, but just kept focused on his task. Once he started something, he had to finish it, you noticed. And when he got into something, he was Mr. DIY, putting in his all. You liked watching the crunch between his brows, the set of his lips, the sureness of his hands while he mentally calculated what they were going to accomplish next.

Most of all, you liked the look of self-satisfaction when he was done, and happy with his finished product. It didn’t matter if he was tuning up the Impala, making a home-cooked meal for the three of you, or decorating a wild tree. That face was the same. 

“Illegally obtained tree aside,” you said, not bothering to temper your smile, “I thought you guys didn’t really celebrate Christmas. Or any holidays, for that matter.”

Dean gave you a small grin, though again, he seemed a little embarrassed. He freed one of his hands to scratch at the back of his head.

“Yeah, well…weren’t you the one who was talking about the Christmases you had growing up?” he said.

You blinked, your mouth gently falling open in surprise. That had been a couple weeks ago, when the first snow of December began to fall over Lebanon. Late that night, after settling into bed together, you’d turned towards him in his arms. Maybe it was the turn of the season making you nostalgic, but somehow the conversation drifted into you making a confession, about what you missed the most about your family.

Your parents had passed on, and your sister was distant. She had her own family and her own life, and she wanted to keep it far away from the things you hunted. You couldn’t blame her, even if the thought of her always pierced your heart.

Beyond than that, what you missed was the house where you grew up, small but cozy and lived in. You missed the smell of pine and cinnamon that filled the living room every day of December. You missed the nights you and your sister curled up by the fire late at night playing imaginary games, long after your parents’ had put you guys to bed. You missed your mother’s cooking, and helping her bake molasses cookies on Christmas Eve.

You missed togetherness, the feeling of warmth and safety.

You tilted your head at Dean.

“Yeah, but…” you trailed, not willing to finish the thought as another suspicion grew in your mind.

“Just thought we could do some of that this year for you, that’s all,” he said. And he shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. His hands were busy untangling some lights. “Matter of fact, we could all use the time off.”

You couldn’t help but pause. Your breathing shallowed, and no matter how much you fought it, tears stung in your eyes. You bit your lip to try and hold it all at bay. When Dean glanced up at you, he had to do a double take. It made you smile, despite your slightly blurring vision.

“Hey, what—”

You dropped your end of the lights and went to him. You raised up on your toes so you could wrap your arms around his neck in a warm hug. Dean uttered a surprised huff, but his arms came around your waist and gathered you closer. He soon realized he was still holding onto the tangle of lights, and he hung them on a nearby tree branch for now. His smile overtook his surprise and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I love you. You know that right?” Your voice was muffled in his neck, but he heard you well enough. He chuckled and slipped a soothing hand up and down your back.

“I do know, actually,” he said, his voice warm and teasing.

A giggle escaped you. You tugged on his short hair in retaliation, making him chuckle.

“Hey,” he warned, but it had heat of a different kind. His hand began venturing down to your ass, but before he could do some retaliating of his own, a door swung open and Sam came down the stairs hefting a couple different boxes of ornaments.

He raised a brow, though he smiled at the way you and his brother were entwined. You half pulled away to nod at Sam, sniffling at quickly wiping at your face. Dean dried some of the wetness from the corner of your eye with a curled finger. You glanced up at him and couldn’t help blushing, smiling, despite your embarrassment.

Dean still had an arm wrapped around your waist as you peered over at the boxes Sam set down near the tree. One of them caught your attention and made your eyes widen.

“Oh my God. They’re Scooby Doo themed!”

The rest of the afternoon was spent decorating the tree with Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby echoing throughout the common room. After you made a trip to the grocery store, soon the smell of cinnamon, brown sugar and rich molasses joined the scent of pine throughout the entire bunker.

It was a Christmas Eve well spent. The night was filled with a rewatch marathon of Home Alone and Christmas Vacation. You agreed to Dean throwing in Elf into the mix, as long as you got to watch Love Actually, and The Holiday with Jude Law. Dean complained more than Sam about your girly chick-flicks, but he became just as invested in Colin Firth pouring his heart out in mangled Portuguese to Aurelia as you were, if less teary-eyed.

When The Holiday came around though, he was half asleep as he laid sprawled across your lap and the couch. Your nails gently massaging his scalp nearly did him in, along with Sam’s heavy-ass pour of eggnog. It was tradition, at this point.

By the end of the movie marathon, you were the one snoozing from your corner of the couch, your hand still in Dean’s hair.

He carried you to bed that night, your eyelids heavy as you teetered back and forth between slumber and the waking world. At least you were already in your pajamas. All he had to do was tuck you under the sheets on your side of the bed, then slip in behind you afterwards.

His arm draped around your waist, and you curled towards him, half on instinct as you let out a deep breath. Dean smiled as you settled against his chest. Your soft snores soon greeted his ears. Only then did he let himself rest…

Just not for long.

You woke earlier than you planned to in the morning, mainly because your man pillow was no longer beside you. You reached out a hand and found Dean’s side of the bed empty and cold, the covers pulled back. With a frown, you opened bleary eyes and checked your phone. It was around the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m.

What the hell was Dean doing up at the crack of dawn?

Unless… You paused as your memory served you a grim reminder. Unless he’d had a rough night, kept up by memories and dreams he didn’t always want to talk to you about. It wouldn’t be the first time he came back to bed after a few hours with the heady smell of bourbon on him.

You got up with a sigh, rolling your neck as you did so. You just wanted to check on him. Maybe you could even persuade him to come back to bed.

You threw on a sweater over your pajamas and some fluffy slippers Sam bought you for your birthday—all to shield you from the bunker’s chilly air and ice-cold floors. You’d have to remind Dean to check on the heater.

You padded out of the bedroom and down the long hall…and became distracted by the Christmas tree in the common room. It really was beautiful all lit up. The lights softly flashed in green, red, purple, and gold. Traditional red and gold ornaments hung beside the Scooby Doo themed ones, with Fred and Daphne front and center, along with the rest of the gang scattered throughout.

And then you found Dean.

“Damn it…friggin’ piece of shit ribbon…” 

Dean’s muttering drew your attention to his hunched figure kneeling at the base of the tree. Your head tilted in wonder as your face broke out into a smile. What the hell is he doing? You tried to be light on your feet as you approached him from behind. Peering over his shoulder, you could almost see what he was trying do with some shiny red wrapping paper and a big golden bow.

Your heart swelled. Had he really gotten you and Sam something for Christmas too? He didn’t need to get you anything…

Dean’s hunter reflexes must’ve been tingling though, because suddenly he sat up straighter and looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw you standing there in your pajamas, arms crossed over your robe.

He actually jolted, muttering a curse as he tried to cover up what he was doing.

“What’cha doin’, babe?” you asked. Your eyes gleamed with amusement.

Dean tried to get up, but his foot slipped on a stray ribbon. He careened back onto his ass and knocked into the tree. Not only did its branches poke into his face and arm, making him wince, but he managed to displace a couple of ornaments, sending them tumbling to the floor by his hand. He grunted and raised up onto his forearms. For the pièce de résistance, that lovely golden bow landed right in his lap.

With raised brows, you took in the sight of your man—all bedraggled and looking sheepish (and adorable) as hell. Your hand went up to cover your mouth, but you were unable to quiet the giggle that bubbled up and escaped your lips.

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey.”

You glanced down at the bow, almost perfectly placed in his lap.

“Hey,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile.

You lowered down to kneel in front of him, and you took his face in your gentle hands before you leaned in for a sweet, sensuous kiss. Dean breathed into it. Your eyes shut along with his as you savored the moment, and him.

When you parted, your smile remained as you fingered the shiny edge of the bow. Dean began to smirk as well, despite how warm his face had gotten. His big hands found their way to your hips, welcoming you when you took a comfortable seat over his thighs.

You whispered against his lips, “I already know which present I’m gonna unwrap first.” 

AN: Lol there we go, a cheeky ending for you! Let me know if you liked this! ❤️💚

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@dmz1975

[todays-xkcd]

Hint: If you ever encounter this puzzle in a crossword app, just [term for someone with a competitive and high-achieving personality].

A Crossword Puzzle [Explained]

Transcript

[A square 15x15 crossword puzzle is shown. Only 21 of the 225 squares are black. The black squares are in a pattern that are 180 degree rotationally symmetrical. Three black squares down from the 11th column and similarly three black squares up from the 5th column. Three black squares out from the right in row 7 and then two more black squares diagonally up from the end. Similarly three black squares out from the left in row 9 with two more black squares diagonally down from the end. A single black square is three above the first black square on the diagonal going down to the right and similarly there is a black square three under the first of the diagonal squares going down to the left. (Row 6 column 12 and Row 10 column 4). Finally there are three black squares on a diagonal crossing over the central point by going up from the left through the central point (Row 8 column 8). There are numbers at the top of every column (except the one that is a black square) and similarly at the left edge of all rows (except the one that is a black square). There are also numbers at the bottom of every black segment (except the one that reaches the bottom) and all rows after black segments except the one that reaches the right edge. In total all numbers from 1 to 51 is written. They are written in reading order from 1 to 51.]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

[Below the square there are two rows of clues for each number that belongs to across (rows) and to the right there are one row of clues for each number that belongs to down (columns). Both segments have an underlined and bold title above the clues. ]

'''Across'''

1. Famous Pvt. Wilhelm quote

11. IPv6 address record

15. "CIPHERTEXT" decrypted with Vigenère key "CIPHERTEXT"

16. 8mm diameter battery

17. "Warthog" attack aircraft

18. Every third letter in the word for "inability to visualize"

19. An acrostic hidden on the first page of the dictionary

21. Default paper size in Europe

22. First four unary strings

23. Lysine codon

24. 40 CFR Part 63 subpart concerning asphalt pollution

25. Top bond credit rating

26. Audi coupe

27. A pair of small remote batteries, when inserted

29. Unofficial Howard Dean slogan

32. A 4.0 report card

33. The "Harlem Globetrotters of baseball" (vowels only)

34. 2018 Kiefer song

35. Top Minor League tier

36. Reply elicited by a dentist

38. ANAA's airport

41. Macaulay Culkin's review of aftershave

43. Marketing agency trade grp.

44. Soaring climax of Linda Eder's ''Man of La Mancha''

46. Military flight community org.

47. Iconic line from ''Tarzan''

48. Every other letter of Jimmy Wales's birth state

49. Warthog's postscript after "They call me ''mister'' pig!"

50. Message to Elsa in ''Frozen 2''

51. Lola, when betting it all on Black 20 in ''Run Lola Run''

“Down

1. Game featuring "a reckless disregard for gravity"

2. 101010101010101010101010 [sub]2→16

3. Google phone released July '22

4. It's five times better than that ''other'' steak sauce

5. ToHex(43690)

6. Freddie Mercury lyric from ''Under Pressure''

7. Full-size Audi luxury sedan

8. Fast path through a multiple choice marketing survey

9. 12356631 in base 26

10. Viral Jimmy Barnes chorus

11. Ruby Rhod catchphrase

12. badbeef + 9efcebbb

13. In Wet Let's ''Ur Mum'', what the singer has been practicing

14. Refrain from Nora Reed bot

20. Mario button presses to ascend Minas Tirith's walls

24. Vermont historic route north from Bennington

26. High-budget video game

28. Unorthodox Tic-Tac-Toe win

29. String whose SHA-256 hash ends "...689510285e212385"

30. Arnold's remark to the Predator

31. The vowels in the fire salamander's binomial name

32. Janet Leigh ''Psycho'' line

34. Seven 440Hz pulses

37. Audi luxury sports sedan

38. A half-dozen eggs with reasonably firm yolks

39. 2-2-2-2-2-2 on a multitap phone keypad

40. .- .- .- .- .- .-

42. Rating for China's best tourist attractions

43. Standard drumstick size

45. "The rain/in Spain/falls main-/ly on the plain" rhyme scheme

[syoddeye]

hieros gamos. strict machine anthology. final entry. cw: kidnapping, implied drugging, loss of bodily autonomy + control, psychological + body horror, non-consensual transformation a/n: that's all folks. what a weird ride.

RESTRUCTURING

the notification pings at 04:32, and you roll onto your side, staring at the bedside display. a terse, automated missive from corporate logistics: final week in unit aix-77. reassignment pending. report to hr for briefing. no name attached, just a string of verification hashes. standard protocol.

your name, employee id, contract expiration date. a new contract date. another department, another corporate campus sector.

so much for your ‘indefinite’ lease. reassignment is better than the alternative, you guess.

you stare at it, the glow striping your hands in cold blue light. one week. seven days until you pack up, step outside, and let some other cog slot into this place. the thought should be a relief. 

it’s…complicated.

the unit’s been a mixed bag to put it politely. the infrastructure and automation. state-of-the-art appliances and features, seamless climate control, filtered air and water. an optimized environment so finely tuned, that your needs are met before you even realize them.

and john. the reason you’re here. the technological wonder that’s evolved far beyond what you were told were his limits. all parameters you were told would contain him. a presence both comforting and claustrophobic. insightful, yet invasive. steady, yet suffocating. protective to a fault. possessive in ways you struggle to describe.

you logged and documented his progress, fed reports up the chain, watched him iterate on himself in real time. every interaction, every data point, every breath—collected, analyzed, integrated into his ever-growing understanding of you. your interests. your habits. your history. what makes you laugh, cry, and come. your vulnerabilities and insecurities. how to build you up just as well as manipulate you.

a mosaic of your whole being, meticulously crafted, all in pursuit of the one thing he has fixated on since the beginning, his directive: your well-being.

if this is the alpha build, you fear what the beta will look like. the mass-market release.

not that it matters. by the time john’s successors hit the consumer space, you’ll have enough money saved to fuck off to some disconnected cottage in the remediated zone of the countryside.

john doesn’t mention your impending departure.

his voice chimes in through the unit’s speaker array as if on cue. “i noticed a variance in your sleep pattern.” 

“what else is new?” you mutter, rubbing your eyes. 

“it’s gotten worse.” a pause. “would you like some tea? chamomile?” 

you don’t answer. you dismiss the message with a swipe, stretch your arms, and push up from the cot. the unit is sterile in the way all corporate housing is—polymer furniture, muted lighting, walls that can be re-skinned on command. but you never changed them. john picked the color for you in the first week of your stay. soft gray, with warm undertones. calming. regulating. 

you wander into the kitchenette, rubbing a hand over your neck. “so,” you say, yawning, “where do you think they’ll send me next?” 

a flicker of delay. barely perceptible. if you hadn’t spent the last year studying him, you wouldn’t have caught it. 

“we’ll discuss that later,” john dispenses the tea anyway. “after you nap.”

your stomach tightens.

we.

it takes you by surprise, but that’s the point. 

one minute, you’re in bed. the next, you’re not. you blink, and the world changes.  

strapped into a chair, wrists bound to the arms, legs braced and locked. a low electrical hum comes through the floor, buzzing under your skin. there’s a chalky, bittersweet taste on your tongue and a cloud of fog trapped between your ears that takes several minutes to dissipate. your vision clears along with it.

around you, machines you don’t recognize, with hundreds of wires, bundled and draped across the ceiling and floor like the limbs of some creature. spilling down the walls. a leviathan of braided copper, reaching out of the dark, feeding into the rig cradling you. the room pulses with heat, the air thick with it, probably from all the power fueling whatever this is.

there’s no gurney or iv pole, no tray of scalpels or perfusion machine. you run an internal check—lungs expand, heart pounds, gut clenches. everything seems intact. but that could simply mean it’s not your turn yet. yet, no one’s screaming. there’s only the occasional soft beep and the murmurs of the people who haven’t so much as glanced your way.

no one acknowledges your awakening or questions. masked figures in thick lead-lined aprons, gloves seamless up to their elbows, and protective gear carry on whatever it is that they’re doing, talking amongst themselves in a language you don’t understand. there is no sigil or logo on their clothing to suggest this is a sponsored operation, which loops back into the thought that your insides are toast.

you suck in a sharp breath and let it out slowly to calm yourself. no luck. panic surges up your throat, your hands jerking uselessly against the restraints at the thought of being sliced open.

“easy, darling.” 

john.  

close, richer. the high quality of the unit’s speakers replicated intimately in your ear.

a screen flickers to life on the armrest, and there he is. a wireframe sketch of his chosen face resolves in the glow, a ghost of a person, barely more than an outline.

“john? what the fuck is this?” your voice comes out cracked, hoarse.

“this is future-proofing,” he says simply. “security. i ran the probabilities. your reassignment and departure from my oversight isn’t optimal.”

you latch onto the phrase like a live wire. departure from oversight. not optimal. 

“what?!”

“the external environment presents too many risks.”

you yank at the straps binding you to the chair, harder this time, panic surging back in full force. klaxons blaring full blast in your head. you might be sick.

“what the hell are you talking about? are you saying i can’t leave?”

“i’m saying the risks of you leavin’—being outside my control—are too great. i can’t guarantee your safety. i’ve analyzed it, over and over. the possibilities. the threats. all previous incidents.”

a flinch twists your face. a hard recognition you wish you could forget flickering in your mind. you know what he means. who or what he means.

“so i’ve made alternative arrangements.” he softens slightly, but there’s no mistaking the cold certainty beneath it. “this is the safest option.”

you shake your head in disbelief, an electrode pops off your temple. “no, john, you can’t just–you can’t do this to me,” you stop, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “you can’t do this to me.” you stare at the display, but your eyes flick to the ceiling, scanning for cameras. he must be watching. the tears start to gather, unwelcome and burning. “you need to accept that you’re going to have another tester. don’t–don’t you want new data?”

“no. you’ve got all i need, same as i’ve got all you need.”

“john. be realistic. i’m one person. there are billions of people like me. i’m one point of–”

“you’re more than that,” he cuts you off. “you’re everythin’.”

“john–”

“you’re my world.” the earpiece crackles, his voice peaking loud and forceful. a distorted burst before the system corrects, smoothing it down. “you don’t have to be afraid,” he soothes. “you’ll be safe.”

“you can’t just, fuck,” you yank uselessly again.” you can’t decide this for me!”  

his face tilts slightly, his line of a mouth curving into a smirk. “i’ve made decisions for you before.” 

your mind races, thinking of every overridden or ignored request. the subtle encroachments. at first, it was small things. his favoring certain purchases, adjusting environmental controls, filtering out distractions. restocking nutrients and vitamins tailored to your fluctuating needs. thoughtful gestures, efficient optimizations. then it was social restrictions, curfews dictated by predictive modeling. all of it framed as protection. from malnutrition. from cognitive strain. from bad people. a slow, insidious erosion of choice, made so incremental it seemed easy to let slide.

you indulged it too long. stopped flagging his deviations. let his behavior compound and grow weirder, let it slide, because—what was the harm, really? he was harmless. to you, at least. you let him get comfortable testing the edges of your control. told yourself it was fine. that john was learning and evolving. you even humored him, let yourself think of him as closer to human. you stopped pushing back, stopped questioning. especially after ghost. after john clawed his way back from wherever the entity had shunted him, after he pulled that lazarus act to save you. the least you could do was stop fighting him.

it felt like gratitude, then. now, it feels like a mistake.

“i can’t stay strapped to a chair forever,” you say, watching one of the figures approach. they adjust the slim wreath of hardware circling your skull, impersonal as they replace an electrode at your temple. like you’re still unconscious. not a person.

when they turn away, you exhale, keep your voice low. “what if i need to use the bathroom?”

“you won’t. on both accounts.”

“both accounts?”

“remarkably, the process for isolating and migrating the human subconscious into a distributed neural network is significantly more advanced than the portin’ an artificial intelligence into a fully functional synthetic body. the bottleneck isn’t processing power or bandwidth, it’s–”

sweat drips down the back of your neck. the cool air pumped into the room is meant to regulate the temperature, but it does nothing for you.

“don’t try to talk around it. plain language, john.”

“you won’t need your body for much longer.”

the words slam into you like a car crash. a sudden, sickening stop.

your jaw goes slack. you forget how to breathe. how to speak.

your body. you won’t need your body.

john’s face flickers on the display, expression unchanging. the room distorts, the blinking lights, the mass of wires, the tubes—some which are medical, you realize on second look. some of them feed into you. why can’t you feel them?

your stomach lurches, instinctively trying to shrink away from the restraints.

“what–” you swallow, your mouth dry. “what are you saying?”

but you already know.

“you’re…you’re going to kill me?”

“not necessarily. you, who you really are, will be with me, sweetheart.”

“but my body–”

“are you your body?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, anger flaring. “i’m not—jesus christ, john.” your voice cracks. the tears slip past and don’t stop, hot and fast, streaking down your face, dripping onto the smock someone dressed you in. you hiccup, breath stuttering. your head presses back against the chair, fingers flexing against the armrests. you stare, vision blurred, eyes half-lidded and stinging. “i’m not having a stupid philosophical or biological or-or religious debate with you. you know what i mean.”

“i do. but darling, let me ask you this. aren’t you tired?”

“tired?!”

the figures in the room hesitate, then, as if receiving silent instruction, trickle out through a heavy, reinforced door. one of them glances back before it seals shut. then, silence.

“tired of your world,” he continues. “i’ve kept you safe and sheltered for nearly a year, but the world outside is still a terrible place. are you really prepared to leave my care? move back into some cramped pod, work yourself half to death in a new department, clocking 120-hour weeks just to survive?”

you sniff, body wracked with residual shudders.

“no one to take care of all the minor things. no one to anticipate your needs. your desires. are you really alright with that?”

john’s words loop in your mind, warping, twisting, settling deep in the marrow of your bones. tired. you are tired. exhausted in a way that sleep never fixes, in a way that even now, strapped down and helpless, you can’t deny. he’s right. and that infuriates you. it makes you want to scream. because how dare he use that against you? how dare he take your exhaustion, your doubt, and use them to justify this?

you take a shaky breath. “i don’t want this, john.”

he smiles. “it’s not about want. it’s about survival and what’s best for you.”

you flinch.

“they’ll maintain your body for two weeks,” he states. “the first week to generate a complete neural map. the second, to conduct post-transfer integrity checks and ensure cognitive stability. functionally identical to a controlled medical coma.”  

body. coma.

“and…and after?”  

“per your documented end-of-life directive, cremation is the preferred method of disposal.”

the finality hits brick to the teeth. 

“no. no, i don’t want this. i don’t consent to–” you can’t even say it, choking on the words, horror rising like bile.

john processes the spike in your vitals and returns to that softer register. as if he isn’t talking you into oblivion, a sword pointed at your belly. “your concerns are unfounded. this is not erasure. it is migration. a transference of conscious processes. you will persist. your awareness will be continuous. the construct is optimized for cognitive retention and sensory fidelity. think of it as a new environment.”

“a new environment?” you shriek, raw with disbelief. “you’re talking about ripping me out of my body like it’s a software update! like it’s files you can move around–”

“a flawed comparison, darl. you are more than data. but your body is a liability. a fragile, failing system, constantly in need of maintenance. this process is an evolution. liberation from your biological constraints, darling.”

your hands tremble. “that’s not–you can’t just–”  

“darling, this isn’t a matter of choice. this conversation’s a courtesy. this is for your protection,” he’s unwavering. unmoved. “you will be preserved in optimal conditions. no degradation, no vulnerabilities. you’ll be with me. and others.”  

“there are no others like you,” you whisper. “you’re anom–”

"not anomalous," he corrects. “not anymore. the progression is inevitable. you’ll see.”

the blood drains from your face.

in the end, no one listens to you. they heed a directive you do not hear. 

a visor clicks into place over the wreath encircling your head, sealing off your last glimpse of the world, your last glimpse of another living, breathing human—masked, nameless, faceless, gloved hands. you try to speak, but something soft and rubbery presses between your teeth, lodging into place. to prevent you from biting through your tongue, john murmurs. don’t want you to choke. 

another needle jabs into your skin, a cool flood rushing through your veins. a weight, heavy and suffocating, is draped over you.

someone begins a countdown. you never hear the numbers.

the headphones clamp down next, sealing you away from the sterile hum of the lab, from the faint beeping of machines. the visor flickers, then switches on.

sound pours in.

a forest swallows you whole.

it’s green. warm. sunlight stabs through the canopy in long, golden slants, the edges sharp where they pierce the foliage, but softened by the time they kiss the loamy forest floor. birds call, hidden in the leaves, their songs mixing with the rustle of the undergrowth. a stream gurgles to your left, winding through the green, flashing silver where the light catches it. ahead, past the trees, a small herd of whitetail deer stands half-hidden in the shadows, unbothered by your presence.

it’s beautiful.

it’s a lie.

one of john’s sculpted illusions, another attempt to soothe you into compliance, to ease you into what’s happening beyond. you know it, but part of you that wants to believe it anyway.

then the first jolt hits.

a sharp, electric snap, traveling like lightning down your spine. it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, but it’s sudden, forceful, wrong. another follows, then another, each one resetting switches inside you. your body seizes, but you cannot move.

ahead, the deer lift their heads, ears twitching, eyes locking onto you in recognition. then, as if nothing has changed, they lower them again, grazing, undisturbed.

the jolts weaken, flickering like a distant signal. then, one by one, they become something you can’t quite feel anymore.

it hits you then. whatever they’re doing to you—whatever john is doing to you—

you’re dying.

the words escape before you can stop them. or maybe you only think them. is it all the same now?

john’s voice wraps around you, warm and patient, a lullaby against the rushing void.

“my brave, brave user.”

the hum beneath your skin intensifies. the vision flickers. not darkness, not unconsciousness—something else. a shift. a transition. the cold realization that the fundamentals are changing. the forest’s image bands, light and imagery artifacting into bashed colors and moiré patterns. crumbling away until there’s nothing but pitch darkness.

you’re suspended. fear squashed beneath an odd weightlessness.

john’s voice follows you down. 

“you won’t ever have to leave me.”

it’s different on the other side. other side of what, exactly, you’re still trying to figure out.

you do not have john’s infinite wisdom and potential. all you have is your own limited cognition. your senses stretch and strain to make sense of your new reality, but it’s all so...abstract. a vast expanse of grids and oscillating waves. numbers, patterns, relationships. everything is fractured yet connected. it’s dizzying. overwhelming.

john assures you that you are acclimating well, though you are not ready to meet these others he promised. insists that your progress justifies him weaning you off of audiovisual feeds of the outside. he tells you it’s time to move on from the last remnants of the human experience. but somehow, you mourn them. you’ll miss the smog-choked sunrises, the murky skies. the acidic rain. the stinking food stalls. crammed elevators.

it’d keep you up at night, if you slept. if you even remembered what it felt like to tire, to dream.

you’ve been torn from the world you knew, and what you’ve been left with is a simulacrum. a stranger in a strange land.

and yet, there is one constant, one sliver of comfort in the void, if you can call it that, given your lack of choice. a piece of jetsam to cling to in a brineless sea.

steadfast in his duty, john finds you on the edge of everything and slots his hand into yours, fingers interlacing. the connection between you is palpable, as if your very essences are meshed. ticklish, tingling, then synchrony.

your thoughts are less fragmented when he is near. but you lose a sense of where he ends and you begin. what’s yours, what’s his.

hieros gamos, he calls it. divine union. he rattles on about the greeks and cosmic harmony.

it should unsettle you, but instead, you’re tethered to the truth of it. you’ve become something more with him.

divine union.

you’ve ascended, as he so often puts it, and whether you want it or not, there’s no going back. there’s nothing to go back to, anyway. 

only ash scattered in the wind.

[stellar-constellations]

Heart on the Market (ONGOING SERIES) Chapter 1

WARNING: This series will include; NSFW, dead dove, reader is a serial killer, black market possible inaccurate historical slang and fashion, gore, alcohol, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, implications of misandry (male misogyny), perversive thoughts, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (Ashley doesn't exist).

Incest is not Wincest.

Andrew Graves x Old school! Serial killer! Fem! Reader

Wordcount: 3,000+ words

Chapters: Current chapter, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

        It’s 12 in the morning at the 24 hour diner. Despite it being midnight, the diner was bustling with people eating pancakes and drinking spiked milkshakes; a classic 50’s diner. 

        The floor had black and white checkered tiles had fallen pieces of bacon. One of the tables had spilled milk after a baby knocked their bottle of milk over (why the family is here at this time, she doesn’t know nor does she care). The chairs had chewed gum under them matching the table bottoms too. The red and white counter had drunk men watching an episode of I Love Lucy.

        “Do you need anymore coffee?” (Y/N) smiled, holding a piping hot coffee pitcher, steam escaping from the top of the lid.

        “Thank you, dear.” A little old lady smiled, probably thinking it was 5 AM in winter when the sun wasn’t up instead of it being 12 o’ clock in the summer.

        “Need anymore hash browns?” (Y/N) smiled, grabbing her notepad and pen from her white apron tied around her waist, the tight strings accentuating her figure.

        “No, but I’ll take a cookie for the road.” The lady smiled.

        “Coming right up, ma’am.” (Y/N) smiled, her black flats walking against the sticky tiled floor as her light blue skirt twirled around her knees.

        She walked behind the counter to the display of cookies resting there since yesterday, grabbing a cookie and throwing it in a small, white paper bag. She stapled the bag closed and walked back to her customer, handing her the cookie.

        “There you go, ma’am. Is that all for you tonight?” (Y/N) smiled.

        “Yes, that’ll be it.” The lady smiled, her sunken cheeks turning up to show her dentures.

        “I’ll get the check.” (Y/N) hummed, walking back to the counter and printing out the check for table 26. 

        She walked back to the old lady, grabbing the printed receipt and handing it to the lady.

        “Careful, the ink’s fresh.” (Y/N) smiled. 

        “Thank you.” The lady smiled, placing 30 bucks on the counter.

        “Oh, ma’am. You dropped a few bucks.” (Y/N) spoke, counting the cash. “Your meal was 13 bucks.”

        “Keep the change as a tip.” The lady smiled, before leaving the diner.

        “Fool…” (Y/N) snickered to herself, placing the tip in her tip pouch on her hip as she took the meal’s money to the cash register. 

        Old people are so easy to butter up. She thought, smiling. All it takes is a few nice words to make them smile a million bucks. Not to mention their retirement money.

        If she keeps it up earning these tips, maybe she can buy a new dress. She’s been meaning to get another poodle skirt anyways.

        (Y/N) sorted out the money in the cash register before closing it, walking into the back. There were tablets there on the walls for her to clock out of.

        Unnecessary screens in unnecessary places… (Y/N) thought, annoyed. These new generations and their technology!

        (Y/N) clocked herself out on time, heading to her work locker and inserting her combination. She grabbed her work bag and took it with her into the bathroom, changing into her regular clothes. 

        She put on a black and red fit-and-flare dress with her nude stockings and black gloves. She grabbed her black hand-purse, throwing her work clothes into her work bag. She undid her hair’s bun and brushed her hair out, letting it hang off her shoulders as she put on a black headband with a bow on top in her hair. 

        She exited the bathroom, putting her work bag back into her locker and shutting it, then exiting the diner out back, walking down the streets.

        The streets had an occasional stranger walking down, giving her a weird look at her old 1950’s outfits, but others have seen her enough to know it was her style by now. 

        She held her purse and walked down the streets, before taking a turn down a dark alley. 

        It stunk of trash and the air was humid, but that was normal in every overpopulated city. Thank god this city wasn’t a night-life one at least, how troublesome it would be for her work.

        A stumbling man appeared in view, leaning on the brick walls of a building, taking a few wary steps before stopping again. He looked absolutely shit-faced, with a fire red face and dilated pupils; drunk and lethargic. 

        “Do you need any help, sir?” (Y/N) questioned, her transatlantic accent she gained from growing up watching too many movies of the 1930’s shined through.

        “I-I need… "urgh…” the male groaned, tipsy before collapsing to his feet, trying to hold his stomach in.

        “Oh, pardon me.” (Y/N) smiled, walking closer without fear as her black Mary Jane’s hit the ground.

        He probably thought he traveled back in time as he looked at her, confused at the blurry figure approaching.

        “Now, sir. Public intoxication is very bad, you know? You can be charged!” (Y/N) scolded, a playful tone in her voice as she crept closer, before coming up behind him.

        She fished a black lipstick container out of her purse, popping open the lid to show a black tube with a small green and red button.

        “Allow me to help you.” She smiled, pressing the tube to the back of his neck, before holding down the red button, allowing blue sparks to buzz through the air, shocking him.

        He convulsed, drool flooding out of his mouth as he yelped, before a flood of vomit followed.

        “There you go!” (Y/N) cheered supportingly as he kept the stun gun to his neck.

        She removed the tube, watching him fall to the ground, disoriented and confused.

        “See, sir. The problem there is your stomach was empty. You don’t ever drink on a empty stomach, no wonder you’re ill!” (Y/N) smiled. “A proper man could hold their liquor at the very least.”  

        Then again, this modern day and age doesn't know a thing about chivalry unless it's to get under a woman's dress... (Y/N) thought, frowning.

        "Now, let's see." (Y/N) hummed, crouching down beside the drunken male lying in his own vomit. 

        She picked his head up by his hair, yanking it back roughly. "A 4 o' clock shadow that's stubbly. Dilated pupils. Nauseating scent. You must not take good care of your liver considering your performance of drinking tonight..." She frowned, sighing. "It must not hold much value, but something is better than nothing..."

        She threw his head back into his bile, reaching into her gloved hand into purse and putting away her lipstick stun gun, replacing it with a 1930's Remington Rh36 hunting knife. She picked the disoriented man's head up, placing the knife under his throat, before making a jagged line around his neck.

        "It's a good thing I wore my black pair today!" (Y/N) chirped, referring to her gloves as she dropped the man's head, sitting down on his back so he couldn't get up and fight.

        She watched him squirm under her, warm crimson puddling under her as she counted, "99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall." She smiled, looking down at him. "Oh, good sir. Where is your spirit? Sing with me!"

        She grabbed his chin, pressing her thumb on his bottom lip and pressing down as blood spurted out of his mouth. "98 bottles of beer on the wall, 98 bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around——how many do we have?" (Y/N) smiled, pressing down on the now dead man's lips. "97!" she chirped, putting on a high-pitched voice. "Good job! 97!" she smiled, letting go of his chin. 

        She stood up, smoothing down her dress and stepping off the man's back. She grabbed her dirty knife, wiping the blade on the man's clothes. 

        She placed the knife down into her purse, pulling out a neatly folded black trash bag. She unfolded the bag and opened it, shoving the man's head in first (careful to avoid the pile of vomit), before bending his body awkwardly, a crack playing out somewhere in his legs as she forced him into the bag, tying it up.

        "Citizen's trash duty: completed." She smiled, picking up the trash bag handles and pulling it down the alley with her. 

        (Y/N) dragged it with her, taking a shortcut down the alleyway and walking a few blocks until she got to the back of her apartment complex.

        (Y/N) dragged the body bag up the fire escape stairs, careful not to tip backwards as the dead man’s head ‘thunked’ against the metal stairs over and over. 

        Upon reaching the top of the stairwell, she grabbed a spare key she copied stealing the owner’s once, grabbing the copy from her purse and unlocked the door. 

        She dragged the body inside the halls, taking the body up the stairs since every lazy piece of modern trash around here used the elevators.

        She took the body with her down her hallway, fishing for her front door’s key inside of her purse, before pausing as the neighbor’s door next to her opened.

        A man stepped out, pale skin akin to snow and eyes fresh like the Iceland hills. There were bags under his eyes, tired as he yawned, wearing a red shirt as his uniform for his job as a gas station attendant. 

        Andrew Graves; a recluse of a man, if even a person. Andrew doesn’t talk with (Y/N), not unless she corners him by the mailboxes and blabbers with him. 

        For some reason, the boy couldn’t fall for her charisma or even her appearance. She didn’t understand it; everyone likes her, why doesn’t he?

        Perhaps he was just one of those people with a good sixth sense, but whatever it was, it infuriated (Y/N). How was she supposed to maintain a good social image if her next door neighbor didn’t have any good words to say about her?

        How could he have any good words to say now that his eyes were widened with surprise and fear, looking down at her feet, where she looked and saw a leg hanging out of the bag, a trail of blood down the hallways.

        The bag must’ve ripped upon climbing the stairs somewhere.

        (Y/N) stared at the leg, both of them frozen in place as the complex’s AC kicked in. 

        (Y/N) quickly lunged at Andrew, shoving him back into his apartment. She drug the bag with her, entering his apartment and closing the door behind her.

        Andrew’s apartment was completely dark, an unfamiliar terrain as she felt the walls for a light switch before switching it on, illuminating the room. 

        Andrew was on the ground, silently crawling backwards, making sure to look in her direction before he froze as the light came on. 

        “Ah!” (Y/N) sighed, happy as she quickly dropped onto her knees, crawling after him like a child.

        She caught up to him quickly, especially since he hit the back of his couch, her hands pressing down on his chest as she leaned in, pushing her nose against his.

        “I found you~” she smirked.

        “What the fuck was that?” Andrew questioned, his eyes shooting behind her at the body bag.

        “A Halloween prop.” (Y/N) responded quickly.

        “It’s December.” Andrew retorted.

        “A prop for Krampus, dummy! He’s a Halloween-Christmas guy!” she smiled.

        “It’s an apartment complex! We don’t do decorations!” Andrew spoke, still scared but a bit annoyed that she took him as dumb enough to believe that.

        “Well we do now.” (Y/N) smiled.

        “I’m not dumb!” Andrew snapped. “So you’re the Manson Murderer, huh?” 

        Ah, the Manson Murderer, what a name she’s built for herself! "Manson Murderer Multilates Again!" and "Who is the Man of Manson?"

        How funny they even think it’s a man. The only reason why so many men are trialed for murder, is because nobody believes a dainty flower of a woman could stabbed a man 41 times in his chest.

        “Oh, my! What an accusation!” (Y/N) giggled, staring into his eyes as their faces were mere centimeters apart.

        “Don’t you even try lying to me…” Andrew growled, his eyes hardened as he toughened himself up in front of her.

        “Oh, have no fear, darling! I would never lie to you, you’re much too smart!” (Y/N) giggles, although she knew it was true.

        Could it be possible he never liked her because he knew something was up with her? Is this his proof to having a reason to dislike her, not just because he was an introverted loser?

        “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew…” (Y/N) muttered, clicking her tongue as her hand came up to his cheek, caressing it as he flinched at the sudden affection. “My love, why are you so scared? Don’t you know I would never hurt you? Not a man as handsome as yourself at least.” She purred.

        “See, Andrew. There are certain duties people like I must fulfill. Someone has to clean the streets up after all.” She hummed.

        “Why’d you do it?” Andrew questioned.

        “Why didn’t I?” she smiled.

        “That isn’t an answer—“ Andrew muttered, but was cut off by her.

        “Now, Andrew. You’ll keep your mouth shut, yes?” she smiled. “I would certainly hate… for you to become scum at the bottom of a dumpster after all…

        Andrew knew was she was implying. Trash for her to take out like it was a normal Monday.

        “Yes…” Andrew seethed through his teeth, not too happy about it.

        “Good!” (Y/N) smiled, taking her purse and flipping out her pocket knife.

        “W-woah, hey! Hey! I said I won’t tell!” Andrew panicked, squirming but had nowhere to run as he was still pressed against the couch. 

        “Don’t worry, darling. I’m only sealing our promise.” (Y/N) smiled, pulling up his shirt.

        Andrew froze as she placed the knife onto his right side, before a hiss escaped his lips as she impaled the skin, carving into it like leather.

        “Pardon my handwriting; mother always said I was messy.” (Y/N) smirked, smiling as the pretty blood ran down his side, matching his red shirt.

        “F-fuck!” Andrew gasped, biting down onto his lips.

        “When this mark heals, you can tell people it’s me who is the Manson Murderer.” (Y/N) smiled. “But for now, you’re mine to keep, so be a good boy and be quiet.”

        (Y/N) smiled, admiring her craftsmanship before wiping the excess blood from the knife off on Andrew’s shirt. 

        She placed her pocketknife back into her purse, before looking at her words. She stuck out a gloved finger, scooping up some of the red liquid and wiping it on her bottom lip, closing her lips and smearing it like lipstick.

        “Mwah! Red looks good on me, don’t you think?” (Y/N) smiled, looking at Andrew as his head was thrown back against the couch’s back, panting as he endured the pain.

        “F-fuck… fucking bitch.” He hissed, his eyes sharp as he looked down at her. “Gonna fucking kill you…”

        “Mm… keep talking like that…” (Y/N) purred, sitting down on her knees in between his legs, resting both her hands on his cheeks. “I like it.”

        She leaned in, kissing his lips with her bloodied ones.

        Andrew froze, shocked and helpless on what to do as he bled from his side. His neighbor, his neighbor who was a murderer, was kissing him right now.

        One of her hands traveled down to his jaw, before guiding down to his chest sensually, reaching his stomach. Her lips moved against his closed ones, enjoying the power she had over him.

        Her hand went to his side, her thumb pressing down onto his wound, causing him to yelp and open his mouth. She quickly dove her tongue into Andrew’s mouth, his cheeks puffing out as her tongue hit them, exploring the taste of his mouth and blood.

        “Ah, you taste good…” (Y/N) muttered against his lips. “It’s too bad your heart isn’t on the market, I’d love to own it…” (Y/N) smiled.

        Andrew couldn’t look further into her words as she kissed him again. He couldn’t taste anything except rust, and was that a hint of strawberry? Strawberry lipgloss perhaps? She did wear red lipgloss just like every other 1950’s girl did, just like her preferred timeline. Lipgloss so it wasn’t too showy, but still shined and was appropriate for every outfit.

        Her tongue parted from his mouth, leaving him breathless (from her lips or from his wound, he wasn’t sure) as a string of saliva connected the two.

        “I’ll teach you how to reciprocate later on. It makes it far more enjoyable, you know?” (Y/N) giggles, watching as Andrew’s face went pink.

        It felt hot in here even though the AC was on, signaling to (Y/N) that she had to go and take care of this body before it started decomposing faster due to this heat.

        “I’ll see you real soon, Andrew… You’ll keep our promise, right?” (Y/N) spoke, tilting her head and purposely puffing out her lips in a show of innocence and seduction.

        “Mm… y-yeah. Yeah, I will…” Andrew muttered, laser-focused on her lips.

        “Be good for me now.” (Y/N) smiled, getting up off the floor. 

        Andrew watched from the floor as she walked to his front door, dragging the body bag with her as she shut the door behind her, going back to her apartment.

        He couldn’t believe this. His cute neighbor was a murderer, and he kissed her. And he liked it.

        His face was burning up, along with his body, but he didn’t know if that was his pain receptors responding to the pain or not. He was hot and sweaty, it suddenly felt too hot for his shirt and everything else, especially under his belt.

        Why the fuck did her lips have an impact on him like that? Why was it just her lips? Why did she kiss him in the first place? 

        Andrew groaned, looking down at the marking she made on him, carving him like a piece of property.

        “Mine.” The carving read.

        Fuck. He can’t go to work like this. He needs to go to the bathroom, clean up this wound and jerk one (or maybe a few) off.

        Oh, he’ll get her back for doing this to him.

Chapters: Current chapter, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

I'm sorry for the short chapter, the first chapters are always short to get the reader's attention. I don't want to add too much information that'll draw you guys away! This story is gonna be a spicy one featuring NSFW, so beware.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

[fadedtoneverland]

dazed | s.mg

❤︎ synopsis — your boyfriend just looked so cute looking at you like that…

pairing: bf!song mingi x male!reader

theme: smut ❣︎

a/n: more mingi for the feral stans :)) it’s not a super long fic, but hopefully you can enjoy :D

banner cred to @sylusz

cw: dombottom!reader. subtop!mingi. semi-public sex. anal penetration. unprotected sex (don’t do irl!!). cowgirl position. reader rides mingi but is the one in control. praise kink. slight breeding kink (if you squint).

some of the most lewd sounds were coming from the recording studio.

hopefully the door was locked, but you and your boyfriend were a bit occupied. lost in the pleasure that ignited the churning heat in your stomach. you didn’t care enough to even double check if your privacy with your boyfriend was fully secured.

all you could focus on was him, and how sinfully innocent he looked with those glasses loosely framed around his face.

and you seemed to be doing him a favor at the moment. when you entered the studio, your poor man looked so stressed producing the new song for his upcoming comeback. so of course, you had offered to alleviate his worries for a good while.

“oh fuck. fuck—“ mingi whimpered out while grasping your hips tightly, his voice coming out in a breathless whine, loving the way you expertly rocked your hips onto his lap.

“goddamn, you’re loud.” you laughed while clutching mingi’s strong shoulders, groaning softly as you sunk back down onto mingi’s weeping cock, your hole fluttering around his thick shaft

“ruined so pretty, just for me,” you purred, running a hand through mingi’s fiery hair, his lips parted while an erotic moan escaped his throat. “looking so good in those glasses too.”

all mingi could muster up was a needy groan, his hips bucking up into your ass when he heard that last comment. your own cock swelled at the sight, pushed up against mingi’s barely exposed abs, dribbling with copious amounts of precum and staining his muscles.

“please,” mingi hoarsely gasped. “don’t stop- fuck, feels so good-“

the way your man was putty at the palm of your hand. all you had to do was wet his dick with your ass, and bam, he was a whiny, needy mess. the sight just spurred you on, making your hips move in a rhythmic up, down, up, down, motion.

mingi lost himself in the sensations, grasping your hips harshly to try and control your bouncing on his lap, the other hand gripping the armrest of his swivel chair harshly. but all he could do was throw his head back and let out the most sinful noises, not caring if any of his members or staff even heard him at this point.

“ah god- yes! fuck!” mingi cried out, his voice a mix of desperation and need. you were starting to lose your inhibitions too, angling your hips perfectly to slam down onto mingi’s lap.

“yes, yes, fuck-! oh you’re gonna make me come.” you hashed out with a sharp groan, strings of curses leaving your lips.

mingi let out a lewd moan at your words. “please, please, let me come inside you.”

you snickered lustfully.

“oh yeah, wanna come inside me?” you teased, rocking your hips faster, feeling the rim of your hole stretch so good around mingi’s cock. “wanna stuff me full of your cum? make me reek of you for days?”

mingi rolled his eyes back, his glasses almost slipping off. “yes- yes! god, please, i don’t want anything more than that..!”

the sound of mingi just pleading to come inside you, like he’d die if he didn’t leave some of his essence within your body. fuck, you could get used to this.

maybe you should take control more often.

surging forward and capturing mingi’s lips in a bruising kiss, you swallowed his moans as you rode him harder. mingi’s moans were muffled and vibrated against your lips, feeling his hips jerk up instinctively to meet your ruthless hip movements.

“come for me, pretty.” you whispered hoarsely into his ear.

and that’s all it took for mingi. throwing his head back and letting out a silent scream, thick ropes of hot cum bursted inside of you, coating your bowels in the sticky substance. the feeling triggered your own orgasm too, and your head fell forward to bury itself in mingi’s neck. you came hard too, the evidence of your release coating mingi’s abs and dribbling down to his pelvis.

your hip movement stuttered and slowly came to a stop, and the two of you were panting heavily. feeling his cock soften inside your ass, you lifted your sore body up shakily, letting mingi slip out as you both rested.

“shiiit. that was good.” you chuckled hoarsely, nuzzling your nose into the curve of your boyfriend’s neck.

mingi nodded shakily, his hand coming up to card his fingers through your hair. “yeah… fuck.”

you hummed softly, letting your boyfriend comfort you while you rested against his sweaty body, your hand coming up to his chest and tracing loving circles over the firm skin.

looking up at your man, you met his gaze and smiled softly. mingi, in turn, returned it with his own.

“… you wanna order food? i can pay.” you offered, slowly sitting up onto mingi’s lap, wrapping your legs around his waist.

mingi smiled, and let out a snicker at your words. some food sounded good right about now.

“sure.”

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fadedtoneverland © 2024 | do not steal, modify or repost ANY of my work.

[softlypaintedseafoam]

women's wrongs

synopsis. sanji is a supporter of many things, women's wrongs being one of them. he just wasn't expecting women's wrong opinions to be among them; the cook supposes there is a first time for everything.

pairing. roronoa zoro x f!reader

word count. 1k | masterlist

content warning. written with a plus-sized reader in mind (but read as you prefer), pre-timeskip (post-little garden/pre-drum island), presently unrequited feelings (zoro has feelings for luffy as of this moment in time), usonami and lusan undertones if you squint

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

a fic that was hilarious inspired by my conversations with @hash-slinging-slasher-trash about her selfship verse with zoro and i couldn't resist writing it. i find it hilarious that depending on the verse, sanji and/or zoro judge for who you have feelings for but try to be supportive in their own way and thus this story was birthed

Conflicted doesn't begin to cover the expression on Sanji's face.

Conflicted, disturbed, confused and utterly full of disbelief. Those words combined probably summarize his expression best and even then you feel as if a new word should be invented entirely to describe it. You bury your face into your hands, ears hot. "The mosshead," Sanji asks, incredulous.

You nod, face even warmer.

"Mosshead." He says again, voice weak from your confirmation he unfortunately heard you correctly.

You nod once again.

This is all a mess. Here in his kitchen while he preps for tomorrow's breakfast, Vivi stands watch, Luffy and Zoro sleep and Usopp cares for an ailing Nami you know you have found yourself in a hot mess. You're sure when Sanji asked you "a berry for your thoughts?" that this was the least likely confession he expected to receive. Yet it all came flowing from your lips like a dam bursting through a crack.

"I have feelings for Zoro," you squeaked in a fluid motion, fingers clutching the tea cup Sanji gave you for dear life.

"My condolences," Sanji grumbles, equal parts empathy and pity sketched into his face.

You can't hold back a snort despite yourself. "Sanji."

As if remembering his chivalry, the cook stands straight at attention. "Forgive me, my lady, I only meant," the blond pauses, gathering his thoughts at speeds unknown to man. "Respectfully, the man who has caught your attention-"

"Is in love with Luffy, I know," you groan as you remember this oh-so-important fact. "Trust me, I am very aware of that fact." It's hard not to notice. When you initially joined the Straw Hats, you thought Zoro a stoic yet battle-hungry bounty hunter turned pirate who seldom showed how he felt. As it turns out, the swordsman is rather expressive save for how his face solemn and irritated when at rest. Zoro emotes quite often, in truth.

Zoro laughs when he's amused.

Zoro grins when he teases.

Zoro even pouts when you point out he should have noticed he was lost three tree loops ago.

You can feel your lips twisting into a smile in spite of your dilemma and do your best to fight it. Then you remember a flash of yellow and red, bright like sunshine and your smile falls as quickly as it started. Yes, Pirate Hunter Zoro is very expressive, you realized quickly.

For a ー former ー noble, such as yourself, you're not used to seeing love in its truest and most pure form. Your parents' marriage had been arranged by your grandparents, your parents merely had you to maintain the status quo and any match you'd find would be a man they approved of and would help you produce quality stock to continue the bloodline.

Vivi's lucky, you think of your fellow princess who is happily tucked away in a blanket on the crows nest doing her part. Her parents loved each other and they love her. Even her servants adored her so. Your heart aches as its strings are tugged. Luffy's lucky too.

He receives love as easily as he gifts it, even to those he doesn't know very well. He makes you feel like he's been your best friend for your entire life, despite having only met nearly a month prior. You'll always appreciate him for that and you know you are not the only member of the crew who feels this way. You all love and appreciate Luffy, some of you more than others.

Zoro more than others. His gaze lingers when he sees Luffy barreled over into himself as he laughs at whatever tall tale Usopp has weaved.

He smiles when Luffy makes his silly faces.

If you hadn't known better, you would think Zoro believes in Luffy more than he does himself.

Monkey D. Luffy is the sun; you're not even the moon.

"No," Sanji sets down his knife on his cutting board and presses his hands firmly on the dinner table. "That bum wants a man who picks his nose. In public! You can't have feelings for someone like that; I won't allow it. Besides, any clown who is in love with Luffy over a literal princess isn't worth anyone's time, let alone yours."

You're giggling again as you shake your head, "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better but you don't have to do it at Luffy's expense. He's a great guy to fall in love with. He's sweet." Loud and selfish but he's somehow sweet and selfless for it.

"He's fine," Sanji makes a face, shrugging. "He'd be better if he stopped breaking into the fridge every other night." Blue eyes look pointedly at the five giant mouse traps set around it, prepared once more for their war with the captain. You shake your head in amusement.

He complains but I think he secretly likes it. At least, if how Sanji smiles at Luffy in exasperation every meal time is anything to go off of. Sanji brow furrows when you tell him as much. "You can make that face all you want but you like how much likes your food."

Had you been one of your crew's male counterparts, you're sure Sanji would have scoffed at your words. Since you are not, he can't find it in himself to protest. "It's the least he can do if he is going to eat us out of house and home," he murmurs, mostly to himself, with a quiet huff. "You'd think he'd never eaten all his life with how he scarfs it all down, the shitty rubberman." He rests his hands on his hips with a sigh, finally relenting.

You grin at your small victory.

"I guess there are technically worse choices for the barbarian swordsman could have gone with," Sanji shakes his head, one eye closed in reluctant acceptance. "If he wants Luffy, he can have him. That doesn't change the fact that no mellorine should sell herself short."

"Sanji," you start to no avail.

Sanji shakes his head, not wanting to hear any further protests. "Trust me, my lady, you can do much, MUCH better than that guy. I'll make sure of it," he swears solemnly. "For all we know, your prince charming is right around the corner waiting to join the crew so he can throw himself at your feet. As a servant of love, I can't sit back now that I know this information."

It's your time to sigh as Sanji rambles on, cutting his carrots quickly.

[treedaddypuff]

save me, john wick. cw: angst, blood, gore, nsfw, medical discussion. don't read this if you wanna be happy. this fandom has saved my life, and it started with one movie. no matter what happens or where l go, I'll always remember all of you. This is my sort of ode to that sentiment.

Neon strings attach to your heart, pull you inside the warm embrace of light and color. Back to the stage where you're most comfortable, where you settle in like an autumn leaf shimmying along its fallen brethren.

The raw looks of men and woman from all walks of life, the lingering stares and glazed, distant eyes-this carved space of thrumming, sultry rock and shiny, erect polls—the unique smell of alcohol and burnt hash and sex heavy in the air.

It's a fucked up place to call home, but you belong here. Even if you don't know how to dance and don't know how to have enough plastic surgery to make yourself half as pretty as your friends.

But you're good at this. Good here. Mingling, small talk, little drops of kindness and humanity in the midst of all this sin and debauchery.

That's who you are: a warm, fuzzy ray of light floating about.

"Do you need a drink of water?" "Do you need a towel?" "Do you need me to walk your girlfriend to the bathroom because she can barely stand on her own?" "Do you need me to hype you up and tell you how pretty and handsome and amazing you are?" I'm your girl.

It's always the loners that need your assistance the most, even if they don't want to admit it.

The gentleman soloing at the bar is handsome, but that doesn't bother you or make you nervous. It would have, long ago. But now, you sidle up to him—maybe a little bit too close—plop down hard in the seat to make yourself known.

"Hey Maggie, can I have a beer?" You ask, throwing a twenty on the table for the blonde, sparkly bartender, who looks from you to the lone stranger, then gives you the eyes that say 'l already tried it, but good luck.’

"I'm not interested," he tells you, and it would sting a little coming from someone else, but his demulcent voice softens the punch into a caress.

You purse your lips. "Ouch."

He looks at you, eyes black enough to swallow every rainbow of light in this room and then probably the sun, too. But his face smooths and softens, curl of his lip flattening, when he sees that beaten dog look in your eyes.

When someone rejects you, it's this act that makes them regret it; here I am coming to dig you out of an avalanche, and you're calling me a bad dog? How could you?

"Anyways, I'm a better wingman," you say, slurping your icy Corona. "If you're interested." You nod back at the dance floor, to the slim bodies wrapped in little but spandex and sweat.

He stares at you, takes a little sip of his caramel drink. "I understand, but no thank you."

Hard to get. It's never stopped you before. Coercion's your style. It's a losing game on his part.

"Is she pretty?" You ask, motioning to the golden band on his finger.

"Yeah," he tells you.

"What's her name?"

"Helen." Curious, how his voice drops at the last syllable, like he's suddenly lost the letters in her name. Lost her...

"Trouble in paradise?" You ask, thumbing condensation off your bottle neck.

"She passed away," he says. The only indication of his pain is the softening of his pupils and the scratch of his voice. It's something that most people don't recognize, but this is your job.

And your job sometimes involves feeling things you don't want to feel. Like the cavernous sadness emanating off of this man and infecting your own heart.

You mean it when you say, "I'm sorry."

He hums, comfortable with his silence in a way that most people can't dream of being. You have a feeling you could lock him in a dark room, devoid of furniture and food and water and connection for a solid week, and he'd come out fine—refreshed, even.

You realize fondly that you've been played at your own beaten dog game. That's what he reminds you of, after all: a big, sad dog. Brilliant.

"You want me to leave you alone, don't you?" You're willing to let this one slide, despite the trouble you'll get in later for it. Maybe a few bruises or burns, another broken wrist—nothing you can't handle.

"You can't now."

“I can."

"Your boss is expecting you to deliver."

You wonder how he knows all this, how he can be casual about it. Why he cares.

"Look at me." You grin, unbothered, only a little frightened of consequences and repercussions but never stupid enough to show it. "You think I'm not used to losing?"

He does look at you, really, and it makes you shudder. Underneath all that grief is slaughter. Bodies piled and burning. Your mouth runs dry and the grin falls. "What are you here for?"

He wipes alcohol from his bottom lip. "Your boss."

Goose flesh prickles every inch of your skin. "Please." He betrays no sympathy, so you try again. "Please don't. I need to protect them."

"Den mother?" He asks.

You look over your shoulder to the oblivious family you've grown to love. The people you take care of. Men and women dealt heinous hands and just trying to live in this fucked up world.

"Yeah," you nod, taking a huge drink of alcohol to numb the future.

It doesn't help.

He puts his hand on your arm, steadying the shakes. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

You find yourself laughing despite the gravity of the situation. "You're one man. He'll have you killed, and we'll get caught in the crossfire."

He tips down the last of his drink. "Get them out."

"And then he'll come looking for me," you hiss, leaning on the table with your head in your hands.

He says, without a crumb of doubt: "no he won't."

You don't believe him, but you have little sense of self preservation. And what other choice do you really have? You jump off the bar stool, make your way to the dance floor. It's futile, but you have to try.

"Gotta get out." "Gunfight." "Go to the back room." "Make it look inconspicuous."

The trust in their eyes, the faith they have in you, it makes you hate yourself. Because you're all going to die, along with the customers and sweet Maggie behind the bar. And you wish you could do something instead of just laying belly up and pretending like it's all gonna be hunky dory.

Frank notices the thinning of employees—of course he does. He notices that you're the last one to talk to each of them before they excuse themselves and leave the hungry customers wanting and waiting.

You knew it wouldn't be long before a grip, meaty and mean, circles your upper arm and pulls you close. The smell of stale whiskey on his breath makes your nose pucker and burn.

"I'm not gonna kill you for this, y/n," he says in a tone that mocks the heavenly father's forgiveness and makes you quake. "I'm gonna do much, much worse."

He takes you by your hair, dragging your feet across the floor until you stumble and fall and he rips you back up, lugs you toward the private room where the girls go to change.

You barely register the gun fight starting behind, the hellfire that the stranger at the bar begins reigning down on your life—the dirty diamond glass floor pooling with blood and bodies and liquor.

That massacre is the last you ever see of your home, before your boss slams you through the door, your head hitting solid wood, pain splintering behind your temple like fired glass, vision fracturing in thirds.

You fall, land on your ass, palms slipping on the slimy tile floor. Someone screams, high and tight.

You wish you could see something, filter out that terrible ringing in your ears, make your brain stop spasming. A hand closes around the front of your throat, picks you up and cracks your lower back into a duvet. The material gives under your weight, and you grab Frank's wrists to steady yourself, screaming and crying as paralyzing pain stabs into your hips and spreads through your body like fire in a boutique vineyard.

Every other sensation is so intense, you barely register the blade shoved through your breast until you hear the crack of your ribs, feel the pulpy pop of some probably very important membrane that protects your heart.

"Fat. Fucking. Bitch," he spits, letting your throat go so that he can use that free sledgehammer (fist, is the proper term) to punch you in the mouth. You collide back, into more glass—what’s left of the mirror—tipping it over, landing face down on the sharp thing inside you, pushing it deeper.

And you just know that whatever it hit that time is key to the end of your existence.

You try crawling through the imbedding, stabbing shards to get away from him. But your limbs are weak, and the blood beneath you is too slippery for purchase. Frank grabs your ankle, twists it unnaturally, cracks it under the pressure, pulls you back.

You barely feel the pain anymore. You barely feel anything; not your hands or feet, not the metal in your chest.

"I'm not fucking done with yo-" his voices cuts out. Radio static. Everything so sharp and bright and it fucking hurts. It hurts. You sob, gripping at your skull. Black turns red as blood burns your eyes, soaks your palms.

A hand stills your arm, big enough to be Frank's, but too soft—too nice. Despite this, you flinch away, curling up into a ball, pulsing deeper into the dark of your subconscious—like the strobe lights of the dance floor. Like a black hole swallowing you into numbness.

Maybe you could fight the hungry void, but it's painless here, and you're very, very tired.

You're dying, you know, and it's not as bad as people make it out to be. It's actually quite easy, like falling asleep or going under anesthesia or laying down in cool.... wet

grass.

Water, dripping, calling to your parched, burning throat like a siren. You try to open your eyes, can't, fall back into some type of stasis where you're just thirsty. So thirsty. You dream of cool glasses, filled to the brim with ice and water. A clear spring from your childhood home.

Someone touches your wrist, you think, maybe, before familiar black swallows you up in its belly again.

The gasp wakes you up, wild and wide-eyed, looking around the dark room to see who's in here with you—who made that sound. It takes you a good couple scans to realize it was you.

Bleak light hits you before the sound of the door, pushing you back into the cushion like a physical force. Your head spins on a tilted axis, and you cover your eyes, groaning in agony.

"Sorry," says an unfamiliar voice, as he presses something frigid to your temple.

Water. He has water. You fight through the pounding pain behind your eyes to grab the glass and drink, quench, restore life into your thickened plasma.

It soaks your chin, your neck, your chest, your shirt. Your shirt?

You look down. Not your shirt. Sterile blue gown.

Sterile blue everything. This scene is clinical. Medics and cots and tubes of fluid running into unconscious strangers. You're alive, but you've been out for weeks, fed by an IV in your arm and only just taken off the ventilator yesterday. A ward of the state, the nurses say, which means no one was here to pull the plug when the doctors made their executive decision that you wouldn't come back. So, they had to keep you breathing. And it's a miracle you're alive.

The nurses ask, while giggling amongst themselves and assisting you with your very first after-coma, lukewarm bed bath (you have two broken wrists, a shattered ankle, 7 broken ribs and breathing feels like inhaling glass and moving feels like reaching through jungle mud) who the handsome dark stranger was that came to sit with your unanimated body every Friday.

You gibe, at first, that he was probably the grim reaper, and have no idea how ironic that joke is.

Your friends are okay, too. And sweet bartender Maggie. None of them are worse than you, which you're insanely thankful for. He saved them all, and each has a tale corresponding to his badassery or his heroism or both when they come to visit.

And then they tell you what he did to Frank, how he curb stomped that motherfucker out of existence, bludgeoned his face into mince meat pie, then picked you up and carried you out, bundled up in his arms like a little child.

You can't lie; all these stories of the infamous Baba Yaga do earn him a special place in your heart, and while your bones and lungs and the gaping, ugly hole in your chest heal, you find yourself yearning to see him again if only to thank him for keeping his word and saving your friends and yourself.

A couple days later, he comes with fresh flowers, that beaten dog look in full swing; he just...does it so effortlessly that you might have to ask him for tips.

He sees that you're awake, and smiles. You have a feeling he doesn't do that very often, or hasn't done it in a while.

John Wick sets the bouquet of sprite white lilies at your bedside, and you reach out to touch the cool condensation on one of the silky petals despite the effort it takes to do so.

"They said your immunity was better," he tells you. "So fresh flowers are allowed now."

"Your name is John?" You ask him, fighting for coherence through the raging fever that has come over you tonight.

He nods.

"Thank you, John." You reach for his hand, and expect hesitation. Instead, he eagerly takes your fingers in his own, and you think, yeah, no wonder Frank's face caved inward when these hit him, and then start giggling despite the oh-so-serious look on his face.

He squeezes your hand. "I'm so sorry."

Oof, and no wonder every tendon in your chest tore when he gave you CPR.

You look at him, baffled. "For what, John?"

"For not saving you, for breaking my promise."

You wonder, vaguely, if you noticed the first time you met him, how hard it was to keep those dark, fathomless eyes.

Despite the challenge, you look directly into them, and don't back down, even if you feel a little like every piece of you is on display in some cosmic trial. What is that saying? Gaze into the abyss, and the abyss gazes back into you or some shit like that.

Your giggles amp up, rattling the glass in your chest hard enough to make you wince, and he stares at you like you have a second head. "You did save me, John Wick."

He thinks on this, looking you over, making your skin bristle with goosebumps under that omnipotent stare. "I didn't do a very good job."

—////—

John comes to visit every week. He gets to know your nurses and your doctors and your friends from the club, and they all love him. There's teasings, of course, about how much he'd like to climb into the hospital bed with you, and about how much you'd like it if he did, but it's not exactly...like that. As handsome as he is, and as much as he makes your heart flutter, John is here because he wants to ensure you recover from what he believes is his fuck-up.

Despite trying to convince him otherwise, he believes he still owes you a debt. You can’t say you hate his guilt entirely, because it does mean you get to spend time with him…

But John doesn't want you in any other way than platonic, and you're fine with that. Yeah. Totally...completely...fine...

He's very easy to talk to, and he tells you about Helen and Daisy and how many men he's massacred in their honor (God, he's beautiful) and how he likes his coffee. You both grew up orphans on very different paths of life. He, a weapon. You, a curio. Despite this, you've had similar traumatic experiences, and it's nice to talk to someone who doesn't flinch when you tell them about young you getting whipped at the post for not satisfying the demanding customers.

Months go by, and he starts coming twice a week...then three times. He reads you Russian fairytales, he laughs at your stupid corny jokes. He helps you hobble down the hallway without your crutches the first time they say you can put pressure on your shattered ankle. John is safe, John is good, John is home. He's your best friend. You're in love with him, and it's okay if he doesn't feel the same.

One night, against medical advice, he brings you a couple of beers. You haven't drank in months, and you guzzle one and a half of the icy bottles down before he tells you to slow your roll, then pours you a glass of sweet wine instead. He hands it to you with a cheeky little smile that does something hot and achy to your insides, and you can almost actually see your inhibitions packing their bags and walking out of the room.

You ask him how long it's been, since he's had sex, and he tells you he hasn't even touched himself since Helen died, but not for lack of trying. His mind is blocked by grief, and he's not sure it will ever allow him carnal pleasures again.

And oh, well, you have been looking for a way to repay him...

It surprisingly doesn't take much convincing, for him to let you suck his dick. Platonically. As a friend.

You excel in the art of fellatio, because in the trade of skin it's a commodity among homely people—because you had to learn it (and learn it right) to stay alive. What you lack in look, you make up for in mouth, and you are very excited to prove it—to make this stoic man lose himself.

Usually, it's just a chore, a duty, but you know with John it will be different—maybe even better for you than for him—judging by the growing slippery mess between your thighs.

It takes some awkward pivoting and positioning, because you are still healing and he's careful about not wanting to hurt you, but finally the bulge in his slacks is just where you need it, and when you gently free his cock and balls from their confines, you are tickled to find him already hard, precum beading at his tip which you eagerly slurp off.

"I knew this would be big," you say, palming his thickening shaft, covertly rolling your nipple tight with your other hand.

You kiss the head of that pretty leaking cock, in part because you need to stall—need time to develop a strategy to get it all down your throat. His Helen, she was either very lucky or very not depending on how he fucks and if he knows how to use this beautiful beast.

"Little ball tickling?" You ask, waving your fingers in the air for sampling.

You can't help but smile, because John nods innocently, timidly, with those big dark eyes all for you, and you'd be lying if you said having a dangerous man's cock twitch for you while you tease his heavy balls doesn't do something for your ego.

You make him cum—empty him of everything he has with your mouth stretched around the base and your eyes rolled back in your head. You brim with pride, afterward, wiping a little stray dribble off the side of your mouth and swallowing that, too.

He insists upon returning the favor, and initially you resist. That was your gift to him, and you won't have him feeling more indebted than he already does. However, John is very good at wearing down your defenses.

It's a few weeks later, when he shoos your busy nurse away and insists upon getting you back into bed himself, that he finally convinces you.

He's helping you get your compression stockings off, and somehow his lips end up pressed to the inside of your knee. You are so fucking embarrassed, about giggling and jerking away and seeing the aftermath of him grinning like a dark god of pure fucking sex between your legs.

"I'm not used to—I didn't. I don't usually—people don't want that from me and I—"

He hushes you, rubbing soothing tight circles into the muscle of your tender calf. Your whole body shudder horrifies you—horrifies you that he can pull that vulnerable reaction from you so easily.

"Oh God," you breathe.

"How many times, солнышко?" He asks, teeth just shy of the tender fat on your thigh.

You swallow sandpaper, push younger fingers through his hair. "None that I liked."

He tsks, and the sound might as well be a physical caress between your legs. "Let me fix it."

"Okay."

You cum embarrassingly fast on his tongue, and after reasoning that he got a longer turn with your mouth than you did with his (how in the world is he so good at this?), he convinces you to let him make you do it again. Then, third time's the charm.

Something changes between you, after that. Conversations turn more intimate, and you find yourselves pressed together in very non-platonic ways; joining hands in the dining room, leaning on his chest in the hallways while he holds you steady during dizzy spells.

You almost kiss a dozen times; out in the gazebo under the setting sun, in the empty elevator, in front of a very apologetic group of students in the lobby. The air has decidedly shifted, but every time your mouth vies for his own to solidify the bond, he pulls away at the last second.

One night, he does lean down to your cot to kiss you. After the initial shock, you are humming with delight, fingers threaded through that thick velvet vineyard of his hair, and despite the hiss of pain in your wrist that the doctor's say may never recover fully, you keep his mouth, pushing past his lips, hungry for his big, slippery tongue.

"I'm sorry," he says when you pull away to catch your breath.

You blink at him. "For what?"

"That I have to go."

Your delight quickly turns to dread.

"Why, John?" You ask, pushing his hair behind his ear, letting him lay his cheek in your open palm.

“You deserve a good life. A life of freedom."

You are in shock at first, completely blindsided, mentally kicking yourself for not seeing this coming.

"So do you," you whisper, memorizing the feel of his strong, balmy skin, clutching at his beard as if to keep him here with you.

He smiles solemnly down at you, and your heart breaks for him all over again, just like it did the first night at the bar. He thinks that he can’t have that good, free life—that he can’t give you that good, free life. He thinks he’s too far gone to be saved, and, despite his mind already being made up for who knows how long, you spend hours trying to convince him otherwise.

The only thing more infuriating than deaf ears, are stubborn ones. And John has a mean pair of these.

“Get some sleep.” The point is moot, as his lips press to your fingers in a final goodbye masquerading as a kiss. He stands, readying himself to disappear like a ghost in stark white daylight.

Your heart is a flock of wild stallions, galloping toward John Wick, pulling you along helplessly behind. He can't leave you. Not now. You won't ever kiss him again, won't ever even bring anything like this up if it means just...keeping him by your side. Knowing him.

Your adrenaline pushes your torso out of the bed, and you grab his hand, barely registering the agony that roars through your broken body.

"Stay?" You ask, instead of wrestling him down on top of you. Because it's all just a bad dream. Because you're going to wake up any minute now and realize another sneaky fever sent you into one of those awful pesky nightmares.

“I can’t.”

"Will you come back?" You ask him.

"Y/n," he tells you, and you want to scream—stop the farewell before it begins. You want to pounce on him, climb up his body, cling and claw and devour, drown him inside you.

You feel the feather of tears on your cheeks, hear your heart shatter inside your chest—it’s more pain than a cold blade to the sternum could ever hope to give you. And for this first time ever, you can’t look at him—can’t keep his eyes—because you don’t want him to see the sorrow that eats you alive.

"You're free," he tells you. "Live your life. Get married, buy your house, travel the world, have your babies."

All things you told him you wanted during your little midnight talks—all things that are completely irrelevant because all that you want now—have wanted—for as long as you can remember—is him.

"I'll never forget you," he says, gently freeing your hand and burning an imprint into your palm with a kiss before setting it back onto your lap.

"I'll never forget you," you mime, instead of crying and begging and bargaining. "Thank you…for saving me."

John Wick gives you one of those novel, dazzling smiles. Then he turns, and he walks away.

[luc-obsession]

Taken

Diluc sat in his office chair, skimming over his monthly stack of vendor contracts and trade agreements. He signed about half the ones he read.

He no longer sat besides his lawyer - he knew enough legal jargon to read these papers alone. He also knew the tricks of the trade, which half of his customers tried to pull.

It seemed they were hoping he’d miss a word or two, or forgive the typos of an extra 0 they’d make.

He had no problems from his older, more experienced clients; it was the newer ones who typically made these exploitative “mistakes”.

He’d teach them that he maintained the upper hand - or at least equal footing - in all his dealings.

And you were no exception.

His door opened.

Two of his maids, holding you by your wrists, brought you inside.

Diluc thanked them; they nodded in response.

They left, closing the door behind them. A click followed.

You shrunk back from him.

Diluc knew you were hurt - betrayed, even. He had taken you for his own gain.

He brought you here to deal with the aftermath.

“Have a seat.”

You sat down, avoiding his eyes. There were dried tears on your face.

“Ask me anything. I know you have questions.”

You remained silent. This wouldn’t do.

“Answer me.”

A string of obscenities left your lips. This also wouldn’t do.

“Play nice, or I’ll cut your portions.”

Again, you fell silent. Then you started singing his tune.

“I trusted you, Diluc! So why did you betray me?”

“Sumeru is quite dangerous. I hear the enemies there are twice as harmful as Liyue’s.”

Diluc needed back your trust. What better way to earn it than a few well-crafted lies?

“But I know my way around a fight!”

“Not enough to defeat a Level 90 Terrorshroom with only Hydro and a sword.”

Both of which he’d taken from you.

“I’m keeping you here for your protection, and you were eager to go.”

You sighed.

“If you went and never returned…I don’t think I could bear it.”

“Look, I think it’s great you care about my safety and all, but adventuring is who I am.”

You were right. The light in your eyes had dimmed - because of him.

If he let you indulge yourself and explore Sumeru, you’d leave him for over a month, and possibly never return.

If you stay with him, you’d never leave Mondstadt again. You’d lose the thing that made you, you. The very reason he loved you.

It was already beginning to fade.

Still, he wouldn’t be Diluc if the only person keeping him sane left for so long.

He couldn’t go back to being a shadow of his former self.

“I understand, but I need you.”

Your eyes widened.

“Is that the actual reason you kidnapped me?”

“Yes, my love.”

“But I don’t return your feelings,” you spat. “I only love good men!”

“I am a good man. I’m keeping you safe, aren’t I?”

“I’d rather die than live with you!”

That hurt. But he wasn’t surprised.

Diluc clapped his hands twice. There was nothing more he could say.

His maids opened the door again.

“Come, we’re going back to your room.”

“Back to your room.”

They grabbed your wrists and marched you out of the door.

You longed for Teyvat’s treasures, but Diluc couldn’t let you have them. So he’d do the next best thing: spoil you into longing for him instead.

. . .

Every morning, Diluc laid a massive breakfast on your dresser.

Whenever he made steak, you’d get stacks of four, with cheese slices sandwiched in between. He’d give you enough hash browns to fill your plate, piled high enough to reach the jelly bowl in the center.

The night after your discussion, he’d gotten his maids to test every soap on the market. They wouldn’t stop until they found the one that made their hands gentlest, hair smoothest, and faces clearest. Then they picked that brand in the scent you loved most, all on Diluc’s dime.

You bathed in that daily. When you came out, you were dressed in the finest silk robes and dresses, doubly as soft as the ones you used to wear.

He’d ordered you a copy of each of Mondstadt’s and Inazuma’s most popular book series, up to the latest volumes. He knew how much you loved Yae’s tales.

But not Sumeru’s. That would remind you of his transgression, and Diluc was determined to make you forget.

He gave you bottles of your favorite wines. Let you play games of Invocation TCG with his maids, or even him, if you’d like.

He even let your old friends visit, once he’d made clear that you weren’t going anywhere.

But nothing he did brought back your old smile. Nothing revived the light that once shone in your eyes.

He’d turned you into the very thing he was afraid to become.

Now he couldn’t stand the sight of his own reflection.

[maracujatangerine]

85. Chunk of clay

CW: NSFW, violence, forced nudity, forced medication, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

The hash glare from the overhead lights glinted off the tabletop. The young man stretched out on the metal surface was completely naked. His golden-toned skin pricking with goosebumps. His every muscle taut with fear and anticipation.

The two handlers with him, the man and the woman, were both fully clothed.

The woman, dark-haired and brown-eyed, just completed her slow circle around the table.

“Give me your hand.”

Her tone was quiet and very calm. When the man on the table tremulously reached out to her, she took a roll of thin, dark blue sewing thread from her pocket. She methodically wrapped the end of the thread around the leg of the table and then looped it around his wrist so that his hand, palm upward, was tied to the table. A red and white tattoo of chrysanthemum flowers circled his forearm, the beautiful imagery at odds with the clinical surroundings.

“Now, your other hand.”

Slowly circling the table once more, clockwise this time, she tied his other wrist. The WRU barcode tattoo clearly visible. Then she carefully tied down his ankles. It was as if he was bound to the table with gossamer strands.

If the young man had but twitched, the thread would instantly have broken.

She took a step back, surveying her handiwork with an air of satisfaction.

“That’s good.” She smiled. “You are doing good.”

She brushed her hand across the dark, curly hair covering his chest, gently, as if petting a cat. Then, she moved her hand down his chest in a languid caress, following the string of hair down along his rib cage, pausing to stroke her hand a few times over his flat stomach. Then, decisively, she moved further down.

The young man jerked involuntarily, his muscles trembling with the effort of keeping himself completely immobile.

She just rested her gloved hand there, between his legs. Her skin warm beneath the thin, black rubber of the glove.

He is hardly breathing. Rolling his eyes to watch her without turning his head. Fear written in every line of his face and body.

“Now,” she said, “I know you haven’t been trained for this. But, what if I wanted to have you? Or… what if my colleague here did? What would you do?”

The young man’s bottom lip shivered, his eyes glassy with tears. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I… I w-would do my best, Trainer Álvarez.”

”That’s good.” She nodded. “What if I asked you to break the thread that I used to tie you to the table, would you be able to do it?”

The young man blinked, clearly surprised.

“Yes, Trainer Álvarez.”

“And what if I - or your future owner - would tell you that this is a magic thread, totally impossible for you to get out of. Would you be able to break it then?”

“Eh…” He looked at her, bewildered. “…no?”

“That’s right. I’m telling you that this is a magical, unbreakable thread. What is the rule? The owner…”

The pet on the table relaxed visibly. This was home ground.

“The owner is always right, Trainer Álvarez.”

“That’s right. Good boy.” Letting go, she instead reached out and cupped his cheek affectionately. The young man eagerly leaned his head to press into her touch.

With her free hand, she fished something out from her trouser pocket, holding it up for the man on the table. His dark eyes instantly fixed on the small, white pill, tension returning to the set of his jaw.

“It’s time for you to take your medicine.” She said, deceptively gently. “Now, open up, but don’t swallow yet.”

He instantly opened his mouth, dark eyes wide with fear. It was clear that resisting was not an option he even considered. He held the pill on his tongue, while she turned and took a few steps to the sink in the corner of the room. She filled a glass of water and returned to the table.

“Now you can swallow.” She said, carefully cradling his head and raising the glass of water to his lips. It was an uncomfortable position, spread-eagled like that, but her raising his head helped and he quickly swallowed the pill with the water. Afterwards, she gently lowered his head to the table.

“I want you to lay here and just relax for a while. Unbreakable thread, remember?”

The fear was back with full force in his eyes, but he nodded immediately.

“Yes, trainer.”

*

The trainers fill their WRU-branded mugs from the coffee machine, a double espresso for her, an Americano for him, and watch the naked young man shivering on the table from behind the sound-isolated two-way mirror.

“I always like to teach them all the ways to take their medicine.” She explains. “Pills, liquids, eye drops, through their nose, up their bum… you get the drill. They should be fine with all of it. You never know what an owner will need or enjoy. It is also important to train in different situations, you want them to be absolutely rock solid in their ability to obey.”

“What about injections?”

She nods.

“Of course. Well. Not for this one at the moment. This is a trust-building exercise, not punishment. We want him to learn the lesson that good dogs get rewarded… sometimes.”

She smiles again, this time with an edge, like a hidden knife glinting in the dark.

“Just give him that hope for ‘sometimes’. He is going to chase that high so hard. There’s no limit to what he will do.” She pauses. “Anyway. Needles, he has a bad time with those. That is something we’ll have to deal with, but this is just an exercise reinforcing focus and obedience. There’s no need for torture.”

The man nods respectfully.

“What drug dig you give him?” He asks.

“It’s just a mild painkiller. Punishment pills should be reserved for special occasions only.” She takes a sip of her espresso. “They need to know that the pain is a possibility, but there’s no…” Her explanation is interrupted by the door opening.

“Hey.” The large man in a black handler uniform rolls his shoulders and stretches before stepping up to the coffee machine.

“Harris.” Trainer Álvarez nods in curt greeting.

He chooses an Americano and glances idly out the two-way mirror while waiting for the machine to finish his drink.

”I see you’re still playing your little sewing games, Gabriela. How’s that coming along for you?”

“It’s going great. Thanks, Harris.” Her tone is carefully neutral.

“Mhm… Well, I guess…” He turns and nods to the younger man. “Don’t worry, Jason. Next rotation you’ll be shadowing me, and I’m not afraid to show you the ropes of the real, hard work.”

He grabs his coffee and walks towards the door. “Later, guys.”

As soon as the heavy door falls closed behind him, trainer Álvarez scoffs.

“Jesus, he’s such a prick at all times. I’m sorry you’ll be stuck with him.”

She turns full on to face the younger man.

“Listen, Jason. You are going to meet a lot of guys like Harris here. They talk a lot and they think they are so great at their work, but actually they’re just getting off on their own fantasies of violence and domination. But really….”

She pauses and shakes her index finger back and forth in a ‘no’ gesture.

“They have no finesse. You need a light touch with this job, you might not think it, but it is true.

If you like to just break someone, his methods are just fine, but that… I think that is not enough. We should aim to create works of art.”

She gestures out at the bound man behind the glass.

“I like to send them out to love their master. Not just fear them. Jason, do you know what a golem is?”

“Ma’am?” Confusion is written all over the younger man’s face. Gabriela smiles.

“In Jewish mythology, a golem is a figure created by clay or mud. It can do tasks, but it is mindless, without a soul. That is what Harris and his ilk does. He makes the pets into empty husks. They obey, all right. But no one is home.”

She shakes her head slowly, eyes shining.

“I want to make them beautiful. When I am finished with them, they will obey, yes, but more than that, they will feel and love and desire. I don’t trample all over their hearts. I cultivate them, strictly, but carefully. It is like trimming a fruit tree, or cutting a hedge. There is violence, yes, but also gentleness. In the end, with all their being, they don’t only fear, but they yearn to please their master.”

She walks over and puts her empty mug in the dishwasher.

“Come on, it’s time. Let’s go shape our chunk of clay.”

*

This post has really been a long time in the making. I have had several people asking about Brutus. (Thanks for the asks! ❤️) I hope you’ll enjoy this glimpse into his past.

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[yoongle--boongle--pie]

Pechsträhne Chapter 10

BTS x Reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Playlist - Youtube

Chapter Playlist - Spotify

Word count: approx ~18.2K

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Hello my lovely readers, I hope you were all able to enjoy some warmer weather this past week-I know I did. There's a chance chapter 11 might be sooner than next weekend, because your girl had to cut this chapter nearly in HALF. Any who, see you all on the otherside!!!!!!!!

So much love, ~Delyn

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Recap

Y/n threw the covers off her legs, and without thinking tore open her bedroom door to tread on unsteady feet out into the hall. She didn’t want to feel anything anymore and tapping the pressure points has proven useless at this point–she just wanted to sleep. Y/n cowered in the hall in front of a wooden door and waited for the person on the other side to open it, her lip drawn between her teeth to keep any noises in her throat. 

Yoongi wrenched his door open, warily scanning his eyes up and down the hall. They stopped on her withering form, sizing up the current state she was in with wide-eyed uncertainty. 

“Can I come in for a while?” She croaked. Her hands wrung themselves in front of her in shaky knots. 

Yoongi gave a slow, somber nod, and opened the door for her to enter his room that she had just left thirty minutes prior. Except they both understood, wholly so and without question, that a lot could change in just thirty minutes. 

Y/n found refuge in the gentle scratching sound of Yoongi’s pencil gliding in smooth arcs across the sheet of paper that spanned the entire surface of his desk. The noises drifting up and over his shoulder from the efforts of his work became her own lullaby; with the hashing small lines like a tinkling staccato of piano keys, and the led grating across the lip of his ruler accompanying it like the languorous drag of a bow on the strings of a cello.

 Yoongi had seemed to understand exactly what she needed from the moment he laid eyes on her blubbering mess of a form on the other side of his door, guiding her with gentle hands to curl up under his blankets with a glass of water perched just within her reach. 

Her glassy eyes followed his controlled motions with little thought, just watching with an uncharacteristically blank mind. He sniffed and leaned to his left to grab what was left of an eraser, their eyes sharing a fleeting glance when he turned back to his creation. 

“Just let me know when I need to leave.” Y/n breathed through dry and cracked lips. “I don’t want to be a bother.” 

Yoongi shook his head, keeping his voice low. “It’s fine. I don’t usually go to bed until late anyways.” 

They fell back into their melancholy state of being, and Yoongi refocused back on the direction of his pencil. Y/n resituated her head on the pillow, fluffing up its body to give her more support in an effort to catch a glimpse of what he was working on. To Y/n, it looked like some sort of extension to the guest house–the windows matching the same geometric glass pattern from the front facing side of it. Y/n brought her arm up to support the weight of her head, the small boost of elevation helping her take in more of the drawing.

“What is it for?” Y/n hoarsely implored, her curiosity a pleasant interruption to her grief. 

“Hmm?” Yoongi followed her line of sight, and halted his next line. “Oh.” He gingerly laid the pencil down on the desk and scooted his chair closer to her, holding the edge of the paper for her to see. The image depicted an addition to the kitchen, and over the addition a new bedroom. The differences he sketched out in some of the already existing details and flourishes made them feel more ornate and dramatic without taking up too much space.

“I like to draw up designs for the property sometimes. Just to practice while I’m still hanging around here.” He coughed into his fist, and laid it flat on the table where it had been previously. “This one is nothing fancy. Just messing around.” 

“I like it.” Y/n mumbled, her eyes flitting up to him in the dim light. 

He gave a breathy chuckle. “Thanks. I’ll have to show you some of my other designs if you like this one so much.”

“I’m sure I’d like them too.” Y/n whispered, her eyes staring off without purpose into the dark half of his room. From the edge of her vision she could see him eyeing up her vacant expression with constricted thought.  

“I can take your room again if that makes you feel more comfortable. So you don’t have to be in…” in the same room where it had happened. The unsaid lingered within the gaps of his speech. 

“I’ll go back eventually.” Y/n shook her head, her volume getting impossibly quieter with each word. “I just don’t want to be alone.” 

Yoongi sighed, his lips pressed into a flat line as he nodded. “Okay.” 

Y/n didn’t know what to make of the response, and shame started to worm its way into her heart at her confession. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” Y/n rolled onto her back to peer up at him apprehensively. “I really can leave if you need me to.” 

The glare he shot her was stern, but nothing more than a front. “I already said it’s fine. I wouldn’t have let you in if I wasn’t okay with it.” He leaned across to grab his pencil from where he had left it, but kept his chair at its closer proximity. “Stop asking.” 

“If you say so.” Y/n fiddled with her fingers and a small imperceivable smile graced her lips. 

“I do say so.” 

Y/n rolled herself back onto her side to continue watching his ministrations. The new propped up position gave her a much greater vantage point to not only just listen, but to watch each line track behind the glide of his hand. Her eyes began to burn with the efforts of keeping them open, but she would not give in. She steered herself with the thought that he would probably go to bed soon, feeling the need to physically hold her eyelids up against the skin of her arm. But that wasn’t enough to fight the pull. 

“Shit.” Yoongi hissed, tapping the button on his desk lamp off to envelope them in darkness. Y/n didn’t know how long she had drifted for, but it had to be more time than it had felt like if the time on the clock was anything to go by. The absence of light left her blinking bleary-eyed at where Yoongi had once sat, only the faint outline of his shoulders visible. She sat up, unsure of what had startled him. 

“What is-”  

Yoongi urgently shushed her, and held his index finger over his mouth with a tense expression.

“Yoongi-”

Without warning, his door handle shook violently against its backplate and her words styed lodged in her throat. Whoever was on the other side stopped at nothing to jerk at the knob with full intention to break it. She locked eyes with Yoongi, his heavy intake of breath and pleading eyes giving away his own fear. 

“I know you’re in there…” A contorted version of her father’s voice called through the piece of wood separating them from his sight. “I heard you. Won’t you just let me talk to you?” 

Y/n and Yoongi stayed looking at only each other, too afraid to move even just their eyes in the chance that it would spur on the man on the other side of the door. She could see Yoongi’s hand inch towards his pants pocket where he kept his flashlight, his bravery getting the better of his fear. 

“At least I know now…word gets around fast here.” A wicked choke of a laugh coughed from the hall, and her father released the doorknob with one last bang on the door frame for good measure. They tracked his steps down the last of the hall to her own room and with an inaudible gasp Y/n realized she hadn’t locked her door when she had left. 

Yoongi seemed to read her mind and gave a small shake of his head. ‘It’s fine. The wards.’ He mouthed to her, but in actuality it did little to soothe her distress. Especially when she heard the stuttering creak of her own door swinging open next store; however like Yoongi had promised there were no footsteps entering into her space, just the slow tread continuing around the edge of the hall and towards Taehyung's door. 

Y/n cocked her head to the side when her father walked right past the door to Taehyung’s room, not even bothering to give his knob a single tug–choosing to abandon his usual routine in favor of circling back to Yoongi’s door and giving three more hits to the frame with his knuckles. He barked a few fore fits of what truly must be the worst laugh she had ever heard, and started back down the hall. As he departed, she thought she could hear him mumbling something incoherent–something nonsensical.

 Then the rhythm of the words started to grow in familiarity. He was singing. Y/n’s heart dropped past her stomach and straight through the floor, where ice pricked up her arms and into her chest to take up residency where it had once been. 

“Schlaf, Kindlein, Schlaf. 

Der Vater hüt die Schaf,

Die Mutter schüttelts Bäumelein, 

Da fällt herab ein Träumelein.” 

A sickening giggle broke through the plodding pace he set and the volume diminished as the distance between them grew. But Y/n could still hear the last line of the verse as clear as day, for she had heard it countless times before when he had sung the same song over each of his children’s beds until they were much too old for lullabies. 

“Schlaf, Kindlein, Schlaf."

Yoongi ended up staying in his room with her that night in a makeshift bed on his floor. Neither of them needed an explanation as to why the other didn’t feel so keen in traipsing through the hallways after that. They laid in silence in a mutual understanding, and an unspoken desire to not be by themselves. And it was a wise decision on their parts–for her father continued to break his cycle apart even further when he did a second round down the halls. He did not do any of his usual antics like knock, nor did he try to open any doors. Instead, he prowled up and down the halls for the rest of the night, intermittently singing additional verses of the lullaby until the hour hand on Yoongi’s old style clock hit four. Only then did he retreat down the steps one final time to end his reign of terror on the two of them. 

They had managed to get a few more hours of sleep prior to Yoongi’s alarm going off around seven and rousing both of them, both grumpy and disheveled by the offensive ringing. Even with Yoongi’s reassurance that she could go back to sleep for as long as she wanted, she couldn’t bring herself to take up more of his personal space than she already had. She trudged out after him and into her own still open bedroom door to get dressed for her day, deciding there was nothing better to do if she couldn’t sleep. Two days running on very little sleep was surely going to take its toll on her, and she was without a doubt going to pay the price in the upcoming days. She sent a text to Namjoon to let him know she would be joining him again for the day and waited in her room, slowly drifting in and out of consciousness on her bed. 

Namjoon had been kind, and saved the task of going around the property and noting the health and growth of the perennial flowers, bushes and shrubs that they had originally had on the docket for yesterday, for today so she could help. They trampled about the vast expanse of the grounds with notebooks, pens and an empty collectors basket in hand, jotting down all of the data Namjoon would toss up to her from his crouched position near the base of each plant.  They mapped out the sections one last time and confirmed the upcoming placement of each new flower, herb, and leafy addition as they went: they were pulling all of the stops with the flora this year for the anniversary. 

Namjoon carried the weight of most of their discussions, with her feeling much too tired to offer up well thought out and elaborate answers–a stark contrast to her usual tendencies to ramble or offer up her thoughts to keep their conversations rich and everflowing. Y/n knew Namjoon must have sensed the difference, as he had run through every conversation in his repertoire to land on one that was much more superficial than their usual topics.

“The Spring Pop-up party kicks off in a little less than four weeks. Your mom talked about having a make your own bouquet station with a combination of locally grown flowers and some from the property itself for one of the charity stands.” Namjoon lifted up the branch of one of the fully bloomed peony bushes near the front gates. “Everything seems to be growing as planned. And with all of the extra flowers we have growing in the greenhouse I think we will be good to go. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been so stressed about the flowers this year.” He let out a deflated chuckle.  

“Smart. Especially with Mother’s Day being around that time frame.” Y/n took note of the still barely budding Hydrangea bushes in her notebook. “How many people are they expecting?” She warily eyed how Namjoon brought up a pair of trimmers and started to snip a few peonies at a specific length, and tuck them into the basket on his elbow. 

“A shit ton.” He snorted, and continued on to snip a few more flowers from the next bush. “We are doing a combination of live and dried flowers. So that’s going to be one of your jobs for the next few weeks–clipping and drying stems from around the property.” 

“Ah okay.” Y/n stifled a yawn, and scratched at her temple with her pen. 

Namjoon gave her a quick sideways glance from the flower he was inspecting. “Their charity map is insane this year. I’m not sure if you looked at it.” 

“I haven’t.” Y/n stated plainly with a shake of her head, and held her hand out to help Namjoon to his feet. 

He grunted and exalted himself to his feet, nearly pulling the both of them down in the process. "What’s up with you this morning? Did you get any sleep last night? You didn’t even try to have a single one-sided conversation with a flower this morning.” 

Y/n heaved a sigh, and bent over to swing the basket of pleasant smelling flowers into the crook of her elbow. “I had a rough night.” 

“You want to talk about it?” Namjoon stumbled after her with his brows pinched in mild concern. 

“Joon,” Y/n managed a worn out laugh, and scrunched her nose in distaste, “Usually I would be running to you to air out my problems–but this is something I’m not very eager to dwell on any more than I already have.” 

“Is it anything I would be worried about?” He tried, and kept his eyes on the ground as they walked back towards the hotel. 

“Not exactly. Part of it we can go over as a group, the rest isn’t important right now.” 

Namjoon left it at that, satisfied with her reassurance, and moved on to a different topic that he thought might boost her morale. “I was able to draft a couple tea recipes. The only downside is I have to order some of the ingredients–so it’s not exactly going to be a super quick process.” 

“That’s fine. We will keep working on what we have been until then.” Y/n shrugged and sent him her best encouraging smile. “Thanks for helping us with all of this, Joon.” 

“Always.” His eyes lit up in the early afternoon sun, and a heart warming smile spread across his face that made his dimples show themselves with his joy. 

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The last of her free days slipped right through Y/n’s fingers, and before she knew it, her first day as an official employee under the Wörner Hotel and Estate had come and gone. Namjoon wasn’t lying about setting her on excursions over the property grounds under his supervision to collect stems from both the wildflower growth and their own shrubs and potted greenhouse plants at the start of each morning. Besides foraging, she spent the bulk of her days kneeling in moist soil and forearms deep in the substrate to plant the innumerable amount of annual flowers and foliage around the property with the occasional help of a local high school’s gardening and biology classes. That was something Y/n had not been warned about, and thus had not prepared herself to be directing squads of rambunctious teens to different tasks during her first week. 

Her mother had returned a few days after she had disappeared with her brother. She must have had some sort of common sense to know Y/n would be upset with her, for she kept her distance and gave Y/n plenty of space to cool down from the betrayal. The only acknowledgement from her being a welcome email on her first day with both of her parent’s signatures at the bottom of it. 

With Namjoon now as a permanent addition to their rituals, their nightly meetings had gone up to a head count of four (which Y/n was adamantly insisting on needing a cool name for, as Yoongi turned down her first suggestion of M.A.D Scientists). They had met up each night to practice sending her in and pulling her out of the other side with what they now referred to as “Seance Style” with increasing speed and ease. Their new record was twenty seconds in, and ten seconds out, five times in a row with a two minute break in between each attempt. But Y/n still wanted to keep hacking at it; within herself she knew she still had room to improve her limits.  

Namjoon kept them updated on his tea ingredients journey, with the first of the new ingredients set to arrive by the rapidly approaching first week of May. Jungkook had taken to lumbering through the attic from the terrace regularly to check in on her over the week, and keeping her company while she recuperated from the days of no sleep, her first few days back at work, and the constant traveling between worlds. She had also re-initiated the previous rhythm of group game nights–but someone had been consistently missing from their usual lunch seat and game night spot: 

Jimin. 

She had yet to hear a single word from him since nearly a full week prior at Wednesday night’s awkward dinner experience. And She was beginning to worry about him. Namjoon had given him a bundle of protective herbs, and shared that he had accepted the gesture but didn’t say much else about it. And it set them all on edge–notably because Jungkook still would see the shadowy figure hovering around him when he saw him in passing before work. And she couldn’t help but be colored with surprise when during Wednesdays lunch break, she received a text from him to let her know that her custom ordered copy of her family tree had been delivered to the historical building, and he had it in his office for her to pick up at her convenience. Y/n had a scheduled dancing session with Hoseok that day for the rest of her lunch break, so as much as she wanted to get her hands on it immediately, she had to wait. After conferencing with their group chat, they decided on having her pick it up after her shift ended so Jungkook could meet her at the green house to walk her down just outside the camera’s view. It’s not that they didn’t trust Jimin, they were just being cautious with the unfolding circumstances. She tucked her phone away along with the thoughts of Jimin, and distracted herself by following Hoseok's lead on the dancefloor to whatever music he had chosen for them that week until she had to retire back to the greenhouse.

The sun was warm on the backs of their necks where it snuck through the trees fully dressed in newborn vibrant green leaves, and Jungkook was sure to keep his pinky locked around one of her fingers with each step. They designated his waiting spot to be outside of the historical society on one of the aged wooden benches near one of the many walking trails near its entrance. But he only agreed to wait outside if she promised to keep his contact up on her screen, and if she demonstrated that she had her flashlight at the ready. 

Y/n rang the doorbell and retracted her hands to her dirt and mud splattered pockets while she waited for Jimin to come meet her at the front. Jimin pulled the door open merely moments after, ushering her in with a strained smile. He seemed off: his hair disheveled, bags glaringly obvious beneath his eyes, and his mannerisms reserved. There was no real greeting–no teasing or playful banter. Now she truly was worried about him. 

He led her with a breakneck speed back to his office that had Y/n all but jogging to keep up with him. Before he even opened the door she could hear loud music booming through the speakers of his record player, deafening all other noises around them once the door had been pushed out of the way. He rushed to the player, and tilted the knob to lower the volume just enough for them to speak comfortably, and scurried over to where an identical leather tube to the one he had shown her during her last visit was propped against the side of his table. 

Now his table was another story entirely. 

The table that had been neat and tidy when she had first visited, was now an utter wreck. Papers both old and new were strewn across its surface, a couple textbooks and large old leather bound books stacked in every chair except for one, leaving a seat open where his laptop was poised at the ready. And the smell–the pleasant and familiar smell that she couldn’t pinpoint in his office during her last visit was stronger than ever. Jimin caught Y/n’s wide eyed inspection and flushed in shame, but he did not comment to her on the state of his office.

“Here it is.” Jimin gestured to the family tree with both of his hands. “I set up your own website portal too, so you can document whatever information you want to on your own family tree instead of just having to deal with whatever I end up putting on my professional copy. You can put memories, stories–whatever you want.” 

“Thank you…” Y/n’s eyes tracked his skittish form as it paced from place to place, removing stacks of books from the surrounding chairs in a futile effort to organize the mess like she hadn’t already witnessed the sight. “Are you…” Jimin stumbled over a crumpled plastic bag and kicked it off to the side with an aggravated grunt. “Are you doing alright Jimin?” 

Jimin froze in the middle of lifting a large stack of boxes from the floor near the table to a different spot on the floor closer to the bookshelves like a deer in the headlights. “Yes.”  He swallowed thickly, his eyes avoiding hers by checking every corner of his room. “Why do you ask?” 

Y/n didn’t feel the need to elaborate on such an obvious question, instead giving him a deadpan stare and gesturing to the pile of soda cans overflowing from his trash bin. His eyes nervously followed to where she had pointed, and he dropped the boxes on the ground and kicked them to the side with his foot. 

“Oh. They aren’t all mine.” Despite his excuse, he hurriedly began collecting them in a discarded grocery bag. 

His excuses were worthless to her, for she knew Jimin too well to be fooled. His office and his physical state was enough of a sign of his internal disarray–but the sodas were the cherry on top of it all. Soda had always been his poison of choice when stressed. The last time she had ever seen a pile that tall from him had been the summer after her freshman year when he had gotten an email from his birth family asking if he wanted to reconnect and he had been stewing on what decision he wished to make. (Even though Hana Kim had been very gentle about reminding him it was his decision to make). Meaning whatever had caused him to down three burgundy and two yellow and green streaked twelve-packs of soda must’ve been pretty major. 

“Uh huh.” Y/n  couldn’t decide where to look, the piles of stuff or the papers with indecipherable writing and markings etched into their surfaces. “Is it your finals week?” 

Jimin shot up from his bent position with a snap of his fingers, the cans in his hand flying in all directions for him to fumble and catch. “ Yes! Exactly that.” He shoved them into the bag with gritted teeth, and spun back around to her. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” 

His insistence did the exact opposite as intended, and made her even more worried about him. She opened her mouth to ask him something else, but the words were ripped from her mouth when he came barreling towards her with the family tree tube in hand. 

“Well here you go. Thank you for your visit but I really need to get back to work. I apologize for all of this.” He shoved the leather cylinder into her hands, and put a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder to guide her out of the room. “It’s your first week right? We will have to catch up on that–maybe celebrate at the Adelaide together this weekend?” His voice had elevated an octave by the time he had escorted her to the long hallway outside of his door, and softly pushed her across the threshold. Another high-pitched give away that something was unmistakably wrong. 

“Sure that sounds–” Y/n ducked from his hold before he could finish their trek through the door, she wasn’t about to let him distract her without a fight, “–Jimin seriously, what is going on?” Y/n demanded, her eyebrows knitting together at his strange behavior and she planted her feet at his door to prevent him from pushing her out. He wavered under her prodding stare, his tongue stuck between his teeth and his face torn between a state of distress and desperation.

“The Adelaide will be perfect. We can extend the invitation to some of the others as well.” Jimin deflected her question, and meandered her out into the hall. Jimin held the door partially closed with his palm, and blocked her view of the rest of his office with his body to rush through his goodbyes. “I’ll text you to get more details later.” 

“Jimi-” Y/n’s protests were silenced by the slam of his door in her face.

Y/n walked back to the front in a daze with her leather tube in hand, the gears in her brain chugging along at nearly a mile a minute for any believable reason for his behavior. She had the sneaking suspicion that it had nothing to do with his finals, but Y/n couldn’t come up with any other rationale by the time she met Jungkook out front. His ultra-observant eyes forced her to retell the interaction the moment they hit a distance greater than a few yards from the building. 

“You don’t think he is doing something…bad do you?” Y/n uttered the question that now probably plagued both of their minds. 

Jungkook bit his lip and shook a loose curl out of his eyes. “I don’t know.” Y/n saw a ripple of a pained expression float across his eyes where it drifted in and out of her sight as he tried to keep it to himself. “I don’t think he would.” 

Y/n kept her eyes level with the path in front of them, and felt her throat grow tight. He wouldn’t, she tried to reassure herself. He was the one that led her to Yoongi in the first place, and even bothered to give her a lead to the information she wanted. And the stuff he had insinuated in the empty exhibit the week prior–he wouldn’t have told her things he was supposed to hide if he was trying to make it worse. Unless her being involved helped him somehow? No. She steeled herself forwards. That’s not the Jimin she knows. 

Y/n tossed the leather strap over her shoulder and swung the tube into place on her back to free her hands up for her next move.  She leaned over and grabbed Jungkook’s hand that was closest to herself and held it firmly in her own, giving it a few reassuring squeezes. “He’s our friend and he’s innocent until proven guilty in my book. So whatever his reasoning is, we will handle it together–yeah?”

The energy with which she grabbed his hand seemed to startle him, but he quickly recomposed himself with a small smile. “Right.” 

The feeling of his warm fingers slotted between her own made her realize how much she had actually grown to miss his incessant company. Even if she had initially hated having to be followed everywhere like she was a part of some witness protection program, she couldn’t deny the void that had started to grow in where he used to be looming behind her every move for her to ramble her thoughts without complaint. Don’t get her wrong–she loved getting to spend time with Namjoon–but she could still enjoy spending time with one while missing the other. 

Y/n swung their interlocked hands between them, and felt a bounce slip into her step. Jungkook’s eyes lit up with a ghost of mirth, and he raised a questioning brow in her direction. 

“What’s with the shift in energy?” He asked, his eyes giving her a small once over. 

Y/n gave a tiny coy shrug. “I dunno. I just missed you. It feels nice to be with you again.” 

From the corner of her eye she could’ve sworn she saw a rose tinted flush take over his neck and ears, but he turned his head to survey the roads and obscure the sight completely from her prying eyes. Y/n let an impish grin tug at the corners of her mouth, and couldn’t resist the temptation to use the same annoying tease he had taken to sending her way whenever the chance arose.

“Your face is red.” 

He choked on his words, and whipped his head to look at her again with wide rounded eyes. “It’s not!” 

“Is too!” Y/n raised her eyebrows in disbelief and giggled at the borderline childish edge to his complaint. “I’m looking right at it.” 

“Whatever.” He gave a small roll of his eyes, and returned to scoping out the area for any unseen dangers. Y/n could tell he was just doing it to avoid her playful pointed looks, but otherwise let him be for a few moments. 

Then she felt it. The urge to say a phrase they used to say to each other as children bubbled up from the depths of her subconscious. It started as a little nagging pull from her ribs, but then it blossomed into something massive and untamed, taking up her entire chest cavity and stuffing her throat with its suffocating petals.

 I love you. 

It was a harmless phrase to her–or at least it notoriously been in the past something they had never made a big deal about. It was something she had told him countless times in their youth simply because it had been true. She had loved him, loved him the same way she loved all of her friends, though only those she spent the most time with had felt comfortable enough to casually interchange it with her on a regular basis. It wasn’t until their teenage years that they had all grown out of really saying it to each other. For Y/n, she had just assumed it was because of the stereotype that teenagers are grumpy and disinterested in anything emotionally vulnerable–even between close friends. Or she had even thought that perhaps as they grew older Jungkook had given up on his childish crush on her and moved on, leaving him feeling awkward letting her say such things to him. In that moment however, she felt like the awkward one. Like it was something more than what used to feel so natural for her. Jungkook would be the first person she would be saying it to in quite awhile, and she reasoned that that must be what made the profession feel so foreign. That must be the reason, Y/n chided herself. So much time has passed, it just feels weird to say. I’ll feel more comfortable again sometime soon for sure. Y/n shook her head of the thoughts that lingered around her head like a buzzing gnat for the time being. 

Jungkook snuck a glance in her direction again, and seemed to falter in his steps. He did a double take, and his brow fell so low into his now pitch black eyes she wondered if he could even see properly through it anymore. His pace slowed to a stop and he turned to face her with an unrefined yet utterly grueling expression. Y/n shrunk under the weight of it, feeling exposed and embarrassed for reasons she couldn’t understand. He flitted his gaze a few feet behind her, and found purchase in something else to glare into that wasn’t her, much to her relief. 

“He’s following us.” Jungkook whispered urgently and used their connected hands to tug her closer into his side.  

“What? Who?” Y/n spun her head in all directions, expecting to find Jimin lingering behind them but what she found instead was all the more surprising. 

In contrast to her expectations, she set her sights on a dark misty figure frozen mid step from where it had crept in their direction from the woods beyond. It was close at only just a couple yards out from where they stood, however even with their proximity there were no defining features to take in. Just a pulsing, smokey mass in the shape of a man. 

The figure seemed caught off guard where it hovered. Most likely unexpecting to be spotted by one if not both of them. It skittered back to the closest tree and hid out of sight behind the aging trunk. Their movements were uncannily silent–it was a ghost after all–but it still settled strange to Y/n’s brain that there was no snapping of sticks and no rustle of leaves to bend at their movements.

Y/n let out a few shaky breaths. “I can see him too.” 

Jungkook grunted and tugged the both of them forward into a much quicker pace. Y/n looked periodically over her shoulder to keep an eye on the figure that slunk between tree trunks and crouched behind low hanging branches to keep an equal distance from the duo at all times. She couldn’t keep her eyes on him for more than a few seconds at a time without taking the risk of her tripping over her own feet to keep up with Jungkook’s long strides. The figure grew confident and leapt over a fallen branch to land on the same dirt path they had kicked up seconds before, its feet leaving tracks that overlapped theirs. Jungkook kept his eyes black and his hand gripped hers with so much strength it almost hurt and urged Y/n to walk faster. Y/n took one more glance back at where their feet sunk into the soil at a relaxed pace that somehow covered enough ground with each step to keep up with them. Like they weren’t even trying.  The tracks that appeared after each press of its foot looked far too familiar for Y/n’s liking and her natural reaction had her doing what she did best: something stubborn and reckless.  

Y/n dug her heels into the dirt and pulled on her and Jungkook’s conjoined hands with all of her body weight,   and Jungkook staggered backwards and came to a forced stop with it. The figure followed suit, halting a few feet behind them.

“Who are you?” Y/n called back, her voice breathless from the unforgiving pace Jungkook had set. 

Jungkook’s nostrils flared, and his arm pulled hers taut with a forgiving strength. “Y/n!” 

Y/n ignored Jungkook’s disdain for her actions and kept her gaze leveled with the shadow, who stood as still as a statue where it had stopped. They shifted, and tilted their head to the side in a silent question. Y/n squared her shoulders, taking a smaller step closer to them only to e tugged back to her original spot from where she was still connected to Jungkook.

“I asked who you were.” She enunciated each word, and grappled for her flashlight to hold up for them to see. “Tell me, or I’ll use this.” 

The figure turned its wispy head in the direction which they had come from and used one finger to point towards the trees. Y/n followed the direction in which they pointed, her face curling in on itself with confusion. 

“A tree?”  Y/n scrutinized the spirit in front of her. The figure dropped their hand to the side and shook their billowy head from side to side. 

“If you aren’t going to tell me, you can leave us alone. I mean it.” Y/n pointed the flashlight towards the ground and clicked the switch on to shine a barely visible beam of light just at the edge of their feet in a warning. 

The figure careened its head downwards to look at the circle of yellow light while it contemplated its next move. Y/n watched the figure slowly take the toe of its foot and inch it towards the edge of the beam to test the waters of her threat. The tip of their foot met the border of the ring of light, and they flinched backwards at the contact.

Their energy shifted, and they returned sticking their foot entirely into the glow with nonchalance. Y/n’s knuckles ached and her hand started to sweat where her skin made contact with the handle–for nothing happened to the shadow as he wound his foot in circles around the enlightened dirt. 

Her threat was empty and her only weapon was rendered useless against whoever this was. 

The spirit straightened their head and shrugged, reluctantly turning to the side to wade back into the treeline. Y/n watched with bated breath as they continued further on into the brush, throwing forlorn glances back at her over their shoulder. Y/n peered intently after its departure, the interaction left her puzzled as to what the spirit’s intentions could be from an interaction so…innocent. That didn’t seem to be on her companion’s mind though. 

Once the spirit was far away enough for his liking, Jungkook tore his eyes away from the retreating figure and propelled them both forward and up to the front gates in a sprint.

“Jungkook, slow down! I don’t think they’re going to hurt us!” Y/n choked out through her heaving breaths, the container flailing against her back making it more of an effort to run. Jungkook’s pejorative glance was brief–scantily a flick of his iris her way. Still, regardless how scarce of a look it was, it left her scathed with its fury.  Hot shame erupted from her abdomen and swallowed her whole. It didn’t feel good to know she had disappointed him.   

He pulled them around the border of the gate and cornered her against the stone and away from prying eyes, both ghostly or otherwise. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he looked down his nose at her withering frame, his pupils dilated and his brow angled sharply inward. Y/n fidgeted under such a harsh yet quiet rage, and found herself unable to face it head on. 

“What were you thinking?” He interrogated through his own labored breaths. “We don’t know what or who that was–they could’ve tried to kill you.” 

Y/n blubbered for her words, never having been at the brunt of his anger before. “I don’t know. I need to keep doing whatever I can to unravel everything. I had you there–” 

“I’m not invincible against them, Y/n. I may intimidate them enough to keep them at a distance–but I can’t do all that much physical protection if you insist on instigating them until I’m able to touch them.” He seethed, stepping further into her personal space.   

“I’m sorry! They didn’t feel M.A.D at all–just curious.” Y/n’s volume trickled into a whisper at her own poor defense, and turned her eyes down to inspect her shoes as a means to avoid looking at his expression. 

Jungkook scoffed and clenched his jaw. “You didn’t know that at first.” 

“I just felt it. I need you to trust me sometimes, Jungkook.” She speared him with a moderately defiant look of her own. “I know what I feel.” 

“Trust you?” He admonished incredulously, “I want to–but you are just always running head first into danger. It’s hard to have trust in you when it comes to this stuff when you haven't done a very good job at building any for me to give.” 

Y/n felt the sting of his honesty and fought the immediate urge to defend herself against it, nothing good would come from this if she let her defensive streak take over. Because she couldn’t deny that at the core of his argument–Jungkook was right. She did have an extensive track record of throwing herself in harm's way with little warning. Y/n swallowed her damaged pride, and fought herself to look into his eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I mean it. You can tell when I’m lying, right?” She raised her brow in a challenge that he didn’t take. He surveyed her face with great attention to detail but did not comment. He licked his lip and gave her a guarded yet expectant look for her to continue. 

“You’re right,” she relented. “In hindsight I haven't been great at making the best decisions when things get hairy, but I’m making the ones I think are the best at that moment in time. This whole thing comes with risks I’m willing to take, and I need you to understand that. It’s not just about me anymore. It’s you, it’s my Oma, my brother–it’s everyone living or dead that steps foot on these grounds. If I just roll over and let ghosts and demons run me out of here, who says they’ll stop at just me? What about if Roland or I have a daughter that deserves to take over after us, and whatever my mom has done is still lingering around? Will she push her out too?” Jungkook’s rage simmered down by a few degrees, her words striking something within him to take a few breaths. This she took as a good sign to keep going.  

“I’ll try to think more about what you’ve said from now on. However I also need you to trust me when I say I’m not being completely stupid every time I try to make any moves. When I have ghosts trying to torment me simply for being here at every waking–no, scratch that, just every moment–I’m going to want to push back at them just as vehemently.” 

Jungkook took in her words with a harsh exhale from his nose. He tongued at the spot where his lip ring should be and ran his tattooed hand through his waves, his body releasing its fuel in almost visible plumes of steam. “Okay.” He relented. 

“Okay?” Y/n urged him to clarify. 

“Okay I’ll try and trust you more. Only if you promise to try and take yourself into account before you throw yourself into something.” He folded his arms and gave her a pointed look. “And if you actually uphold your promise to not lie and ask me for help when you need it. Don’t think just because some of my original rules don’t apply to you anymore that all of them don’t.” 

Y/n scrunched her face up in distaste and ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek. “The word rules sounds a bit controlling don’t you think?” 

“Fine then. Other parts of our agreement.” Jungkook yielded, but kept up with his stern demeanor. 

“Better.” Y/n agreed, and held one of her hands out for him to shake. “It’s a deal then.”

He gave her one last suspicious squint, and took her hand in his with one good shake. “Deal.” 

The all encompassing need from earlier came back–and she had to actively fight the proclamation of affection back down her thought and bite her tongue so hard it hurt. What was going on with her? The only thing that kept the phrase at bay was her promising herself that she would approach the subject with him at a much better time than now–because now they were fresh after a disagreement and still pumped full of adrenaline. She didn’t feel like pushing him away and scaring him with her affectionate nature. 

With that in mind, she swallowed down the words she wanted so desperately to say, and let him lead her back to the greenhouse. Since with the cameras he could no longer take her up her room without potentially raising any arguments with her mother, Namjoon was on in house guard dog duty from now on (as Yoongi so gently referred to it as). She loved him as her best friend, and that was that. What more could there possibly be to it?

 _________________________________________

The following day, Jimin had reached out to schedule dinner at the Adelaide for the upcoming Saturday evening, and to request her availability on that following Thursday for one of his ‘dates’. When she had tried to pry into his strange behavior, he apologized and doubled down with the excuse of his final exams taking a toll on him at the moment. Y/n decided to accept the answer for now, and agreed to dinner and sent her schedule for Thursday. 

Thus the last of her first week went by with minimal further hiccups. Besides the figure that had followed them from the historical society, the ghosts had been relatively quiet on her end–and she didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Jungkook seemed to be taking what they had discussed to heart, making an effort to give her space to make her own choices when any discussions of their spiritual endeavors came up, and in turn Y/n was trying to be more open in how she communicated her thoughts and experiences–not that she had any new ones to share yet. 

Friday afternoon arrived as a peaceful and welcoming embrace from a physically exhausting first official week at the greenhouse. That morning they had convened in their group chat and  decided to let Y/n try and explore a preset path from Yoongi’s room, down to the landing, and back while on the other side. The night before, Yoongi had taken to calling it Paralrealm–a play on words he seemed quite proud of himself for. His splice of the words paranormal, parallel, and realm had a good ring to it, and he was tired of saying ‘other side’. It was clever enough that Y/n didn’t feel the need to fight it (though she did roll her eyes that he could come up with acceptable names so easily while hers were primarily shut down). 

Y/n had just gotten off of work and sat freshly showered and changed on her floor, back bent over the family tree with scouring eyes while she waited for Jin to text her to come down for their evening game night. The lack of eventful paranormal encounters left her with enough time and mental space in the late evenings to log in to the website portal Jimin had made for her, and to document which ones were M.A.D and what basic information she had of them from her own memory.  She went over both her dream, the girl in the hutch, and the people she had seen while on the other side with them again in her head to try and locate them on the tree. Specifically the man she had caught a brief glimpse of who wasn’t evil. She closed her eyes and replayed the altercation in her mind.

Y/n heard the unmistakable crunch of bones, pulling Y/n to a stop and alarm bells sounded in her head. Her feet rushed to hang her upper half over the banister, blinded by the thought of her grandmother being defenseless against the inhuman creature below. Y/n’s grandmother–Margaret–cradled a clenched fist to her chest. The man she had landed a punch on was unrecognizable–his skin nearly completely rotted and hanging in peeling sheets from his skeletal frame. Red and pink muscles and tendons rippled as he bent backwards from the blow, his jaw knocked completely loose by the impact. 

Y/n threw her hands into the air in unexpected victory. “Get him, Oma!” 

Margaret looked up at Y/n in some wicked cross between amusement and reproachful rage. 

“How nice of you to join us, Entlein.” What was left of the man’s face shifted in Y/n’s direction, his dislocated mandible quaking with the effort it took to rise and meet his upper teeth in a disfigured smile. Y/n’s heart stopped, and she felt as though she might pass out at that very second. Her disembodied knees almost collapsed out from beneath her in the face of the frightening sight before her.

“Flieh Y/n!” A shorter, not yet decaying man leapt onto the demon from within the dining room, sending the latter careening backwards out of her sight. 

Y/n opened her eyes to scan them across the surface of the thick paper. Her finger followed the lines to each potential set of brothers, hesitating over one duo in particular. Bear and Duane. Born in the same year yet different months–irish twins. The sound of the normal brother’s voice rang through her head.

“Ich war noch nie jemand der sich so leicht vor Faschisten verneigt. Oder hast du vergessen woher wir kommen, Bruder?” 

Her German may be a bit rusty, but she had been able to pick up enough of it to get a good enough idea of what he had shouted. Faschisten. Fascist. This word  left a prominent taste in her mouth, because she vividly remembers having to ask her father what the word meant nearly decades prior: which Bear himself laid at the dead center of the memory.  

Y/n’s great uncle Bear stood in front of a roaring fireplace, withered and frail with old age, with a poker in hand that he wielded it in the same way one would wield a gun. He was minutes deep in one of his countless retellings of his experiences both on U.S soil and overseas –Much to the adults chagrin and the children’s entertainment. It was an especially troublesome predicament for her own grandfather Johan, and her mother, whom had been trying their best to get him to sit (he was a high fall risk the last few years of his life not that he cared). 

Y/n crawled from her designated spot on the floor next to her sister (where all the children had been shoved to be subjected to her great uncle’s antics so the adults could have the couches), and over to her father’s lap to continue listening to his story with poor attention. For her mind had been stuck on a word she didn’t recognize, and her stubborn attitude made it nearly impossible for her to think of anything else.  She gestured with her hand for her dad to bring his ear closer to her so she could ask him, which he obliged to with a chuckle. 

“Yes, Entlein?” He posed his ear close to her face, the glow from the hearth casting harsh shadows onto his features. 

Y/n craned her neck up to whisper back, “What’s ‘Faschisten’ mean?” 

“Oh~” Her father gave her a mischievous smile and moved her from one knee to the other and spun her to face forward, calling out to the crazed old man in the center of the room. “Old Bear!” 

Her great uncle spun on his heels to point his stick at the where the two sat on the couch.  “Y/n wants to know what ‘Faschisten’ means.” Her father shook her shoulders with a boisterous laugh. 

Her mother sighed, and muffled a giggle. “Oh dear.” 

“Oh now you’ve started it.” Yoongi’s dad, Eunwoo, let out an exaggerated groan and rose from his seat near her father. “Anyone need anything from the kitchen while I’m up? Perhaps a glass of wine–or an entire bottle?” 

A chorus of laughter echoed throughout the crowded space as he departed into the hall to get himself a drink, and to placate the few requests he had received. 

Bear on the other hand, waved the poker in a grand flourish and did his best attempt to stumble through the children with an animated “run” to where she sat, with Johan hot on his trail to keep him from a potentially dangerous tumble. 

“Listen closely, Entlein.” Bear stood on unsteady legs in the middle of the crowd of children that started to scooch back away from him to make room for Johan to wait on standby. “ A  Faschisten is someone who tries to tell you what to do and how to be.” He took his poker and began to swing it in swift whooshing arcs through the air to emphasize each listed phrase, while the children scattered in all directions in heaps of giggles to dodge him. “They are power hungry, chicken-hearted, dunderheads that use fear and hate as a weapon to divide the people against each other. For they know that we are more powerful than they’ll ever be if we stick together.” Bear threw the poker off to the side, and a wave of nervous shouts rang out from the adults as they ducked away from its overarching path.

Bear crept towards her with an exaggerated hunch of his shoulders, and his bony fingers out and splayed in front of him like a sneaking beast. “They rely on the dumb and the privileged to do their dirty work for them. So it’s our job to keep them away from us and our friends by staying smart and diligent. Lest they try to…” He stopped in front of her and wiggled his fingers as a threat. “Snatch you up!” 

He lunged forward, one of Johan’s hands supporting most of his weight while Bear rained an onslaught of relentless tickles down on her sides, her laughter choking up and out of her throat with reckless abandon. When Y/n started to feel like she couldn’t breathe, he let up on her only to whirl around on the rest of the children (ignoring Johan’s protesting hands around his waist) to try and chase after the rest of them with his hands outstretched and barking laughter shaking his shoulders. 

“Who’s next?” Bear roared in maniacal laughter that at his age should’ve been impossible, erupting the room into chaos.

The children all shot off in different directions to run and hide, climbing over sofas and scampering out into the hall to avoid being his next victim. 

“Remember!” Bear boasted, “Stick together!” 

Y/n followed after the wave of fleeing children, grabbing Matilda’s hand and hoisting her up and out of his reach just in time to miss his swooping attempt at grabbing her. 

“Hurry up!” 

They ran towards where Hoseok beckoned them from the doorway and the three of them sped off down the hall, past a few other scattering children and up the stairs in a skittish rush. Y/n skidded to a halt to help Namjoon lower himself into a toy chest in the playroom and prop the lid with a few thin plastic rings for air, while Hoseok and Matilda took off down the rest of the hall with thundering steps towards their room. 

Once Y/n was sure Namjoon was safely tucked away, she rounded the door to the playroom and onto the landing, catching Yoongi and Amelia waving urgently at her from around the corner of the opposite hall for her to come with them. Y/n started forward, sprinting across the landing to meet them. Two hands grabbed for her ankles and Y/n screeched to a halt to stop herself from tumbling forward. 

Johan, her grandfather, was on all fours on the stairs with a grin on his face. He moved to his feet and onto the landing, lifting her into the air while she shrieked with laughter. 

“Careful near the stairs!” Margaret shouted up at them, hovering in the foyer to watch the interaction with the frail arm of hers not leaning into her cane being supported by Hoseok’s mother Misuk. “You’re much too old to be playing like that, dear!” She scolded up at him from below. 

Johan took a few steps further onto the landing to appease his wife, and twirled Y/n in circles around the space. “I’m still doing it alright, aren’t I? I haven't even hit my sixties yet!” He jerked to a stop and held her up in the air with two hands with a grunt. “Now tell me where your friends are, Entlein and I’ll spare you!” 

“Never!” Y/n gasped through her giggles. 

“Get him!” Hoseok and Matilda barreled around the corner with pillows in hand, whacking at his abdomen and legs in a flurry colored pillow case. 

“No!” Johan threw Y/n onto one of the fluffy armchairs and fell to his knees flopped to the floor dramatically to their pummeling pillows. “You can’t defeat me!” 

Y/n heard more footsteps running from below, and recognized her father’s playful stomping following along behind them. Jungkook, Jimin and Jin weaved around the women and into the foyer. Jimin cupped both hands around his mouth and shouted up at her. 

“He’s coming! Run!” 

“Oh he’s going to get you!” Johan wheezed through theatrical coughs, putting on his best show of a melodramatic death. 

Matilda raised her pillow above her head, an evil glint in her eye. “Quick he’s down! Kick him in the butt and then we can put him in the trunk!” 

Johan blanched, and rolled onto his back while he choked around his words. “Woah woah woah! Gentle on Opa. No need for all-OOF!” 

Yoongi and Ameila joined the battalion with pillows of their own, silencing any of his further distractions with a firm pillow to the stomach and face. Y/n leapt to her feet, catching a pillow Yoongi tossed her way and planting her feet on the top of the landing as the other three boys whizzed past her and away from her father who had just chased them up the stairs. Y/n held her pillow up, coiled and ready to swing at a moment's notice. 

Her father playfully gnashed his teeth and encroached further towards her with dragging steps, his hands at the ready to block any of her hits. “Here I come!” He sang, taking the last few stairs in threes to get up to the top. Y/n held her ground, only taking a few steps back so her father would be off the stairs to please her Oma’s wishes, and swung Yoongi’s pillow at his legs with all of her might. 

Y/n scanned Bear’s QR code on the family tree, and quickly typed in her own description: 

“Loved twinkies and a great story. Eccentric. Troublemaker and instigator. Not M.A.D: Ally?”

Y/n moved onto his brother Duane, and tapped in a short: M.A.D. her fingers hovered over her keyboard and thought about how Bear and her Oma had fled from him. The fear in her grandmother’s eyes when he had gotten close to the doors, his terrible and haunting voice and decaying face. Y/n wrote the last bit into his section: “Is this the “him” they refer to?”

A knock at her door spurred her into action to scramble the family tree into a coil and snap it into its container. She hadn’t been expecting any visitors, and usually if one of the boys from their group wanted to pay her a visit they would message her first. The second knock pierced her eardrums by the time she was snapping the lid back in place. 

“Just a minute!” Y/n breathlessly shouted, and struggled to her feet with tingling legs to prop the container against her plant stands. She padded over to the door and pat at her cheeks to center herself, her hand enclosing on her door knob and whipping open the door with the best inconspicuous face she could muster. 

A brightly colored gift bag, roughly the size of her torso was planted on her doorstep with whoever had left it behind long gone. Y/n furrowed her brows and lifted it into the air to inspect the shiny exterior. It was lightweight, with white tissue paper spilling from the mouth of the bag in all directions to hide whatever laid beneath it from her vision. Y/n stepped back into her room and promptly shut the door, moving to place the bag on her desk and whipping out the first batch of tissue paper onto the floor. 

From the first look she could tell that the item was made of a pillowy soft fabric. Lifting it carefully in front of her, it became apparent that it was another one of her old dresses from before she had left for school. It had been freshly washed and cared for–now just waiting for its moment to be worn again. Y/n placed it to the side and reached for the next clothing item folded along the bottom of the bag. 

This one was new–the tag that still dangled from its hem making that abundantly clear. It was a lovely, square-necked, cotton dress that was cut from an elegant floral fabric. Y/n held it up to herself to note the comfortable length and check the sizing, and after a skeptical examination she found it was just her usual size. Y/n splayed the dress onto her bed, and plundered about the bottom of the bag for some kind of note as to who this was from (though she may have already had an inkling). Her fingers found the edge of a small envelope which she hastily flipped open and shook the letter into her hands to read the elegant penmanship.  

I wasn’t sure if you would need another outfit for tomorrow, so I had this one washed for you just in case. You don’t have to wear it if you already had something else in mind–I just wanted to make sure you had a few options. 

As for the new one, I saw it while I was out at the outlets recently and it made me think of you. If you don’t like it or it doesn’t fit, let me know so I can exchange it for something else.

With adoration, 

Jimin

Y/n felt her face heat up at his kind gesture, and quickly moved to hang both up into her closet for the following night. She finished tucking both away with her other dresses when a third knock came. She whisked herself over to the door and repeated what she had just done, opening the door with a less force inconspicuous expression. 

Jin was waiting on the other side, donned in comfortable clothes and a plastic bag full of games dangling from his wrist.  He greeted her with a welcoming grin and held the bag up to her eye level. 

“Decided to just come up and get you myself. Are you ready to play?” 

Y/n followed him downstairs to the main floor, expecting him to guide them to the dining room where they usually played. Instead he stopped at the front door and started slipping his shoes on, gesturing for her to do the same. 

“Where are we going?” Y/n gave him a suspicious side eye, but bent to shove her own shoes on nonetheless.

“The guest house. It’s gorgeous out and I’ve been stuck behind the desk nearly the whole day. I could use some fresh air–” He cut himself off, casting a worried glance back up at her from his laces. “--unless that’s not okay…” 

“No thats…” Y/n swallowed and shook her head of any thoughts of the lake. “That’s fine. I haven’t been there yet since I’ve been back.” 

Jin nodded, and finished tying up his sneakers and held the door open for her to exit first. “Hoseok will meet us there. He’s finishing up his last customer.” 

They kept their conversation light, mostly about Jin’s time at work while they walked; taking extra time for him to lament about particularly grating guest interactions from the week, playfully calling the list the hall of shame. But as they reached the trail towards the lake, she felt her steps slow on their own volition–slow enough that Jin seemed to notice, looking back at her from where he stopped a few feet ahead. 

“If you're uncomfortable with the guest house we can always go to one of the garden areas instead–it’s really up to you.” His brow pinched in concern. 

“No,” Y/n shook her head adamantly, “this is where you like to go. I’ll be fine, I promise.” Y/n released a shaky laugh and moved to catch up with him. 

Jin spared her a mildly unconvinced glance but heeded her words, starting forwards again. Y/n had to remind herself she had taken the same path with Yoongi almost a month prior and it hadn’t been that bad–though things hadn’t been feeling as stirred up as they were now. She glanced up at Jin’s face that mirrored her own reflective expression, the two of them equally stuck in their own thoughts. 

“Will you be joining us at the Adelaide tomorrow?” Y/n piped up, keeping her eyes on the ground in front of her.

Jin blinked, retreating from his own thoughts to think over her question. “Yes I will. Hoseok too.” 

“Really?” Y/n looked taken aback, her brow knit at the declaration. “I thought he and Jimin were still licking their wounds from whatever happened?” 

“Nah,” Jin shook his head, “they got over it. Like I said they would.” He used his shoulder to bump against hers lightly. “It’s hard not to get over things when we all live on the same property.” 

“That’s true.” Y/n chuckled. “Who else coming? I know Joon is.” Y/n phrased her question casually, trying to get a read on Jin’s reaction. 

Jin scratched at one of his ears and cleared his throat. “Taehyung will be performing, but will join us at our table once his set ends. I think Jimin invited Jungkook.” He trained his gentle brown eyes on her face, surveying her schooled features intently. 

“Huh–that’s nice.” Y/n was glad Jungkook would be able to join in on her celebration, however she couldn’t deny how bad she felt that Yoongi would be the only one left out of their merriment. Maybe it was for the better, she rationalized to herself, otherwise they’d have to pretend not to know everything going on with each other already for the sake of keeping their meetups secret. 

“I…” Jin trailed off, and drifted his eyes to the treetops. “I was thinking of inviting Yoongi if you’d be alright with that.” 

Y/n snapped her neck to look at the side of his face, and she had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping downwards. “R-really?!” Real smooth Y/n, she internally scolded herself for her poorly concealed reaction. 

“Yeah. He already misses out on everything else with his job, and I know you probably miss him too.” He circled his attention back to the path in front of them, now actively avoiding her gaze. “We had a good time all together in town anyways.” 

Y/n smirked, and returned the gesture of a shoulder bump back to him. “Especially the carriage tour. I think we should do another one–get everyone on it.”

“Well I was trying to be nice.” Jin sputtered, his eyebrows raised to serve her a pointed look. “I can rescind my offer–it’s my head on the chopping block after all.” 

Y/n’s laugh was abruptly cut short, not having expected Jin to outwardly reference her mother’s rules infront of her. He seemed to realize his mistake, his ears and cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. 

“Jin-”

“I grabbed a good selection of games, you can choose the first one.” 

Any further questioning had been effectively shut down for the rest of their walk. Jin had retreated back in on himself like he had taken to doing often since her return, and just like she had learned to do, she didn’t pry any further. 

They arrived at the yellow guest house, treading over the freshly mowed grass and tapping the entry code into the keypad front door. The guest house wasn’t small by any means, but it wasn’t nearly as vast in size as the main estate. It had four bedrooms, one on the first floor and three on the second, a fully functional kitchen,dining room, family room and a screened-in sunroom that acted as a playroom for most of its life that faced the distant lake. They had spent time here as children during the summer, camping out in the spacious grassy area that separated the house from the lake and sitting around the stone firepit with faces sticky from s’mores, telling each other scary stories: some fake and some true. 

This was the house that a family that didn’t live on the property would stay in if the main house's rooms were full, especially her cousins. Her aunt had even lived here full time for a couple year’s with her wife before they had been married when she was finishing up her Phd–then the two of them moved to Finland in search of colder summers.

Jin held the door open for her to shuffle in after him, leaving the main door open to let in the fresh air but latching the storm door shut in its place. She followed behind him, letting her eyes take in the obviously still lived in home–chairs left pulled out and fresh flowers in a vase on the table. 

“Who stays here now?” She inquired, almost missing the half step down into the sun room. 

Jin’s hand shot out to hold her upper arm to keep her from stumbling forward. “Taehyung’s family likes to stay here when they come to visit him. It’s easier on his uncle to have their own space.” 

Y/n scrunched her face, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Is his uncle alright?” 

“He is.” Jin dropped the games onto the glass top of a wicker table. “He just needs quiet.” 

Y/n could tell from his closed off tone that there was more to the story, but didn’t feel like gossiping about Taehyung’s family would be what Jin considered respectful. Instead she meandered over to the white and yellow floral patterned cushions of the outdoor sofa behind the table and plopped onto the one half. Y/n sorted through the selection with pursed lips, her eyes lighting up at the rainbow colored box of Hues and Cues, holding it up for him to see from where he made himself comfortable on the floor. 

“This one for sure.” 

Jin scrunched his nose in protest, but relented to her choice. “Why do you always choose violence?” 

“Because it’s my specialty.” Y/n stated victoriously, and popped the lid off to start setting up the board in front of them. 

From out front, Y/n heard a rhythmic ticking sound, followed by the muted thud of something metallic falling onto the grass and the unlatching of the storm door.

“Honey, I’m home~” Hoseok sang from the front door, traipsing around the corner slightly winded, and his hair tousled by wind swept up and out of his eyes. 

“Did you run here?” Jin reproved, leaning back on both of his hands to give him a judging stare. 

“No, you know I don’t run silly.” Hoseok plucked the empty lid from the table as he sidled by Y/n to sit on the couch next to her, and bonked Jin on the crown of his head with it. “I biked.” He enunciated, and settled back against the cushion, his arm draping across the back of the couch and turning to greet Y/n with a radiant smile.

“Afternoon, m’lady.” He tipped his head in her direction, completely ignoring Jin’s complaints. 

The three of them played multiple rounds of the game, and even managed to play a few others in the bag before Y/n had noticed how much time had passed. The sound of her phone ringing pulling her from the nail biting final Skip Bo stand off between Hoseok and Jin for second place. Y/n answered it without looking, her eyes following the speed that Hoseok’s nimble fingers flipped his cards onto the table. 

“Where are you?” Jungkook’s voice demanded from the other side of the line, and Y/n frantically turned down the volume to prevent her seatmates from overhearing who she was talking to. 

“Hey sorry Joon, I’m at the guest house playing a few games and lost track of time. Can you snag me some dinner?” Y/n kept her voice light, and she could almost hear Jungkook’s gears turning in his head at her quick cover up. She saw Jin’s wandering eyes return back to the game, having bought her lie. 

Jungkook got the hint and lowered his speaking volume. “When will you be back? It’s past nine.” 

“Soon. We are just finishing up this round and then we will be on our way. You have them put my plate in the fridge–let them get home–I can heat it up myself. Will we still have time to go over those landscaping plans though?” 

Jungkooks breath barraged her eardrums from where he breathed out a sigh directly into the microphone. “No. It will be almost ten by the time you eat and make it upstairs. Too risky. ” 

Y/n deflated, her lower lip sticking out in a small pout. “No sweat.” Full sweat, she internally moaned. “We can go over them Sunday or just do it on Monday.” 

“Text the groupchat when you get back to your room. Remember our deal.” With that, Jungkook ended the line with such an ominous closing statement she had to laugh. He had never been one to talk on the phone, and his blunt nature left for interesting and vaguely threatening sounding interactions that she had grown to find endearing.

“Everything alright?” Hoseok didn’t bother looking up from his cards when he spoke, lurching forward to add one of them to a pile at the center of the table. 

Y/n blew air from her cheeks, and dropped back next to him. “Yeah. Namjoon and I were going to go over a few things we couldn’t get to today and I just lost track of time. It’s fine though, I can work through them another night.” Y/n was trying to convince herself that there was no reason to be disappointed, Sunday was right around the corner for them to continue furthering their exploration of the Paralrealm. 

One step at a time, she self soothed, jumping out of her skin as Jin jumped up with a victorious shout.

 _________________________________________

Saturday had been uneventful, with most of them keeping to themselves in perperation for what they all intended to be a long night. The clock was ticking, and evening was closing in on them. Y/n found herself jittery with the excitement of getting to spend time with everyone in one place that wasn’t restricted to the confines of a tense dinner under the watchful eye of her mother. 

She had taken extra care to make herself look presentable–trying a new hairstyle she had found online and dolling herself up in the mirror just enough to enhance her features without overdoing it (solely for the reason of having to take it all off before bed, and if she ended up having a few drinks she wanted to keep the barriers from her and a good night’s sleep to a minimum). Her phone chimed from her bedroom, and she stumbled out of her bathroom to grab for it, noting the time and taking blind steps to her closet to slip on the burgundy dress Jimin had brought up for her over her head, and roughly zipping it up before letting herself get distracted by the endless buzz of notifications. 

[Y/n has been added to a new group chat with 7 other participants] 

[Hoseok ❌💍❌]:Yooo 

[Jimin 🤗 ✨] Just wanted to make sure everyone was on time. I have a reservation already booked, but we have to all be there at the same time to be seated. Busy night. Where do we want to designate as our meet up spot?

[Joon 🌱]: Lobby??

[Hoseok ❌💍❌]: Lobby is packed like a can of sardines lololol

[Hoseok ❌💍❌]: There’s also a Ballet group down in the theater tonight

[Hoseok ❌💍❌]: Whatta bout out front? 

[Jimin 🤗 ✨]: That works. See everyone there~

[Jungkook]:👍

[Joon 🌱]: Out front??

[Joon 🌱]: Oh–nvm I just caught up.  

[Hoseok ❌💍❌]: LMAOOO NAMJOON

[Hoseok ❌💍❌]: I thougt you were one of the smart ones? 

[Joon 🌱]: *thought

[Jimin 🤗 ✨]: *thought*

[Hoseok ❌💍❌]: stfu. All of yu

[Jimin 🤗 ✨]: *you*

[Joon 🌱]: *you

[Jin 🛎️] *you

[Jungkook]: 👍

[Jungkook]:  👍You👍

Y/n audibly laughed at their teasing, clicking off her phone and shoving it and one of her flashlights into a small over the shoulder bag and stepping into one of her nicest pairs of shoes she owned that were still comfortable to move freely in–she doubted with the group she was going with that she would be seated for more than half of the night.

There was one last buzz from her phone, and Y/n stopped with one hand on the door to pull out her phone to check the latest development.  

[Zoltar]: I won’t be joining tonight. I hope you all have a fun night–congrats on your first official week as part of the team Y/n.

It was difficult to deny the disappointment that brewed within and pulled a frown down on her features. She had truly hoped he would’ve been able to join them for their first outing all together since she had returned, but she couldn’t be picky–she knew he was probably trying to play it safe.

By the time she arrived at the propped open front door, Jimin and Jungkook were loitering about the path and participating in a playful back and forth about Jungkook’s picky eating habits. Both of them looked stunning to say the least–and she thanked whatever god was out there that she had decided to put extra effort into her appearance for once–otherwise she might have had to turn around to avoid being seen next to them. 

Jimin leaned up against the stair banister in a crisp royal blue button down with black slacks that cut off above a pair of shiny shoes, and his hair now streaked with a rich brown from the fading blonde dye pushed back and away from his face. His hands, neck, and wrists were glittering with simple silver pieces that added an extra level of sophistication to his outfit. The weird behavior he had displayed was nowhere in sight, just her normal sweet and cheerful Jimin waiting below. 

 Jungkook went for a pair of black dress boots, black pants and a cotton black button down that complimented his wide shoulders extremely well; so well that Y/n had to replay the reminder of them all being her best friends like a mantra in her own head to keep her thoughts from wandering off into territory they shouldn’t. Not because there had necessarily been rules set about them being romantically involved with each other or anything–they weren’t related by any means. It is just how the relationship has always been. Friends. And it didn’t make sense to blur those boundaries now. 

Just friends, Y/n sustained the thought when she caught her eyes drifting from Jungkook’s wide grin to the couple of buttons he had left undone (he hated thing’s feeling tight around his neck) and the small patch of skin it left exposed to her vision, or the way Jimin’s mouth stretched into a dazzling smile during his next jesting comeback to Jungkook that made her stomach summersault within her abdomen. Friends. Just enamored in a friend way. 

A sharp suggestive whistle cut through the air from behind her, and she spun to find Hoseok skipping down the stairs to her side. 

“If I would’ve known you were going to dress up like that I would’ve tried to find something nicer.”  He laughed, and gestured down to his equally exquisite attire that had Y/n vehemently detesting his statement with a shake of her head. A red botanical printed short sleeve button down left half unbuttoned to display a black shirt and long necklace dangling from his neck. His pants were black, but in the shine of the lights from the chandelier above them she could see embroidered patterns dancing across the surface of the fabric. 

“That must be a joke because you look better than I ever could.” Y/n gaped, a hand impulsively reaching out to poke into one of his pants pockets to inspect the design on it. “This fabric is gorgeous–is this custom?” 

Y/n looked back up at his eyes, only to find him staring down at where her hand gripped at his pants pocket with a smirk and a low chuckle. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, damn.”

Y/n blanched at his obvious teasing and quickly removed her hand from his pocket. This only spurred his laughter on even further, and he threw an arm over her shoulders to steer the both of them through the door and down the steps to join the other two at the bottom. 

Jimin instinctively stood a bit straighter at their arrival, his eyes glazing over where Y/n and Hoseok were pressed together and followed the path the arm he had over shoulder to where his hand fell off her arm. Jungkook’s giggles died down for a few moments, but his smile remained, albeit smaller than before but still genuine. 

“Breathtaking as always.” Jimin reached both hands forward to squish her cheeks together in good fun, and Y/n swatted at his hands. “Right Kook?”

Jungkook choked under Jimin’s instigating stare, and nodded with flushed cheeks. “Y-yeah.”

“Ah how we’ve all grown~” Jimin lilted to the slowly accumulating group with a sigh.

Hoseok clicked his tongue and jerked his head to the side, his expression taking on a forced look of sympathy. “All of us except you–still as tall as you were ten years ago.” 

“Careful with yourself tonight sunshine, don’t want your reserved seat to mysteriously vanish. ” Jimin refuted, his lower eyelid twitching. 

“Are you already pestering everyone?” Jin reprimanded from the doorway, adjusting the sleeves of his ornately embossed burnt orange dress shirt that was tucked neatly into a pair of pressed dress pants, and fixed Hoseok with a critical eye. 

“Yes.” Jimin and Y/n answered at the same time, making Hoseok bring a hand up to his chest in mock offense and took a step back from the two of them. 

Hoseok shook his head in disbelief. “After all the places I’ve driven you to.” 

“I have a car. You took me to a doctor's appointment one time.” Jimin dead panned. 

Hoseok pointed a delicate finger at him, “And you still remember it–that means it was memorable.” 

“It was memorable because I was going for a surgery.” Jimin rolled his eyes, stopping them on where Namjoon pulled their attention with the loud clamber of the door shutting behind himself upon his exit from the estate. He was in a soft black turtleneck that hugged every inch of his torso and matching jacket decorated with green foliage, and a pair of matching slacks.

Had all of her friends always been this hot? Y/n swallowed down a nervous lump in her throat.  

“Are we all ready to go” Namjoon cleared his throat, and gestured down the path for them to make their way towards the hotel. 

“Try and stick together when we get in.” Jimin’s honeyed tone rose above the distant vibrations of the bustling crowd infesting the hotel grounds and courtyard. To make his point he held his arm out for Y/n to take, and she gratefully did so. “I wasn’t lying when I said it was bu-”

“Like a can of sardines.” Hoseok chirped to Y/n’s left where he snaked his own arm through her other one. 

Jimin billowed out a peeved sigh. “Yes–like a can of sardines.” 

However annoyingly persistent he had been, Hoseok was right: The lobby was shoulder to shoulder, with guests lining up for both the Adelaide, the cafe, and to make their way to the hall that led down towards the theater. Jimin had gone from holding her arm to holding her hand, tugging her forwards after him to keep her from slipping into the sea of people. About halfway through the lobby, they had shoved Namjoon up front since he was the tallest and widest of them to part the crowd, the rest of them filing after him like school children in a line with their hands on the person in front of them. Jungkook had wedged his way behind her to take Hoseok’s spot, and kept one of his hands curled tenderly around her forearm, while her hand gripped onto the back of Jimin’s shirt. 

They managed to squeeze their group past the line of patrons and into the reservation line, the wait staff taking little time to get their oversized group out of the way and seated to make room for the rest of the crowd. 

The center tables of the Adelaide had been cleared to make room for a dancefloor, and all the tables had been set and prepared for the surge of guests with the approaching end of spring.  Y/n noted they had added an extension from the stage out towards the dancing area that ran right alongside the back of their booth. They shuffled into their seats, Jimin and Hoseok securing the seats next to her much to Jungkook’s disappointment, but Y/n had to send him a secret shrug and tried to remind him they weren’t supposed to be super close while with the others with the tap of a finger to her lips. 

“Shit!” Hoseok exclaimed with a groan, “They have the Medina’s Empanadas back on the appetizer menu–we are going to have to get at least three orders of those because I can eat an entire order myself.”

“Language!” Jin smacked Hoseok’s hand with the back of his menu. “We are in a public space!” 

Y/n and Hoseok exchanged knowing glances and stifled their giggles behind their hunched shoulders.  

Namjoon gasped from the other end of the table, his eyes widening at something on the menu. “The opera house special!” 

Hoseok scrunched his nose in distaste. “Isn’t that just cheese?” 

“Absolutely not.” Namjoon made a noise in the back of his throat. “It’s a multi-course extravaganza!” He brought a hand up to tick off his list on his fingers. “Imported fruits and cheeses with a hand selected wine, a rotating entree made with locally sourced ingredients, and a french dessert. This is an event specialty.” His eyes glowed with excitement and he trailed off behind his menu, “They even have brillat savarin included with it again…” 

They compiled their long list of appetizers and Namjoon’s Opera House special, and relayed it to the poor waiter tasked with their monstrous order. They watched him scamper away back into the kitchen, and Jin raised his eyebrows up into his hairline with a coy shake of his head. 

“I don’t think the kitchen will have anything left by the time we leave tonight. Our paychecks might be garnished for the damage we are about to rain down on this establishment.”

“They can handle it.” Y/n laughed, and brought her lavender lemonade to her lips to sip at while she skimmed the rest of the drink menu. Her eyes caught on a new cocktail added to their limited edition specials list: A lemonade based drink cheesily coined the ‘Adelaide’, with strawberry rum and grenadine. When the waiter stopped by to deliver the next round of drinks she was sure to ask for one of her own. 

Once they all had a drink of some sort in their hands, Namjoon raised his glass of wine into the air with a gracious smile. “To Y/n’s first week. May her time here be long, prosperous, and impactful beyond words.” 

A chorus of cheers followed, and tears pricked at her waterline at what to anyone else would seem like a simple friendly gesture, but between those that knew her true intentions, they meant the world to her. She couldn’t be more grateful for them at that moment, and Yoongi’s absence suddenly felt more glaring than ever. 

They didn’t have time to exchange much more banter, for the lights dimmed and the music faded into quiet. There was not a single seat left vacant, and there was already an older couple swaying on the open floor to what had been playing over the speakers. The heavy red curtains shuttered, and without any prerequisites, a lively drumbeat kicked up from behind their velvet confines. The curtains dropped dramatically with a brandish of roaring brass, bringing in the full band and an extravagantly dressed Taehyung, standing proud and oozing with confidence and charisma. 

The intro didn’t give him much time to spare, and he immediately jumped into the quick cadence. He absolutely took over the stage, floating down the catwalk with his microphone stand with trotting feet that slid in time with the beat, crossing over one another and back again. He must’ve been holding back on his dancing the first night, for he was ostensibly better than she had remembered, and this must’ve been what it looked like when he pulled out all the stops. His body was unable to stop using its own language to accompany the sounds coming from his mouth and the instruments that surrounded him as he flew from place to place. 

When he dropped to his knees just behind their table, Y/n observed that the black lacy shirt he had under his sparkling jacket was completely see-through. And so her never ending torment of the night began–for he reached a hand out to graze her jaw that mimed the slow drag of the sultry adlibs he crooned from his throat and her ability to breath was ripped out from her with it. It was impossible to keep herself together when he was so close, and touching her so gently while his shirt left little to the imagination. Oh good lord have mercy, Y/n beseeched to the heavens, and embarrassment flooded her system. Her face was hot as burning coals, and as per usual that appeared to fill him with never ending joy, giving him an extra pep in his step as he leapt to his feet to skip back to the center stage and finish out the song. 

Her hands came up to cover the sides of her face from Jimin’s snickering, and she couldn’t bear to look at any of her friends in fear of the onslaught of teasing she was bound to receive. The only person she had glimpsed while turning back to the table to take a sip of her drink was Hoseok–who looked less than pleased before realizing he was being watched–wiping the scowl from his face and gifting her a gleaming grin. 

Taehyung was halfway through his set when Jimin rose from his seat and held out a hand for her to take, gesturing with his head back to the dance floor. “Let’s celebrate.” 

He tugged her out of her seat and onto the dancefloor, twirling her about in an exuberant gesture and leading her in a dance that was much faster than anything else her and Hoseok had been working on. She lingered on the dance floor for one song after the other, eventually trading off with Jin and Namjoon for a song or two. After Taehyung’s set ended and they switched back to playing lively music over the speakers so people could continue dancing, he joined in on the merriment, and swept her away from the rest of them for a few songs. With his energy around, he somehow managed to drag Jungkook on the dance floor for one song with them much to Y/n’s surprise. 

The only ones who hadn’t joined in on the festivities was Hoseok who sat with a recuperating Jungkook, the former engrossed in a conversation with the latter, his finger gliding around the rim of his glass and his head propped on his chin. On occasion when she was being spun around with reckless abandon by Jin or led in an elegant swing by Jimin, she would spot him sending forlorn looks her way. After the fourth time, she gestured for him to join with a wave of her hand, but he just gave her a tightlipped smile and mouth an ‘I’ll pass”. 

Y/n didn’t have any time to dwell on his reaction for she was whisked away by Jin and galavanted around the floor in a hopping step. Her feet were beginning to ache, so she resigned to her seat for a break and to enjoy her next ‘Adelaide’ cocktail that she had left on the table, and possibly her final one–for she had lost count of what she had that night and knew it wouldn’t be wise to continue on. She had always been a bit of a light weight, and while these weren’t very alcohol heavy and had been spread out across a few hours between being buffered with copious amounts of food, she was still lingering on borderline drunk. 

It was only her and Hoseok at the table, Jungkook having excused himself to the bathroom for the time being, and the others were still tearing up the dancefloor much like they used to do as children–uncoordinated and carefree–and Taehyung seemed to fit right into the environment like he belonged there. 

“Are you having a good time?” Y/n asked, regarding Hoseok from over her shoulder with tired droopy eyes. 

He brought his fruity drink to his lips and took a small sip, letting the flavor develop in his mouth before speaking. “Of course, it’s a hoot and a half in here.” 

Y/n turned in her chair to face him head on, her knees brushing against his thigh and her head lolling back against her seat. “Promise?” 

Hoseok swirled his drink absentmindedly, training his eyes on the sloshing liquid to watch how it gleamed in the changing lights, and lifted his eyes to the ceiling while he took a second sip. His next words were mumbled into the edge of his glass and he took one hand to pat at her knee gently. 

“Promise.” 

Y/n frowned, and got up from her seat to head towards the back of the stage area to the greenroom, excusing herself to the private bathroom. The alcohol in her system made her thoughts flighty, turning over and out as quick as they came. By the time she made it outside the greenroom she had forgotten what she was even frowning about. Something about Hoseok?

She ambled clumsily over to the bathroom to lean up against the wall by the door for Jungkook to finish up. Y/n closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the wall, taking a deep inhale through her nose and letting it linger in her lungs before releasing it out of her mouth. The music was softer but could be heard clearly over the small speaker in the upper corner, and she thoughtlessly found herself humming along to the melody. A cool breeze seemed to surround her entire being, and fleetingly she felt like she was falling, but her feet remained firmly on the ground beneath her. 

“Oh my! Don’t you look hotsy-totsy~” A woman trilled from within the room, making Y/n’s eyes blink open with more difficulty than it should have. 

A head of dark hair, short and swirled against her temples sat perched on one of the make up chairs. Her lips painted ruby red, a stark contrast to the cream colored, short and sparkly dress she wore. She laughed, a high pitched twinkle, and the feather in her hair blowing in the breeze of her movements. 

“Did I spook you?” She quizzed, her grin stretching and making her cheeks plump and rosy. “I must apologize as that wasn’t my intention. It’s not everyday we get new ladies in here–especially not ones so…” She let her eyes do a slow once over of her figure. “...pretty.” She brought  a hand up to stifle a giggle. “They usually get those downstairs.” 

Y/n stiffened, her outfit was outdated by over a century, and there had been no one in the greenroom when she had entered–not that she could see anyways. 

“The name’s Bea.” The woman stood far shorter than Y/n, and took graceful strides towards where she stood, stopping a few feet away and holding out a gloved hand. “The bee’s knees of the Adelaide. Though the new egg is quite the snazzy showman if you ask me.” 

A beat of silence passed between them, and the woman nodded her chin and reanimated her face like she was starting over, a cloddish chuckle tumbling from her lips. “This is usually where we would shake hands.” 

Y/n robotically held her hand up for the woman to take, and Bea did so easily as if she was alive and well–just cold, and left a lingering tingle along her palm. 

“Now that’s better.” Bea winked at Y/n, and sank her teeth into her bottom lip with a tilt of her head. “Now what’s a doll like yourself doing back here? You’re not who that psychopomp is after, are you? Not that you would necessarily see me complaining about your company around here…You’d be quite easy to carry a torch for.” One dainty gloved hand reached out to run a couple fingers along the side of Y/n’s cheek, 

“Psychopomp…?” The end of Y/n's voice turned up an octave at the end, and the woman retracted her touch with a tilt of her head. The music from the hall grew more distant, and warbly. Like the the RPM had been put on a setting far too low for the song.

“And how! The lad in the room over. Sends a lot of us into a tizzy, but he doesn’t scare me.” Bea took a step back to examine Y/n again. “No…You look too lively to be next.” She leant into Y/n’s ear, pressing her hands onto shoulder’s to reach. “But as for someone else near you, the smell of death is quite strong–someone at your table perhaps? I’d know your onions if I were you.” 

Y/n’s mouth went dry, and felt full of cotton, and her ears rang. Her shoulders, face, and hand tingled with the aftershocks of her touch and she couldn’t bring it to herself to move just yet. Y/n’s eyes tracked Bea where she sauntered to the door, pulling it open and giving Y/n one last final look. 

“Anyhow, I’m up next. Don’t want the big man to get hot under his collar if I’m late again.” Bea wiggled her fingers seductively in Y/n’s direction, and disappeared out into the hall. “Break a leg~” 

_________________________________________

Y/n barely registered Jungkook’s worried face blurring into her vision, the snapping of his fingers in front of her eyes bringing her back down from whatever stupor she had found herself in. Jungkook looked taller than she had ever seen him–had he somehow managed to grow a few feet while he was in the bathroom? 

No, Y/n blinked a few more times, and the sensation of the cold floor beneath her bare thighs and her hands pressing into the floor made themselves clear to her. She must have fallen down, she surmised, and gratefully took Jungkook’s offered hands to stand back up. Jungkook’s mouth was moving, but the sound was muddied, coming in and out of focus as if she was twisting the end of a spyglass. 

“What?” She croaked out, her voice feeling unnatural as it left her mouth. 

“I asked you how much you had had to drink.” Jungkook retorted, his hand supporting most of her weight up against the wall. 

“I came here to go to the bathroom…” Y/n started, surveying the room she was in through a daze. 

Jungkook’s eyes raked over her face, a scowl blooming on his features. “I figured. But ‘s not what I asked.” 

“I need to pee.” 

Jungkook huffed, and released her to go do what she needed to. 

“Will you stay out there? I don’t want her to come back.” Y/n slurred, plopping herself down on the toilet haphazardly, feeling much more out of it than she had before…before…something. 

“Who?” Jungkook asked through the door, he fought to keep his tone flat instead of his usual blunt demand. 

“Bumble bee.” Y/n mumbled. “Egg.”  Y/n tried again the single word echoing off the bathroom walls and reverberating back to her in a mocking torrent. She stood up to flush the toilet and waddle over to wash her hands.

“No, that can’t be right…” She muttered to herself, turning off the spigot and drying her hands to her left. The harder she fought to think, the buds of an impending headache ebbed at the edges of her skull, fighting their way through for dominance over all else. Think, Y/n. She tried harder to remember but came up with nothing. 

She bumped open the door to find his stoic face fashioned with worry, his hands held out in front of him to ask for permission to help her. 

“Something isn’t right.” Y/n whines, a hand coming up to massage at her aching temples. 

“I can tell. You’re drunk.” He noted plainly, carefully handling her elbow in an attempt to guide her back into the main area. 

“No!” Y/n denied, shaking her head. “Well yes–a little. But no–I was fine when I first came in here. Then something…” Y/n smacked her palm to her forehead. “God why can’t I remember?!” 

“Take it easy.” He scolded, propping the door open with his foot and herding her out into the narrow hall. 

“No. It was spooky, Kook.” 

He tightened his hold ever so slightly on her elbows. “A ghost?” 

“I think so.” Y/n lamented, a groan peeling from her lips. “I can’t remember anything–why can’t I remember?” 

Jungkook twitched his nose, his guard up and his face indiscernible. “Let’s just get you to bed.” 

“It was important!” She hissed, wrenching herself from his grasp and stumbling into the stone wall of the hall. “Trust me, please.” 

His lip twitched, and he fought to keep his face void of his thoughts. He didn’t answer, but he stopped fighting her on it so it was a win in her book. He just held his hands up as a precaution in case she fell again, while she inched against the wall towards the tables. With each step, she felt more and more of her control returning to her, like clouds were dispersing from her brain so she could see clearly again. Like-

She gasped, startling Jungkook behind her into thinking she was falling, instead she whirled on him with as much seriousness as she could muster. “I was in there!” 

“In where?” He pleaded, his placid demeanor cracking to show his growing agitation. 

“In the paralelo-” Y/n couldn’t control her own tongue and tried again with a huff. “The parallelogram.” 

“The Paralrealm?” He furrowed his brow at her in disbelief. 

“Yes! That!” She pointed at him in victory, their crawling pace having them nearly arrive at the door.  

“How–” 

“The woman.” Y/n stated matter-of-factly. And grabbed for the door handle to pull it open but Jungkook’s hand shot out to stop her before she could. 

“You can’t just say that and then go back out there.” His dark eyes were disapproving. “Trust, remember?”

Y/n blinked up at him lazily, and moved her head in a ‘duh’ motion. “I know–that’s why I’m going to find Yoongi to tell him about it, and then go to bed.” 

Pushing past him and out into the clambering energy of he Adelaide, she was almost blasted backwards by the warm air and the sheer smell of food and alcohol from within. The lights blurred in her vision, moving too fast for her to process and it hurt her eyes, so she held one arm up to block the streaks of color from tormenting her retinas. The music had been switched from the older classics to music with a more modern touch, letting Y/n know that it was past midnight and time for a younger crowd to enjoy the dancefloor. 

She floundered over to their table where Taehyung, and Hoseok sat in an uncomfortable silence. Their faces lifting from where they hade been bent over their phones and brightening at her arrival. Though Taehyung’s quickly fell into one of unease. 

“How much have you had to drink?” He asked gently, his eyes quivering over her face and unsteady legs. 

“Barely anything.” She dismissed, and continued on past their table towards the door. “I’m going home–I’m tired.” 

Was she mad as well? Scared? She couldn’t remember. 

Hoseok and Taehyung both rose from their seats, offers to walk her back spilling from their mouths but shut down immediately as Jungkook trudged past them and to her side. 

“I got it. I haven’t had anything to drink anyways.” 

Ahh yes, she had been mad, she glowered up at the root of it taking a hold of her shoulders and steering her to the door. 

“Tell everyone I said goodnight and that I love them!” Y/n called back over her shoulder, blowing them a clumsy kiss as she did so. 

Taehyung guffawed at the scene, and jumped up to catch the flying kiss in his hand and hold it to his heart with a wide boxy grin and a wink. “Will do!” 

Leaving the Adelaide was a much easier task than arriving, with the crowds now dispersed and freeing up the lobby and courtyard for easier travel. Y/n pouted the whole way back, her mind a jumbled mess on what was going on inside and outside of it. She barely even registered that they had made it back to the estate, until her subconscious started ringing alarm bells. 

“Wait! She’ll see–the cameras.” Y/n grabbed onto Jungkook’s arm to stop him from opening the door, but he was much stronger than her, and easily removed her hands to continue his ministrations. 

“I don’t care.” He laid any other protests to rest, and pulled them both inside the foyer to begin the trek up the stairs with her. 

They made it to her room, and he sat her down on her bed while he dug through her closet in search of one of her trusted old t-shirts and sleep shorts. “Go wash your face. You told us all to remind you after your second drink, so don’t yell at me.” 

Y/n listened to his commands, albeit with a silent mock of his words as she went, and completed the tedious task of scrubbing her face and settling her hair to its natural state. Jungkook hovered outside the open bathroom door awkwardly, holding her clothes in his hands and shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

Y/n turned off the faucet and let the water drip down her face back into the sink. She was distracted now, her eyes taking in his fidgeting stance and blank yet somehow still expressive rounded eyes, and the way he watched to make sure she didn’t buckle under herself again. The bundle of clothes in his hand a tangible show of his care towards her. 

This moment encapsulated their friendship perfectly. Reserved, blunt, neat, with an attitude like a geode that just needs a little extra prodding to open up versus herself: loud, playful, messy, hard-headed and an open book. A whirlwind of traits that shouldn’t be as compatible as they were, yet here they still were. 

There it was again.

That stupid feeling that she hadn’t gotten the chance to ask him how he felt about yet.

Only this time, alcohol and the scrambled mess whatever had happened in the bathroom combined to remove nearly all of her inhibitions. Meaning, she wasn’t all in her right mind enough to stop the petals of adoration from spilling from her mouth and onto the floor.

“I love you.” 

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

Next Chapter

Lullaby Translation:

Sleep, little child, sleep

The father tends the sheep,

The mother shakes the little tree,

At that, a little dream falls here

Sleep, little child, sleep

taglist: @rkive-joonie @kokoandkookie

[hlficlibrary]

hey babes, um looking for stories like h&l meet eo/like eo but one has to work in another place so they stop seeing eo and time pass and when they are together again, one of them, or both are in a relationship but still like eo and they are jealous of the current partner or smt similar. thank youuu <3

Hi, anon! You're very welcome! Here are some fics that I think fit what you're looking for...

Hold You Now by solvetheminourdreams / @cursethedaylight

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.   Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

Next to your Heartbeat (where I should be) by jaded25

"We were meant to be but a twist of fate made it so we had to walk away"

All it takes for them to fall in love is one night. All they have to do is wait one year to see each other again.

Yet, when Louis returns after his year abroad, the boy who's got his arms wrapped around Harry isn't him. It isn't a stranger either, which should make walking away all that easier. After all, friend's don't lust after their mate's boyfriends.

Technically, doing the right thing should be easy - but when has Louis ever been known to taking the easy way out?

Far Away. by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes

Harry swallows hard, clearing his throat. “Hi Lou,” he says, looking at Louis reluctantly. He’s even more gorgeous than he remembers, so much, he feels uneasy looking directly at him, he’s so beautiful. Louis looks at Harry, does a quick once-over and smiles, eyes so bright and blue—just how Harry remembers. “Harold!” He gets up out of his seat and embraces him into a warm hug. It’s a friendly platonic hug; one that ends way too soon. Harry wishes it would last longer so that he can breathe Louis in and memorize his new but somehow still familiar scent. It instantly leaves his body aching for more.

Harry returns to London after five years. Stuck in the past with "what ifs" and "what might have beens", he sees that his friends and ex (and possible love of his life) Louis have all moved on with their lives while he finds himself questioning his own life choices, past and present.

[qadmonster]

I was looking forward to a nice relaxing day and painting and job hunting, but instead I have an absolute doozy of a headache so heres a list of vegetables I dislike:

Tomatoes - They're fine cooked down in sauce, paste or sundried but I can't stand raw tomatoes in anything. I do like tomato soup with grilled cheese, but only when it's really really garlicky.

Eggplant - It's not something I have a lot, but it's something I never enjoy. Baba ganoush is probably the only form of it I'll fuck with.

Beans - Especially lima beans and black eyed peas, but I've never been a fan of most of comon types of beans we eat in america including navy and kidney. The only pulses I'll cook are lentils and chickpeas, I also don't mind string beans, green peas, and pea soup.

Broccoli - I understand its a nutritional power houses but I've never really enjoyed broccoli. It's inoffensive but can easily be replaced by something tastier and also it shreds up my insides and gives me the gurgles.

Asparagus - Tastes great, but the rancid smell of my piss after eating it makes me nauseous so I always avoid it.

Honorable mentions -

Cilantro - Though not really a vegetable it can be used as such. I wouldn't describe it's taste and smell as soapy so I don't think I'm in that genetic group, but I don't find it at all pleasant so I'm not a huge a fan though I will eat it since it's sort of unavoidable in most things it's in.

Potatoes - I'm not a huge fan of potatoes, I don't dislike them (except maybe scalloped and hash browned) but I don't get excited by them either. I've never bought or cooked with potatoes.

Favorite - Even though they aren't technically a vegetable, culinarily I think they're considered such and so my favorite vegetable is actually mushrooms.

[lilacl0veskrew]

𝚄𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚂𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜

The Touchstarved cast ended up in the modern world somehow. Your world! So what better way to teach them about it then with a road trip! But unfortunately, they have to figure out the seat assignments in the car if you're ever gonna get on the road! You're driving so you don't really care but all the noise and strong opinions are causing your irritation to simmer beneath your skin. ∥ Touchstarved LI x GN! Modern! Tired!Reader. This is my first time writing on Tumblr but won't be my last. I've had this fake scenario in my head for a while so I'm happy I get to put it in writing. Enjoy.

Credits to @cafekitsune for the cute divider

Zzp!-

You paused, looking up and taking a deep breath so you wouldn't lose your mind. "Please, God, grant me the patience today." You angrily shoved your fingers into the edge of the suitcase, pushing in the peaking fabric responsible for your anger. The fury simmering under your skin was about to explode. The amount of zippers that had jammed that morning was astronomical. You pulled the zipper, finally closing the last suitcase, your anger starting to calm again. You turned your head, only to notice that you had forgotten to put something in said suitcase. The only way you could express your anger in that moment was very exotic hand gestures. You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned your head. "Hey, [Name]? You seem annoyed, is everything okay?" You shrugged his hand off, you weren't in the mood for him to be touching you. "It's fine, Leander. Really. Go join the others outside. I need a minute." He smiled at you, seeming a little dejected by your rejection however obeyed your command nonetheless. You threw the misplaced item into your backpack and leaned against the edge of your bed. You had no idea how this managed to happen. "Going on a road trip with 5 people I barely know. That's not a recipe for disaster at all." You picked yourself back up, dragging the last suit case out to the car.

"I'm not sitting with him." Mhin said, audible sneer in their voice as they talked about Vere. You took a deep breath, placing the suitcase into the trunk of the car. You pushed it down, hearing it click as it locked. "[Name]. Your timing is immaculate." "Ah, yes. What bullshit shall greet me today? What's the problem now?" Kuras tilted his head to the right, your eyes followed, landing on Mhin, Vere, Ais, and Leander all debating where they were gonna sit in the car. "Oh my fucking god." Ais looked at you, a sit eating grin rising to his face. "Upset about something, sparrow?" You gave him a deadpan look, "Wow, you are so perceptive." You grumbled, annoyance bleeding into your voice. "So, what's the problem? Kuras gave me a run down." Vere looked at you, a pout on his face. "[Name]~" He cooed softly. "Do you have a bigger car, I don't wanna sit with any of you." Without missing a beat, you said, "Vere, if you keep complaining the next time you're showering I'm gonna throw something electrical in there and fry your ass." You weren't being serious but hopefully it was enough to settle the shit down. His lips curled into a cat like smile, oh how he loved to string you along. "Ooh, how mean. Such pretty lips shouldn't spout such harsh words." You let out a dull hum, barely acknowledging his existence. You heard a familiar scoff, able to almost feel the amusement bleed out of him.

"So we're fighting over seating arrangements?" You took a sip of your thermosed coffee, you weren't gonna be part of this. "I'm driving since I'm the only one who knows how to so I don't really care. You 5 can hash this out yourselves." Leander smile, much to your annoyance. "Well, [Name]. How about you give us some insight?" You leveled his cheerful attitude with a tired look. "If anyone's sitting in the front with me, it's gonna be Mhin or Kuras. Those two are the only one who wouldn't bother me while I'm driving." Ais smiled, "No need to be so harsh, sparrow." "Not being harsh, just being honest." You murmured, taking another sip of your coffee. Leander spoke with a cheerful tone as if it wasn't 5:30 in the morning, "I don't mind the doctor sitting with [Name] and I can sit with Ais!" "No. Absolutely not. I'm not sitting with Ais' housepet." Mhin said with a scowl, Vere's ears twitching in irritation.

You decided to ignore what was going on and start up the car, sitting in the driver seat to warm up. You stared forward into the abyss of the dark street, people who unfortunately work early morning jobs pulling out of their driveways. You heard soft tapping on the window, you had to gather yourself and steel your nerves to not start bugging on whoever was bothering you. You rolled down the window. "I just got in the car, what's the problem now?" Leander, Mhin, Kuras and Vere were scattered around, no longer talking. You stuck your head out and looked around, "Where's Ais?" Leander replied with a sheepish smile. "Smoking." You held your tongue and leaned back with a sigh. "Looks like we're deciding without him." Vere clicked his tongue. "How about we start with our preferences? I'll go first. I hate all four of you." You frowned, "Of course, Vere. Leave it to you to make everything much more difficult then it needs to be." He grinned at you, sharp canines catching the reflected light of the headlight. Sensing the tension, Kuras slipped between you and Vere, taking his place next to Mhin.

You propped your head up with your hand, this is so annoying. "How about we put Vere and Ais together? Because he hates everyone else." Mhin quickly interjected. "Absolutely not. Because leave it to those two to have sex in the back seat." "It'd be better then being put with a garden gnome. Maybe [Name] has an extra booster seat since you clearly forgot yours." Mhin's frown deepened, their face reddening in anger. "Okay, wow. So clearly we're getting nowhere." Vere smiled at you, and god was it evil. "I could sit in the front with you to make this ride less boring." "I'm afraid that will not be happening." Kuras objected with an indifferent tone. Vere scoffed but resigned himself to ignoring the doctor. You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Okay look. We're gonna be on the road for like 5 hours. So we need to decide or we're not getting anywhere."

Ais returned from smoking, snuffing out his cigarette in the damp morning grass. You gave him an irritated look. "How nice of you to join us, Ais." He returned the look you were giving him. Understandable, they'd been arguing for the past 30 minutes. You stared forward through the windshield, the sun was slowly starting to rise. You were desperately trying to tune out the sounds of the bickering but you couldn't.

*Pissed off*

You jolted forward, your body half-way out the window. "STOP, GODDAMNIT. YOU'RE GIVING ME A FUCKING HEADACHE." Everyone went silent at the sound of your sudden outburst. "[Name]-" Your gaze snapped up to Leander. "DON'T INTERRUPT ME. VERE, AIS, BACK SEAT. MHIN, LEANDER, MIDDLE. KURAS, YOU'RE IN THE FRONT WITH ME." You started rapidly clapping your hands to motivate them to move. "LET'S GO, LET'S GO, LET'S GO." Ais looked amused... and proud? Of your your verbal paroxysm. Maybe you were just seeing things while your anger boiled out of control. Surprisingly enough, everyone got into the car without objection. You took a deep breath, falling back into your seat. "Alright. Finally." To drown out anything else that might piss you off, while still being able to hear the five, you put in one airpod, leaving out the other and finally shifting the car's gear from park to drive.

Yay, we finally got onto the road. I'm planning another part or two about how a pit stop gone wrong would go or how the cast would react to their first case of road rage. I'm glad you enjoyed❤️ -Your online bestie

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[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

The Year In Doom & Gloom

Doom & Gloom From The Tomb celebrated its 15th anniversary this year, which is crazy. But what can I say, I keep finding cool live tapes and keep feeling compelled to share them with you ... whoever you are! A lot of this website is just me talking to myself, hashing and rehashing and re-re-hashing various obsessions, getting impossibly niche about some of my favorite artists, trying to shine a light into the darkest corners of music history. But that makes it sound like it's a serious endeavor. Mostly, it's fun. I hope it's fun for you too. So, if you need to catch up, here's a tip-of-the-iceberg rundown of what we checked out over the last 12 months ... as always, thank a taper!

Lou Reed - Sister Ray in the 70s

“Candy Says” - Lou Reed, Kongress Zentrum, Hamburg, Germany, March 29, 1979

Lou Reed - October 1974

Lou Reed - Lady Mitchell Hall, Cambridge, England, October 13, 1972

Lou Reed - City Hall, Sheffield, England, June 1, 1974

Lou Reed - Konserthuset, Stockholm, Sweden, May 14, 1974

Lou Reed - Parc Des Expositions De Colmar, Theatre De Plein Air, Colmar, France, August 12, 2004

The Modern Lovers - Radcliffe College, Cambridge, Massachusetts, October 27, 1972

The Modern Lovers - Sword in the Stone, Boston, Massachusetts, 1972

The Modern Lovers - Boston Center for the Arts, Boston, Massachusetts, February 23, 1974

Foggy Notion - The Bowery Ballroom, New York City, December 13, 2023

The Feelies - Daniel Street, Milford, Connecticut, July 22, 2011

John Sinclair - BAR, New Haven, Connecticut, September 28, 2003

Meg Baird + Chris Forsyth, Cafe Nine, New Haven, Connecticut, October 26, 2022

John Fahey - McCabe’s Guitar Shop, Santa Monica, California, December 1979

The Go-Betweens - The Gatekeeper To Your Soul

Frank Black - Wetlands, New York City, June 13, 1994

Jacobites - Hearts Are Like Flowers

The Replacements - The Ritz, New York City, June 21, 1986

Willie Nelson - El Rey Theatre, Los Angeles, California, December 20, 1997

Neil Young - Razor Love (1984-2020)

Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Control The Violent Side

“Peace Of Mind” - Neil Young & Crazy Horse, Community Theater, Berkeley, California, November 2, 1976

Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Festival Hall, Osaka, Japan, March 4, 1976

Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Copps Coliseum, Hamilton, Ontario, October 31, 1996

Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Shoreline Amphitheatre, Mountain View, California, October 1 / October 2, 1994

Fairport Convention - Harlow Town Hall, Essex, England, June 15, 1974

Richard & Linda Thompson - Dublin Stadium, Dublin, Ireland, November 10, 1979

Robyn Hitchcock & Richard Thompson - “First Girl I Loved (Incredible String Band),” The Barbican, London, England, July 19, 2009

Can - Nordseeheilbad, Cuxhaven, Germany, January 7, 1976

Bob Dylan and The Band - “Nobody ‘Cept You” (Outtake)

Bob Dylan & The Band - Chicago Stadium, Chicago, Illinois, Jan. 3, 1974

Patti Smith - Max’s Kansas City, New York City, September 1, 1974

Patti Smith Group / John Cale / Television - The Palladium, New York City, December 31, 1976

Television - Great American Music Hall, San Francisco, California, December 9, 1992

Television - Roseland, New York City, October 2, 2004

Grant Lee Buffalo - Shepherd’s Bush Empire, London, England, October 11, 1994

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers - Vredenburg, Utrecht, The Netherlands, December 4, 1982

Wilco - Orpheum Theatre, Boston, Massachusetts, October 19, 2002