#I guess this counts as coming out to my blog followers who don’t already know?

[hkpika07]

Woah! I gained visibility! To those wondering about my icon, it’s the bi-romantic flag. I am in fact ace. <3

[roseykat]

KINKTOBER DAY 5

TITLE: Eat, sleep, play.

PAIRING: Minho x Jisung x reader

SUMMARY: an established poly relationship between you and Minsung, along with an account of what Jisung likes to call ‘play time’. 

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with these posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

TAGS: pre-established poly relationship, bondage, unprotected sex, blowjobs, swearing, oral sex (f!receiving and m!receiving), a dash of bratty yet sub-Jisung, sub reader, ball gags, cum eating.

TAGLIST: @kbitties @luneskies @mal-lunar-28 @kibs-and-bits @aaasia111 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung @lizzekat @queenmea604 🩷🩷🩷

-

“I wanna eat her out,” Jisung mutters, unable to take his eyes off of your bound body. It was almost like he was truly hungry, nearly salivating. 

Minho looks down at you but not with a gaze of pity. He just spent the last five minutes binding your body with rope; your legs are bent at your sides as you lie on your back, and your wrists are tied to your ankles. To top it off, Minho had stuffed your mouth with a ball gag. It wasn’t necessarily for punishment, but mainly because he likes being mean.  

“I did have other plans for the both of you, but I guess we can start that after.”

For a moment Jisung wondered what exactly those plans were. It’s always exciting to not know what’s coming next and with Minho, nine times out of ten, it’s something mind blowing. He can adapt to Jisung’s desires and decides to sit cross legged on the bed behind you. So Minho scoots underneath your head so that you’re nearly in his lap. It gives him a better view of Jisung and what he’s about to do to you.

Jisung lies on the bed tummy first, his mouth ready to be put to use in between your legs. The warmth of his breath is a subtle relief followed by the tender kisses he places on each inner thigh, slowly inching down to your clit. Just when he does, your eyes are already fluttering back.

“Mmm!” 

Minho smirks down at you, “can’t say anything now can you?”

Jisung wraps his hands around your upper thighs to bring your pussy closer to his face. The feel of his wet, hot tongue lapping and sucking sends you into a state of oversensitivity. He’s always been good at giving head, same with Minho, so you always count yourself lucky with two partners who are good at what they do. 

His mouth has you moaning like a whore around the ball gag, even though neither of them can audibly hear you as properly. Your legs are already shivering and shaking from the pleasure that’s beginning to surge throughout your body. To top it off, Minho makes his hands useful by rolling your nipples in between his thumbs and fingers. The nervy reaction forces your head back into Minho’s lap, trying to cry out as much as possible. 

“Baby girl likes that doesn’t she?” Minho asks, pinching and tugging at the sensitive buds to make you scream into the gag. 

Your chest starts heaving quicker and quicker, a sign to Minho that you’re about to cum, and just before you do, he has to yank Jisung by his hair to stop him from achieving that. His head lifts up from your pussy, his mouth glistening unashamely with your juices as his eyes looked dazed and spaced out. 

“That’s enough,” Minho warns. “I said you could eat her out, I never said you were allowed to make her cum.” 

Jisungs happens to take a lot of pride in making you orgasm. He thinks it’s the most fascinating yet cute thing at the same time. He enjoys watching you shake, scream, cry, shiver, moan - all of the above when you cum. It’s something he has that really emulates the characteristics of a ‘giver’ even though he himself is, the majority of the time, a ‘receiver’. 

“Don’t be mean to her like that,” he whines. “Wanted to feel her cum.”

“Not yet,” Minho halts. “For now, you’re going to fuck her.” 

Jisung’s eyes light up once more as he props himself up onto his knees while Minho slides out from behind you and takes a seat on the chair next to the bed so he can watch. Having been achingly hard in his pants since the scene began, Jisung starts to feel waves of relief when he’s able to take his dick out. You watch him eagerly with your last line of patience.

“C’mere baby,” he murmurs, almost like he’s tipsy. 

Jisung’s cock is somewhat thick and has the perfect length and curve that it’s enough to make you cum like you’ve never before each and every single time. He gets excited just thinking about it as he rubs the tip of his cock in between your wet folds. Minho crosses one leg over the other as he watches the pair of you, seeing Jisung unintentionally tease your entrance with his cock; only pushing in less than an inch and slowly retracting out. 

It doesn’t matter how much preparation they both put you through, it’s not nearly enough to get you ready for how filling it feels for when Jisung is fully inside of you. 

He squeezes a small dollop of the lube that was pulled out earlier from the bedside table and runs some of the product on his length and some around your pussy. 

The reintroduction of his touch makes you groan, desperate and longing for more that soon comes when he starts to push inside of you. 

“Yes, fuck oh my god,” Jisung mumbles incoherently. “Can never get over this pussy, feels unreal.” 

Heat always rises to your cheeks whenever one of them praises your body. For whatever reason, it gets you to cum quicker. Minho found that out when they were both fucking you once and wouldn’t stop commenting about how gorgeous you looked taking both of them at the same time. Needless to say the mess you made on them was a sign. 

“Fuck, I don’t think I’m going to last,” Jisung starts fucking you shallowly and slowly, not wanting to put in all of his energy into his thrusts in case he cums too early. 

“Lean some more of your weight down to fill her out,” Minho instructs, turning Jisung’s spaced out face into a look of irritation. 

He was just basking in the sensation of wet heat wrapping around him. Despite the context of the scene, Jisung feels very comfortable. He could stay buried inside of you for as long as you’d let him. In saying that, his submissiveness always bends for Minho’s orders. That, fortunately for him, is just how the both of you are built. 

So Jisung listens and leaned further down into your body. Just that subtle adjustment in the position makes you twist from the waist up at how deep Jisung’s cock is now filling you. It brings a sick smile to his face when your moans get louder around the ball gag. The only method of dealing with the pleasure is clenching your fists at your ankles. Even that isn’t enough to manage it. 

“Fuck her like you mean it Jisung,” Minho snaps, growing impatient with how his boyfriend is performing.

Jisung lowers himself down onto both of his elbows, resting more of his weight on top of your body. It allows him to slide in deeper, filling you right out that it squeezes a series of raspy moans from the base of your throat that are muted by the gag. Jisung visibly shudders when he bottoms out, feeling like if he thrusts a few more times, he’ll cum in an instant.

“Can you believe him?” He asks you in your ear, staring at Minho at the same time. “Telling me what to do.”  

His tone and volume were deliberate and provoked a reaction from Minho. He stands up from his seat with  force, walks over to you both with an agitated gait and expression before grabbing a fistful of Jisung’s hair and yanking it back. 

“Do I have to shut you up with a ball gag too?” He questions. 

Jisung grins, thriving in the sting spreading around his scalp, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

Minho’s eye twitches. Out of you and Jisung, Minho would have to say that Jisung can be the brattiest at the worst of times, and you at the best of times. You’ll play up here and there, but Jisung has a tendency to not listen at all until Minho completely subdues him. If Jisung is still talking by the end of a session, Minho hasn’t done enough work to put him in his place. 

“Course you wouldn’t,” Minho releases his hand. “That’s because you’re a fucking slut.”

Jisung’s eyes glaze over, darkening as Minho speaks to him in such a degrading tone. It’s the only method of taming him; degradation and manhandling - the only ways to get Jisung off his high horse. His brain stalls and submits whenever Minho calls him types of names, treats him like a whore, even sometimes when he’s neglected in bed. 

His method of control when it comes to you needs to be an equal balance of degradation, bondage, and physicality - whether that’s pain play, clamps, orgasm torture, maybe a tantalising mixture of all three. 

Over the years that you’ve all been together, he's figured you both out. 

“That’s what you are, isn’t it Jisung?” He asks him. 

“Y-Yes,” he stammers before Minho releases and gives his head a bit of a shove - not too hard, but just enough for a lewd smile to grow on Jisung’s face.  

“Get out of her,” Minho orders. “On your knees.” 

“But-”

“Now,” he says threateningly, cutting his boyfriend's words short. “Wanna keep talking, might as well put that mouth of yours to use.”

Jisung licks his lips and swallows. He gently pulls out of you as you moan at the loss. Minho unbuckles the restraints that have been keeping your legs separate, and your ankles bound to your hands. Even though it feels good to be out of the same position, you miss the heavy feeling of being restrained. The idea of not being able to move itches a part of your brain that you didn’t know existed - especially when you’re being physically and literally bound to cum. 

Even though you’re free now, you still behave obediently and follow through with whatever Minho says. 

“Please fuck me instead,” Jisung mumbles with deep doughy eyes that can make just about anyone fold. 

Not Minho though. Not when he’s in an unshakeable mindset as he manhandles Jisung onto his back on the bed with so much ease, pinning his wrists next to his head, “you’ve already asked for too much tonight. You can just take whatever I decide to give you.”

Jisung pouts. While he wallows in the sadness of the hope to get railed, Minho tends back to you to untie all the rope. When he’s finished, he places it to one side and unlatches the buckle to the ball gag from behind your head. A long line of saliva connects from your lips and the device that was used to keep you from talking. Minho likes seeing it though. A sick and twisted part of him almost makes him want to spit in your mouth. 

“You, on your knees too,” he says to you before you join Jisung on the floor, waiting patiently. 

“W-Why can’t you fuck me?” You ask him.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” Minho asks you back.

“Yes but-“

“Good girls do what they’re told the first time they’re asked to do something,” he cuts you mid sentence right away. He’s not about to put up with an attitude from you right now. Not when he’s this horny.

Minho sits on the edge of the bed, unzips his pants to reveal his cock already leaking with pre-cum at the tip. Both you and Jisung are keen to get your mouths around your boyfriend's cock, almost salivating when you see it.

“Open,” Minho instructs.

There’s no time either of you waste trying to blow him. You use your mouths as if you were both made for it - made to please him. So you take turns in taking as much of his cock as you both can down your throats. Minho’s hands bunch into fists, gripping the sheets beneath him as his head tips back. Without looking at either of you, the lewd, wet sounds and the hot sensation of your mouths are enough to keep him going. 

Then again, he enjoys watching you work. So he brings his head back up, taking a look at Jisung who’s eagerly waiting for his turn while you use your mouth up and down Minho’s length. He pets under Jisung’s chin and caresses the side of your face at the same time. But when his high approaches fast, he resorts to gripping a fistful of your hair instead.

"So fucking good," Minho grunts through his gritted teeth. Jisung listens to you being praised and scooches closer so that he can try to get his mouth around Minho's cock too.

"Fuck!" He groans. "That's it...making me cum."

In a matter of seconds, Minho doesn't hold back. Both you and Jisung peel off of him as he paints both of your faces with strings of white, warm cum. Minho has always been a 'heavy load' type of guy which is a godsend for people like you and Jisung who don't dare to waste any of it.

As Minho descends from his dizzy, euphoric high, it gives him a bit of time to absorb the mess he's made before him. Jisung uses his thumb to carefully swipe some of Minho's jizz from your lips and gets you to suck it off.

He then gently slides his hand across the underside of your face to the side of your head where he pulls you in to kiss him. That kiss quickly turns into a heated and aggressive makeout where Jisung pins you on your back to the floor. 

“On the floor?” Minho raises a brow, trying not to smile while he catches his breath. 

It only occurs to him now as Jisung is holding you down that you both must be desperate for each other to fuck on the ground. Despite the mess, neither of you cares about it. You can taste Minho on Jisung’s tongue and vice versa. The instigator sitting on the edge of the bed thinks it’s equally as hot, but not a surprise. 

"Fuck me," you whimper when you break free from each other momentarily. "Hurry, please."

"Shh," Jisung hushes with a shaky breath as he aligns the tip of his cock with your entrance once more.

It's not before long until Jisung actually starts fucking you properly this time. Earlier on, he never had the proper chance to after being interrupted by Minho. That's only because his ego interfered. Now he can fuck you as if it's the last thing he's ever going to do.

It's a pleasure for Minho to sit back and enjoy watching you both fuck until you’re shaking around each other. He just loves this - seeing you both rabid with lust that nothing else matters. Minho reckons if anyone were to just walk into the room, that wouldn’t stop you and Jisung from fucking. If anything, he thinks Jisung would probably go harder.

The thought gives him a naughty idea. 

He knows what happens when you’re both needy at the exact same time. It’s always Minho trying to train two untamed animals just going at each other or him. However, Minho will never complain because there is no reason to. He appreciates the level of need you both have for each other, for him as well. That’s what makes the relationship tick, is that love is distributed equally and at high volumes.  

"R-Right there," you mutter, eyelids fluttering as Jisung rocks into you repeatedly. "Cumming...gonna cum."

You bite down into the skin of his shoulder, trying so hard not to scream from the way he’s making you cum. Jisung on the other hand is the opposite - moaning like a slut when he runs face first into an eye-rolling orgasm. 

“Yes, yes! Fuck…making me cum so fucking hard…” Jisung wrestles the words out of his mouth before moans start ripping his throat. 

Neither of you had orgasmed any quicker. If it weren’t for Minho and his deliberate teasing, both you and Jisung would’ve taken longer to cum. Instead, your walls are spasming around Jisung’s cock when it shoots a hot load inside of you.

You’re clinging onto him when he cums, hearing him so vocal always turns you on - same with Minho. It’s a sign that they feel good, and that’s always the hope whenever they stuff you to the hilt.  

"Holy shit," Jisung is panting, almost like he just swam to the surface for air. His hips slow down to a reasonable pace, dragging in and out of you for as long as he can before he pulls out.

From the bed still witnessing all the antics unfold, Minho can't help but watch the way Jisung's cum slowly leaks out of you. It almost makes him wish he was hard enough again to fuck it back into you. But he knows there's probably another time for that.

"You both okay?" Minho asks.

Your hand rests on your head, still splayed on the floor, "mm."

Jisung doesn't answer verbally, but gives a silent nod.

"Okay, I’ll help you both up and we can head to the bathroom so I can clean you up,” Minho adds. “That sound okay? Then afterwards, I’ll order us some food and we can relax for the rest of the evening.”

“Sounds perfect,” Jisung replies.

-

A/N: I swear I'm not useless by not uploading lol as I mentioned in another post, I've been so busy with work that it's just not even funny. I will still power on with Kinktober though! Once again, thank you for supporting my work and being patient with me! xxx

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: You didn’t mean to catch Ransom’s attention, and you’ll do whatever it takes to lose it. 

Word Count: 8.1k

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Dubious Consent (Kissing, Blow Job, Vaginal Sex, Overstimulation, Mild Degradation/Humiliation, Praise Kink), Coercion (Payment for Sex), Stalking, Fear/Paranoia, Yandere Vibes, BDSM (Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Rope Bondage, Suspension, Aftercare, Leather Cuffs), Pet Names (dear, birdie, pidge). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if I should continue it! Up next is A.W.A. Meeting (#2), then hopefully Lloyd. 

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

The song has been stuck in your head all day. Soft and sweet and romantic, it buzzes past your lips in a quiet hum while you end your work day by tidying your space.

“You know,” Harlan says as he leans back in his chair, contemplation narrowing his stare, “my offer still stands to make you my full-time personal assistant.”

You sigh and continue to clean up your papers, clipping them in neat packets for easy access when the research becomes relevant. “And you know I have other commitments.” You glance over your shoulder with a grin and shrug. “I can’t leave Chase hanging.” You snort at the unintended pun and continue working. Your hand brushes a spec of fuzz from the corner of your table, leaving it immaculate.

Harlan makes a noise of agreement and sits up before standing. “Well, if things ever change.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you agree. The final clip snaps onto your last packet. “Now,” you address your boss with a playfully stern finger pointed in his direction, “don’t mess this up.” You nod toward the space set aside as your desk. Pens, post-its, and papers neat in a row.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in the man’s eye, and you know you’ll be reorganizing on Monday morning, but you don’t mind. Not when Harlan’s done so much for you, and you know he’ll inevitably make your job easier somehow.

The dogs start barking outside. The front door slams and heavy steps thud toward the kitchen. No greeting, no real indication of who it might be. But you’ve worked in the Thrombey house long enough to make an educated guess.

“Looks like your grandson’s paying you a visit,” you muse while packing away the last of your belongings. “Don’t tear each other to pieces, alright? I still need this job at the end of the weekend.”

Harlan chuckles and shakes his head. He’s a good man, kind but indomitable. You admire him a moment longer. Fond warmth reflects back at you in his gaze. You’ll never forget how lucky you were he decided to take a chance on you.

“Goodnight,” you bid with a smile.

Harlan sends the same after you as you turn to the stairs, waiting for his grandson to make his surely dramatic entrance. The Go board already in hand. You wonder if he will take his grandfather up on the challenge.

Passing Marta and Fran on your way out the door, you say your farewells. And you almost make it out before coming face to face with the notorious ass—Hugh Ransom Drysdale. To think you’d been able to avoid him for so long. You should have taken the back exit through the patio.

“Who’re you?” he asks, inspecting you like a blot of dirt on his Beemer.

“Hello, Mr. Drysdale,“ you greet softly, short and professional. His head tilts and his gaze narrows at the address. “I’m expected elsewhere. If you’ll excuse me.” But you don’t wait for him to move, skirting around his broad frame before making it out the front door. His stare burning into your back the whole way. Constant, uncomfortable.

Safe and locked in your car, you’re able to shake it off. At least for a moment. When it starts to creep back up your spine while pulling out of the driveway, your hand reaches over to flick on your stereo, blasting the feeling away. You sing along, belting out any lingering unease. Getting yourself ready and letting the week’s stress seep from you.

The drive back into the city winds long, but passes quickly. Only forty minutes. But part of that convenience is negated by the absolute bear it is to find parking downtown. Another ten minutes of struggle before you get out—the urban parking gods not on your side tonight. Your car beeps with the lock and you sigh. It’ll be a longer walk.

The sun sinks behind the buildings and the orange glow of the streetlights paint the sidewalks. You bundle yourself in your jacket, shift your duffle higher on your shoulder, and start marching. One foot in front of the other. Glancing at familiar storefronts and navigating around the few passersby finding their Friday night adventure.

By the second block, you pause. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle. Eyes bore into you from behind. Heated, focused. You spin on your heel, but find no culprit. You swallow and breathe deep. Just your imagination, surely. Maybe.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath and turn to begin walking again. Quicker.

Your steps beat light on the pavement, though you don’t want to seem rushed. Trying to find a steady, rapid pace that doesn’t signal your distress. Still, the sensation doesn’t cease.

The evening gets darker and you see Chase’s studio in the distance. The industrial building looming and dark, intimidating. But your safe haven. The back door stands just within reach. You knock a rapid shave-and-a-haircut on the wood and wait for it to open. Phantom fingers dance along the back of your neck and you whip around. The alley stands empty save for a grimy dumpster and a few trash bags. Yet your heartbeat continues to thunder in your ears.

“There you are,” a gruff yet relieved voice exclaims. Long fingers wrap around your bicep and pull you in, the door closing behind you and cutting you off from your paranoia.

“Sorry,” you reply automatically, distracted before you shake away the adrenaline and turn to your friend. He beams brightly and lets his hand slip down to yours. With a turn on his heel, he guides you through the hallways to the back room. “Minor delay and had to find parking a few blocks away.”

“Don’t worry about it, li’l bird,” he shrugs and opens the door. “The room’s still filling out and Caleb is doing his sensation thing.”

You hum and enter behind your friend, setting your bag down in its usual place by the futon and shrugging off your coat. Your neck rolls on your shoulders, releasing any residual tension. Warm hands wrap over them and knead the muscles.

“You okay?” Chase asks, genuine concern in his voice. “You’re looking a little rattled.”

You lean into his gentle but firm touch, letting your eyes drift shut. Sinking into the feeling and focusing on it. Keeping yourself out of the instinctive loop of fright that lingers at the fringes of your mind. Chase’s hands travel down your back and over your sides—comforting, but objective in their precision.

“I’m fine,” you reply, breathy and calm. You pause, feeling his hands do the same. “Just,” you bite your lip, “maybe have the others keep a watch on the crowd tonight? I’ve had this strange feeling.”

Chase’s warm hands move back up to grasp your shoulders, reassuring in their press. “Of course.” He steps back and releases you. You spin to meet his eyes. “You know I always look out for my girl.” His lips lift in a soothing grin. “Now, let’s get you ready.”

You nod and begin to strip. Your blouse unbuttons and falls from your shoulders. Chase helps you step out of your skirt and grabs your outfit from your duffle. You change quickly from your everyday bra into the elaborate sports bra saved for these occasions. Chase helps straighten the straps, keeping them from turning on themselves and arranging them as they’re supposed to be. The bike shorts slide up your legs and sit at your waist. A quick peek in the mirror ensures you’re presentable—effortless yet alluring.

“You ready?” Chase asks softly.

You catch his eye in the mirror and nod with a small grin. “Ready.”

He offers his hand and you turn to accept it. Fingers squeeze around yours and draw you out. The crowd gathers around the elevated stage. The rig is all set up, the mats on the ground, the spotters standing on the fringes, everything waiting for you both.

Chase stops right by the steps up. He turns to you and takes your other hand in his. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you reply immediately. A deep breath calms your spiking heart and the butterflies in your tummy. Displaying yourself in such a vulnerable position never stops being terrifying—or exhilarating.

“Then come along, birdie.”

The lights blare bright on the stage. Hot and revealing. You cannot look to the crowd waiting out past your line of sight. You’d freeze if you did. Instead you keep your focus on Chase—your constant, your rock, your Dom.

He brings you to the center of the stage and releases your hands. His chin dips in a bid for you to kneel. You sink the onto the floor, hands resting on your thighs, waiting. Your eyes locked still on him.

“Good evening.” He addresses the crowd with all the charisma you expect from him. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourselves.”

As he continues, you let your mind center on your body. Keeping yourself present, but counting your breaths and feeling the steady pulse of your heartbeat. Rope uncoils. Instructions and explanations fall to a rapt audience.

Chase walks over, turning his back to the crowd to face you. He smiles. “There’s my good girl,” he says just for you. Your lips stretch, preening at the compliment.

He cups your cheeks, tilting your face up. His lips descend to press a kiss to your forehead before he finds the bite of his rope and begins.

The rope slides over your exposed skin. Each caress precise, purposeful. Chase works quickly, but pauses every so often to address the audience again or check in with you. Your arms lift. You bend and submit to the way he moves your body. The rope cinches too tight. You wince. Immediately, Chase corrects it.

Around and around, you’re bound. Your thoughts quiet, steady and calm. The last knot ties everything together and Chase steps away.

Another speech before he positions you and the hooks pull taut. You breathe deep, preparing yourself. Your body rises from the stage, suspended. Like you’re flying. It takes a moment to adjust. Chase places his hand on your side, grounding you in the way you need. Your eyes fall shut. Blissful in the darkness behind your eyelids.

Chase stays nearby. He watches. The spotters watch. The people watch. You’re used to the appreciation. Admiring the way you hang from the ceiling, the way your body contorts to the shape of Chase’s vision.

Music begins to play through the studio. You hang like a piece of art. Whispers and conversations pick up until it’s the drone of a crowd filling the high ceilings. Talk about your dedication and grace. Discussion of Chase’s skill. Various mingling. But all the buzz of the background mellows in your head. Your blood flowing through your veins and the tension of the rope on your frame.

Chase brings you down earlier than usual. He lowers the rig and starts to untie you, except for the final ring that keeps you hooked. You stay there for a few minutes until he’s certain of your stability.

All the while, he begins your favorite part. His hands pet over your limbs. The blood already pooling under your skin, creating tender contusions. He whispers words of affirmation and praise. You savor the bliss of his aftercare and feel exhaustion’s tug.

The spotters dissemble the rest of the rig and release you from the final tether. Chase’s arm wraps about your shoulders and the two of you exit off the stage to wind your way back to your room.

It’s quick, habitual work for Chase to prepare the futon for your nap. And you sink onto the bed with a sigh. The mattress dips beside you. Your Dom strokes his hand over you head. As always, he insists you drink electrolyte water and eat a little snack, each presented to your lips by his own hand.

“You did so good for me, li’l bird,” he whispers, coaxing you toward rest. “Just close your eyes for me and I’ll let you sleep for a while.”

You hum in response, knowing he’ll stay beside you until you’re under. A thought drifts toward the surface before it escapes your grasp, floating away from you until it’s gone and you’re asleep.

By Monday morning, you’ve forgotten the encounter with Ransom Drysdale, too distracted by your weekend to remember an insignificant meeting. Pleasantly fuzzy feelings and bright spirits follow you in your drive to the Thrombey estate. But it all evaporates when you turn toward the house and see Ransom standing there, leaning against one of the porch columns. A grimace twists his lips and his arms fold across his chest.

“So, you’re grandad’s research assistant,” he says with a derisive edge to his tone.

“Morning, Mr. Drysdale,” you return on a whisper, waking past him and into the house. Ignoring the derogatory sting of his remark.

His brow furrows and he follows. You take off your coat and scarf, hanging each with care in the entryway. The whole time, Ransom’s stormy presence grows increasingly agitated behind you. When your feet turn toward the kitchen for a calming cup of tea, you take only one step before finding yourself flailing and dragged backward by a strong arm clutching at your waist.

The hard wall of Harlan’s office digs into your back. But you would take that discomfort if not for the fire flashing in Ransom’s eyes.

“Your grandfather is waiting for me,” you say without inflection, staring at him and waiting for his tantrum to cease—for him to get bored and release you. “Please let me go.”

His lips screw up in disdain before he responds with an decisive, “No.”

You keep your breath even, refusing to let him get under your skin. Hoping you haven’t unintentionally gotten under his.

“Tell me how you came to be Harlan’s assistant.”

You don’t reply. The hallway clock ticks. Your nerves spike as it continues, knowing Harlan expects promptness.

“You’re being quite rude, pigeon,” he says after a tense minute, stretching his arms to brace against the wall, keeping you cornered but elongating his body in a spectacle of power. He leans close, invading your space until his breath brushes your cheek. “Why don’t you coo for me? I would hate to have to contact my Uncle Walt at the publishing company and get your position filled by someone more…friendly.”

A swallow clicks in your throat. “Mr. Drysdale, your grandfather hired me himself, and I’m not directly associated with Blood Like Wine Publishing,” you explain in clipped syllables, clinging to your calm while he looms closer.

His brow quirks in intrigue and his lips press into another smirk. Words form on his tongue. But as the stairs creak at someone’s approach, they remain unspoken.

“There you are,” Harlan calls from the stair landing, peering into his office. “Come along, dear, time to get to work.”

His eyes flash to his grandson, a sharp look challenging his obstructive position. Ransom meets it and they lock gazes for a charged moment. You take your window of opportunity for what it is, surging forward under Ransom’s left arm. In the space between his frame and the wall paneling, you squeeze through. Though your body drags against his and your balance falters, you get past. Ransom grunts in displeasure and protests, but you march your way upstairs following your boss.

“Be careful of him,” Harlan warns in a whisper as you pass him along the stairs.

You nod and continue on. A final glance over your shoulder confirms your suspicions. Ransom remains planted in place, jaw ticking and arms crossed. His attention focuses on your retreating figure, brow furrowed in thought—a glint in his eye you instinctively fear.

In. Out. You focus on breathing. A steady cadence, a calming exercise. Your safety and escape with the ropes biting into your flesh.

This week pushed your limits. Every day affected by unease—following like a burning gaze. You’ve seen little of Harlan’s grandson. Yet every time you feel yourself tipping into that unsettled state, you find your thoughts turning toward him.

In. Out. Now is not the time to think about it. Not when you don’t have to. Not in this state. Suspended above the mats. On display. In. Out. Focus. It works, mind drifting on the softy syllables of Chase’s conversation with a curious patron. Grounding you, guiding you toward peace.  

Until it returns. That burning prickle at the back of your neck. The paranoia. It sets your teeth on edge. Despite your head being supported above your heart in tonight’s position, it becomes light, dizzy. Your eyes snap open, darting from face to face. Searching for his sinister features.

A flash—brown hair, sharp blue eyes, a regal sloping nose, a tan coat. It’s just a glimpse, but you meet their eye and see the beginnings of a smirk. Your vision swims. The studio blurs. Your heart pounds in your ears. You swallow, throat dry.

A croak escapes your lips. Chase’s concern meets your panic immediately. The spotters step forward, but his form eclipses your view of the rest of the studio—the crowd, the figure hidden amongst them—first. Your Dom reaches out to you and steadies the unconscious flail of your limbs. His fingers stroke across your skin. Slowly, it calms you. Your fear receding in the surety of his presence.

“Do you need to come down?” he asks, ready at a moment’s notice to lower you back to the ground—cut you out of the rope, if need be—and sweep you away to the safety of your room.

“No,” you say after a minute and a few deep breaths. “I thought…” Your words trail off in a mumble as you shake the silliness of your concerns away. It couldn’t have been Ransom. How would he know about this? It’s your mind playing tricks on you.

Chase examines you a moment longer before conceding with a wary nod. He steps back, letting the flood of the room rush back. Your eyes close again to force your way back down to comforting darkness. In. Out. In. Out.

Yet the evening becomes soured by that one moment. Chase’s distance expands like a chasm between you as he unwinds the rope from your body and steadies your walk back to your room. His methodical aftercare lacks in a way that sears a hole deep in your belly. Though you can’t name why. You wait for his tenderness to make it all feel better, but it doesn’t.

He settles you down on your futon and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. His eyes flicker with that same concern, but he says nothing more of it. Simply feeds you your snack and tilts your water past your lips. They slosh uneasy in your stomach, but you follow your routine, praying for some solace.

His muttered praises do little to coax you toward rest. Fidgeting and turning over and over, you body thrums even as you feel the weight of exhaustion. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to give in. Chase stays a moment longer before leaving you to the sticky blackness of sleep.

Though it’s not long until you’re disturbed. Like pulling you up through tar, you find the surface. Your reluctance to awaken keeps your eyes stubbornly shut, but the figure beside you strokes their hand over your head. You sigh and a small smile twitches at your lips. The touch soothes your soul.

“Chase,” you mumble on a sleepy murmur. He makes no response, but lets his fingers trail over your cheek. Your hand reaches out, grasping his and tucking it close to your chest. “Stay with me til I’m back asleep?” A yawn punctuates your request. He says nothing but stays beside you. His legs stretch alongside your body. And he makes no protest when you half-consciously scoot closer, letting you cling to him for the first time as you sink once again.

Harlan’s warning rings constant in your mind, “Be careful of him.” But there is no careful—there’s no more safety, no escape. Because you weren’t wrong. That figure in the crowd, watching you and sending you spiraling toward panic—that was Ransom. Following you again and again to the studio. Each week struggling to find a way to bring it up with Harlan, and failing. Each weekend spent suspended with Ransom’s eyes piercing through you.

You’ve tracked his approach, stalking closer and closer to the stage with each passing week. His eyes never leaving you. Not concerned with whatever Chase says. He has his focus. And it never wavers.

He doesn’t glare or glower—his observation far from menacing. Though foreboding still blares at the back of your mind each time your gaze meets. And you cannot stop yourself. Hanging from the rigging, you always find him. Your heart always lurches before you cut away the room by closing your eyes.

You drift awake, rested from your nap. Your phone proclaims the time and you groan at the early hour before sitting up on your futon and stretching. Muscles protest in the most delicious way and your lips tilt toward a grin. With a roll of your neck, you stand to gather your belongings into your duffle so you can return home.

The door to your small room clicks behind you. A step, two, and you catch a dark figure in you periphery. Your bones jump and you gasp. Turning toward the intruder, you clutch at your heart. Your diaphragm starts spasming, hiccups bobbing up your throat.

“Who,” you hiccup, “Who’s there?”

They step forward, their head bent and hands hanging by their sides. The glint of the ring on his pinky catches the light. You lick your lips and hiccup again. A hand presses to your abdomen hoping to calm the convulsions of the muscle.

“Oh, pigeon, did I scare you?” His mirth grates on your thin tolerance. He doesn’t do anything technically inappropriate during the demonstrations, but this confrontation is.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you say with a heavy breath, trying to swallow around the hiccups. “Why are you here?

Amusement continues to dance bright in his eyes. You’re just waiting for him to start laughing at you. Like there’s a cosmic joke to which you aren’t privy. But you’re willing to wait while he explains himself. All the while starting to feel sick from the incessant hiccups—and maybe something more.

“Let’s just say I have an itch I need you to scratch,” he replies with a teasing shrug.

“That doesn’t explain much, Mr. Drysdale.”

His jaw ticks and the amused light in his eyes dims a fraction. He shifts on his feet and stands straighter. The glint of a gold watch shines in the light. You swallow at the reminder of his status and your precarious position in the hallway with him—the ways this could spiral unpleasantly numerous and beginning to swarm in your head. A thought of Chase materializes in your mind. His bedroom nearby but too far all at the same time.

“Call me Ransom,” he suggests, though even the way his head ticks to the side reads more as a command than counsel.

“Right,” you mumble with a hint of disregard—too focused on yourself, your position. Your eyes dart around the cramped hallway, looking for an escape. “What do you want?”

He hums, deep and threatening in his throat. “You.” The statement simple. Yet it rocks your world—sends you reeling and off-kilter. But he continues, “You see, I can admit you intrigued me on our first meeting. Especially after Harlan refused to tell me much about you other than your job title.” He sighs and takes a step closer. In retreat, you press yourself to the wood of the door. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since. And I need to fix that.” His arm cages you in, resting beside your head as he leans forward, crowding into you. “So,” he says, drawing out the word. His chin dips and his voice lowers to a whisper. “Name you price.”

Your chest jumps in another hiccup, voice jumping with it when you yelp, “What are you talking about?”

A smirk twitches on his lips. “I’m a very wealthy man. I need one night to get you out of my system.” His breath brushes your cheek. “Name. Your. Price.”

You sputter, mind whirring. You’re not naïve. You know for what he’s asking. You used to consider it, when the rent wasn’t adding up—before Chase, before Harlan. But not with someone like him. Your tongue swipes over your lips. His gaze continues to wander over you, examining you like a slab of meat.

“Five hundred thousand dollars?” The number, plucked from the air, grits past your clenched teeth in hopes it will deter him.

He grins and gives you a sliver more space to breathe. “Done.”

You gape in shock. Such an easy agreement. “Wait—”

“Do you want more?” His fingers tickle along your throat while his brow quirks in curiosity.

Your head shakes, vehemently against it. “No. I don’t—”

“Then, what’s the problem, pidge?” His voice husks, a moment away from descending upon you. The glimmer in his eyes hungry.

“I don’t want you,” you reply. The force of your statement knocks him back. His head tilts and his jaw ticks in irritation. His gaze narrows. “I wouldn’t want you for a million.” You push at him, but he doesn’t budge. Too strong, too firm.

His nostrils flare with his ire. A deep breath expands his lungs, pressing his chest to yours. He closes his eyes and calms himself. When he captures you again with his sapphire blue eyes, they’re softer. The sharpness dulled for his plea.

“Look, pidge,” Ransom croons. Sweet as pie but far too deadly. “It’s one night. That’s all.” He backs away, though he keeps his touch close by, ready to swoop back in and strangle you. “You’ll get one million dollars, alright? I never bother you again—never show up to this dump, never meet you at granddad’s. You’re done with me and I’m finally done with you. Got better things to do anyway.”

He lets you think. The moment stretches taut between you. Your hiccups the only disturbance.

“I’ll never have to see you again?” you ask, wary of his answer.

He grins, triumphant. As if he’s already won—which he has. A million dollars can do a lot for you. Clear most of your debt. Make your paycheck stretch further for a little while. Maybe give you a little cushion for a rainy day.

“When?”

“Oh, I knew you’d say yes.” He smirks and trails his fingertips over your cheeks. You turn your head away but he follows, ducking to catch your eye. “You made the right choice. I’m gonna give you the night of your life.”

Air expands your lungs and escapes in a steady hiss. Another hiccup interrupts the stream and you close your eyes in frustration. Lips press to your cheek. You jerk away, startled.

“I’ll text you the details, pidge.”

He leaves, his business concluded by sneaking a pat to your ass. The hallway expands around you once more and fills with your precarious relief.

The door looms too tall before you. You eye the keycard slot. Check the time on your phone. Another minute passed. You wonder if he knows you’re here. Your hand rests on your abdomen for a moment, calming your nerves. Your other reaches out and swipes the card. The light blinks green. You breathe deep, open the door, and stop right in your tracks.

There in the center of this great, grand hotel room sits Ransom cushioned by a big black leather chair. You swallow hard and glance over your shoulder. Your heartbeat flutters anxiously in your throat. You take a step back. Fingers cling tight to the doorknob. You clear your throat.

“Well,” he hums with a twisted grin, “there you are. I guess it’s true—amazing what some people will do for a chunk of change.” He eyes your position, still straddling the threshold and clutching at the doorknob. “You gonna try to run?” His brow quirks and he stands, relaxed and unconcerned. His hands shove deep in his pockets, but his sweater sleeves sit folded up near his elbows. “I thought you were braver than that, pidge.”

With a defiant tilt of your chin, you step forward and let the door close behind you—accepting his challenge. It brings a smug grin to Ransom’s face, but you ignore it by setting aside your bag and toeing off your shoes.

“How are we going to do this?” you ask without looking at him. “Do you have some kind of contract? Or will oral negotiations suffice?” You grab a small notebook from your purse and the attached pen, releasing it from its holder and clicking the cam down.

The scoff and eye roll you receive in reply sets your teeth on edge. Ransom shakes his head and says, “we’re not going to do that, no matter how fun oral negotiations sound.”

You blink. “But—” you begin in your shock before closing your lips and clearing your throat to gather your thoughts. “I realize this is for one night only, but it’s important—”

“You’re right,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand, turning his back on you and meandering around the back of the chair. “This is only for one night. We don’t need all that boring shit. I want to fuck you, not exchange friendship bracelets.” As he comes around to settle on the cushion, he tucks something beside him you can’t catch. “Now.” He leans forward. You stare, entranced by the confidence of his movements. The way his fingers clench on the arms of the chair and his chin tilts. “Get on your knees.”

They threaten to buckle at the command, but you stand firm. Still uncomfortable with this little exchange, you’re not yet ready to start. Not like this. Your tongue lashes out to lick your lips, eyes darting about for something to prolong the conversation. Another question to ask, another point to make.

“Will you listen if I safeword at least?” you ask as your toes tap on the floor in a nervous rhythm. The notebook in your hand crinkles with your grip until you place it and the pen back in your bag.

“You have my word,” Ransom promises, hand pressed—sincere or mocking—to his chest. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not exactly.”

He chuckles and shrugs. Whether his word means anything, you don’t know. All you know is that he’s not getting any more patient. He nods toward his feet, the open place between his knees.

You take a moment to gather yourself and find that safe space in your head, taking slow steps to approach him. Watching him—wary of any sudden shift. The fluffy carpet meets your knees when you sink down. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on steadying your breath.

Ransom waits—for what, you couldn’t guess. Until he rasps, “Open your eyes. Look at me like you look at him.”

Your eyes snap open and meet his. “Like him?”

But he simply holds up a pair of padded cuffs, dangling from his index finger. “You want me to stop, you say ‘Hugh’. Understand?”

Your head bobs in a nod, keeping eye contact. “Yes, Mr. Drysdale.”

In a flash, he grips your chin with his free hand. His fingers dig into your cheeks, anger flaring in his gaze. “You. Call me. Ransom.”

You swallow hard at the abrasive grit in his tone. “Yes, Ransom,” you respond with a stilted nod.

“Good,” he hums in satisfaction, “I prefer good girls.”

The tension drips away as he releases your face. Fingers scratch at his jaw and he stretches, relaxing back into the cushion of the chair. The cuff chain clinks, drawing your attention. His follows, lips twitching toward a smirk.

“Now, can we begin?” he asks with a raise of his brow.

“Yes, Ransom,” you reply, resisting the urge to drop your gaze. Unsure of what reaction might await at such a disregard for his request, but unwilling to risk a punishment—not from him.

“Give me your hands.”

You offer them up, blood vibrating in your veins. He holds them gently despite his prickish nature. The cuffs wrap around your wrists, latching snug to your skin. Perfect—not too tight or too loose. You stare at them. The detailed leather work. The minky lining. The safety buckle ready to release at a moment’s notice. They’re quality, expensive—an indication of forethought, research, commitment.

A weight lifts from your shoulders. The nerves buzzing inside you start to disperse. With a final pat to the leather, his hands stray to explore your body. He traces the curve of your lips. He feels your pulse throbbing at your throat. He cups your breasts and kneads the flesh until your breath hitches.

“Just like that,” he purrs while toying with you. “You’re gonna sing for me, aren’t you?” He plucks at your nipples through your shirt, staring you down to drink in your reaction.

You swallow a whimper—needy and plaintive. Thoughts flurry in your head tinged by heat. Submission tempts, at odds with an insistence on remaining in control. He catches the hesitance when your teeth worry your lower lip. He clicks his tongue in disappointment, and your heart lurches.

He lets the silence settle around you both, reclining back and taking his touch with him. A minute ticks by. His attentions drift over you, searching. Only he knows for what. Your lungs draw in a steady flow of air, each calmer than the last. Your hands itch in impatience, craving contact. Your fingers flex toward him. The chain rattles.

Ransom reads something in that sound and tilts his head, lowering his lips to yours. You blink, unsure of your boundaries with such intimacy, but he swallows any protest with a kiss.

You expect it to be harsh and demanding. Clacking teeth and a suffocating intrusion. That’s not what you get. The way he kisses you like a lover locked in a forbidden embrace between the stacks of an old library—sensual, passionate, and all-consuming. Letting you taste a hint of his hunger, his desperation.

Your bound hands raise to cup his jaw. Drawn to him like a magnet. Because this is the best you’ve ever been kissed. Sure, you’ve been kissed by amateurs, by creeps, by lovers, but nothing like this. It’s addictive.

Without meaning to, you sigh your delight against his lips. His twitch toward a smirk, even as he licks into your mouth and drinks you in. His hands cradle your throat and tilt your head back. The dance between you a delicious exercise of control.

With one last brush of his lips to yours, he draws away. Your head floats, hazy with the sparks of lust ignited by his kiss. Unconsciously, you follow his retreat, leaning up to him like a flower seeking the sun.

He stands, a slow movement that breaks your hold until your falling hands rest upon his thighs. He stares down at you, a conceited pleasure glinting in his appraisal. But you’re past the point of caring or becoming peeved by his superior attitude. You just want him to kiss you like that again. It’s only for one night anyway, what does it matter if he’s proud of himself for making you his plaything—or that you think you’ll enjoy every minute of it.

“Up,” he beckons with an outstretched hand.

You place your hands in his and rise. He squeezes and saunters toward the bed. A noise of approval rolling in his throat, observing your body.

“We’ll need to fix this,” he says with a gesture. You glance down—the plain tee, the jean shorts, your socks. He steps forward, pressing his lips to your ear. “You wear something special for me, pidge?”

You swallow, but can’t answer. Voice stuck in your throat.

“That’s okay,” he coos, playing with the collar of your shirt. “I’ll see soon enough.”

Fabric falls from your body. It pools on the floor at your feet. Your gaze falls with each article of clothing. Exposed to his scrutiny, you stand in your best lingerie set. Thinking he should get what he paid for, you’d donned it but now find a seed of apprehension blooming in your belly. Another thing he’ll nitpick or tease.

“Look at that,” he rasps, hand smoothing across your waist and gripping you close. Your feet stumble over each other and you brace yourself against his chest. “So pretty and just for me.” His fingers pluck at a bow on the front of your bra.

A shock of arousal hits you at his praise, leaving your knees weak. Gripping at his shoulders, you try to support yourself, and his eyes shine with amusement.

“You like when I talk sweet to you, pidge?”

He spins on his heels and takes you with him. With another stumble and a toss, your back bounces on the mattress. You gaze up at him, eyes wide as he chuckles and undoes his belt. With a snick of his zipper, he releases himself and strokes his cock. And, god you hate to admit it, it’s a thing of beauty. You meet his eye and feel the heat crawling up your cheeks.

He quirks his eyebrow and dips his chin. You push yourself clumsily to kneel before him on the soft mattress. His fingers trace your lips until your tongue licks over them. He smirks and leads you down with a firm hand.

The first tentative taste of his flesh sends a shiver up his spine and a breath puffing from his lips. You kiss his tip, eyes locked with his. His cock twitches. He growls and urges you forward until he enters your mouth and rests on your tongue. You purr around him and begin in earnest.

A few bobs of your head work him back as far as you can manage. Eyes close as you focus on your task. Head drifting on greedy waves of sensation and muscle memory, you swallow him further and further. Listening, yearning to hear how you affect him. Drool pools on your tongue, stimulating every part of him it can reach. Part of you wishes you might have your hands free, if only to feel him. Urge him further toward release.

His hips buck against your face and you gag. But he keeps you steady, a guiding hand pressed to the back of your head, gripping and massaging your scalp.

“So cute,” he muses with a brush of his fingers over your forehead. “Look up at me, li’l birdie.” Your eyes flutter open, waterline wet with the start of tears. Ransom smiles down at you and winks. You hum around him. His head falls back on his neck with a groan, abdominals flexing as he pulls you off and up. A weak noise of protest escapes your lips, plump with blood from the stretch of his cock. He pants, tongue darting out to lick over your swollen flesh. “Not bad,” he comments with a tilt of his head. “But I think I’m ready for a bit more, aren’t you?”

With a hand smoothing across your throat, his other lowers to find the apex of your thighs. A twist and pinch, a rip and your panties fall away. His fingers free to explore the most intimate part of you. You whine at the squelch of your arousal. The slickness shamefully copious as he plays with your pussy and grins. He hums in delight, but doesn’t say anything. That sound enough of a gloat to humiliate you.

“I can’t help it,” you protest, brow tilting pathetically.

“Oh,” he croons, smearing his lips across your cheek, “I know.” The gentle mocking of his words pierce through you. You huff in pitiful indignation.

His fingers pinch at your lower lips and your hips jolt. He barks a laugh, but his touch turns nicer. Stroking over your folds and swirling around your clit. Your breath hitches. The sensation curling in your belly, building your pleasure. Teeth nip at your pulse point, startling you. Ransom chuckles against your skin and begins to suck.

You’re weak with him. The prick of his teeth and the soothing swipe of his tongue mingling with the skill of his fingers. Filling your head until you can hardly think. Moans and gasps build in your chest, too persistent to ignore. Just as you reach the precipice of your climax, though, Ransom stops.

He grips your chin with sticky fingers, pecks a kiss to your gaping lips, and smirks. “Not yet.”

Once again your back finds the mattress. You stretch out, bones jelly and blood thrumming. You crave release now. More than you can say, leaving you only able to reach out as he strips off his sweater and jeans.

A chiseled Adonis he is not. Muscles flex beneath skin supple with just the slightest layer of cushion borne from a life of luxury and indulgence. So when he descends and pins you to the bed, you feel it against you—his strength and softness.

He slots himself between your thighs, pulling them up to his hips. His cock finds its place, slicking itself against your sex. You sigh and loop your bound hands around his neck.

You bite back a “please,” but he sees it shining in your eyes and denies you. Content to roll his hips. Each thrust knocking the head of his cock against your clit until you whine and wriggle beneath him.

“Don’t be like that, pidge,” he says with a mocking pout, swiping a thumb over you cheek where unbidden tears fall from your eyes. “I’ll let you have what you want.”

With the slightest shift, he prods at your entrance. Bare. You breath hitches. Hands grip at his hair.

“Protection!” you protest at the last minute, surfacing from the lusty daze with fear in your eyes.

Ransom takes it in stride, continuing his persistence. “What for?” he asks with another roll of his hips. A delicious, sparkling sensation skitters up your spine. “I’m clean, you’re clean, you’re on birth control. Right?” The drawl of his voice accompanies his descent toward your neck. Another nip and suck of your skin as you reluctantly nod. He reaches a hand down between your bodies, gripping his dick. “Then there’s no problem here, pidge.”

You whimper, “I—”

He thrusts into you. The stretch divine. His gorgeous cock filling you inch by inch until you ache. A moan rips from the depths of you, a wounded sound of pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut, sweat dotting your brow. How can a douche like Ransom Drysdale feel so right when he’s inside you?

He pauses, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. “Fuck,” he hisses beneath his breath. Your own hips roll in an attempt to adjust, but his hand lashes out to stop you. His grip tight. “Squeezing me like a vice, pidge.” The husk of his voice, the strain, the need dripping from each word, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ransom,” you plead with a gentler tug at the roots of his hair, “please move.”

His eyes open, the blue tinged dark with desire. His lips part around a shuddering breath. Finding his composure, he tilts his hips, filling you just that little bit more until you gasp. “I’m gonna fill you up just right. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

There’s not a moment more to prepare yourself before he begins fucking you. The drag of his cock against your walls enough to make an endless stream of sounds dribble from your lips. You grip him for dear life. The clap of your bodies filling the room with your moans and heavy breaths.

Ransom takes and takes, filling you and grinding against you until your vision blurs. You cum on his cock, screaming your release. Your knees squeeze his sides. You cling to him. Yet no matter how he ruins you, he keeps going. To sate his own pleasure, to see you crumble just a little more, to chase some ineffable desire.

It takes him longer. The stutter of his hips, the warmth of his cum flooding you. You mewl, hips shifting at the sensation.

“Hold still,” he commands, gripping your face with one hand.

His other travels down your body. Pausing to play with the sensitive beads of your nipples. You squeak. But his true destination lay between your thighs where he keeps himself nestled. Your clit throbs with your pulse, overstimulated and tender. You tense, bracing for whatever his plans.

He plucks at the aching bundle of nerves despite your every twitter of protest. Smirk plastered on his face. His intentions clear as he rips another orgasm from you and another. Letting you milk his swelling cock with your sex.

Your tongue swipes across your dry lips. Knowing by the wiggle of his hips he prepares himself for another round—one that will surely be a delicious torment. Your head shakes, arms tightening around him. Hoping your silent pleas will be understood. Already overwhelmed by the night’s exertion.

But he starts again, pleasure gleaming in his eyes every time he knocks your aching clit with his pelvis. You reel with the sensations scourging your body. The way the pain washes over you with the sweetest hint of pleasure. That hint just enough to keep your mind searching for more. Clinging closer and rolling your hips in tandem with his.

Your head lolls on your shoulders, sure to keep your eyes locked with his. Knowing he might stop if you let them wander just a moment—both needing and dreading that brief reprieve.

“There we go, that’s what I’m looking for,” he purrs staring deep into your glassy eyes.

Sweat dampens his chest, pressed against you as he cages you in with his weight. His fingers lift, two of them prodding your lips and delving into your mouth. Your tongue tangles with them, teeth nipping his knuckles. You swallow around them and they withdraw, trailing a cool line of saliva down your throat. His wet fingers trail beneath the cups of your bra, pinching at the tender buds. A raw moan rises out of you at a particularly wicked thrust of his cock. And another. You shudder, an unstoppable wave of pleasure ripping through you and leaving you in a fit of pained euphoria.

But Ransom says nothing more. A look shining in his eyes, thoughtful and indecipherable. If you could contemplate the dawning of such a look, you might. Though, with the rush of your own orgasm flooding your head, the stutter of his hips and the spill of his cum, you’re lost. He falls off you with a grunt, sprawling across the open area of the bed.

“Shit,” he mutters to the room. Sweat glistens along his skin and musses his hair. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths. A hand wipes over his face. You might have taken offense to the utter disbelief radiating from him, if so inclined.

Instead, you rise, prising through the quick release of the cuffs. Emptiness and pain halts your movement. An ache between your thighs that plucks its sweet agony. No choice but to push through it.

As Ransom recovers, you gather your things. Aftercare far from your thoughts. Willing to face any possible repercussions yourself and in your own space. You dress hastily, intuition begging for retreat. Knowing that another moment with him might cement something inside you. Something you know will only end in pain and disappointment.

Each step, each movement he follows with his eyes. They burn into you. Whether in anger or some other resentment, you don’t know—don’t need to know. Slipping your shoes on at the door and gathering your bag, he says nothing to stop you. You pause with your hand on the doorknob and glance over your shoulder. He continues to rest on the bed, body gloriously lax, and stares. Quiet and contemplative. You leave him there.

All thought of the money forgotten. No. All you want now is to escape that seductive lure he offers. You pray he’ll keep his word. That you’ll receive what he feels he owes. You’ll manage with what you’ve got until he does and start forgetting this night ever happened. Move on, work with Harlan, perform with Chase—lead your normal life.

You rush from the hotel, cool morning air slapping you in the face. You stop and tilt your head back. Your regret washes over you. Your lips press together, holding it back. Keeping it at bay.

The trek home stretches before you. Tenuous hope growing that you’ll never see Ransom Drysdale again, even as you feel the fierce burn of a gaze at your back.

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part nineteen] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, reader has emetophobia, mentions of sex (mdni)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

“Why not?”

“You’re asking me why I can’t admit to wanting to kiss you?”

“Who said I wanted to kiss you?”

He was backtracking, trying to dig himself out of a hole that he’d already buried himself in. He cocked an eyebrow at you, somehow still arrogant in the midst of vulnerability. You called his bluff.

“I’m not stupid.”

He leaned away from you, a fraction of an inch. “I never said you were.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes. “Don’t act like you were testing me, like you had Jisung’s best interest in mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that for an actor you’re surprisingly transparent. No one leans that close to a person’s face for no reason. You were going to kiss me and now you’re trying to play it off like you were just testing me to see if I’d cheat on my boyfriend,” you paused for a beat, wondering if you could turn it around on him. “Because I was testing you, and you failed. Horribly.”

Minho blinked. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Does it look like I’m fucking with you?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I can’t tell.”

“Guess you’ll never know.”

“Guess so…” he trailed off, settling back into his own seat.

The moment was gone, dissipated along with the breath you’d been holding. It was like the tight line of tension running between you, inexplicably tying you to each other, had been given an inch of slack. It was still there, buried under layers and layers of repression and guilt, but subdued.

You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed. You didn’t want to admit to yourself that it was likely a bit of both.

Suddenly the bus lurched around a corner, sending you flying into Minho in an cruel, ironic twist of fate. Your head landed in his lap. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a speed bump caused your head to bounce up and come down back onto his thighs, face planting into his crotch again. You didn’t even want to think about what it looked like to the people across from you. This was not how you envisioned his dick pressing into your cheek would go.

Minho winced, helping you sit up. There was a tiny dark spot on his jeans, damp from where your open mouth had left an imprint on the fabric.

Mortified didn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling.

“Are you ok?” Minho asked, seeming totally unphased by the series of events that had just taken place. He was holding your shoulders like you’d run if he let go. He did a quick scan of your body, looking for marks as if you’d been hit by a car and not simply tossed into another human being.

“Fine, just absolutely humiliated,” you sighed, rubbing your cheek.

“Don’t be.”

“Well too late, I already am. And, uh, sorry about… that.”

Minho followed your gaze to the wet patch on his jeans. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It happens.”

“Does it though?”

He shrugged. “Seemed like the right thing to say.”

You slumped down in your seat, pinching the bridge of your nose. Minho brought his hands to his lap and turned to look out the window.

“Are you okay?” you heard yourself ask just moments later. “I mean,” your eyes flicked down to where his hands were resting on his lap. You thought he might have been holding himself in pain, but then you realized-

“Fine,” he answered through gritted teeth, and that was the end of the conversation.

The next stop was Mt. Fuji’s 5th station, another lookout- this time on the mountain, that provided an even better view. You felt a little dumb for taking all of those pictures at the first stop but then remembered what Jisung had said about sending him lots of photos and relaxed a little.

This stop also served as the lunch break. Meals were provided to guests that had added the option on their tickets. The Hans had elected not to spring for the included meal, leaving you and Minho to fend for yourselves. They invited you to join them at a noodle shop inside the station, but you declined, opting to use the time to explore and find something on your own.

More time alone, you thought to yourself. Great idea. The day wasn’t even half over and you’d already had a close call. Too close of a call. Was it really that hard to control yourself around your best friend’s brother? What was wrong with you? Maybe it’d be easier if he wasn’t such a fucking tease. Regardless, you needed to have a little more self-restraint.

The break period was only about an hour long and then you’d be driving to the next stop so you had to be quick.

You walked with Minho through the narrow passageways, nearly breaking into a jog to keep up with him. There were only three or four restaurants in the surrounding area, narrowing your selection down by a lot.

“Looks like our choices are kind of similar,” Minho said as he scanned the menu on the wall of the third restaurant you’d stopped in front of.

“Here seems as good of a place as any.”

It was relatively busy inside, but you and Minho were able to find a little corner table out of the way. You figured these places must make a fortune, seeing as there was so little competition and dozens of buses full of hungry tourists came through each day.

The exterior of the building was painted black, as were the walls inside to absorb heat. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the dining room, showing off the breathtaking view of the mountain range in the near distance.

“What sounds good to you?” Minho asked, leaning over the table to see your menu even though he had one right in front of him.

“Seems like everyone’s ordering soup,” you mumbled and nodded to the tables closest to you to prove your point. “I guess that does sound kind of good, especially because it’s so cold up here.”

“We could order a couple different kinds and share?” he suggested.

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed nervously.

You might as well share soup with your best friend’s brother that you almost kissed just an hour prior. Yeah, makes perfect sense.

Minho ordered for both of you when the server noticed you were ready. You watched him effortlessly make conversation with the waiter, cracking jokes like he’d known the man his entire life, and it made you think of Jisung. Jisung who always ordered for you, Jisung who counted the dishes he ordered on his fingers to keep track of them, Jisung who made friends in every situation he found himself in.

“What?” Minho asked, yanking you from your thoughts.

You hadn’t even realized you’d been staring.

“Nothing, sorry.”

“You okay? You didn’t hit your head earlier, did you?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for ordering for me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I noticed Jisung always orders for you so I just assumed you might’ve had some anxiety when it comes to that.”

“I do, yeah.” you admitted. “But it’s just something he’s always done for me, even before we started dating.”

The word dating seemed to snap Minho back to reality and he leaned away from you, straightening his posture and seeming to take great interest in the napkin in front of him.

“That’s sweet,” he muttered, sounding completely unconvinced.

“He can be when he wants to be. Shocking, I know.”

After lunch you took a walk around the lookout together, pointing out different signs with Japanese characters and trying to guess what they meant. Minho had paid for both of your meals, unsurprisingly, and you hadn’t even put up a fight. You already knew he wouldn’t let you pay for your own if you tried, slapping his card down on top of the bill before the server had even left the table.

You were listening to Minho talk about why he thought a sign by the bus stop said ‘no baseballs’ when you felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. Minho had given it to you on the bus so you could listen to music on the ride up the mountain and you just hadn’t remembered to give it back to keep in his bag.

It was a text from Jisung. Minho stopped talking as soon as he noticed you weren’t paying attention to him anymore.

How is everything? Haven’t heard from you all morning! Send a pic of you and Minho when you can :)

“Ji wants us to send a picture.”

“Of what?”

“Of us.”

“Us? Like, both of us?” Minho asked, looking as confused as you felt.

You shrugged. “I guess he wants to make sure we haven’t killed each other yet.”

He nodded in understanding. “Proof of life photo, got it.”

“Where should we-” you paused, looking around for the best place to snap a selfie.

“Well we should get the mountains in the background, right?”

“Yeah, good idea. Let’s go over there.” You pointed in the direction of a cluster of benches gathered at the ledge of the mountain where people were taking pictures with their families.

The section was fenced off to prevent guests from falling off the face of the cliff, but that wasn’t stopping kids from climbing the railings or couples sitting on top of them. You settled for simply leaning against it, not trusting yourself enough to balance your weight on top of it.

“Here, you have longer arms,” you said, offering your phone to Minho.

He took it without argument and extended his arm so that both of you were in the frame. You’d forgotten that he was a practiced expert at taking selfies. You wondered how many phone cameras he knew how to use just from snapping pictures with fans at every event he attended.

You weren’t sure how close to stand to him, or what to do with your hands. You leaned towards him, not touching, and smiled awkwardly. You weren’t doing anything wrong at that very moment, so why did you feel so guilty? Minho snapped a couple photos and was about to hand the phone back when you were interrupted.

“Do you want me to take a photo of you?” a woman with a thick German accent asked. “You know, couple? I take photo for you, and you take photo of me with my family?”

You were about to politely decline, correct her, and just offer to take the picture of her family, but Minho was already handing the phone over. You were going to kill him.

Minho slung his arm around your shoulders like it was the most normal thing in the world and you forced yourself to wrap yours around his waist, resting your head on his chest as you bit the inside of your cheek. You could hear his heartbeat if you listened closely. It was steady, rhythmic. Not at all panicked or rushed like you were sure your own was. You faked a smile and waited until the camera stopped clicking before letting yourself breathe again.

Minho thanked the woman and traded places with her, taking a few pictures of her with her family while you paced anxiously in the background. You checked the time on your phone, wondering if it was time to go yet when you realized you still needed to text Jisung back.

You scrolled through your gallery, selecting all the pictures the nice lady had taken of you and Minho. Your finger hovered over the delete button, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to press it. You hit cancel, sighing in defeat.

You opened your messages again and stared at the blinking cursor. You flipped through the options on your camera roll, unsure of what to do. At the very least, you knew you couldn’t send one of the pictures the woman had taken to Jisung. He probably wouldn’t even question it, the pose was normal enough for friends, but then again what if he did? You couldn’t risk it.

You chose one of the selfies Minho had taken and hit send, promptly locking your phone as soon as you saw it was delivered.

“We have to get back on the bus.”

You looked at the time on your phone and then back at Minho, squinting in confusion. “We still have a couple minutes before we’re supposed to leave.”

“No, that woman’s son started talking about K-pop when I was taking their picture.” You glanced over your shoulder and saw the family huddled together, all indiscreetly staring at you and Minho.

“Don’t look!” he hissed. “Come on.”

He tugged you by the arm until your feet caught up with you and you were able to walk in step with him.

“They recognized you?”

“The little boy did. I don’t know if the others believed him.” You were tempted to look back, but you knew you’d probably be yelled at again. As if Minho could read your thoughts, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Keep your head down.”

“I don’t get it, doesn’t this happen to you all the time?” you asked. “What’s the big deal?”

“It doesn’t happen to me all the time, and when it does it’s usually not a big deal,” he explained as he ushered you up the steps of the coach. You shuffled your way to your seats, nodding in acknowledgment at his parents as you passed them. You got to the row first so you took the window seat. It was easier than having to shuffle around. “I don’t mind taking pictures with fans or signing things for them most of the time. It can get annoying, but I try to remember that I’m incredibly lucky to be in the position I’m in in the first place. And I’m just like them when it comes to football players and golfers, anyway.” You chuckled. “I’m serious! I stumble over my words when I meet them, and my hands are shaky when I ask them for an autograph- I’m a fucking mess. But we already had one close call this week with someone seeing you alone with me. Twice is asking for it.”

“Asking for what?”

“Rumors, articles, blog posts- I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I don’t think that little boy is going to start any rumors about us,” you said.

“You don’t understand.” Minho was serious, something you weren’t used to seeing from him. “It’s not that simple. Someone from that family posts a picture on Instagram, they tag me and they see you standing next to me. My fans… can be really invested in my personal life. And they’ll want to know who you are because they think we might be dating. That’s why I told you to keep your head down so they wouldn’t be able to see your face.”

“But guys and girls can be friends,” you reasoned.

“It’s the internet, y/n. No one cares. I’m seen alone with a woman and suddenly everyone wants to know everything about her from her high school GPA to who her mother voted for in the last presidential election.”

Oh. Ok, maybe Minho was right and this was a bit serious. Your social media wasn’t the worst there was out there, but it certainly wasn’t the cleanest per se… you had a whole story highlight dedicated to you and Jisung competing to see who could down a shot the fastest. Yeah, you were those people at parties. And even though you lost most of the time, you could already imagine the things people would say about it.

“I didn’t realize you were so popular,” was all you could say.

Minho chuckled bitterly. “I try not to advertise it.”

“I can see why.”

“It’d be hell for you to be associated with me.”

“I kind of already am,” you pointed out. Minho gave you a blank look as if he didn’t know what you meant. “Through your brother.”

“Right, Jisung.” Minho sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t know what he’d do to me if you got tangled up in all this bullshit.”

“You’re always saying shit like that. Jisung is pretty harmless, you know.”

Minho shook his head in disagreement. “You only think that because you’re wearing rose-colored glasses when it comes to him.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, come on, yes it is.”

“We were friends for years before we started dating! I haven’t always seen him romantically.”

“Still, you haven’t known him as long as I have.”

“Well you have on… whatever the opposite of rose-colored glasses when it comes to him because you’re related to him!” you argued. “He can barely hold me on top of him- don’t ask how I know that.” Minho pursed his lips, suppressing a smirk. He’d clearly been about to ask. “I’m just saying I think you could take him.”

“I’m flattered, but I think you’re forgetting how protective he can be,” he protested. “Has he never gotten jealous?” Minho pressed, his body rocking slightly as the bus began to move. He stabilized himself against the seat in front of him, looking at you expectantly. “He’s never been possessive of you?”

You bit your bottom lip, trying to decipher whether or not this was a test. Did Minho suspect anything? Was he just being nosy or did he think there was something you were lying about. Was he trying to get dirt on his brother, prove to you that he’s not a good boyfriend? You weren’t sure what to think. You scrambled for something, running through your memories as you tried to piece together a story with fragments of half-truths.

“There were a couple of times…” you admitted, trying to even your breathing to sound more natural. “Like this one time, we were at a bar and this guy was trying to buy me a drink while he was in the bathroom and when he came back he just kinda came up to us and wrapped an arm around my waist and the dude fucked off.”

What had actually happened, was a guy tried to buy you a drink while Jisung was in the bathroom and you agreed, asking him to buy one for your friend Ji too. You let the dude assume it was short for Jisoo or whatever and entertained him while the bartender mixed the cocktails. As soon as you saw Jisung emerge from the bathroom you took both the drinks and ditched the man the second his back was turned. You presented your best friend with one of the drinks and toasted the man who bought them for you, clinking your glasses together in celebration. After you downed them, Jisung pulled you onto the dance floor with him, telling you to follow his lead. He made sure the stranger was watching and then kissed you hard right in front of him. You took it a step further, slipping your tongue into your best friend’s mouth and cupping his face between your hands. When you came up for air the man was walking out the door with a scowl on his face.

“Another time before we started dating he dropped me off on a date with another person, and wouldn’t even let me walk into the restaurant when he saw the guy through the window.”

That was true, but the real reason he didn’t let you go into the restaurant was because he knew the guy from one of his classes and had overheard him talking about how bi girls are freakier in bed which is why he actively sought them out.

“So I guess you’re right, he’s always been protective of me, even when we were just friends. But I don’t think he’d hurt anyone. He might say something brutal, but he wouldn’t swing at you unless he’s defending himself.”

“Well, I don’t want to take any chances.”

You thought Minho would be satisfied with your answers, but you couldn’t tell from the expression on his face.

You sat in silence for the rest of the bus ride to the next stop. There was that tension again. You curled into yourself, bringing your knees to your chest and pressing yourself against the window as you pulled your phone out of your pocket to text Jisung back.

J: dorks ;) looks like you’re having fun. love you!

Y: it’s ok i guess… would be better if you were here

J: that’s because everything’s better when i’m there

Y: nvm i take it back

J: rude

Y: how are you feeling??

J: just ok :/ mum sent lix and i some soup, but i couldn’t keep it down

J: sorry, i shouldn’t have said that part

Y: it’s ok

J: no it’s not- i know how you feel about that stuff

Y: ji, i promise it’s fine.

J: if you say so…

Y: i do

Y: btw… minho was asking if you’re ever get jealous

J: why

Y: idk it was weird- i told him about that time at the club near campus

You hoped he remembered which time you were talking about. You flirted with a lot of people for free booze.

J: i remember that night

Oh, so he did remember. Or he was bluffing just in case Minho was reading over your shoulder. You checked discreetly, sneaking a glance over at his brother. But Minho was scrolling through Twitter, completely in his own world.

J: did you tell him about what i did to you when we left >:)

Y: he’s not reading these, dumbass. you don’t have to do all that

J: i was referring to spilling my slushie down the front of your dress idk what you’re talking about

Y: i can’t stand you

“Hey, y/n.” You jumped at the sound of Minho’s voice, clutching your phone to your chest protectively. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just, we’re here.”

You hadn’t even realized the bus had stopped, but passengers were already getting off, eager to see the mountain from yet another view. Minho slid out of the row and stepped back to let you off in front of him.

“Where are your parents?” you wondered aloud as you passed their empty row.

“Guess they ditched us again,” Minho sighed. “Really loving this family trip. Not that hanging out with you isn’t cool and all,” he amended.

“It’s fine, I get it,” you assured him. “Except I’m going to take it very personally and give you the silent treatment for the rest of the day.”

He shook his head but laughed. You followed the rest of the tourists in your group who were getting into a fast-moving line and joined them at the end. You and Minho had been the last two on the bus so there wasn’t anyone else behind you.

You weren’t even sure what you were in line for, hell, you didn’t even know where you were, but men in beige coveralls were ushering the queue forward impatiently. They gave directions mostly through hand signals, pointing, thumbs up, thumbs down, probably so guests from all around the world could easily understand them.

Before you could even understand what was happening you were enclosed in a cable car that was ascending God knows how high with Minho and one other couple. They looked to be in their seventies, and were speaking Vietnamese to each other, completely oblivious to the seven stages of grief you were going through on the other side of the car.

“Minho” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured back. He looked quite pale himself, but you knew it likely had more to do with being concerned about you than anything else. He hurriedly glanced around the tiny cabin as if there might be something in there that could help you.

“Minho,” you repeated, this time with more urgency.

“I-I” he paused, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this was part of the tour. I didn’t mean for- if I had known I would’ve suggested we stay back.”

“I feel sick,” you mumbled.

“Let’s sit down.”

Minho tried to cross the car over to you, but his movement caused the gondola to shake. You barely managed to muffle a scream of terror with your fist. The car swung violently on the wire and you suddenly wondered how up to code these cable cars were. When was the last time they had been inspected? How old were they in the first place?

If you looked closely you could see rust corroding some of the bolts and paint chipping from the benches. It took everything in you not to collapse to the floor and assume fetal position.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Minho apologized. “I’m going to move again, okay?”

“No, please don’t!” you begged.

“I have to! I have to move to get over to you. It’ll just be one more time, I promise.”

You nodded, even though you were dreading it and screwed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the rocking. The jolt was bigger than you expected and for a moment you thought the cable had snapped and you were plummeting towards the ground, but when you opened your eyes you were still moving steadily upward and Minho was by your side.

“Why did you jump!” you cried. “We could’ve died!”

God bless him for his patience. He wasn’t even phased by your accusations, instead he just took you by the hands and eased you onto the bench behind you, sitting next to you a moment later.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you groaned, wiping your sweaty palms on your hands.

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“That’s not true, I yelled at you.”

“I’ve had worse, trust me.”

He was trying to make you laugh, but you were still terrified out of your mind. Your whole body was trembling and your stomach was twisting with nausea. You were trying not to look down, but the whole cabin was made of glass. It was impossible not to look, and closing your eyes only made you feel sicker.

“Want to hold my hand like last time?” Minho offered.

You were quick to accept, grabbing his hand as soon as it was outstretched.

“I’m sorry my palms are clammy.”

“Mine are too, it’s okay,” he assured you, even though they were completely dry.

You squeezed his hand hard, just like you had on the rollercoaster. But it wasn’t making you feel any better.

“Minho, I’m scared.”

“I know, y/n. It’s okay though. You’re safe with me. I’ve got you, I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“How can you say that?” you whined, eyes darting around to all of the windows. “You can’t control whether or not we fall out of the sky!”

You suddenly felt horribly guilty for the other couple trapped in the cable car with you. They were probably just trying to enjoy their vacation and there you were having a mental breakdown thousands of feet in the air with nowhere for them to escape to.

Minho laughed despite himself and used his free hand to grab your face, turning your attention to him.

“Hey, look at me, okay? Don’t look out the windows. Just focus on me.”

“Okay,” you gulped.

You focused on his face. On the way his soft features hardened around the edges. His sharp jawline and perfect nose, easing into the light blush of his cheeks and warm, brown eyes. The dichotomy was striking, and the late afternoon sun that was shining in through the dirty glass made him look angelic. The way the light cast a golden halo around his curls was enough to draw anyone and you found yourself leaning closer and closer to his face.

You were the one to kiss him this time, but he more than reciprocated. The moment your lips touched he was tangling a hand in your hair, groaning softly against your mouth. His lips were just as warm and soft as you remembered, but the kiss was a million times more damning. You were both completely sober, even if you’d been consumed by terror moments earlier. You knew what you were doing. You both did. And you had the first time, but now there was no excuse.

You pulled away a moment later. “I-I’m sorry. I just had to see…”

Minho brought a hand up to your face and you flinched, but all he did was run a thumb across your cheek, collecting a stray tear on his fingertip. You hadn’t even noticed you’d started crying, and whether it was from fear or guilt you couldn’t be sure.

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Javi gif by: @skyshipper Jack gif by: @javier-pena My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Word count: 9.2k+

Chapter summary: It's time for Ángel's surgery and the transplant preparation. Following the procedure, Jack visits his son, providing some closure regarding your marriage.

A/N: This chapter concludes the final installment of the series and stands as my penultimate post on this blog. Next week, hopefully, I'll be sharing one more post—a Din piece—officially wrapping up this blog. I intend to maintain my writing for another two weeks before ultimately closing my account. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles. Also, Jack's texts are in bold.

CW: angst is back again, but a happy ending is guaranteed, some science, mentions of surgery, chemotherapy, and stem cell transplant, Jack cannot use an iPhone, Javi and Jack tension, jealousy, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease.

Your conversation with Jack three hours ago left you drained and exhausted, and now you're perched on the chair in the corner of your son's hospital room. You're engrossed in watching Ángel and Javi talk about an upcoming soccer game and the probability of their favorite team winning the match when your phone vibrates underneath your thigh. With a subtle shift, you reach for it and once it’s in your hand, you flip it over. Your phone is illuminated with a family picture of you with your husband and son in the background and there’s a message on your Notification Center. 

Jack Daniels: HI. TEXTING YOU FROM MY NEW PHONE.

Another vibration follows, prompting a second message.

Jack Daniels: WHY DID THE TEXT SEND IN UPPERCASE?

The sequence of messages from Jack continues, each notification accompanied by a vibration.

Jack Daniels: HOW DO I TURN THIS OFF?

Jack Daniels: HELP me. Wait, I figured it out. Sorry.

You haven’t clicked on the messages to take you to the chat. Instead, you hold and press, sending him a brief response:

Hi, Jack.

He doesn’t send anything back, and you turn off your phone. As soon as the screen is black, it lights up again.

Jack Daniels: I went to the store and picked up a new phone.

A second later, an image comes through.

You hover over the message once more, and it’s a front selfie Jack took. Well, it’s not quite a full-face selfie. It only captures just beneath his eyes, and his eyes and face are not looking directly at the camera, so you guess he was looking down trying to take a picture of something else.

You’re proven correct when a second picture comes through. This time it’s a box of an iPhone.

There’s a bubble on your text chain, and this time you fully click, opening the message thread with Jack.

Sorry, I don’t know how this phone works. I just didn’t want my phone to fail, and you didn’t have a way to contact me, so I got a new one. Did I miss anything?

You reply back with:

Ángel is already ready to go, we’re just waiting for a room to open up in the OR. Could take hours, though.

How did he take the news?

Very well, actually. Saying he’s excited to go home is an understatement. He sensed that we were worried about his surgery and he kind of gave us a lecture on how important it is to listen to doctors and gave us a small list of the benefits of chemo ports. When we asked him how he knew about the port, he said, and I quote, "some light reading."

Jack doesn’t take long to reply:

Smart boy. He definitely got that from you.

A smile graces your lips at his message, but you decide to shift the conversation:

We never talked about it, but do you want us to tell Ángel that you’re his donor?

Your nerves are on edge, and waiting for Jack’s response heightens your anxiety. Glancing up from your phone, you see Ángel still in deep conversation with Javi. Your phone vibrates again, and you look down at Jack’s response:

No. I don’t want him to want a relationship with me because of the donation. If he wants a relationship with me, I want it to be because he truly wants it, not because he feels any obligation.

You exhale, relieved, and reply:

Okay, we won’t tell him.

Thank you.

A text bubble appears:

How do I send the accent on his name?

Suppressing a laugh, your fingers glide over the keyboard:

Press the letter A for a good two seconds, and a whole lot of options should appear. Click on the third one.

It doesn’t take Jack very long to send a single:

Á

He follows with:

Be honest, does it sound a bit funny when I pronounce his name?

You weigh your options, lie or be honest. You decide to go with the latter:

A little bit.

I remember when you used to make fun of my accent…

Liar. I didn’t make fun of you.

I miss that...

Oh, God, not again.

You’re about to reprimand him when, by some divine intervention, a fist knocks on the door, followed by a man in a polo and khakis. Quickly, you turn your phone off, redirecting your full attention to the man.

You’re about to reprimand him when, by some divine intervention, a fist knocks on the door, followed by a man in a polo and khakis. Quickly, you turn your phone off, redirecting your full attention to the man.

“Hi, I’m Will. I’m with patient transport services, and I’m here to take Ángel down to the OR,” he says.

“Come in,” you invite.

Javi stands up and retrieves your thick to-go bag from underneath the sofa. It's filled with water bottles, a variety of snacks, sweaters, sweatpants, and a few changes of clothes—because, as Javi says, uno nunca sabe (one never knows).

Will walks over to Ángel and looks at his hospital bracelet. He takes out a phone with a bulky blue case and scans the ID barcode. Will asks to no one in particular, “Can you please confirm his full name and date of birth.”

Javi does that for you.

Will nods and types something onto the phone. After a moment, he looks at Ángel, “Hey, little man, how are you doing?”

Ángel smiles, “I’m good, sir. I'm just waiting to get my chemo port. After that, I can get chemo and then a transplant so I can go home.”

Will chuckles, “That's a great plan, buddy. We’ll get you down to the OR, and they’ll take good care of you so you can go home soon. Ready to go to the sixth floor?”

Ángel nods enthusiastically, his eyes filled with trust.

“Great,” Will says, glancing at you and Javi. “If you guys are ready, we can head downstairs.”

Javi, lifting the heavy bag over his shoulder, nods in agreement. He glances at Ángel, a mix of tenderness and concern in his eyes, and then turns to Will.

“He’ll be under anesthesia, right?” Javi asks, his voice a bit gruffer than usual.

Will offers a reassuring smile, “Yes, sir. That's what his chart says.”

Javi nods, visibly swallowing some of his worry. “Okay, let’s get him down there.” He moves to help his son get up from the bed. Will positions the wheelchair closer to Ángel's bed, and together, they carefully lower Ángel onto the wheelchair. You reach for one of the blankets—a gift from your father-in-law—and drape it over Ángel. Will takes the IV wire and secures it on the designated hook at the back of the wheelchair.

"Are we all set?" Will asks.

"Yes," you affirm, and then Will wheels Ángel toward the door. Javi, anticipating the need, beats them to the exit, opens the door, and holds it wide open to let them pass. Stepping into the corridor, Javi instinctively reaches for your hands, intertwining fingers not just for your comfort but for his own solace as well. Together, you trail behind your son as Will expertly steers Ángel's wheelchair through the hallway. 

Descending from the tenth floor via the patient elevators, you and Javi follow Will, who scans his badge to usher you through the double doors into the pre-op room. 

Guiding Ángel to the left side of the room, Will selects a quiet corner and draws back a side of the arctic blue diamond-print curtains, revealing an unoccupied bed. Positioning the wheelchair beside the bed, he assists Ángel in transitioning onto the soft mattress.

"Alright, good luck, buddy. You'll do great in there," Will encourages, raising a fist. Ángel meets it with his own, and as their fists connect, they both playfully mimic the sound of an explosion.

"Thanks, sir," Ángel replies, his voice carrying gratitude. Then, in a quiet and unsure tone, he adds, "I'll see you after?"

Will's smile is reassuring. "Absolutely. I'll be the one taking you back up."

With that, Will takes a step back, giving Ángel some space. He turns to you and your husband, saying, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Peña, Mrs. Peña. Someone should be with you shortly."

"Thanks for everything, Will," you say, watching as Will, with a warm smile, exits and closes the curtain, providing you with some privacy with your son.

With only one chair in the room, Javi insists you take a seat, not wanting you on your feet.

"¿Y tú? (what about you?)" you ask, concern etched in your voice and face. Maybe it's because you went so long without a partner prioritizing you, or because in the time your son has been in the hospital, Javier has really taken care of almost everything. Sometimes you can't help but feel guilty that he always puts your comfort above his own.

"Me paro (I’ll stand)," Javi shrugs his shoulders as if it's the most obvious choice in the world.

"Papi, you can sit here," Ángel offers, patting the mattress.

"Está bien (it's okay), mijo, I can stand for a while," he smiles, loving that his son is always considerate.

"Baja ese bolso (put down that bag), at least," you plead with him.

"I'm good, someone should be here soon," Javi reassures.

"Pero, Javi- (but, Javi-)" You're interrupted when you hear a woman asking if she can come in.

He smirks and whispers, "Ves (see)." Dropping his cocky look, Javi opens the curtain to let the woman in.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Gaddi. I'll be Angel's anesthesiologist. Can I please get a full name and a birthday?"

Your son happily responds to the doctor's requests while she verifies the information on the computer.

"Great, thank you, sweetheart. Mom or Dad, I'll need your signature on the consent forms. If one of you will please follow me," she says.

"I'll go," Javi says, and to your relief, he finally drops the bag from his shoulder.

"It's just straight this way," the anesthesiologist says, motioning past the curtain where the nurse station is in the middle of the big room.

Javier nods and follows the doctor. "Ya vengo mis amores (I’ll be back my loves)," he says with a big smile before closing the curtain.

Once on the other side of the curtain, where you and his son can't see him, he exhales a shaky breath. The fear is there, gnawing at him, although he doesn't want to show it. He wishes he could share it with you, as he normally would, but you're pregnant. The stress is already too much, and he doesn't want it to affect the baby. That thought terrifies him, and he can't risk it. Through the course of your marriage, he's come to understand that sometimes, marriage isn't a perfect fifty-fifty. There are moments when one partner has to carry more, and right now, he knows it's one of those moments. He must bear the fear and shoulder some of yours. While he wants to share these worries with you, a deep-seated commitment to putting family first holds him back. His protective nature takes precedence, always prioritizing his family.

Javier raises his head back up and quickly turns around to follow the doctor, who is waiting for him.

Once he catches up to her, she tells him the forms are for consent of treatment. The doctor reads the online document, informing Javi about the procedure, the benefits, and the risks it entails.

Dr. Gaddi must have seen the look on Javier's face after she listed the risks and the way he nearly crumbled when she said "or death" because she stopped and turned to him.

"But... everything will be okay, right? He’s in good hands?” Javi asks, his voice cracking as if he's on the verge of tears; even speaking those words makes his throat ache, causing a noticeable strain in his voice.

"Sir, I can't make any promises. Every surgery does come with risks, but my team and I have successfully done this procedure multiple times.” 

Javi tries his best to remind himself that everyone in the OR is experienced and has done this procedure before.

"Where do I sign?" he manages to ask, his voice slowly regaining its composure.

While Javi is with Ángel's anesthesiologist, a nurse, and another doctor come in to check on Ángel. He had only managed a short nap, so now, as he rests, you take out your phone and send a text to Jack. 

Hey. We're in the Pre-op area. There's a room in the OR now, and I've met his doctors. As soon as the anesthesiologist comes back, they'll take him.

Jack replies instantly as if he's been sitting by, waiting for his phone to ring:

Thank you for letting me know.

He sends a follow-up: 

His surgery is only supposed to take an hour, right?

That's what the doctors said. I'm sure he won't be in there for too long.

As Javi, Dr. Gaddi, and a nurse approach, you text Jack:

The anesthesiologist will be here soon. I'll send you any updates I get, and I'm going to send you Javi's contact info just in case.

After adding Javi's phone number and hitting send, your husband and the surgical team arrive.

Dr. Gaddi approaches, “Hi, Mom, everything is ready on our end to take the patient to the OR."

“Okay,” you say, rising to your feet. The staff gathers around the bed and begins to move it. Ángel stirs at the movement, calling for you and Javi before opening his eyes.

Javi quickly rushes to your side, closer to your son, and reassures him, "It's okay."

"Oh, am I going to surgery?" Ángel asks.

"Yes, you are, Angel," the nurse responds as he releases the brakes on the left side.

"Oh, okay, yay," Ángel smiles.

The nurse chuckles at his excitement, "You know, not many kids are excited for surgery."

"I'm excited because chemo ports look more comfortable than the IV. It gets in my way when I do, like, anything," Ángel explains with a huff.

"Well, I've heard from other patients that they prefer the port, so hopefully you will too," says Dr. Gaddi as she stands to the side, waiting to wheel Ángel out of the room.

She turns to you and your husband, saying, "You guys can follow us until that red line, and then you'll be taken to the waiting room."

You start feeling more anxious, and Javier senses it. He begins to rub your lower back, his warm hand moving up and down, offering comfort.

"Okay, ready," says the nurse.

With the curtain open, they go through first, and you and Javi are right next to your son’s bed.

You're so hyper-focused on your son that you don't realize you've made it right before the line that you can't cross.

"Love you, Mommy, love you, Daddy," Ángel says, reaching out for your hand.

You take his little hand in yours, and Javi covers both of your hands with his.

"Te amamos más, mi niño (we love you more)," Javi tells him in a soft voice. Everyone can hear the love pouring out of his words.

Ángel knows this and doesn't try to contradict his dad because he knows it would be in vain. Instead, he simply says, "Nos vemos en un ratito (We’ll see each other in a little bit)."

"Okay, mijo," you say, fighting back tears.

The doors open, and Ángel is wheeled in. You think the tears are coming, but when you hear the light sound of your son's laughter, you're able to compose yourself.

"Would you like to be taken to the waiting room now?" a non-surgical nurse asks.

Thirty minutes pass, and you and Javier are seated in the waiting room, the only occupants at the moment. Purple chairs surround you, and you're on a blue seat cushion against the wall, your attention fixed on the TV opposite. It's a modest 35-inch screen designed to keep you informed about the ongoing surgery. Your son's name is displayed in green, and the message changes from ‘Surgery in progress: Incision and Pocket Creation’ to ‘Surgery in progress: Port Implantation.’

"They're placing the port-disk-chamber thingy inside the incision they made on his chest," Javi says matter-of-factly, pointing at the text.

You turn your head toward him, an amused smile playing on your lips. "'Port-disk-chamber thingy'—is that what the doctor said, Jav?"

He bursts out laughing, placing his right hand over his chest, realizing he was mimicking the tone doctors use when imparting information: authoritative. "Casi me cago del miedo (I almost shitted myself from fear) when the doctor told me step by step what they would do, so I don't remember exactly what he said," he chuckles.

Javier's laugh is contagious, and you can't help but laugh too. Your laughter fuels his, and vice versa. The only thing that interrupts your laughter is when you feel the baby kick.

"Ay, me pateó (oh, he kicked me)," you exclaim happily.

Javi instantly stops laughing too and shifts his hand to rest on your bump. As soon as you feel the weight of his hand on your stomach, your son responds with another kick, right where Javi's palm is placed.

A boyish look crosses your husband's face. He always loves feeling the baby kick, reminiscent of the first time he felt his first son kick.

"¿Hola, mijo, ya te despertaste? (Hi, my boy, have you woken up yet?)" he hums softly.

In response, the baby kicks again.

"He loves your voice so much. I swear he only kicks so you could talk to him. A mi no me quiere, nomas le gusta que le cantes y le leas (He doesn’t love me, he just likes it when you sing and read to him),” you huff out in fake annoyance.

"That's not true. The second-born is always the momma's boy. So the baby loves you the most," Javi says.

"And the youngest loves daddy the most, so no," you refute.

"He won't be the youngest for long," he grins suggestively.

You gasp, “ya me embarazaste, sinverguenza! (You already impregnated me!)"

"But if it was scientifically possible..."

"Shut up," you playfully scold him.

With Javi's hand still over your stomach, your son kicks again, this time much lighter.

"He's upset you told me to shut up," his gaze shifts from looking at you to your stomach as if he could see the baby, and he lowers his voice, “¿verdad, mijo? Dile a tu mami que no sea mala conmigo (right, mijo? Tell your mom to stop being mean to me).”

He looks back up at you, "te acuerdas cuando Ángel hizo eso por primera vez? (Do you remember when Ángel did that for the first time?).”

“Jesus Christ, he scared me, and he made you cry,” you laugh, a smile on your face remembering.

"Oh shit! I forgot to update Jack," you realize and scramble to get your phone. As you start typing to let him know what's going on in the OR, you tell Javi, "By the way, I gave him your phone number."

Javier lets out an unenthusiastic and dry, "Yay."

“Mira (look),” he says while you’re still typing. You look up to where Javi is pointing, and the TV changes to Surgery in progress: Catheter Insertion.

You wince, "They're in his vein now."

"The catheter is the tube that delivers the medicine to his body, right?"

"Yeah," you mumble, typing the next update to Jack.

Javi reaches for one of your hands and rubs soothing circles, “Deja de pensar en eso. Él está bien con ellos (stop thinking about it. He’s safe with them).”

He removes his hand and turns his body to the to-go bag. Javi reaches for the zipper and undoes it. He digs in the back, and you see him pull something out. "Do you need a blanket?" he asks, with a large fuzzy blue blanket in his hand and his soft brown eyes looking at you tenderly. Before you can reply, he places it in your lap and goes back to the bag. Javi fights a little and finally tugs a pillow out of the bag, "a pillow?" he asks with the same puppy eyes.

“I- thank you," you accept both items. You put the pillow behind you so you won't rest your back against the hard and cold wall. You take the blue blanket from your lap and extend it to drape it over the both of you.

"¿Tienes hambre? (are you hungry?)" Javi asks adjusting the blanket.

"Sí" 

He goes back to the bag and pulls out some snacks: Goldfish, Chips Ahoy, granola bars, fruit snacks, dry plantain chips, and a pack of assorted nuts.

"Sorry, I don't have any actual food," he looks at what he's offered you and feels guilty at the limited options. Javi gets up quickly, "I can go get you real food. Are you craving anything?"

"Hey," you wrap your fingers around his wrist and grip somewhat tightly. You look up at him and push him to sit back down. "No. I don't want you to leave."

"Okay. I'll stay," he says softly, kissing where your hair and forehead meet.

A knock reverberates in the room, and a nurse comes in. "Hi," she says, closing the door to come closer to you. "Everything went well. There were no complications. They're ready to transfer Ángel to the Post-op room if you guys would like to follow me."

Both of you look relieved at the news, and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

"Thank you," you tell her, and Javi can't get any words out. His eyes are watering, and he tries his best to not let them fall.

He starts hurriedly putting away the snacks, just keeping the bag of nuts, while you fold the blanket back up into the neat roll Javi had it in. After the snacks, blanket, and pillow are in the bag again, Javi helps you get up. You send Jack a quick text informing him that everything went well, and you're on your way to see Ángel. Javi puts the bag over his shoulder, and you both follow the nurse to go see your son.

Next morning - Day 1 of Chemo:

Hey, Jack. Ángel is awake and doing well. He asked about having visitors and hoped you would come see him. We explained that it's not possible right now. He understood but wanted to call. Would you like to FaceTime?

That's great. What’s FaceTime?

It's a video call.

Yes. How do I do that?

Instead of texting him back, you initiate a FaceTime call and hand the phone off to Ángel when it starts to ring.

As soon as Jack accepts the call and his face takes over your screen, Ángel's little face lights up. "Mr. Jack!"

Jack's face mirrors Ángel's: a smile so wide, eyes so soft looking at his son.

"I just started chemotherapy," Ángel blurts out just before Jack greets him.

Jack's heart glows watching his son's face. "How are ya feeling?"

"Mmm... I feel okay. Oh! I got the surgery last night, and look at my chemo port." Your son takes one hand off your phone and pulls his hospital gown just enough to show Jack his port. "Look! You can see the bump of the port under my skin. Eww, it looks gross. It's so cool."

Jack laughs, and that makes Ángel move the phone back to his face.

"Does it hurt?" Jack asks.

"Nope. It was a little bit like... sore when I woke up, but it doesn’t hurt now. I had chemo in the morning, and it pinched for a second, but it's wayyy better than the IV."

"It's not a pain to use the restroom, huh?"

"It's easier and faster to go now," his brows pinch in the middle, "I almost peed myself once 'cus I had to wait for the wires to detangle from the bed." Ángel trails off, tilts his head to the side, and squints. "What do you have behind you? Is that a needle?"

Jack turns his head behind to see what his son saw. He had picked up the prescription he needed to be Ángel's donor from the pharmacy the previous night. Jack opened the box out of curiosity and took out a needle to look at, but then he got caught up texting you in the morning and forgot to put the small vial and needle back in the pharmacy bag.

"Umm... yeah?" Jack says uncertainly, not knowing how to explain it to his son. He doesn't want him to know that he's his donor, at least not yet. "That is some medicine I have to take in two days," Jack says, trying to keep it vague.

When the words come out of Jack's mouth, Ángel's eyes show pure concern, "Oh, are you sick?"

"No, buddy," Jack blurts out immediately, "I'm not sick. I'm just takin' them for... to... Just takin' them to stay healthy. They're like vitamins."

"Maybe I should take some so I could be healthy. What's the name of the medicine?"

Jack's heart drops at his son's words. His mind starts spinning, but he takes a deep breath. He'll be healthy soon, he tries to remind himself. "You can't take this one, buddy. It's for adults."

"Oh," he sounds disappointed, but his voice goes back to normal, "Well, that's okay. I can't take vitamins on chemo either way. I think. Vitamins can affect chemo because of cancer cells, but I don't have any so I don't know. I can ask later. How are the horses?"

Donation Day - Day 7 of Chemo:

Jack sat comfortably in a green chair, his right hand extended over a pillow, squeezing a small blue ball as his blood cycled through the machine. Two hours had passed since he settled into the chair. He arrived at the hospital early in the morning with the last dose of his five-day filgrastim prescription, and for the first time, someone other than him administered the injection. Throughout the morning, he had been texting you, checking in on his son, and, though he wouldn't admit it, checking in on you.  Of course, he cared about his son and wanted to know every detail of what he was going through, but this had been the only line of communication he had with you for years, and he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity while you were willing to entertain his conversations. From you, he learned that Ángel's last day of chemo had gone smoothly.

Jack's head spun when he heard a knock against the door. His heart thumped wildly in his chest at the thought of seeing you. When the door opened, a wave of disappointment washed over him. It wasn't you who set foot in the room; it was fucking Javier.

Jack instantly tenses and clears his throat as Javier walks over to him.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Javi crosses his hands over his thick biceps, "How's the donation coming along?"

"It's goin' well. They think in 30 minutes we'll have enough for Ángel," Jack fills Javi in.

"H-how are umm... how are you feeling?" Javi gets the words out, although with much effort. He sounds physically pained asking a simple question to Jack.

"You sound very concerned for my well-being," Jack quips sarcastically.

Not really, Javi wants to say. Instead, he tells Jack, "I’m trying really hard to not hate you.”

It doesn't faze Jack one bit. "Same."

"So just don't do anything to piss me off. More like don't do anything else to piss me off even more," Javi lowers his voice more, "She's my wife; she tells me things. Don't you ever dare call her ‘baby’ again. You're lucky she's not that uncomfortable with ‘sugar’, but if she ever shows one ounce of discomfort, you will stop."

"She never minded all those names before," Jack challenges, glaring at Javi."

Javi smirks, wearing a shit-eating grin as he nonchalantly shrugs. "Yeah, she never did lots of things before me."

Jack is furious. All he sees is red, and just as he begins to rise from his chair to get up, the nurse walks in.

"Oh! A visitor," she exclaims.

"Hello," Javi greets the redheaded nurse in blue scrubs with ducks all over them.

Seeing the nurse enter, Jack comes to his senses and sits back down. Subconsciously, he squeezes the ball so tight in his hands that his knuckles turn white.

"Mr. Daniels, are you okay?" the nurse questions with concern. All she sees is her patient gripping the ball so tightly that his nails are about to rupture through the material. She moves to him and checks his arm to see if there are any signs the needle is causing pain.

Jack's glare tears from Javi and shifts to the nurse. "I'm okay, thank you for checkin’ in on me," he tells her and moves his hand to signal for the nurse to release his arm. "Nothin’ hurts," he smiles up at her.

The nurse understands and checks the progress of the donation. While looking at the machine, she decides to make small talk with her patient and his visitor. "Are you Mr. Daniels' brother?" She turns to ask Javi innocently.

"No," Jack's words drip with disgust.

Javi smiles at how fast Jack denies the nurse's initial thought and says "Not related," under his breath, mumbling, "Thank God."

The nurse doesn't seem to pick up on their animosity and comments, "You two look alike, what a coincidence. Best friends then?"

"No, nothing like that. My wife and I know him, and he's giving our son a gift," Javi says 'our' while looking at Jack.

Suddenly, Ángel crosses their minds, and they both feel some shame for their earlier behavior. They know they can't go on still hating each other because it'll eventually turn into a fight. They just don't know how to set aside their differences.

"I'll call the doctor to get her thoughts, but it looks like we have what we need for the donation," the nurse says, taking note of the blood volume. "In a few hours, one lucky little boy will receive the cells, and he’ll be one step closer to being healthy."

After Jack was hooked up to the machine for two and a half hours, the staff deemed the collection enough and sent the blood bag to the lab to confirm that Jack’s procedure had collected enough stem cells. Four hours later, it was confirmed that there were the desired amount of stem cells, and the team took the cells to Ángel’s room. Due to your son being immunocompromised, he isn't allowed to have visitors other than legal guardians. So, you and Javi update Jack on the transplant.

Day 11 post-transplant:

Remember how I told you he started grafting on the tenth day?

Yes! How his body was accepting the stem cells, and the cells were growing and making new cells.

Mhm. Well, if everything keeps going at the speed it’s been going, Ángel gets to go home in four days!!

Oh, wow! It’s just day 11 after the transplant, and the doctors estimated it wouldn't happen until closer to day 25! Can I go see him then? I know I was cleared to go five days ago, but because I wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t go. My fever’s still here, but I’ll continue to monitor myself.

Sure! You need to be cleared of a fever for 24 hours and have absolutely NO symptoms.

You have my word, sugar.

Day 14 post-transplant:

You're packing all of Ángel's belongings to take home. It's been 14 days since your son's transplant, and he's cleared to go home. You don't know who's happier— you, your husband, or your son. But that doesn't really matter; all that matters is that your family is together. Just as you're collecting your son's toys and getting them ready to shove into the white personal belongings bag, someone knocks on the door. Javi stops placing Ángel's books into a box and hurriedly opens the door. He was expecting the doctor to come in with discharge papers, but it was Jack waiting on the other side.

"Oh, right, you said you'd stop by," Javi remembered.

When you saw Jack standing there not quite stepping inside the room with a red gift bag, you gasped. "Sorry, we forgot you were going to stop by." You turned your neck and saw Ángel reading the book Jack had gifted him, One Hundred Fun Facts About Horses.

"Come in," you usher Jack in. "Mijo," you call, and Ángel looks up from the book he's got his nose buried in.

"Mr. Jack!" Ángel's face lights up like a Christmas tree. He pats a spot in his bed as he tells Jack to sit down next to him. "I want to show you something," Ángel puts the book aside and lowers his shirt to show Jack that the port is gone. "They took my port out!"

Jack almost reaches out and touches his son's scar but settles for examining it with his eyes. "Are you sore?"

"Not really. I'm just excited to go to my house. Did my mom tell you I'm leaving the hospital today?"

"Yeah," Jack chuckles, "she mentioned it. And here I brought you this," he lifts the gift bag onto the bed.

Ángel tears it open and begins to pull the items out. The first gift he reaches is a book, Her Right Foot. "Oh, my God!"

You see the title and direct your question to Jack, "He's wanted that book for a while, how did you know?"

"Really?" Jack's smiling ear to ear. "I just went to the bookstore and thought he'd like that one." His heart feels like it could rip right through his chest because he feels like he knows his son. Jack had browsed many children's books and read the synopsis of every last book. The one he had purchased was the one he felt his son would love, the book his son is currently holding, and Jack was right.

The little boy takes out the next item, which is a box. "A Lego set!" Ángel flips the black box to the front, and he sees that this particular set is one of horses. The horse in the center looked similar to Andor, one of Jack's horses his son loved the most. "Is this an Andalusian?" Ángel looks to Jack, his eyes sparkling."

Jack nods his head, "It is, buddy. It's like a mini Andor."

Ángel seems pleased with Jack's answer and moves on to the last gift. It was another box, but this one was a shoebox. The little boy lifted the top off, and he was met with boots—dark brown leather boots with beautiful and intricate stitching all throughout.

“Is that a longhorn?” Ángel points at the center of the boots. He doesn’t wait for an answer before speaking again, “My grandpa has longhorns on his ranch. Do you have them on your ranch, Mr. Daniels?”

"I don’t have any longhorns, but umm... I have the same boots," Jack looks down at the floor like he’s suddenly interested in the simple pattern of the hospital floor. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but when his son's sweet voice reached his ears, Jack looked up.

"You do?" Ángel was beaming, a smile brighter than the sun. He leaps to move sideways so his legs would hang from the bed. He took his left boot and put it on his baby blue non-slip sock-clothed feet and did the same for the right boot. When both boots are on, he pinches the tip to feel where his toes are. Ángel drops to the floor and begins to walk, showing all three of you his new footwear. 

"How did you get his shoe size?" You're amazed at how they seem to fit perfectly.

"I asked him," Jack nods his head towards your husband, who is smiling broadly, showing his perfect teeth. Javi squats down to Ángel's level and presses his fingers on his son's boot toe box to feel if they're pinching Ángel's feet. "Perfect fit," Javi smiles up at his son, dimple on display, still on the floor.

Once Javi's hands are removed from Ángel's boots, he runs to Jack, "Thank you so much, Mr. Jack," he says, jumping up and down. Ángel runs back to Javi, who is now standing up straight, "¡Papi, quiero una foto! (Daddy, I want a picture!)" Javi complies and takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You turn to Jack, and your voice falls to a whisper, "We're hosting a dinner in a few nights to celebrate Ángel coming home, and we'd love it if you'd join us."

Jack's head reels at the prospect of seeing you and Ángel in a few days, but beneath that excitement, there is fear, "Is your family going to be there?" he asks.

"Yes, and Javi's too."

"It's your family I'm worried about," he confesses, looking into your eyes.

You take in the way his face pales slightly, his eyes widen, and his eyebrows shoot near his hairline. "No. You're more than worried; you look genuinely scared, but you'll be fine."

"'Course I'll be there, Sugar," he says, looking at his son laughing while Javi takes his pictures. If Ángel was a happy and giddy boy before the transplant, Jack now sees how his innocence is amplified now that he's healthy, and Jack can't wait to see more of his son's childhood joy outside the hospital.

"Hey, can I talk with you alone before you leave?" Jack asks you, hoping you'll agree.

"Um, yeah, we can go outside," you agree, noting his urgent tone.

"Javi, Ángel, I'll be back soon. I'm just going to walk Jack out," you say, moving to the door with Jack on your heels.

"Okay, we'll keep packing, amor," Javi tells you, brushing his hand with yours. You lean into your husband for a while until Ángel and Jack say their goodbyes, promising they'll see each other at the dinner.

You and Jack exit the room, and you take him to a little corner further down the hall.

"What did you want to discuss?" you ask resting your back on the wall with brown and cream diamond wallpaper.

Jack's nervous to tell you what he wants: a father-and-son relationship with Ángel. You two never went into detail on how you would tell Ángel the truth about Jack and he's terrified of asking you for something this big so soon after a big weight of stress has been lifted off you. 

"Jack?" 

"Sorry," he clears his throat, "I wanted to talk to you about telling Ángel that I'm his dad- biological."

"Oh," you sound surprised. "Yeah. We didn't really discuss that, did we? I haven't thought about it in so long, I'm sorry. Maybe we can get some pointers from Ángels counselor?" You suggest. "Javi and I thought about making an appointment with a child therapist because of this entire hospital stay. We were hoping to get your opinion on that actually."

It's Jack's turn to be surprised. "I think that's wonderful, Sugar. Thank you for including me in the decision." 

"Of course. I think it would be great if we could get the counselor's opinion on how to best handle the situation. And we too can figure out how this new dynamic would work. For example, medical decisions moving forward. We'll tell Ángel about you and I have no doubt he'll want to have the relationship you want to have with him. We can talk more about the appointment in a few days. We haven't set an exact date for the dinner but it will probably be this upcoming Sunday." 

"I'll clear out my entire schedule," Jack says sincerely 

"We'll have food for you that won't send you into a choking fit," you tease. 

Jack covers his eyes with his hands, "God, 'M so sorry." 

You laugh at his embarrassment, "No, it's okay. I understand the food we serve can take some getting used to."  You continue to tell him about the plans for the dinner that is slowly turning into a party and he just stares at you while you keep talking he gets lost in the moment. He thinks about your laugh and the consideration you still have for him and suddenly Jack blurts out, “I love you."

The smile you had vanishes.

“Jack,” you warn dangerously. “We were doing so good, Jack.” You don't want to—can't see him now, so you close your eyes. The words only needed to be said once for them to threaten tears to spill. "How dare you say those words to me now?” You hiss, your tone now angry but more than anything, filled with frustration and pain. You thought you could handle seeing him, so you open your eyes. "What do you expect me to do with that? I won’t leave Javi if that’s what you’re hoping for.

"S-" Jack opens his mouth, but you cut him off immediately. "No, Jack, let me speak."

"Once, those three words would have made me the happiest person in the world, but now? They’re only causing pain,” you pause, exhaling a shaky breath. “You humiliated me, Jack. Time and time again. Even if I didn’t have Javi, I wouldn’t go back to you.” You sound defeated, your voice carrying the pain of past wounds, and it crushes you to keep thinking about the past.

“I did love you, through everything,” Jack whispers, his eyes searching yours. They are watery and dazed.

“I think…” you run your tongue over your lips and then purse them, “I think you loved me in your own way. But that’s not how I wanted to be loved. During our engagement, and more so during our marriage, I never really felt loved by you. Can you blame me for that if I can count with my fingers the amount of 'I love yous' you gave me?” Your words are like shards of glass, cutting through the air with the sharpness of your pain.

“When you did show me your love, I was so happy, Jack. So happy that I thought, hoped, you would give me more love, so I stayed with you. I longed for the morning you woke up and things would be different, better. Because that’s exactly what happened. You woke up after the night of our engagement, and you were a completely different person, and I couldn't comprehend what I did wrong. I was willing to stay with you forever for the odd chance one day you would feel for me how I felt for you.”

“And I stayed because I always hoped you would go back to your old self. Sometimes there were indications that you were going to become the old Jack. Well, I don’t know if I fooled myself, but sometimes I thought you were happy. Like right before I told you I was pregnant, you had this smile on your face….” Your voice trembles with the weight of those memories.

“Other times I genuinely thought you hated me, and then I thought that’s not possible. ‘Why would he ask me to marry him if he couldn’t stand me?’” 

“Did you always think that?” He sounds sad, a quiet plea for understanding. But your heart, scarred by the past, struggles to find solace in his remorseful gaze.

“Yeah. When… when we were together, it was rare you would look at me in my face. The majority of times you had me face down. How do you think that made me feel? You made me feel used and disposable.” 

“I wanted to be loved by you," you continue, your tone a mix of vulnerability and strength, "and you always made me feel like I was the other woman. Then I decided I should stop trying and let you go.” 

“What changed?” Jack's question hangs in the air. Everything you’ve revealed up to this point has felt like glass shards embedded in his heart. He knows you still have a lot left to say, and it will continue to hurt him, but he owes it to you to hear everything you went through.

“I was at a park one day after you didn’t come home," you recall, emotion tinging your words. "I came across this older man, and he showed me pictures of his family. When he talked about his wife…” you pause, emotion catching up with you. “It was beautiful. And I realized that would never be you. You wouldn’t talk about me that way. Since that day, I took off my rose-colored lenses and thought everything through."

"I thought about your behavior but also about mine. I hated who I was because it sounds ridiculous, but I was jealous of someone who wasn't here anymore. And I swear I never wanted to replace her or erase her from your life, I just wanted you to love me too. I loved you so much; I would've settled for half the love you had for Allison, but you couldn't even give me that. I never told you you couldn't love or mourn Allison. She was your wife, I get that... but I was your wife too, and knowing you would never love me like you did her was slowly killing me.” 

"I thought about one night, which I don't know if you remember," you confess, the vulnerability in your voice palpable. "But one night on her birthday, you got extremely drunk, and you kept slurring your words. I couldn't understand half of what you were saying, but I heard loud and clear when you yelled at me that you didn’t choose to stop loving her; you were forced to. And you said that you would’ve never looked at me otherwise. That you wish she came back and I disappeared… That we s- switched places,” you confess, exposing the scars engraved into your heart, and the pain of that night that is still etched in your memory—a wound that refused to fully heal. You were surprised that you weren't sobbing, because the night he told you those words, you felt your world had ended.

Jack was appalled, his face reflecting the shock and guilt that surged through him as he listened to your words. The heaviness of the past, the pain inflicted, all rushed back to him as a floodgate of memories suddenly opened, each carrying the weight of its own hurt.

"I always felt I was the third person in our marriage. You made me feel things I hated, and maybe even worse, I became someone I didn't recognize. After that day in the park, I was going to ask you for a divorce because I didn't want to be the person you settled for… then I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to give us one last try, and well, you remember what happened after I told you the news,” you say, the bitterness of the past lingering in your words.

"You kept hurting me, and you're smart, Jack. Did you not think I would leave you?" 

Jack exhales, the reminder of his own mistakes heavy on him. "I think I couldn’t let ya go, so a part of me hoped you would leave me if I treated you horribly. Every day I fought with myself to treat you like you deserve, but I wasn’t strong enough to open up to you."

The silence lingers, and Jack takes the opportunity to share a piece of his truth. "The night after I proposed, I had a dream about Allison. She told me I was replacing her, and I dunno, instead of working out through my issues, I took it out on ya.”

“Over a dream? You... you let our relationship go to waste because of a dream,” you say, a mix of disbelief and frustration in your voice. You want to be angry at him because such a trivial thing ruined the chance of happiness, but then you put yourself in his shoes. "Oh, Jack," you add, this time with a tone of understanding and sadness. 

“Have you been to therapy?” you ask him, your tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Yeah…” Jack admits with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Can I be honest?” you tilt your head, your fingers playing with the collar of your shirt.

He nods.

“I don’t think it helped.”

Jack smiles, a sheepish expression on his face, “If we’re being honest, I went in for two sessions and never saw my shrink again.”

“Well, your therapist probably knew what they were doing,” you playfully scold, but then your voice softens, "Please see a therapist so Ángel can get to know the best version of you. When I knew that Jack, he was amazing, and that's the man I want my son to know."

A sad smile greets Jack's face, "Yes, Sugar."

There's another thing you've always been curious to know but never had the stomach to ask, and this seems to be your window. "Can I ask, did you, um, did you ever sleep with someone else while we were married?"

"God no," the words tumble out of his mouth.

"Well, that's something, I guess," you say, a sense of relief evident in your voice.

"I'm really sorry about everything, sweetheart. I can't believe I ever hurt you. I just miss you so much. I’ve never regretted anything in my life as much as I do not telling you I loved you when we had a chance," Jack confesses, the weight of regret heavy in his words.

"It’s okay, Jack. I’m not your wife anymore, but we had some good times. Sometimes love doesn’t work out how we thought,” you tell Jack, your gaze turning when you hear footsteps that are familiar to you. 

And Jack would forever kick himself for driving you away and not accepting your love. The only piece of solace is that Ángel will have a happy and full life, and you finally got the love you deserved and dreamed of.

Javi starts calling your name, and you answer him so he can walk over to where you are. Once Javi comes into view, he tells you that Ángel’s been discharged and that they're ready to go home.

Jack looks at you once more, his gaze lingering, as if trying to capture every detail to hold onto. He sees the love in your eyes for your husband, a love he once had the chance to cherish but let slip away. It hurts, but at the mention of his son, it gives him the slightest glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he has learned from his mistakes, and he'll find a way to be a part of your lives, even if it's not in the way he once dreamed. The love of his life and his son are happy and healthy, and that will have to be enough for him.

"Bye, Jack. I'll let you know what time we're having the dinner," you say, while Javi wraps his arms around you—a protective gesture that Jack once held the privilege of doing, but did so sparingly.

"Take care," Javi tells Jack over his shoulder, his voice firm but not unkind. He then leads you to Ángel's room, leaving Jack standing alone in the corridor, grappling with the ache of what could have been.

You both start heading down the hallway, and Javi pauses halfway. His eyes search yours, concern written all over his features. 

"Are you okay?"

"I am now," you lean into him and smile. "Jack and I were talking about when we were married," you begin, and Javi tenses involuntarily.

"Hey, no, you don’t have anything to worry about," you reassure him, cupping his face with both of your hands. "Our talk was more about what went wrong, and the bottom line was that I‘m okay with the fact that he wasn’t the one for me."

Javi takes a deep breath, visibly trying to control the surge of emotions within him. "It’s just- me cae mal ese - (I don’t like that-)” You can't help but chuckle lightly at your husband's choice of words.

"As stupid as it sounds, I wanted to make it work when we were married. I saw it in his eyes, I felt it in his words and actions; he didn’t love me, and I couldn’t stay in a marriage like that. I wanted a life with him... It didn't work out, and it's okay. Everything I dreamed of having, I found it with you. I'm the happiest I've ever been at your side. You’re the love of my life and I love being your wife, don't ever doubt that, okay?" Since the beginning of your relationship, you always repeated your love to Javier, not because he was insecure, but because you knew how it felt to be second place, second best, a consolation prize, and you never wanted Javier to think that you settled for him after Jack.

"Say it again," Javi requests, a genuine smile softening his features as he looks down at you.

"What?" 

“That you’re my wife," Jack wants you to repeat the words that make his heart flutter.

“I’m your wife," you say.

Javi, still reveling in the warmth of the words, spins his finger in a playful circle, silently requesting you to say the words again.

“I’m your wife," you repeat, the pride evident in your tone. You take Javi's hand and begin walking to your son’s room.

"Again," Javi insists, stopping you in your tracks.

“I’m your wife.” 

“Otra vez," he requests, this time in Spanish.

You comply, “Soy tu esposa," you tell him and drag him further down the hall to your son's room.

When Javi playfully asks you to say it once more, this time it's you who stops. “Por dios, Javi, ¿en cuántos lenguajes quieres que te lo diga? (My God, Javi, how many languages do you want me to say it in?)” you feign annoyance.

He shrugs, answering with a mischievous grin, “En todos (in all of them).”

Amused, you grab him by the collar of his blue button-down shirt and bring him to a level where you can whisper into his ear, “Ay, Jav, apenas y hablas español (Oh, Jav, you barely speak Spanish).” You kiss his cheek and pull back, leaving him slightly offended but oddly proud. He had hoped for a different outcome when he saw you pull him down; the glint in your eyes made him believe you were going to kiss him on the lips. But, to his dismay, you chose to tease him instead.

"Take it back!" he demands as you stand right outside the door.

“Si lo dices en español (if you say it in Spanish),” you tease with a grin. Javier contemplates for a moment, and in the brief silence, Ángel's laughter and Dr. Navarro's voice echo from inside the room.

"Please?" Javi implores, wanting to savor one more of those heart-skipping phrases before joining his son. Unable to resist his pleading eyes any longer and mindful of the precious moments with Ángel, you relent.

“I’m your wife.”

END

Extended Note: The end! Thank you, everyone, for your kindness throughout the series. I truly appreciate every interaction 🥹.

As for my departure, I'm unsure whether I should deactivate my account or just private my writing. There's one post I received only positive comments on, especially from people with SPD who found it relatable. Apparently, there's a shortage of such stories, so I'm conflicted. Hopefully, I'll have a definitive decision next week.

I'm planning to post the Din story next Thursday; it's just one part, a sex pollen with Virgin!Din, titled 'Paleta.' I'm a fan of El Alfa, and I recently discovered that a song in his new album was sampled from the one I used for the Din story. It got me thinking about what I had written, and I wanted to share it with y’all before I bow out.

Thank you for reading 🫶🏽!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

[freshbakedbreadstick]

No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Five

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Jerimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: The past seems to repeat itself and this awful memory seems to provide some much needed context to your actions.

Warnings:  All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of death, funerals, toxic relationships, grief, angst, strained relationships, minor injuries, arguments/yelling matches, details of anxiety/panic attacks, bad coping mechanisms, mental health issues, running away, addiction, interventions. This is literally just pure angst again im so sorry (not really (: ).

Word Count: 5k (sorry, she is a long one!)

A/N: I wrote this while procrastinating packing to move into my dorm LOLLL i move in a few days but im too anxious to even start packing <3 anyways this one is another heavy one and a long one too, so fun ! I hope you all enjoy because she was surprisngly difficult to write and edit bc my imposter syndrome and chronic perfectionism is out to get me ! ! Have a slay n gay day ily all ! 

Taglist: @marysucks-blog @shinebright2000 @jadeittic

MASTERLIST

It was a cold and cloudy day in March, fitting for a funeral. There was snow on each corner of the sidewalk, partially melted, but the cold air that made your lips burn when you stepped outside threatened more snowfall to come.

Today marked two weeks since you got the phone call that changed your entire life.

It was only two weeks after Mikey was found dead on the State Street Bridge and they already got him ready to be put into the ground. 

You stared out the window, silent, and watched the life that occurred outside. A man helped his son get out of their car, both in matching hats and scarves, a teen with a backpack passed by with their friends, laughing and jumping, a tree swayed, leaves still gone. 

“Hey, sweetheart, are you ready?”

You didn’t respond.

Your father placed his hand onto your shoulder, “Are you ready?”  

You sighed, letting your breath fog up the cold window pane in front of you. 

Most days, you sat on the only wooden dining chair that was saved from your and Mikey's apartment and looked outside the window. You noticed things you normally took for granted, like the view of snowfall during sunset and the way the trees swayed when a gust of wind blew. 

Finally, you stood up, feeling your dad's hand slip off your shoulder. You didn't bother to smooth out your black dress, letting the wrinkles set in the fabric. Meanwhile, the stockings you wore under pinched you as you moved, but you didn’t care enough to adjust them either. 

"Yea…” you responded at last, voice thick and scratchy.

Your parents mumbled quietly to each other as they locked the door, stealing not so subtle glances over to you as you stood in the middle of the path down the front door, looking at the now empty street. 

Everyone around you just seemed to keep on asking you the same question: "Are you ready to…" but you didn't know. You didn't know if you were ready to face death. But you did know that you felt no panic, sadness, guilt, fear, anger, happiness, or… anything really. 

‘I guess it’s better to feel nothing than something,’ you thought to yourself.

“Let’s get in the car now, okay?” 

You looked over to your mom, who approached you and gently grabbed your forearm, starting to lead you to your parents’ car. But you dug your heels into the ground making your mom jump as she suddenly jerked back. 

“I want… I want to drive myself.”

Your mother looked at you, eyes pleading. She then glanced at your dad, who softened and sighed. 

“Sweetie, i don’t think that is a good idea-”

“Please… i just… I need some time alone before I go in…”

Your parents shared a glance before your mom slowly loosened her grip on your arm. You slowly began to walk away from her, pulling your arm out of her grip. 

“We’ll follow you,” your dad said, voice steady but still anxious. 

You nodded and headed towards your car. The thought of being alone terrified you in general since the news of Mikey broke, but having a small moment alone in the car sounded heavenly after not being left physically alone, at all, for the past two weeks. You didn’t sleep alone, eat alone, or even shower alone; someone was always there either right next to you or right outside the door. While it was nice to have people around you during this time, you started feeling suffocated and pitied rather than supported. 

The drive was silent. You didn’t bother to turn on the radio or take off your thick coat or even play any of the cds Mikey had burned for you as teenagers like you normally did. Nothing was normal anymore anyways, so why bother?

But regardless, the silence was, in some way, comforting. It granted you the smallest bit of breathing space you knew you needed before you would face death itself.

After parking outside the funeral home, you sat in your seat. The car was off and it was silent as you sat there, not feeling particularly anything, just sort of numb. And for the first time in a while, you felt like you would be okay. It didn’t hurt anymore, just felt numb, and that seemed like progress to you. 

A knock outside your window made you jump and turn around. You expected to see your mom or your dad waiting for you, but was surprised to see Richie instead.

You cleared your throat and rolled your shoulder back, holding your head up high like you normally did, before you got out.

As you started to step out, you smiled at him, “Well don’t you look fine as a peach.”

Richie smiled softly for a brief second before it fell back down into a frown that made the wrinkles around his mouth deepen. He looked unwell, with heavy bags and a gaunt face, making him appear sick. 

While you analyzed him, he did the same for you. He scanned your face and body, seeing the way you continued to be the person he knew you as, even during a time in which nothing made sense anymore for anyone. Your shoulders were square and your head was high, making you look less like a grieving girlfriend and more like a CEO. This made him shiver. 

But regardless, he held his hand out for you to take, helping you up and out of your car. As you locked your car, he began to talk.

“Drove here alone?” he said, voice gravelly. 

“Yea… I needed to be alone.”

He nodded silently. He then took your hand, still in his own, and wrapped it around his arm. He led you to the sidewalk, toward the funeral home, steps slow and purposeful. 

“Everyone is here but you… you don’t have to talk to anyone, okay? If anyone bothers you, come to me.”

You chuckled dryly, “Thanks, but don't worry about me. I know this is hard for you too.”

Before he could retaliate to your words, you cleared your throat and walked a little faster. 

You watched as your parents, who were up ahead of you, greeted Natalie and Pete. You saw the way they moved inside after speaking to her, as if stuck in mud, around the sister of the man you loved. 

They both briefly turned back to look at you, eyes watering and drooping, before anxiously disappearing into the awaiting crowd of family members.

You paused, making Richie also pause beside you, turning to look at you. He saw the way your eyes scanned up the bricks of the building and then back down to the wilted ferns in pots next to the front doors. Your eyes, for a brief second, filled with tears, making him open his mouth before shutting it upon seeing you blink them away. 

You cleared your throat and began to move again, seemingly fine, until your heels began dragging on the pavement. So Richie silently moved his arm up to support you and looked away, staring off to the side. He didn't want you to see the way his eyes had started to tear up as he saw through your facade.

Natalie had focused her gaze on you just after your parents left, face in a permanent concerned frown that made her look more like a mother than anything else, before nodding softly to you, “Hi sweetie… are you ready?”

Were you ready?

“I just…” you began, mouth drying up the second you began to talk.

Natalie nodded at you anxiously, reaching over to take your hand in her own. The calluses she had from years of cleaning up after everyone rubbed soothingly into your own hand.

You shrugged, “...I just feel numb.”

Beside her, Pete winced. Natalie shot him a small glare before softening up as she turned back to you, “It’s okay, you're free to stay out here if you need some space, okay? Whatever it is that you need, let us know and we can help…”

Wordlessly, you rubbed your thumb into her hand and turned to look inside the hallway. A couple family members had already spotted you, their once staring gazes averting themselves from your frame as they noticed you caught them watching. Hushed voices that whispered to one another died down to either silence or near silent whispers as they stole glances at you and Richie walking inside.

You turned and gave Natalie a small smile, "Don't worry about me, are you doing ok-"

"Oh, there you are!!!!" A voice interrupted you, exclaiming loudly. 

You reeled around to the noise and made eye contact with Donna, who was pushing through the crowd and rushing forward to you. Fast.

Your eyes widened. 

Too fast. 

Her body was a blur as she approached you. 

Like a bullet.

In an instant, that moment of breathing space you had in the car disappeared and all that numbness flew out the window, being replaced by intense panic. 

The room started to spin, making your eyes widen as she stood in front of you, speaking what seemed to be gibberish. 

"Shit," Richie mumbled, but his voice was invisible to you. 

All you saw was Donna, hair wild and clothes wrinkled. Her hands moved wildly as she talked, voice so loud in your ears that it felt like your eardrums would pop.

"Mom!" Natalie yelped beside you, finally taking you out of the trance you were in by pushing her body in between you and Donna. 

Donna gasped, speaking hushed but angrily at Natalie, "Natalie, what are you doing? Don't you see I'm trying to talk to her- What do you mean I'm overwhelming her?! She's fine, if she had a problem, she would tell me, isn't that right?"

You saw her peek over Natalie's shoulder, eyes searing a hole into your face, "Right?" 

Your throat tightened. 

"Donna, how about we go ahead and sit so the services can start, okay?" Your mother had rushed over and behind Donna, putting her hands on the erratic woman’s shoulders before steering her away from you. 

Your mom cast you a concerned glance as she redirected Donna away from you, letting her blabber on and on to her about the decor being different and the beautiful flowers they got set up for the service. 

But all you did was stare back, breaths staggered and eyes focusing back only to see all eyes on you. 

Natalie let out a shuddered wheeze, taking the initiative to redirect everyone watching into the room where the services would be taking place. Slowly, their eyes turned away. 

"You ok?" Richie's voice seemed to finally register in your brain. 

You whipped your head to him, "Uhm yea… are you?"

In front of him, he saw the way you rearranged your body language back to its "normal state". Your shoulders rolled back again and your head was held high. But this time, your face was blank and did nothing to show emotion. 

Richie nods, "Let’s just, uh, wait until everyone goes in, ok?"  

You took a shallow breath and blinked your eyes, adjusting to the dim, warm lighting of the building. The entire place felt warm from the artificial fireplace on the left wall, facade made of rich brown oak. The furniture matched in wood, feeling dated but comforting, like a grandmother's house. It made the panic in your body slowly melt away, being replaced by the numb feeling again.

You looked at the yellowish-orange patterned wallpaper and brown wood trimming on the walls and snickered to yourself, catching Richie's attention.

"This place looks like a small, hole in the wall restaurant that's maintained by a family. Mikey loves this kind of family style decor…" 

Richie squeezed his eyes shut, "Yea… he does." 

You watched as everyone filed into the next room, recognizing familiar faces like Fak, cousin Michelle, and Uncle Jimmy. You continued to scan the crowd, not seeing the way Natalie nodded towards Richie, signaling him to take you inside with everyone. 

You let yourself be guided behind the crowd, watching everyone who knew Mikey sit down in the chairs that were set up. Donna was sitting in the front next to your parents, still talking. Beside her were empty seats. There was one, two, three, four, and five; one for you, Richie, Natalie, Pete, and Carmy.

Carmy.

You paused.

"Where's Carmy?" 

Richie stopped moving and grimaced. 

Next to you, Natalie linked your free arm into her own, "He uh… he might come by later." 

"Did he ever respond to any of you? I sent him a photo of the service paper but he never responded to me." 

"Uh…" Richie was seemingly at a loss for words. 

Natalie sighed and looked at Richie before responding, "He didn't to me either. Didn't pick up any of my calls."

The panic started up again, slowly swirling deep in your belly, making you suddenly start to speak at the speed of light, "What? Why? Who wouldn't come to their brother's funeral?"

Natalie gulped, voice shaking as she tried redirecting you, "Hey sweetie, how about we go inside and then wait and see if he comes-" 

"I mean, everyone tried to get in contact with him so it's not like none of us didn't try." 

"Yea, your right, but maybe he is running late and was busy-" 

"If he was running late he would've let us know, i know he would." 

The panic made your breathing pick up, making you lightheaded as you took in gulps of stuffy, warm air. It was perfumed like flowers and mothballs, making you cough lightly. 

Michelle, who was seated towards the entrance of the room, turned to you, as did a couple others, as your voice started to increase in volume. It was unbeknownst to you that you began to speak louder and louder, loud enough that people around you could overhear. 

Richie said your name, stern but still worried, "Hey, take a breath and lower your volume."

"What do you mean? I'm fine?" 

Natalie just shook her head, "This was a mistake, we shouldn't have forced her to come."

You jerked your head to her, "Natalie, it’s fine. Besides, I wanted to come." 

Her shoulders sagged, "If this is too much for you, you are free to go-" 

"Please, I'm fine!" You responded, speech getting faster and faster, "You don't have to worry about me like you're my mom." 

"I know I know, but I worry about you regardless, you're my best friend!" 

"Natalie, I'm okay I swear-" 

Richie whisper-yelled at you two, "Let's take this back out, neither of you are okay right now."

"Richie I swear I'm fine, I just want to see my dead boyfriend in his casket!" You whisper-yelled back as you stomped a foot down.

At this point, others had begun turning to look at you. Natalie flushed, noticing the stares while Richie groaned softly, taking your arm and dragging you away from the entrance and to the front door. 

"Your obviously not okay, just stand here and take some fucking breaths." Richie whispered, voice stern. 

You blinked, letting yourself get pulled like a ragdoll. You stumbled as you leaned into the doorway, feeling shame set in your body. 

That was a new feeling. 

"I'm… i'm…" you began, blinking wildly as your face flushed and your chest tightened. 

"Listen, I know this is hard but don't force yourself to do this for any one of us, okay? You can sit out here and none of us will blame you or be upset. We all have our own ways of grieving and if staying away is yours, then do it. You don't need our acceptance in order to grieve in your own way." 

The tangent Richie went on felt so out of character for him that it made you go silent as you watched him enunciate every word. Natalie trailed behind him, holding onto her body with wide eyes as she too listened to his speech, both moved and confused.

With a choked breath, you responded, "Okay, I'm sorry."

Richie's tensed shoulders and furrowed brows softened. He saw the way you looked down and away from him, body drooping. For a split second, he saw through the demeanor you had been putting on since you got out of the car and saw who you really were: the grieving love of Mikey's life, terrified of what life was going to be like moving forward without him. 

Natalie reached over and rubbed your arm, before turning to Richie, "It's starting, you can go in if you would like…" 

Richie nodded grimly, looking at the floor for a brief second before reaching forward, taking your cheeks into his hand and giving your hairline a small peck. 

"You're not alone with this… we are here." 

You looked at him, a cross of confusion and relief written all over your face, making him hold back a laugh when he noticed it. Upon hearing his laugh mixed with a cough, you chuckled softly to yourself. Natalie was the only one not laughing, but still had a small smile on her face as she watched you two. 

“God this is so weird, are you a wise old man now or something?” You joked, gently pushing Richie’s shoulder.

Richie snorted and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, “Ah it’s nothing, just something i learned… don’t think it’s gonna be this way all the time!”

The three of you smiled at one another, right up until Fak interrupted the sweet moment. 

“Hey guys… uh, the service is starting…”

Richie rocked his jaw, the smile he had disappearing from his face. He turned to Fak, annoyed already by him interrupting, “Listen man-”

Natalie loudly cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes at Richie for a second as a warning, making him trip up on his words. 

Richie coughed again and looked away, mumbling to himself about how annoying Fak was. Natalie just rolled her eyes and turned to Fak, smiling sweetly at him.

“Thank you, we’ll join you in a sec.” 

You watched them all interact with one another, some of the closest people in Mikey’s life that ended up becoming some of the closest people in your own life, but in this moment they felt so far away, emotionally and physically. The random moment of peace between you, Natalie, and Richie was fleeting and reality brought you back down to the present moment, reminding you where you were and why you were here. 

Just seconds ago it felt like a regular everyday moment where the three of you talked, waiting for Mikey to turn around the corner or come in from another room and join you, smirking like he always did. He would wrap his muscular arm around you, pulling you into his side and start to joke around with Richie. He would tap Natalie on her shoulder, acknowledging her, and bring Fak over with a laugh, joining all of you together with ease. Any annoyance and discomfort would just disappear around Mikey; he just knew what to say and what to do to bring everyone, even those with differences, together. 

But that would never happen again. 

Mikey was dead and that would never happen again. 

He would never hold you, pressing his body warmth against you, he would never kiss you, gently guiding your face with his large hand, and he would never love you, ever again. 

Your body seemed to finally catch up with the cocktail of emotions you have been feeling for the past weeks and settled on one to focus on: panic. 

It crawled up your throat, squeezing it in a way that made you feel as if any second now, you would be on the floor, clawing at the rug as you struggled to breathe. But you knew that as long as you didn’t let it overwhelm you, convince it that everything was ok, you would be fine. 

So you were going to do anything you needed to do to not let it overwhelm you again.

“Uh, you two head in, okay? I need a second alone.” you said, making them turn to you. 

With a clearing of your throat, you perked up, smiling, as if nothing that had just occurred even happened. Natalie looked at you, taken somewhat aback and concerned, but didn’t push further. Richie was the same, confused but didn’t want to say or do anything that would make you break down. 

“You sure you don’t want any of us here, we are more than happy to-” Natalie began, but you interrupted her by gently moving a strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“I’m okay, I'll join you in a second. Thank you both for being here with me.” you then brought them both into a gentle embrace, speaking clearly. 

Natalie and Richie exchanged a worried glance behind your back, both struggling to put on a smile to face you when they pulled back. 

Richie began to move to the room where the service had started, “Let us know if you need anything. Text us or call us or just say our name and we will be there.” 

You nodded and shooed them playfully off, leaving yourself standing against the doorway. The doors of the room where service had started closed behind them with a dull thud, leaving you truly alone in the entryway of the funeral home.

Your shoulders and smile dropped, eyes glazing over as you did so. With your heart continuing to race in your chest, you had no choice but to start pacing back and forth. The panic was starting to become too much to control so you tried your hardest to count your breathing, desperate to get it back into control. 

“Fuck…” you whimpered to yourself, feeling tears start to well in your eyes. 

You furrowed your brows and bit your lip, hard. You didn’t want anyone to see you cry, you didn’t want to be pitied. 

Suddenly, the doors opened wide, making you gasp and jump back, cold hands reaching to wipe any tears before you turned to see who was exiting. 

Donna came stumbling out, shushing someone inside, before closing the doors behind her. She sniffed loudly, pushing away her hair from her face right as she locked eyes with you. 

She frowned, continuing to stare at you as she walked forward to where you stood with red rimmed eyes and untouched makeup. She then moved to rifle through her purse, digging for something. 

You watched her silently, feeling your bottom lip quiver as she swayed back and forth.

You continued to watch as she pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, placing the cigarette between her red painted lips and lighting it aflame. With a deep drag and smoke sigh, she finally turned away from you.

She looked outside, staring at the gray clouds and half melted snow. It was getting colder and colder as the evening progressed, making her breaths of smoke even smokier as she breathed out. 

You turned, deciding that it was better to go inside than stand awkwardly around the mother of your boyfriend, whom you didn’t have the greatest relationship with. But right as you took a step, Donna called your name.

You glanced back at her, seeing her stumbling away from you but holding an unlit cigarette out. You were frozen to the spot, unsure whether or not to grab it and join her or go inside. But she seemed to answer that for you when she spoke up.

“Come on, I know you smoke. I’ve seen you and Carmy sneak out to smoke together sometimes during family dinners.”

You winced, feeling your cheeks heat up at having your behavior noticed by the one person you didn’t want to know, but moved forward to accept it regardless. 

As you placed the cigarette on your lips, she reached forward and lit it for you. The deep drag you took filled your lungs, making the chilly air from outside feel much more bearable. 

The two of you just stood there, side by side and silent, together, smoking. 

You burned about halfway through your cigarette before Donna spoke up, making your heart stop at her words. 

“You know… my son died, so I don't know why you are acting like you're the only one who is hurting.”

She threw the stub of her cigarette on the ground and stomped it with her shiny patent leather heel. With arms crossed, she looked at you and, with a low voice, she continued, “Everyone is just flocking to you and when no one gives you attention, you just make a scene and get them all back to you.”

Your entire body went cold.

“My poor Natalie is dealing with the death of her brother and all you do is make her wait hand and foot for you.”

Upon hearing this, all the fear in your body melted away and was replaced with burning hot anger. You knew her words were bullshit, but hearing her talk about Natalie like that, knowing how she treats her, made you clench your jaw.

In a surge of bravery, you retaliated, “Donna, how can you say that?”

She scoffed, “Please, stop acting like you are an angel who has done nothing wrong. You don’t have Mikey or anyone else here to protect you.”

Your mouth drops silently open letting the cig fall from your lips and to the ground, snuffing itself. You scanned her face with your fists balling against your side, seeing nothing but a smug look on her face as she ridiculed you.

With a sharp breath, you began, “You have never treated Natalie like a daughter. You're the one who made her the maid of your family. She practically raised Carmy and does everything for everyone. You made her act like an adult ever since she was a kid and, like everyone else, I had kept quiet about it for so many years just so we wouldn’t upset you. But I'm tired of it, this is the last straw.”

Donna rolled her eyes, “Oh puh-lease-”

But you interrupted her and continued, “So don’t act like you are suddenly concerned with how she is being treated, you never cared when you yelled at her over every little thing, so don’t start now.”

Donna looked at you, dropping her arms and glaring, “I bust my ass constantly for my children, I don't need someone like YOU pretending like you know everything-.”

“Donna, I've been around you since I was in elementary school. I grew up with your kids and around you. I know EXACTLY how you are.”

She clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing. 

But you didn’t stand down, not anymore, “None of your children are saints, but they try so fucking hard to be the best they can be given they had you as a mother. But it’s not like you would ever see that, huh?”

“All Mikey ever did was stress out, because of you! He tried to self medicate with pills and drugs and got addicted, because of you!” Donna suddenly screeched, quickly trying to divert the blame onto you.

You laughed out loud, “I’ve seen him do a couple things once or twice but Mikey was not an addict!”

Donna cackled, shaking her head furiously, “He was!! Ask Richie! Ask anyone! He was an addict, all because of you!!!”

You stepped back, eyebrows furrowing, taken aback at her words. Sure, Mikey was a bit erratic and loud, but that was his personality. He was just that type of person. And yes, he had tried a couple things before and even told you about his experience with them, but he never once did them around you or even mentioned doing them multiple times. He had vices, like smoking and having some drinks, but he wasn’t an addict.

Before you can further question, the doors were pushed open and Richie came rushing out, “What is going on?!”

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped when you heard Donna sob.

You flipped your head around to look at her but were greeted by a sight that made all that panic come barreling toward you again, replacing the anger. Donna was curled into herself, clutching onto her arms, with fat tears rolling down her face. Her sobs shook her body so violently that Richie rushed over and wrapped his arms around her to steady her. 

"What happened!?" Richie repeated, voice softer this time but just as worried as before. 

He looked at you with wide eyes as Donna sobbed, barely speaking through her gasps, "I tried to be the best mother for my children. I don't need you blaming me for my mistakes on the day of my son's funeral." 

As you watched her speak, your veins filled with ice. Only one phrase repeated in your head over and over as Richie looked between the two of you with wide eyes, ‘You fucked up, you need to leave. You fucked up, you need to leave. You fucked up, you need to leave. You fucked up, you need to leave.You fucked up, you need to leave…’

Richie called your name, making you look at him, "What happened?" 

Nothing came from your mouth but a strangled wheeze. You were frozen to the spot, pinned there by Donna's crying and Richie's stare. 

You fucked up, you needed to leave. 

Behind you, the door swung open again and your parents came rushing out with Natalie in tow. A couple peering eyes tried to look out from their seats inside, but the door closed on them before they could put together what was happening. 

"Mom!?" Natalie gasped out, rushing forward to Donna. 

Richie repeated what he said before, but you didn't hear his words. The only thing you could focus on was the way his eyes looked while staring at you, like you were a stranger. 

Donna continued to speak, saying something that was drowned out from your ears, replaced by silence and the deep throb of your heart beat. 

Right before your Mom could reach out to grab your arm, you spoke, "I need to leave, I need some time." 

You pulled the car keys from your jacket pocket and ran. 

[dailyreverie]

Pumpkin patch and everything nice

A/N: Requested by @the-little-ewok 🎃💖 I really hope you like it!! I expected it to be a blurb but hey... here we are now with 1k words lol.

@flufftober - Day 22 Picking [pumpkins]

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader Modern!AU, I guess. Beebee is a Corgi.

Word count: 1.1k words

Flufftober masterlist

As soon as the wheels came to a stop, you could already smell the sweet treats baking and the distant fire coming from inside the cabin. The pumpkin patch extended for as far as you could see, the brisk air from outside forced you to wrap yourselves in knit sweaters and scarves, it was the perfect fall afternoon of orange leaves, warm drinks, and Poe by your side.

The car engine turned off and at the same time Beebee started barking from the backseat, his tiny dog butt waving in anticipation. You couldn’t blame him, you had planned this trip for weeks and you were sure your dog was as excited about it as you were, Poe’s enthusiastic calls of “are you ready bud?” only fueling the dog’s tail waves. “Are you ready?” He cocked an eyebrow when he repeated the question for you, earning a light push and a laugh from you.

Poe opened his door and rushed to open the one beside him - yes, not yours, but the one from the back that let Beebs out to run freely around the autumn paradise in front of you. “Beebee! Don’t go far!”

“I don’t think he cares.” You joined him on the other side of the car, his arm finding its way around your shoulders and yours around your waist. “You did promise him a big place to run around, if anything-”

Poe nodded, his lips curving into a loving smile. “Yeah, yeah, this is my fault.” Poe finished for you, leaning to kiss the side of your head. You walked side by side to the entrance of the pumpkin-filled woods, taking in the silence of the place only accompanied by the crunch of the leaves under your feet and the laughing kids in the distance.

As you entered the enchanting pumpkin patch, warms wrapped around each other, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment washing over you. The rows of plump, orange pumpkins seemed to glow in the warm sunlight, and it was as if you'd stepped into an autumn picture you’d only seen on those aesthetic blogs you follow. You watched Beebee zigzag through the rows of pumpkins with untamed enthusiasm, barking at every pumpkin he felt could be a threat.

“Don’t think I forgot about your mission.” You bumped Poe’s hip with yours.

Poe smiled, not averting his eyes from the horizon. “My mission? Do you mean the very same reason why we are here?” You laughed at his excitement, squeezing his side; you could even see his eyes already scanning the place. “I promised you, sweetheart. I'm going to find the biggest, most gorgeous pumpkin in this whole patch, and we won’t leave until we have it.”

“I better get my coffee and my muffin, then. Get comfortable while I wait for you.” You teased.

“Oh, so you think it’s going to take me long?” He unwrapped himself from your embrace to stand in front of you with a playful glare in his eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged, knowing exactly what a challenge did to him.

Poe's eyes sparkled with determination and affection as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a sweet, promising kiss. “You’ll see. I’m going to ace this mission.” With a mischievous glint in his eyes and one more quick kiss, Poe began his quest for the biggest pumpkin. 

You couldn't help but watch him with affectionate amusement as he scoured the patch, lifting pumpkins, inspecting their size, and occasionally shaking his head as he sought the perfect one.

“Beebs! Come on bud!” Poe’s voice called for your chubby corgi who ran up to him with an acknowledging bark. He followed Poe's every step, as if he too was participating in this mission all with Poe talking to him through it too, giving him instructions on how to find it.

As Poe searched, you made your way to your own mission up to the nearby rustic stand selling hot apple cider, freshly-baked muffins, and other autumn delights. The aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filled the air, and you couldn't resist getting a cup of steaming cider and a pumpkin spice muffin. You found a cozy spot at one of the wooden tables set up nearby and settled in to enjoy your treats with the perfect view of your boyfriend and your dog equally excited in the patch.

Beebe was the first one to tire out, reaching you with a tiny pumpkin in his mouth, dropping it on your feet, and flopping onto the ground. “Guess who’s winning.” You chanted with a sing-song tone that made Poe grunt - “that’s not big at all”, he even complained, continuing his search through rows and rows of pumpkins.

You were halfway through your muffin when Poe called for you, an excited “Sweetheart!” coming from somewhere down the patch. You spotted Poe in the distance, triumphantly lifting a gigantic pumpkin above his head, his muscles bulging with effort. His infectious enthusiasm had attracted the attention of other pumpkin pickers, who cheered him on as he carried the enormous fruit back to you.

Poe placed the pumpkin down with a satisfied grin, beads of sweat on his forehead, and his hands were covered in dirt. "I told you I'd find the biggest one!" he declared, looking pleased with his accomplishment.

“I never once doubted you,” you said, admiring the massive orange ball that sat on the table between the two of you. 

Poe wiped his hands on his jeans and leaned in for a loving kiss, tasting of the earthy scent of the pumpkin patch. "I hope you're ready for some serious pumpkin carving," he said with a wink.

“Definitely. Do you think I’m going to let Finn and Rose win this year again? Hell no.” You both chuckled, Poe letting himself fall on the chair beside you the same way Beebee had flopped to the ground. He loved that competitive side of you, the very same one that pushed him to find the pumpkin and that was now rewarding him with a taste of your cider.

As the sun began to make its way down, you and Poe gathered your treasures, including the enormous pumpkin and the smaller ones Beebee had gathered, and made your way back to the car - not without running back for more of that cider and a couple more muffins you couldn’t get enough of.

“We should do this every year,” Poe spoke up after a few minutes down the road on the way back, interrupting the sound of Beebee snoring in the back.

Turning to look at him you admired his profile, strong and calm with a soft smile playing on his lips. You reached over and squeezed his hand, your fingers interlocking with his. “I’d love that.” 

Poe smiled wider, quickly looking at your matching loving smile not wanting to miss the way you were looking at him, before lifting your hand to kiss the back of it. He kept your hand in his as he always did while driving. Many more years of this… yeah, you could get used to it.

🚀🍂🚀🍂🚀🍂🚀🍂🚀🍂🚀🍂🚀🍂🚀🍂🚀🍂

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

[oraclekleo]

33rd Birthday!

Hello my dear followers and random visitors of my blog.

I have already made a sorry announcement due to my hiatus but that’s not all I wanted to tell you.

This Monday, April 15th 2024 to be precise, is my Birthday. I’m already 33 years old! Would you believe that? I certainly wouldn’t. I feel like 16. 😂 

And how pretty the number is, right? Two threes… My life path number is also 3. How neat is that, huh?

When it comes to angel number 33, this source says the following:

“The 33 angel number means anything is possible. This powerful angel number is also known as a master number because of its double digits mirroring each other and its powerful vibrations. The number 33 is linked to themes around creative thinking, deep compassion, spiritual-level connections, discipline, and bravery. When you see this number show up it could be because it's an opportune time for a change or because patience is paramount right now in your daily life because a spiritual meaning that will have major significance is soon to be revealed.”

Nothing can be more true for me as major change is about to happen for me. I don’t want to reveal what it is just now but I will keep you informed in time. 😜

And no, I’m not dating anyone 🤣 Still happily Sexy, free and single.

I did want to celebrate my birthday with you with some sort of event but as you know I was really busy so… I guess we will celebrate my 44th Birthday properly? LOL!

Honestly, I have a lot to be grateful for in my life, you guys in my little community included. I hope we can stay together for many years that come and have some more fun with both serious and kinky tarot readings.

And those might soon become even better articulate and with much more expressive vocabulary as your girl Kleo is currently fully immersed in listening to audio erotica, which is really good! I mean… not all of it but I have already found several favourite voice actors, their voice and style really suiting me and apart from having a good time listening to it while working (yes, I do listen to audio porn while at work, sue me if you want), I also learn a lot from it. You know I can just soak information like a sponge from anything I do and well… This is a really good source. Also, I’m considering holding a voice chat once in a while with my friends now as I really want to learn to use my voice as well as I use my fingers for typing. And yes, I tested with my bestie and I nearly choked when I had to pronounce word ‘f*ck’ out loud. You wouldn’t guess it by reading my posts but I’m really talking like a lady out loud. I rarely curse or say rude words. 🤭 

I also learned about very surprising preferences through this audio erotica experience. I swear I didn’t expect to love what I love so much. It came as a shock and I truly thought my preferences to be completely different from what I actually enjoy the most. I guess there’s still a lot to learn about myself. Another great thing about my new hobby. You know how much I love to learn anything.

Anyway! That’s about my new hobby and about my approaching birthday.

Feel free to contact me through inbox or through DM or join my Discord. I don’t bite… unless you ask me to 😏 I’m also learning how to flirt better. You can be my test subject anytime. 😀 And no, it’s not to go hunt men, I’m way too old to change my ways and routines to fit another person’s lifestyle. My goal is actually much purer. I really like to make people happy and… well, I noticed people will feel happy, flattered and their self-esteem boosted when I flirt with them a little bit. Just another skill I’m learning in order to spread happiness and joy in the world. Might seem frivolous to you but… Well… I enjoy it. And that’s what counts for me.

So yeah! Happy Birthday to me! I’m not growing old, I’m only one year closer to death as my sister tells me every year since I was like 17. 😂 We are a weird family. Try not to think about it too much.

Thank you everyone who’s sticking around here. I promise I will post something soon. Maybe nothing super big but I will post. 🙂

Your forever joyful Oracle Kleo 🦄

[choism]

The Romance Section | l.sm [REUPLOADED]

Customer!Seokmin x Bookstore Employee!gn!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: In which you meet a stranger in a bookstore that loves romance novels just as much as you do

Warnings: None! Pure fluff

A/N: This is another reupload from my old blog @/huiranghaes! This work is mine and is NOT stolen or plagiarized. This fic was inspired by A Very Lush Holidays by @leejungchans my now beloved mutual and was proofread by Morgyn and Ae

Today was as boring as ever.

Your shifts always tend to go by slowly, only a few customers entering your small bookshop a day, but today seemed to be the worst. It was already 5pm and you have yet to see a single person enter today. Yeah, the store was fairly new and kind of in an obscure area, but it was the only bookshop around for at least 20 miles, do people not read books anymore?

Today felt like a failure, like all your hard work arranging the book displays to look pretty and your coworkers' cute bookshop design on the store window was all for naught.

“Oh cheer up y/n! I’m sure someone will come in eventually, we don’t close until 7pm anyway.” Your coworker nudges your side, her happy smile making you feel a bit better. She has always been a happy go lucky person, seeing the glass half full and wanting to bring out the best in people. You adored her attitude but on days like this you just couldn’t bring yourself to reciprocate those joyful feelings.

“Yeah, watch someone walk through that door 15 minutes before closing.” You roll your eyes. Normal people take their time perusing the selection of genres, trying to pick out a book that fits them, but there’s always someone who has to do this at the last possible minute. You push yourself off the counter and make your way to the back of the store to grab some more books for restocking.

Your coworker follows you to the back of the store. “Yeah but a customer is a customer right?” She bends down to pick up a box labeled ‘Romance’ and you take it from her. “Sure I guess you're right.” You give her a half hearted smile and head back to the main part of the shop, making your way to the romance novel section.

You begin stocking the shelves, maybe even glancing at some paragraphs of the books to see what you may want to read later. This section had always been your favorite, you enjoyed getting lost in the fantasies of a fictional relationship. While you knew that something as cheesy as finding your soulmate in an uncanny encounter would ever happen to you, you still admired the idea.

These novels were completely unrealistic and seemingly frivolous but it’s always nice to imagine a world where soulmates exist. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll find that tall handsome brunette with a gorgeous big nose. But there is no way that could ever happen, right? You catch yourself daydreaming and continue to stock the shelves. There may be no customers but stocking is still important.

Time passes by slowly as you make your way to the end of the romance shelf, and as you reach up to the top shelf to place a book you hear the door chime ring, signaling you that a customer has entered the store.

The sudden chime startles you and you drop the book on your head. You rub your head where the book hit you and curse at the sudden customer startling you. “Welcome in!” You hear your coworker yell as you assume the customer peruses the front of the store. You glance at the clock and of course, just as you had predicted earlier, it’s around 15 minutes from closing.

You let out a huff as you pick the book off the ground and reach for the top shelf again but you can’t really reach the top shelf anyway. You’re on your tippy toes trying to stretch to the shelf when the customer comes behind you and takes the book out of your hand, placing it gently in the empty space.

“Having trouble?” The stranger chuckles. You look up at him unamused, but when your eyes meet, you feel your heart catch in your throat. “Uh, well I… N-no.” It was like the man you had described just moments ago was summoned by god. Coincidence? Yeah probably, but you were feeling more hopeful than that. You were looking for a witty comment but couldn’t think of one, you were too distracted by how unbelievably attractive this man was.

Were you annoyed that he came in late? Absolutely. Did you forgive him immediately because his face was carved by angels? Of course. He laughed again and wow, even his laugh was perfect. “Right, because I totally didn’t hear a book drop on the ground when I came in.” You avert his gaze and huff through your nose.

“Anyway, can I help you?” You change the subject, the last thing you need is a customer to make fun of you, and right before closing at that. He moves past you and looks at the rows of books, before turning his head back towards you. “Actually yeah, I was wondering what new romance novels have come out recently.” He runs his finger along the spine of a few books.

“Yeah I just restocked the new arrivals! What kind of trope are you looking for?” You ask. It’s rare that a man is into romance books, so his interest piques yours. “I was looking for maybe enemies to lovers, I haven’t read one of those in a while.”

A huge smile runs across your face and you visibly get excited, startling him a bit. Little did he know, enemies to lovers was your specialty. “That’s actually one of my favorite tropes! We just got in this book, a new series by one of my favorite authors!” You hand him the book and he checks it out.

Unbeknownst to you, this handsome stranger was analyzing you this entire time. He wasn’t expecting such a beautiful person like you to be stocking the romance shelves of this small niche store. 

You mentioning his favorite author makes him swallow a sudden lump in his throat, he is really glad Wonwoo recommended this bookstore, even though he went through hell and highwaters to get here. 

A forty five minute drive from his apartment to be exact, they say curiosity killed the cat, but in this case the cat falls in love instead.

“This is one of my favorite authors too! I really liked their previous series, the ending was insane!” He laughs. Man his laugh was like listening to angels sing.

As he laughs you take the chance to analyze his facial features. Everytime he smiled his eyes would turn upwards as if they were smiling as well, and his actual smile was breathtaking. His jaw was so well defined you were sure it could be registered as a weapon and don’t even get you started on his nose.

Chiseled by the gods themselves you swear, such a deep bridge and so pointed and defined, you just want to kiss it. Wait, back up, kiss it? Were you fully falling for this handsome stranger? You only met him 10 minutes ago, how could this be? 

Before you could question your emotions even further, he snaps you back to reality by waving a hand in front of your face. “Hello? I asked how much the book is.” Your face turns a bit red from embarrassment and you quickly respond.

“Oh sorry, I can get your total up front.” You walk quickly towards the checkout counter and he follows behind. You can see your coworker lurking in the back of the store, curious and probably eavesdropping.

He examines every little detail of you as you walk towards the cash register. The way you have a bounce in your walk makes him smile brightly, but he notices your coworker staring and snickering at his reaction, and his face flushes pink.

He places the book on the counter and rummages for his wallet in his bag. You ring up the book and secretly place a small discount on the book but don’t tell him that, obviously. “Okay so your total is-” You look up from the computer and catch him placing a small piece of paper with words and numbers scribbled on it underneath the tip jar.

He freezes dead in his track and his ears light up a bright red. “I, um well, this is…” The stranger hurriedly slams a $20 on the counter before you can even say the total. He grabs the books and runs out of the store, the chime of the door ringing in his wake.

Your coworker starts to laugh maniacally and emerges from the back of the store.”He sure left in a hurry.” She snorts. You glare at her and take the piece of paper and read it.

‘I didn’t know how to tell you this in person, but I find you very attractive and your love of books fascinates me

Maybe we can run into each other in the sci-fi section next time ;)

- Seokmin

You feel your face get hot and your heart skip a beat. He found you attractive? You just met, though. Your coworker peers over your shoulder and giggles. ‘Oooo an admirer! Isn’t that exciting!”

“Shut up and start closing the store!”

© Choism 2023. do not repost or translate.

[anonnie-in-wonderland]

Call Me Crazy...

Rating: T

 Word Count:11.8k 

 Warning(s): anxiety/anxious thoughts, near panic attacks, injury, but also beware the fluff for it is potent

 Summary: When Y/N gets her hands on the newest Samsung phone, she thinks at most she’ll get a little clout with her friends and fewer dropped calls. A direct portal to BTS? Not so much.

 Genre(s): Strangers to Friends to Lovers| Crack Treated Seriously| Fluff| Comedy| Romance| Magical Realism

 Tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | poly| FM!POC!reader

 Ch.3:  Don’t Hold Your Breath for a Break

A/N: Hiiii, sorry I’ve been away for so long. 🥺 Life has been pretty stressful. But, I’m back now, new chapter, whoo! I have had this on my mind for a while now, and finally got the chance to incorporate it into this chapter~ I really do hope you enjoy the arrival of the next BTS member to show up, whose dynamics with Y/N are already among my favorites. Also, always feel free to chat with me about this fic if you’d like, I don’t bite and thrive on the engagement! 🤗 I wanna know if anyone wants to guess what is going on or has figured it out yet. This chapter is especially dedicated to the blog who had a super easy tutorial on how to keep your formatting from google docs to tumblr!! Saved me a lot of time. Hehe *PLEASE do not ask about the taglist in this story’s comments*

In the days that followed, Y/N completely fell down a rabbit hole. It felt prudent to look more into BTS, or more specifically, Park Jimin. From a strictly legal perspective and nothing more.

 After all, she was sure his attorneys would be sending a court summons any day now just as soon as they managed to find out her identity and track her down. It was something she lived in fear of.

 Binna was none-the-wiser that the reason she suddenly seemed so attentive about the band’s recent lives was because she wanted to know if they’d mentioned anything. Any clues that would tell Y/N when her days as a free person were coming to an end. 

Honestly, she hadn’t found much. Nothing that would be helpful in allowing her to participate in her own legal defense. Speaking of that, could she even afford an attorney that would be able to stand up against Park Jimin’s? She was sure a global superstar would have the best in the country.

Y/N listlessly scrolled through yet more photos of Jimin—looking for hidden meanings in the recent videos the group had posted was starting to make her feel like she was overreacting at best and paranoid at worst. 

There were pictures of him with a variety of hair colors and outfits, taken over time, and he was flawless in all of them. Even ones she came across where he wasn’t glammed out in full makeup made it obvious he was just one of the lucky ones, naturally born attractive. 

“How many wardrobe malfunctions can one person have throughout their career?” Y/N found herself muttering, spying yet another photo where Jimin’s fancy jacket was sliding down his arm. “Is he allergic to keeping his shirt on his shoulders?”

Though, given how many fan compilations existed that compiled every single moment where Jimin’s shirt or jacket hadn’t quite managed to stay all the way on, it didn’t seem like there were many complaints. Army was swooning and swooning hard if anything. 

But really, being sued within an inch of her life wasn’t even the worst part about it all. If someone saw the “notes” section of her phone, they’d have her committed first, and ask questions later. She’d have her committed, under normal circumstances.

 Because what she had experienced not once, but twice? It went against everything she stood for. Logical, grounded, a firm believer in science and fact. Facts didn’t support phenomena like getting sucked through a mirror and ending up in an idol’s dance studio. 

Facts didn’t support seeing the face of another idol—because she now knew the reason the man in the mirror looked vaguely familiar was because he was another BTS member, Seokjin—instead of her own reflection when she went to brush her teeth. It just…didn’t make sense. 

Science couldn’t support it. It was nuts. Yet it happened to her. And that was the only reason she believed it. Too bad no one else would. Or worse, if and when Jimin announced he’d be pressing charges for assault, and she had confessed beforehand to someone…it would probably be taken as evidence the attack was premeditated.

 Sure, they’d have to prove how she got in. But…but still! She couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t. Which meant her phone was her only safe secret-keeper. They were co-conspirators in it all. 

Speaking of the damned cursed thing… trying to outright return it hadn’t worked, even though she had the receipt and everything! She still remembered the bizarre events that day.

Y/N was almost out of breath by the time she entered the phone store, embarrassingly worked up in front of the few strangers milling around inside. She got a few curious, side-long glances, and then they went back to perusing the inventory.

“Welcome!” Called an employee already speaking to other customers. “Someone will assist you shortly.”

Y/N gave a short, affirmative nod, trying not to come off anxious as she glanced around. Everything looked…the same as the night she had bought the phone. Shiny new models on display, the monitor above their heads playing a loop of advertisements for different Samsung products, and everything neatly put away and organized. Absently, she began to think over the store’s layout, and the fact that it could have a strong subconscious effect on the consumer. Organization of inventory could actually play a role in whether or not someone wanted to buy something.

But, putting that aside, the store didn’t look like the kind of place that would sell someone a phone that would ruin their life. Looks could be deceiving, though. Who knew what was actually afoot?

“Oh, can I help you, miss?” A middle-aged woman wearing the store’s polo top came over with a tag that said her name was Hayoung asked in an attentive tone.

Y/N was quick to nod. “I’m here to make a return, actually. I bought a phone from your store not long ago.”

“Was the item not to your liking?” Hayoung asked, guiding her over to an available station.

The university student glanced down at the phone in question, which she’d placed back in the original purchase box. “You could…say that.” She mumbled. “I’ve thought about it, and I really don’t need anything even half this fancy.” Telling the woman she thought the phone might have it in for her was out of the question. “So I’d like to exchange it for something simpler.”

Hayoung dutifully accepted the box, scanning the barcode and then lifting up the lid. Y/N had anticipated a smooth return in which she’d flash her receipt, maybe some ID, and have the exchange completed in no time. But when Hayoung’s brow furrowed, she knew she wouldn’t like whatever the saleswoman was going to say.

“Is…is something wrong?”

“Well,” she paused, “Are you sure you purchased your phone here? From this store? I know we’ve had models similar to this in stock before, but this one’s just not ringing up.”

“Really?” Y/N shook her head, rummaging around in her purse. “I don’t see how that could be. I have the receipt if that helps…” 

She then proceeded to go through her small purse, searching the exact spot she knew she had folded and placed the receipt. “Um, hold on a minute please,” Hayoung waited expectantly as Y/N kept looking, growing increasingly more frustrated as she turned the contents of her purse inside out hunting for the receipt. 

No, no way was she ever that careless. She had made sure she put it into her purse before leaving the apartment, and she didn’t exactly care that much in it to begin with! It was all zipped up tight, so how could it have fallen out?!

It took several more long, awkward moments of searching futilely in vein for her to realize it was true. The receipt was no where to be found. Trying to fight down the flush of defeat crossing her cheeks, Y/N cleared her throat, speaking diplomatically, “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to have my receipt on hand after all. I guess I’ll just…try to search it out and return when I do.”

“Oh, there’s no need. Our system can search for and find the purchase if you happen to have the card on hand.”

Y/N wanted to slump over in defeat, “Actually my friend bought it…”

“Oh,” Hayoung tilted her head, “Do you happen to know the account number used?”

Y/N mentally wondered if Binna was free. She shouldn’t be in class right now, right? So it would be okay to quickly give her a call and get this sorted out. She had to leave the store without this phone. That was a must!

 “H-Hold on please!” It was a little embarrassing, snatching the phone she had been trying to return from its box and powering it on. In anticipation of making the return, Y/N had thought to wipe it and remove the SIM card chip, but then recalled hearing it was best to do that at the store when the transaction was complete, in case there was something forgotten on the phone that still needed to be retrieved.

Hastily scrolling down the admittedly short contacts’ list, Y/N located Binna’s number and pressed the button to dial. The phone rang three times, and she anxiously tapped her foot as she waited to see if her friend would pick up. ‘Please, Bin. Come on. Please.’

Of course, as it always was when she needed something to work out, it didn’t quite go smoothly. Binna hadn’t picked up, and she had ended up ending the call right before it switched to voice mail. Typing out a text message asking for the information she needed, Y/N had glared spitefully down at the phone.

“Do you recall the name of the clerk who sold you the phone?” Hayoung asked gently. 

Y/N thought it over, the sales associate’s face floating to mind. “Yes, his name was Suk-kyu.”

“Hmm, that name doesn’t sound familiar.” Hayoung shook her head. “I’ve been employed here three years and never heard anyone go by that name,”

It was unlike her, but Y/N felt she was entitled to a bit of out of character behavior when her jaw actually dropped. “You’re kidding…”

But, Hayoung assured her, she was not. She didn’t think they had ever carried the exclusive Army Edition of the phone. She didn’t know who Suk-kyu was, and Y/N couldn’t find her receipt, the only bit of evidence that might have been able to successfully lift the burden of the phone from her person. She had left the store, apologizing for wasting the patient woman’s time, and feeling like she was at least partially going crazy. 

Needless to say, Y/N had been…anxious about the phone since then. A bit scared, even. A fear she had no choice but to shoulder in silence for the time being. There wasn’t much she could do but continue searching high and low for the receipt and hope it turned up soon.

 In the meantime, she didn’t let on that anything was wrong, using the phone like before, though limiting that to when it was really necessary. No more playing around with it or downloading apps. Nope, she didn’t want to risk getting too attached to the thing. 

The only thing she did besides make calls was research. Things she never would have thought about looking up before. Like, unexplained phenomena with electronics, most of which led to completely wild conspiracy theories or dead ends.

Y/N had been so engrossed in breaking her brain over what to do, she jumped when the apartment door swung open, turning around on the coach to see Binna march in, a few grocery bags in her hands. Keys in her mouth, she gently kicked the door closed, humming to herself until she happened to look up and spot Y/N.

“Oh!” Binna hustled into the small kitchen to set her bags down, then her keys. “Y/N, didn’t expect to see you here right now. You’ve got class today, right?”

“It was canceled…” she sighed, sliding down the couch cushions and placing her phone on the coffee table. “The professor’s out sick with the flu.”

Binna winced in sympathy. “Yikes, poor guy…”

“Yeah,” Y/N took great care not to get sick, so she hadn’t so much as had a cold in years, but she still remembered times when she was a child in bed with chills, body aches and a fever. Once she had even had pneumonia, her mother forced to call out from work and nurse her back to health. “He just wanted us to go over the assignment we’ve been working on since the start of the semester. You know, take this as independent study time basically. But…”

“Buuut, knowing you,” Binna smiled, “You’ve already taken the initiative and gotten a head start a long time ago, so you’re ahead of everyone else.”

“Done, actually,” Y/N confirmed, not afraid to admit to her efficiency. 

Her roommate made a noise of encouragement as she began to put the groceries away. It didn’t look like much. A loaf of bread, some bottles of sauce they’d been running low on, some eggs and a carton of milk.

 “That’s great, since it actually kind of works out. Chin-Mae and Min Su invited me to check out this new steak house that just opened up. I heard reservations are booked out for weeks already, but thanks to Min Su’s connections, we can go this evening. What do you say?” Binna wiggled her eyebrows, trying to entice Y/N. 

“Alright, I’m in,” she agreed.

“Because I’m sure they won’t mind adding just one more to our party, especially if that person is you…” Binna continued to ramble.

“Bin, did you hear me?” Y/N clucked, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I said I’m in.”

Eyes round as the eggs she had put away, Binna blinked, nodded, and finally broke out into an ear to ear grin. “Oh, wow, that’s new. I m-mean not that it isn’t great you wanna join us, but…”

“What?” Y/N felt a little defensiveness creeping up on her, and she probably didn’t do the best job completely hiding it from her tone. “You made the invite, and you said Min Su and Chin-Mae would be fine with it. Did you not…really want me to come along?”

They thought she would kill the mood, the nasty little whisper entered her head unbidden. They thought she was so stuffy and boring.

“What, Y/N, no!” Binna immediately denied, “I’m really glad you can make it,” she shot over to the couch, wrapping her arms around her friend’s neck from behind as she bent over for the hug. “It’s true you normally put up a little more resistance when we ask you to come somewhere. You stay so busy, so I was a little surprised is all. But I’m glad you’re agreeing.”

Y/N’s tense shoulders relaxed, and she mentally sighed to herself, feeling silly. Of course, of course her friends wanted her there. And this was Binna, who struggled to have a bad thought about anybody. Secretly resentful definitely wasn’t her style. 

But with the stress she had been under, and the dread she’d done her best not to give into, Y/N could admit her nerves had been on edge. “Yeah, sorry about that…” she laughed weakly, reaching up and patting one of the arms looped around her neck. “I don’t know where that came from, but I’m happy to eat a little steak if Min Su’s recommending it.” The man had the best luck finding good places to eat, or stores that sold exactly what you were looking for but probably overlooked. 

“Good girl,” Binna uncoiled her arms and leaned back against the couch itself. “That’s the spirit. And hey, I heard from some of the girls in the campus’ BTS fan club that one of the guys on campus might be related to one of the waiters who might have catered the food on the set of a music video for Taehyung!”

She said it in a breathy squeal, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile indulgently. She was almost sure she knew which one Taehyung was, but she still wouldn’t put money on it. It might just as soon be someone else. Maybe Namjoon? 

She’d gotten more familiar with their names but as most of her time perusing videos and photos had been spent investigating Jimin, she wasn’t entirely sure on the others’ faces. Well, besides Jin and J-Hope. 

“Nice,” she said, letting Binna get all her gushing out as she texted Chin-Mae just to make sure it really was okay if she tagged along. Stupid to be anxious about feeling unsure if everyone really wanted her to come, but better to be safe than sorry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was impressed the minute they walked through the door. Min Su stopped trying to sneak an arm around Chin-Mae’s waist and immediately went over to talk to the maître d. The two men spoke cordially, the head waiter confirmed their reservation, and then they were led to their table with a flourish. 

Binna was practically bouncing on her heels, squealing under her breath. “Can you believe this place?” she whispered excitedly, “I feel like a movie star, coming here.”

The restaurant was definitely lavish, so she understood where her friend was coming from. The tables were polished stained oak, and lit by a candle to provide ambiance, and the floors were a gorgeous brown tile that Y/N suspected to be marble. 

The restaurant was done in a mixture of black, gold with high beam wood ceilings and low atmospheric lighting. They walked past a bar, long and oval, with shimmering glasses the team of bartender would pull down as they did impressive tricks to wow the gathered guests. 

“It’s one of the hottest spots in Gangnam right now,” Chin-Mae commented as they sat down. The table comfortably fit the four of them, and everyone got settled as a young woman hurried over, handing them menus and introducing herself. 

“This is so cool,” Binna exclaimed, still wiggling in place. She shook Y/N’s arm. She was all done up with some icy blue eye shadow that matched her aqua dress, and a more subtle plum shade of lipstick. 

Her hair was secured in a complicated twist by a pin she recognized from the last time they had gone shopping together. Y/N adjusted the shawl draped over her shoulders, pulling down her own strapless dress. Binna had helped her pick accessories, which were mostly shades of amber or gold, and apply some light makeup. 

Y/N chuckled, nodding as she scanned the menu, trying her best to ignore the listed prices. She had come fully prepared to pay her own way, but Min Su insisted the meal was going to be on him. It must have been nice.

 The perks of being from an affluent family, she supposed. The guy was already well on his way to being a successful lawyer, following the family tradition. He had moved all the way from his hometown in China to come and work on his master’s degree at one of the top universities in Korea, just for a change of pace. “Thanks again for letting us crash your date night, guys.” Binna beamed.

“Please,” Chin-Mae scoffed lightly, not looking up from his menu. “What was I supposed to do all evening? Talk to him?”

Min Su pouted, but it didn’t diminish the fond glow in his eyes as he leaned over his boyfriend’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear that gave Chin-Mae pause.

 Their friend cut a sharp look at his partner, smacking his thigh and then proceeding to ignore the man who was happily leaning into him and commenting on the menu. Yeah, nothing new there. Min Su was totally gone on Chin-Mae, as always.

 There was nothing about Chin-Mae’s bluntness or dismissive attitude in public that ever put him off. If anything, the mean behavior only served to make Min Su try harder. Though, she and Binna both knew Chin-Mae wouldn’t be with someone this long if he wasn’t just as serious about them.

 He was just a straight shooter, raised in a family that wasn’t completely accepting of who he was, and unfortunately awkward and out of his depth about how to handle someone as affectionate and doting as the man he happened to fall in love with.

 They were well suited in that regard. Min Su was patient and persistent enough to shower Chin-Mae in all the attention he needed to overcome the lingering doubts about being worthy of such deep love and devotion. 

Y/N was perfectly fine, pursuing the path she was. Career goals first, everything else second. But sometimes, watching them, a little envy did ignite.

 It must have been nice to find something like that, and she was truly happy for them. It didn’t seem likely she’d have time in the near future to go out and chase it for herself, of course. And she wasn’t really worried about it. 

“So, what’ll it be for you guys?” Y/N cleared her throat, interrupting the warm and cozy silence they’d all been existing in.

“Ohh, I think I’m gonna have the smoked chicken and spinach salad, and a side of the fried mushrooms,” Binna announced, tongue poking out in concentration as her finger followed where the items she wanted were on the menu.

“You’re going so easy on him.” Chin-Mae remarked. “I’m getting the iron skillet trout,” he squinted, leaning further into the menu. Min Su only smiled, plucking the reading glasses from Chin Mae’s breast pocket that he had forgotten to put on and placing them on his face for him.

 The absent-minded pat he got on the hand for it made the law student’s whole face light up. “And the chicken fried steak. That okay, babe?” He might not have looked it, exactly, but Chin-Mae had a healthy appetite. And if they were coming to such an exclusive restaurant for the first time, it wasn’t surprising he wouldn’t be keen to hold back.

Min Su was nodding encouragingly before Chin-Mae had even fully gotten the question out of his mouth. “And what about you, Y/N?”

She clammed up slightly, having been looking at the menu, mentally ruling out what seemed too expensive, or wasn’t quite her taste. “Uh, the pot roast sounds like a filling entree.”

“And?” Chin-Mae prodded, interlocking his hands together and leaning on them.

“And nothing,” Y/N shook her head. “It comes with two sides, that’s more than enough.”

“Boo,” Her friend hissed dramatically. “Fine. If neither one of you is going to take advantage of this, then I guess it’s up to me.”

Their waitress returned with a tray of drinks at precisely that moment, and as she set them down in front of the correct person, everyone began telling her their orders, which she jotted down without missing a beat.

 Only Min Su had actually ordered any steak, but, given the price of a 24 oz there was just no way she felt comfortable doing that to the poor guy, even if he was a good sport about it and more than capable of handling a large bill. 

As they sat, sipping their champagne and waiting on the food, something Y/N had been putting off thinking about started floating through her mind. Ever since the whole Jimin fiasco, despite her deep diving and frantic searching, nothing had turned up that indicated anyone was coming after her. 

But she just wasn’t willing to believe she’d gotten away that easily. She almost killed a celebrity. And, due to that, she’d really wanted to seek legal advice from Min Su, under the guise of some far-fetched hypothetical, of course. Her friends weren’t onto her, and she couldn’t give them a reason to be. 

She just had to find a way to casually broach the topic…

“Oh,” Binna gasped from her side, drawing the whole table’s attention to herself. She was carefully scrolling her phone with a freshly manicured nail, scowling slightly. It was so rare that Binna displayed any actual disdain, it had Y/N a bit curious. 

“What’s wrong, Bin?”

“It’s nothing,” she replied immediately, then paused. “Well it’s not nothing but, it’s just…I really wished we lived in a world that respected idols as people, you know? Some people call themselves fans and act like famous people aren’t allowed to have any boundaries.” She then went on to describe how there’d been another sasaeng incident reported on a news site she followed to keep up with celebrity gossip. 

Apparently, it was a pretty serious one, and crazed ‘fans’ had attacked an actress a well-known idol was reported to be dating. Her bodyguard had fended them off, but the actress still went to the hospital with some injuries. 

Y/N perked up slightly, but Min Su and Chin-Mae were thankfully too engrossed in listening to Binna rant to notice. It would be much easier to bring up her question using the information Binna had just provided them as a pretext.

 It was about time she had a stroke of good luck. Stopping to think it over, Y/N cringed. Not that she wasn’t sympathetic to the poor woman who had been harmed because of someone’s delusions. But it just…presented an opportunity she had to take, and….

‘Oh, why am I trying to rationalize it to myself?! I should just ask the question before the subject changes.’

 That decided, she opened her mouth and spoke, doing her best to make it seem as casual as possible. “So Min Su, you’re practically a lawyer. What kind of charges could that person face? Attacking a celebrity and inflicting bodily harm isn’t the same as harassing them for a photo.”

 Y/N silently patted herself on the back, sitting from her glass with an expression carefully schooled to look only mildly interested. Inside was another matter. She was rocking back in forth, heart hammering and eyes wide, waiting for an answer with baited breath.

“Hmm, well, I’ve mostly studied corporate law.” He admitted, playing with a ring on his index finger, “But I do know that given the severity, it’s likely both the actress and the company she’s represented under will press charges. Things are also moving faster these days, prosecuting people who do things like that.” 

Y/N swallowed, eyes fixated on Min Su’s thoughtful expression. “There were also witnesses, so it’s very likely to result in a conviction.” Yes, there had been a witness in her case too. Well, J-Hope had only seen her fleetingly. Maybe. Hopefully not. But if she was on any camera then…it was most definitely over for her.

 “The court could go light on them if it was a first offense…they might be sentenced to a large fine and community service…” Okay, Y/N thought. It would probably drain her savings, but it was still possible to bounce back and have a future, right? She could still put it in the past and become a CEO one day, right?! “Then again, it was a premeditated attack. Jail time is also a strong possibility.”

Her heart sank back down to her feet. Jail. What successful CEO in Korea had been to jail before graduating, and for assaulting an idol no less. 

‘I. Am. Done.’

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” Binna giggled, “You look like you smelled a rotten egg. But I guess hearing about how far some crazy people will go is pretty disgusting, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll have much sympathy for them, whatever happens.”

“…Yeah…” Y/N said once her words came unstuck. That was another thing. Her sweet friend was going to think she was a criminal. She had known Binna since high school, having shared a homeroom class with her. They were vague acquaintances then, friendly enough to speak from time to time but by no means close enough to hang out between classes or after school. 

In fact, admittedly, Y/N used to wonder if Binna’s perky personality was just an act. It had to be, in her cynical rationalizing, because who was really that upbeat, in high school? 

Later on, she would realize she was just projecting, and once she stopped doing that was when she truly came to appreciate Binna for all that she was, steadfast and supportive. Although they didn’t become close, didn’t become friends, until meeting at orientation when arriving at Korea University. 

“They knew the consequences before they did it.” Chin-Mae joined in, swishing the last of his champagne around before drinking it down. “It’s stupid to think your life won’t be impacted when you run wild like that.”

Except, Y/N wanted to wail. She hadn’t known. She wasn’t a sasaeng, and she knew she had assaulted someone but at the same time she hadn’t really done anything wrong. Except maybe buy a cursed magical phone, that somehow was behind all this.

…Yeah, she’d just keep that thought to herself. 

“Well,” Y/N smiled, “Thanks for giving your input.” She told Min Su, who nodded, humming with a cheerful ‘no problem’.

A cartoony chime went off, and Binna groaned as she stared down at her phone, “Nooo,” she sighed, sounding truly remorseful. “Right now?”

“What’s happening?” Chin-Mae raised a brow.

“Jimin is going live!” She whined, “And normally I’d watch but I’m having such a great time with all of you, and I don’t want to be rude…”

“It’s fine, go ahead.” Y/N said, forcing a smile. “We know how addicted to that stuff you are.” Really, she wanted the floor to swallow her into the abyss. She knew the minute she heard that sound what was going on. If her phone had been turned on, they would have heard the same noise coming from her purse too.

She had made an account on several apps BTS often broadcasted their lives to, and set an alert for just that occasion. There were a couple of false alarms she hadn’t tuned into once she saw they weren’t from the person she was basically stalking at this point. But this was it. The big moment. 

He hadn’t done a solo live since the accident…but Binna said his members had mentioned that he had a small accident while practicing and was recovering well. 

All of Army was behind him, sending him tons of well wishes from all over the world. It was sweet, but she wondered how fast they would turn if they knew she was behind their beloved idol’s injuries. 

“Yeah, what Y/N said,” Chin-Mae rolled his eyes. “Check on your man,” he joked.

Binna giggled, flashing them a cute heart. “He’s not my man,” she replied playfully, “I’d have to get in line for that. Plus, I’m really more of an OT7, you know? It’s really hard to stick with one bias.”

 Nonetheless, when she began to watch, since Y/N couldn’t exactly whip out her phone and do the same without raising suspicion, she subtly leaned closer to at least listen.

Of course, Binna was always more astute than she let on. “Oh, did you wanna see too?” She angled the screen so they could both see before Y/N even had the chance to protest. 

And the live was just starting, the exact same idol she had seen what felt like a lifetime ago was sitting in a room by himself. It looked like he was on a couch, legs crossed, looking small in his soft oversized sweater and giving the camera a cute wave. “Hi, everyone,” his sweet voice said. “Thank you for waiting on me!”

Gushing comments poured in, cheering him and welcoming him back, asking him what he’d been up to, and telling him he looked good. Jimin tilted his head, a coy, secretive smile appearing on his shiny lips. Y/N couldn’t tell if he was wearing gloss or if they always looked like that.

 She had been a bit too preoccupied the one and only time she had the opportunity to see them in person. He had dyed his hair a different color, though. It was now a shade of strawberry blonde that complimented his angelic features well.

 “Well, I haven’t been up to much. Just resting, really.” he explained. “Even on days when I felt better and tried to join practices, the members just shooed me away.” He laughed. “Oh, but look at this!” He reached down, his head dipping out of screen for a minute, popping up seconds later holding a little pot. “Taehyung got me this ‘get well’ plant!” He showed them a cute little sapling.

Binna cooed, Y/N glancing at her then refocusing on his words. Who knew when a hidden meaning would pop up.

“I don’t know how well I’ll be able to take care of it; I’m not sure if I have a green thumb. But I’ll try my best!”

Comments came pouring in again, people saying he was going to enter his plant dad era, because collecting succulents could be addicting.

 Other people gushed at the sweetness of the VMin friendship, whatever that was, and yet more people reminded Jimin that he looked really good. Yet one comment in particular seemed to catch his eye, and he squinted, seemingly intrigued. 

“Hmm? You wish you were a plant so I could take care of you?” He repeated. “You don’t have to be a plant for me to want to take care of you.” The statement was very matter-of-fact, “You’re Army. I’ll always watch over Army.”

Binna sounded like she released a tiny sniffle. “Is he not just the sweetest?” She asked, nudging Y/N a bit. “Since you’re new to BTS, have you chosen a bias yet?”

Y/N wished she could tell her the real reason behind her sudden interest, but that was kind of out of the question. “No, not yet…”

“Y/N’s a BTS fan now?” Chin-Mae asked, “Since when?”

“Pretty recent.” Binna replied.

Y/N was only half listening to her friends, mostly focusing on Jimin’s chatter. Someone was still insisting they wanted to be his plant, and he looked nothing short of amused. 

“Okay, if you insist. Should I start a garden then?” He asked his fans. Y/N watched, stunned, as his bright eyes narrowed into a practiced and very effective smolder. She had seen it in pictures before, but in real time it was really something else, “It’ll be full of so many pretty flowers, and you’ll all bloom just for me, right?” The heady purr of his words sent a shocked shiver right down her spine. 

Binna swooned, while Y/N felt her breath hitch. ‘What… the…hell…was that?!’ A flirty throwaway line like that had never had that effect on her before.

 But then, thinking back, he had flirted with her in the dance studio too. She’d just been too worried to pay attention. Clearly, the man was an old hand at the art of duality, going from wholesome to heathen in five seconds flat. That was…dangerous. 

Binna seemed to already know how she felt, leaning into her with a sigh. “That, Y/N, is what happens when Jimin turns from angel to demon.” Her friend explained. “I’d say you’ll get used to it, but odds are you probably won’t.”

Jimin then went back to amicably speaking to everyone, as if he hadn’t just teased fans within an inch of their lives. The conversation moved on, and he was speaking about upcoming projects he was excited about or a funny habit that he had noticed in his band member. All normal, non-threatening stuff. Y/N was almost thinking she could relax. Almost. 

“What? You want to tell me a secret?” Jimin was reading another comment. “Okay, I’m listening…”

Y/N quirked a brow at the comment. “Sometimes I dream about you.” it read.

The idol grinned, replying casually. “Sometimes I miss Army so much I end up thinking about all of you in the middle of the day.” Y/N’s blood ran cold as he looked intensely at the screen. “It’s almost like you’re there…”

That was it. The sign she was waiting for! He was talking to her. 

“I…” Y/N stumbled to her feet, startling Binna. “Need the bathroom, I’ll be back.”

“Oh, okay.” Her friend said slowly, setting down her phone. “Is anything wrong? You don’t…look so good suddenly.”

‘You wouldn’t either in my shoes,’ she thought miserably. ‘Park Jimin is going to sue me within an inch of my life.’

“It’s alright,” she held a hand to her stomach, selling the illusion of sudden nausea. “Just…lady problems.” She said lamely.

Poor Binna didn’t even question it; she nodded, eyes full of sympathy. “Well text if you need anything.” She squeezed Y/N’s hand. “I’ve got a few extra tampons in my purse.” she whispered discreetly. Really, Binna was too good of a friend for her. 

Y/N rounded the corner in a hurry, blindly guessing where the bathrooms might be located. She passed their waitress, rolling out a cart that she was pretty sure contained their meals. Everything looked delicious, and of course she couldn’t even enjoy the great evening Min Su had generously provided. All because she was screwed. 

She hustled into a bathroom as fancy as the rest of the steak house, and so spacious there would probably be an echo. She hustled over to the sink, activating the handless system by shoving her trembling fingers under it. As she splashed her face with warm water, the dread twisting up her stomach gave way to deja vu. 

‘This is just like…the event at the internship.’ The wild day that would be the beginning of the end of her life. Removing her hands from the water, she gently pressed the pad of her thumb up to her eye, tapping it a few times.

 Her makeup was well done, but it still felt like she could see bags. ‘At least it can’t get worse.’ She assumed. After all, what was worse than this? The dumb phone was put away in her clutch, turned off, and back at the table.

 The very least she could do was fake a smile so she didn’t ruin everyone’s meal, and enjoy what might be her last chance to experience this. They probably didn’t serve many steakhouse dinners where she was going. 

That thought firmly in mind, Y/N squared her shoulders and prepared to march back out, tightly gripping her clutch at her side. Wait, her clutch?!

Binna must have handed it over to her, assuming she might need it. She had said to text if she needed anything, and Y/N couldn’t exactly do that without a phone. Well, at least it was off. Y/N wasn’t totally sure what kind of phenomenon had disrupted her life, but it all started with that phone. 

No sooner had she backed away from the mirror than a wave of dizziness overtook her, sending her keeling forward. Instinctively, she clutched the sink to maintain her balance, almost screaming out when she looked up as the dizzy feeling passed. 

The mirror in front of her was the same as always, a reflection of her wide, mortified eyes. But the long glossy mirror that made up the entire wall of the bathroom at the entrance of the restroom? 

A reflection of another room, just like before. “No…” she whispered, not ready to admit that it was happening again. What was worse? All of it being real, or her losing her mind? “Not again…!”

She clenched her eyes shut, then attempted to get her feet moving. She would keep her head down and hurry right on past, to the exit. That was the plan at least. And she was making good progress to move without falling over in her modest heels, but the minute she actually got closer to the mirrors, a strange feeling overwhelmed her. 

Almost like a compulsion to stop. Y/N felt like she was watching a scene in a movie, watching a victim wander down the hall of a haunted house, towards the homicidal attacker lying in wait.

 Her feet were making her move on her own! Her fingertips reached out, and yet she had no control. She had to touch the mirror, see if that room on the other side was real. But deep down, she knew the answer before her fingers made contact.

It was a strange emotion somewhere between surprise resignation when she wobbled onto a floor that was not marble and found her eyes darting around a room that was not the steak house. 

Pressing against the mirror desperately, she confirmed what a large part of her had assumed. There was no give to the mirror, apparently no way back from the time being. Was she even still in Gangnam?

Her senses were feeding her all kinds of information, and frankly, it was starting to overwhelm her. The raw scents of sweat, male musk, and ammonia could only mean one thing, and it was further proven when she peered around the blind corner of a painted brick wall, only to see two people exercising. 

Well, one was doing stretches, and with the way he hopped up, he had just finished. An older man in a tank top and sweats had pads strapped to his hands, and Y/N watched closely, not even daring to breathe, as the younger man sat down and laced boxing gloves onto his taped hands. 

He stood up, and who she assumed was his trainer got into a defensive stance while the younger man hopped around nimbly. Y/N watched, wide-eyed as they began to train, the guy in the black hoodie practicing blocking, jabbing and dodging.

 It was clear he had put a lot of dedication into this. Y/N was never much of a sports person, but she knew the result of hard-work when she saw it. His moves were fluid, and instead of slowing down, they got quicker the more he went at it. 

Somehow, it never felt like a good time to draw their attention to herself, go wobbling over in her dinner attire, and ask for directions back to the High Tower SteakHouse. She had a few other options, of course, like calling Binna. Or maybe Chin-Mae…but how did she explain it? 

She had gone to the restroom for a few minutes and wound up in a completely different location without leaving the restaurant?! Then again, it meant they would really have no choice but to believe her. 

It was impossible for her to have gone anywhere far when they all saw her leave for the bathroom. Maybe she could sneak out while they were distracted and then call when she was outside the gym, not standing around all conspicuous.

Y/N was weighing the merits of her plan when she heard an excited yell, whipping her head around and watching the trainer give his client a few congratulatory pats on the back, apparently satisfied with the work he’d put in for the day. 

They began speaking lowly to themselves, and Y/N paled when she noticed the only door out of the room she could spot was behind them…. The corner she was standing behind seemed to be where the water fountains and locker rooms were located. 

Hiding out in there was another option, but it didn’t exactly appeal when she would have to keep checking to see when the gym was empty. Right now it was just the two of them, but what if more people came in? 

They’d have questions about someone being dressed like she was, right? Then again she could also be found out just staying put where she was. Ugh…it was beyond frustrating. 

Her luck was completely shot, huh?

A little hope returned when the trainer waved at the young man and then began heading for the exit. She assumed they were done for the day, and the second guy would be done soon too. But not so, because then she’d actually be lucky. 

As soon as his trainer had cleared the room, he gave a loud sigh, beginning to shimmy out of his hoodie. Y/N didn’t think she was close enough to make the door in the small moment he had his vision obstructed, but she was close enough to get an eyeful.

 If his training earlier hadn’t tipped her off that he was dedicated, his physique would have. He was all hard lines, though the minuscule glimpse of a thin waist when his shirt rode up with his hoodie was impressive too.

 She could see a full sleeve of tattoos decorating one arm, and coupled with his longish two-toned hair, a deep brown that gave way to a raging red, he was kind of…hard to look at. Distracting in a way she didn’t anticipate. She didn’t get distracted, not usually.  

He, on the other hand, got straight to business. Oblivious of her presence, he walked right over to the large, hanging punching bag and began to hit it. But he wasn’t just hitting it. Again, Y/N was no boxing aficionado, but she knew he knew what he was doing. 

His strikes were always controlled, his breathing never ragged the way she could guess hers would be. He pivoted on his back foot, and she knew that the small movement put more power into his strikes.

 He was hitting the bag like it owed him money, grunting occasionally, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing in his t-shirt. At some point, Y/N figured he would stop. He would either head out the door, or into the locker room, and that was when she would flee. 

Hopefully, wherever the cruel cosmic entity that thought her life was a joke had dumped her, it wasn’t very far from the restaurant. Then again, shouldn’t she have gotten a worried text by now? 

She’d been gone for a while. Or, maybe Binna had actually come to check on her and seen that she had disappeared entirely. Y/N could imagine the freak out as Binna flailed her way back to the table and informed Min Su and Chin-Mae that somehow, someway, she’d been kidnapped. 

What was her life lately, she thought miserably. With nothing to really do but scroll her phone or continue to watch the mystery man go at it, she turned to checking what news was trending for the day. Normally, she at least kept up with news involving the business world, if nothing else.

 The celebrity gossip blogs she left to Binna, BTS investment notwithstanding. Stocks were up at several companies she had an interest in working at after graduation—assuming she made it with her life in chaos lately—so that was good.

 A CEO had resigned from his post at a company she had almost interned at but decided not to at the last minute off a strange feeling. Some scandal involving embezzlement. So she dodged a bullet there.

 And, lastly, BTS’ Jungkook had endorsed some new sports brand, and now merchandise was selling out faster than it could be restocked. The article included a picture of Jungkook, posing in shorts and a t-shirt next to a mountain of different athletic gear for various sports. 

Wait. Y/N could have swallowed her tongue. Wait. That man, the man in the picture and the one boxing…were the same person?!

Feeling like she may just be sick, Y/N did a quick check, and really took in the boxer. That was undoubtedly the idol pictured in the article. 

Not only was she going to jail for assaulting one BTS member (albeit on accident) a fact that she had managed to forget up until that moment, she got pulled back into the same thing that got her in trouble before, and ended up crossing paths with another one?! 

Once it came out what happened between her and Park Jimin, there was no possible way people would believe she wasn’t a sasaeng. The circumstantial evidence just kept getting more and more damning. 

Jungkook. Jungkook. What did she know about Jungkook? Admittedly not much, considering all her focus had really been on Jimin for obvious reasons. She knew…that Binna said he was the youngest in the boy group. He was multitalented, and here her friend swore she wasn’t exaggerating or anything.

 According to her, he was like some kind of Barbie of idols, he could do it all. Those weren’t her exact words, but it was the gist. Jungkook also had a habit of being a little shy around members of the opposite sex, or so it was claimed. 

Y/N personally had always thought all idols had to be manufacturing some parts of their personalities for public consumption. Who knew which parts? None of the scraps of information she had been fed told her anything about whether he was liable to press charges for stalking him or not.

Then again, he was an idol, and knowing that, Y/N had to assume he had gone out of his way to book private gym time, hence why the spacious work out room was empty save for him. Which meant him catching her was going to lead to a world of trouble. 

How good were her odds if she just booked it for the exit the minute he went back to the locker room? Or if he left, she’d wait a little bit to be sure he had cleared the building, then she’d leave too. Waiting…yep…that’s all she could do. If she wasn’t in a dress, and didn’t find the idea so dirty, she would slump over on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook caught the punching bag as it swung back from his last strike, finally feeling satisfied with his boxing for the time being. His limbs had that good burn that he liked, and his heart rate was up, despite his controlled breathing. But he wasn’t ready to leave just yet, so he decided to switch from boxing to something new. After a break.

Unlacing his boxing gloves, he found his gym bag and rummaged inside for his water bottle. Sitting down on a mat, he took a few sips, trying not to gulp it down too fast. His bottle was empty in no time, despite his attempts at moderation, and refilling before he resumed working out didn’t seem like a bad idea. 

His footsteps echoing in the big empty gym was probably his imagination, but the weird sight when he rounded the corner? That he was pretty sure was real. Leaning against the wall, a woman…no, a girl, dressed up like she had somewhere important to be was nodding off. He froze, staring, all kinds of thoughts flying through his head. 

Who was she? How’d she get in? When did she get in? Was she dangerous? Did he need to call for back up? Jungkook had purposely began training at this gym because it was exclusive. As his fame had grown, unfortunately he had to stop using more easy to find public gyms.

 The one at HYBE was an option, but sometimes he wanted something…quieter. Trainees who came in meant well, and they tried to be respectful besides giving him friendly greetings, but they couldn’t help but gawk, and that made it awkward when he was trying to get in the zone. Here, he had thought, was perfect.

But maybe he was rushing to conclusions. He didn’t know anything about the situation besides a girl in a nice dress was falling asleep by the water fountains while standing up. Her head slumped forward, then snapped up quickly as she jolted awake, eyes wide and alert. 

That was when they locked gazes, and his loose, sore muscles tensed right up. She, on the other hand, curled away like she was facing a thug in an alley. It was bemusing; yeah he’d bulked up a lot in the last several years after he got serious about training. Jungkook never considered himself all that intimidating, though. 

“Are you… staff?” he asked, since it didn’t seem like she was going to speak up first. Not with the way she kept looking like the guillotine was coming down on her head any moment. 

It took a reasonably long time for her to compose herself and answer, which was another pretty big tip off that something was not right. He was ready to whip out his phone and call security. Or at least he would be, if he hadn’t put it on do not disturb and left it in his bag. 

“This is all a misunderstanding, really,” she warbled, her hands slapped the wall behind her like she was trying to steady herself. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to be here.”

“What?” Jungkook was definitely growing suspicious. No one who wasn’t up to something just answered like that.

“I was just going to wait until you left and I guess I started to nod off…” she ran a shaky hand through her hair, disturbing it a little. “But really, please, if you’ll pretend you never saw me, I promise, I’ll be on my way.”

He backed away quickly as she lurched forward, but before he could tell her not to do anything funny, she bowed very formally, and the idol watched, perplexed. When he didn’t respond in any way, she resumed her upright position, then tried to brush by him with her head down. 

Though, when he noticed the phone clenched tight in her fist, he acted without thinking. Something his hyungs had told him to be careful of doing in the past. At least they weren’t around to scold him.

“Hey,” he seized her wrist, and she stopped in her tracks, though he wasn’t expecting her reaction at all. Her eyes took in the hand on her like she could just flay it off with the intensity of her stare alone, and then she met his eyes head-on, hers surprisingly stony. “Your phone…”

“What about it?” she tried tugging her hand away, but he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. Not until he got some answers. He liked this gym. He wanted to keep using this gym, and at the thought that his privacy was being invaded yet again, and he would have to find somewhere else, yet again, he was getting a little worked up. 

“That’s an Army phone, a Galaxy Z Flip 4: Army Edition.”

Her eyes widened, and then she scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I guess you would know. But to tell you the truth, though I can admire your band’s marketability, this phone itself has been nothing but problems. This is just the latest one. Now, please, let go.” There was some bite in her tone now, her voice surprisingly stern. 

When she tugged again, he acquiesced, something she probably didn’t expect, since she stumbled before catching herself. And when she felt her cellphone tugged right out of her hand? She rounded on him, scowling. “That belongs to me.” She held her hand out, clearly expecting it back.

“Why are you here? This is a private gym, and you don’t sound like you’re staff.”

She snatched for the phone, but he held it away, using his speed to his advantage. “Are you Army?”

“What? No,” she sounded offended by the notion, which in turn offended him. Then again, a true Army wouldn’t do this to him. Wouldn’t invade his space. “And what does that matter?”

“You’re not Army but you’ve got a phone that’s a rare exclusive. Only Army would want to own something like this. And if you’d go this far, you might be a sasaeng.” 

Here, she did pause in trying to retrieve her phone, a bit red in the face under her makeup. “Please, between my class schedule and internship, who would even have the time? The people who think stalking and harassing idols is worth jeopardizing their future for really need…” Surprisingly, the girl tried to jump for the phone like she wasn’t in heels, but he held it above his head, which meant it was way above hers, “…a hobby!”

“So I won’t find pictures you secretly took on this?” Jungkook squinted, not convinced. 

“No!” She hissed, jumping again, “Now who’s invading whose privacy, you…you muscle-headed, bunny-eyed brute!” 

He was so taken aback, he faltered, and with one last pounce, the mystery girl had snatched the phone, though not without a cost.

 Before she could even yell out in triumph, her heel wobbled and her foot rolled. Jungkook watched in slow motion, wincing in automatic sympathy as she went down. 

Time sped up as she cried out, on the ground and clutching her ankle in a dress too nice to be touching the bare gym floor. He stood over her, carefully watching her face at first. He could tell she was in pain, but attempting not to show the extent.

 Something about that alone…took him back to his early days. A wave of nostalgia he didn’t want to feel washed over him. He would hide his exhaustion, sometimes even hide injuries sustained while on stage until the end of a performance, until he couldn’t hide it anymore, just to avoid worrying his hyungs.

 And when they caught him, like they inevitably always did, he’d cry, apologize, worry they would resent him. It didn’t make sense to everyone, probably only to those who had experience firsthand with the feeling. Not wanting to let others down, wanting to live up to everyone’s expectations, struggling with the fact that they were still human.

The girl gingerly tried to shift her injured ankle, and that alone seemed to send a fresh wave of pain throbbing through it. With the way she bit her lip and clenched her eyes to stifle the cry he could just tell. 

And even though Jungkook had been concerned about a million things regarding her appearance, including that she might be another delusional ‘fan’, no one could fake pain that expertly. Plus, she’d have to be some actress to make her ankle swell on command.

 It was probably stupid of him to drop his guard, even for a second, but he found himself dropping to his knees, almost reaching out, and then hesitating. She stared up at him through her lashes, her own eyes as guarded as his had been, but wavering as she focused on ignoring her obvious injury. “I need…I need to call my friend.”

Making up his mind, Jungkook loosely grasped her foot by the heel, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to swat his hand away. He extended her leg, careful not to hurt her as he manipulated her foot to get a better idea of how bad it was. “You rolled it pretty hard.” He finally concluded.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Jungkook briefly met eyes with her again, but she stubbornly looked away. “I wonder how that happened.”

Guilt hit him pretty fast. Yeah. Even if he thought she was an intruder, he should have just called security and let them handle it. They were never far, and there was no way she could have stopped him. Not by physically overpowering at least. 

“Hang on,” he told her, setting her foot down and getting back on his feet. “I can help.”

“That’s a nice gesture,” she ground out, failing to hide a wince, “But really, I have my phone, so I can just call my fri—” she grabbed it and opened it, only for her face to fall. “Really? Now?” He heard her grumble irritably.

Noticing his quizzical face, turned a blank screen to him. “It’s dead.” She deadpanned. 

“Okay, then let me help.”

Jungkook didn’t know this stranger by any stretch of the imagination, but he had anticipated what her response would be. It probably sounded something like “no”, since she seemed disinclined to take his help.

 Was she always like this, so stubborn? Was it some kind of pride thing? He had been there, too; his hyungs really had their hands full with him over the years, didn’t they? 

Retrieving the first aid kit Jimin had gifted him some time back, he made a brisk return to find the girl in much the same position he had left her, staring sulkily at her injured ankle. She looked up when he approached, but didn’t say a word. 

“You might have to take off your shoe.” he informed her.

He waited to get a response, the big plastic kit held by his side. Jungkook wondered if she just planned to ignore him, and if he should take her silence as consent and proceed, but that didn’t feel right. Finally, she mumbled, “…This is really happening…isn’t it?”

Nodding slowly, he popped the kit open and examined its contents, locating the roll of compression wrap. While he did that, he noticed her leaning forward, trying to unstrap her heel without moving in a way that would hurt her foot even more. 

Jungkook had never worn heels, but he always thought anyone who did without falling over must have some hidden talent. Hers weren’t as tall as some, but she was still plucking at the strap with building frustration. 

Guessing she wanted it over and done with just as bad as he did, the idol seized the heel of her foot again, bringing her leg out and reaching for the buckle himself.

If he expected a beaming smile and a grateful attitude, he’d be sorely mistaken. She gave him the stink eye. “I can do at least this much.”

“Maybe, but I can do it faster.” He shrugged, already loosening the heel and sliding it off while holding her foot steady. From so close, and without the shoe in the way, he could really see just how fast the ankle had discolored and swollen. Again, he wrestled with the guilt, absently reaching for the wrap. “So,” he began by holding her ankle at a ninety-degree angle, “Who are you? Because this doesn’t mean I forgot…”

“Believe me, I’m someone who doesn’t want to be here anymore than you want me to be here. I didn’t have a choice, not that you’d ever believe me…” she huffed. “But, because legal repercussions are probably unavoidable, I’ll start by being cooperative. Maybe when they review all this, that’ll work in my favor.” It sounded like she was talking to herself, not him, but then she cleared her throat and extended her hand. “My name is L/N Y/N.”

Jungkook didn’t expect such a strange introduction, and the attempt at a handshake reminded him of Namjoon-hyung. He grasped her palm very briefly, barely holding on to it long enough for their hands to go up and down, but she didn’t seem inclined to want to hold onto him either.

“Y/N…” he repeated. 

“As for what I’m doing here…well, again, it’s not something any sane person would believe.” She switched her focus to watching him meticulously wrap her ankle. It was pretty careful care for someone that could have been stalking him, but he had already started, and if he was going to do it, his sense of perfectionism said he had to do it right. 

“Are you…insane?”

“Excuse me?” She didn’t look very amused, but he guessed it wasn’t exactly a polite question.

“You said a sane person wouldn’t believe you…” he explained. 

“I am not insane,” Y/N rubbed a hand to her forehead. “I just feel like I am lately,” she whispered. “I was dining out with some friends, in the restaurant bathroom and then…”

Jungkook waited while he secured the wrap with some bandage clips and closed his first aid kit. “And then?”

“It’s going to sound insane,” she finished matter-of-factly, “You’re going to call me a liar and accuse me of stalking you, then we’ll be right back where we started.”

Jungkook was torn between still wanting to contact security, but also experiencing some curiosity he couldn’t quite tamp down. “Do you have proof?” It didn’t sound like she did. 

“Proof?” Y/N repeated, arching a brow as if he had just said something strange.

“You’re not even going to try to make me believe you?” he goaded. 

“Sure, help me up and I’ll hobble right over to the mirror. You’ll see exactly how I got here and this whole think’ll be cleared up just like that.” Her tone was so sugary the sarcasm was evident. 

Jungkook figured he had indulged this for this long…why not go all the way. Offering her a hand, he warned her to brace herself, and then pulled her up with ease. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She said warily, trying not to show him how much she was utilizing the wall for support. 

“Okay,” Jungkook nodded, “Show me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Idols were weird. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was just the fact that they lived in a completely ‘different world’ from normal people or what, but she hadn’t expected her first extended run-in with some world-famous celebrity to go like this. 

Park Jimin was one thing; he’d been concussed, so that was enough to make him loopy. She hadn’t expected anything out of his mouth to make sense. But this guy, Jean Jungkook? 

Totally different. He wasn’t suffering a head injury, for one. And he had seemed angry at first, but still handled her appearance in much the same way a mean boy on the playground would in elementary school. Playing keep away with her phone, really?

He’d even treated her with decency when she tripped and sprained her ankle. God, that was yet another thing she was going to have to deal with. Sprained her ankle! Sprained! How was she supposed to get around campus quickly? It was huge. Though she supposed that wasn’t a concern at present. 

The idol’s strange demand was at the forefront of her mind, seeing as he was right behind her while she hobbled slowly to the mirror, her heel in one hand and her phone in the other. 

She must have looked like a suffering pigeon, doing a funny little hop. But she refused to let him touch her after she got her bearings. It was humiliating enough to have someone see her make a fool of herself and get injured to boot, idol or no idol. Well actually, his status made it even worse. 

And he was watching her oh so closely as she made it to the mirror, taking a deep breath and turned around to look at him with some difficulty. “Here it is.” She said flatly. “How I got in, and how I probably would be able to get out, if life felt like cutting me a break.”

He stepped around her, staring at her incredulously like she knew he would. She would look at herself that way in his position. Jungkook pressed against the mirror with the flat of his hand, one good time, as if to confirm it was solid. “You used the mirror? What, like magic? Like a drama?”

“You’re the one who said you wanted proof; I never said it would satisfy you.” she retorted. “I barely understand it myself, but what I’m saying is the only truth I have to cling to.” Her chin dipped, “No matter how implausible it is…” 

She knew she would get the same result he had when she pushed on the mirror, but as if to confirm her fate was truly sealed, Y/N tried anyway. When her hand went right through, the cool glass giving way to cool nothingness, she yelled, pitching forward.

Jungkook made a noise, something startled, and she glanced at him to confirm he was seeing what was happening. His bulging eyes made it evident that he was. Yes! Y/N jerked her arm away too fast, and in doing so almost fell back on her ass, if not for the lightning reflexes of the idol who moved to extend an arm around her waist.

 Y/N got her bearings, smoothed a hand over her shirt and her racing heart, and tried to hold back her tears. He could see. He could really see. The weeks of going crazy in silence, holding it all in, and someone else…could see.

“Your arm went through the glass,” he breathed.

“More than my arm’s gone through.” Y/N spoke with more confidence, now that there was no way he could deny it. “That’s…how I got here.”

The idol once again moved forward, pressing both hands against the mirror. Nothing. “How?” He wondered.

“I don’t know.” Y/N replied, “It’s been happening since…since I got this phone. So that’s my only theory, that the events are connected.” She held up the dead device and wiggled it around. “Not that that’s a story anyone would believe if I got caught breaking and entering.” 

The idol appeared to be thinking, worrying his lip piercing with his tongue, “Unless they saw it.”

Y/N squared her shoulders, eyeing him up and down. He fidgeted, looking small somehow, despite being fairly tall with a healthy amount of muscle. From close up it was even easier to see than watching him from behind the wall. 

“It might come as a surprise for you to know, not everyone would be as cavalier as you about all this. In fact, I’d go as far as saying your reaction was a bit…strange. Has anyone told you that you’re odd?”

  ‘Nice going, Y/N.’ She thought bitterly, ‘That was over the top blunt. You’re not trying to make an enemy out of the very first person to be witnessing the crazy with you.’

Luckily, the idol didn’t look overly offended. Jungkook pursed his lips, big eyes sheepish as he rubbed his head. “Uh-huh, my hyung.” he said thoughtfully.

“Well…” Y/N gestured vaguely. “Now that you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you know about as much as I do. Would it be too much trouble to ask if I could…go?” Pointing a thumb toward the mirror like she was about to miss her cab would seem dumb if he didn’t know. 

“Oh, right,” Jungkook’s tapped the mirror again. “You’re going back to where you came from.”

“Ideally,” Y/N frowned, “I’ve been gone a long time. There’s no way my friends aren’t concerned about that. And when they can’t find me who knows what they’ll think.”

Somewhat afraid the give they had both witnessed was a one-off, Y/N pressed her hand to the mirror once again, happy when it rippled and went right through. It might have been too late to salvage the evening with her friends, but at least she could salvage her reputation.

[writtenatdawn]

Short Notice

Word count: 563 words

I immediately noticed his presence when he came into the room, everyone does. Every mind that was preoccupied with mundane tasks almost effortlessly turned their attention to him—he always has that kind of influence on people. I try to keep my focus on my phone, acting as if I haven’t a clue that the boy, whose presence leaves the room in a trancelike state, has his sole attention on me.

“Hey,” his voice came out as light as a feather but I felt like I had been hit by a brick, which struck my defense into debris.

In the seconds that followed, I was able to come up with a long list of things that I wanted to say to him. Alas, the sentences got deliberately mixed up in my head and the words got stuck in my throat. All verbs, adjectives, and nouns seem to disappear momentarily and I only managed to form a short “Hey, too.”

Jaehyun smiled, so subtly that I thought it was my brain playing one of its vicious tricks on me. “Do you mind if I sit next to you? I only slept for an hour today, I can’t trust myself to stay awake and not miss my next flight.”

“My flight is already boarding. I’m actually sitting here to wait for the queue to shrink,” I answered, pointing quickly at Gate 4. He cast a glance at the long line of passengers who had their passport and boarding pass out for inspection. This time he chuckled.

“Seems like our schedule doesn’t lines up,” he commented without much surprise. It never lined up the way we intended to in the past either, and there is no reason for us—me—to expect that it will stop doing so now, or ever. If I were to be honest with myself, that doesn’t make it any less easy.

“I guess so,” I replied promptly, trying to ignore the slight disappointment that I feel after knowing that we don’t have much time left to converse. As if on cue, the line moves up faster than it did before. The queue now only consists of two passengers, a businessman ending his phone call and a woman who looks like she’s going on a vacation.

“It’s nice to bump into you again,” he stopped his sentence there. For a brief moment, it seemed like he was going to add something else, but I instantaneously disposed of that thought after realizing it was me begging for an implication of a possible next meeting. This one’s already an anomaly.

I gather up my things and slowly rise from my seat, all the while quietly weighing whether a handshake will prove to be appropriate or quite the contrary, unfitting. I peek from the corner of my eyes, Jaehyun—with his black shirt and black beanie that he wears a little too often, even back then—stands up from his seat with both of his hands tucked deep inside the pockets of his jeans. If I don’t think that those brown eyes—even in its coldest gaze—look like the idea of my very own safe haven, I would thank him for helping me come to a decision faster.

“Well, this is me. Goodbye.”

“Take care. Goodbye, you.”

I think it’s around 200-steps before I get back to sitting again. The cramped confines of economy class had never felt this isolating before.

[Republished to fit the updated blog post format]

[lu-vin-it]

can i request an xavier thorpe x reader , where they’re secretly dating and don’t let anybody know but like enid (bc of the gossip blog) or someone catches them making out or something and they don’t want her to tell anyone , totally okay if you don’t want to or this doesn’t make sense 😭

It Couple

Summary: You and Xavier were supposed to be keeping your relationship under wraps, but when someone catches you guys during your morning make out session, what can you do?

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Reader

Pronouns Used: None, reader is called Xavier’s girlfriend though.

Word Count: 447

Warnings: Sexual themes, not proofread!

“Babe..” You say with a giggle as Xavier kisses each of your cheeks.

“Hm?”

“We have to go.. classes are starting in a few minutes.” He ignored you and continued kissing your face until he got to your lips. He backed you up the wall of his studio and put his hand on your cheek before slowly leaning in to kiss you. You kissed back and brought your hands to his back, pulling him flush against your body.

You went on like this for a few more minutes until you heard branches breaking and leaves rustling.

“What was that?” You ask breathlessly.

“I don’t know. Come on..” Xavier grabs your hand and drags you into the studio.

“Babe, we’re already late for class..”

“I’m not letting you walk out there right now. What if it’s the monster?” You roll your eyes.

“We’ll go together!” Xavier looks down at his crotch and then back at you like you were stupid. You follow his gaze and laugh.

“Seriously?”

“Sorry, I can’t control myself when I’m making out with my absolutely gorgeous girlfriend.” He frowns and you hum.

“Well maybe I could be persuaded to skip with my handsome boyfriend if he asked nicely.” His eyes light up.

“Oh yeah?” You nod. “Well,” He wraps his arms around your waist causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. “Would you be willing to skip classes with me today? We could go to Jericho and have a date in a little while?” You grin.

“That sounds lovely.” You lean in to kiss Xavier again, but are interrupted by both your phones going off. You grab your phone and see you were mentioned in a blog post.

“New “It” couple on the rise?” Was the title, followed by a blurry picture of you and Xavier kissing mere minutes prior.

“What the fuck.” You show Xavier.

“Oh my god. Is that Enid’s blog?” You look to see who posted it and then nod.

“I guess it wasn’t a monster we heard run away.” You mumble. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t think we can really do much.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to keep this between us for a bit.” You shrug.

“It's not your fault, love. I guess I’ll just have to get used to sharing you again.” You dramatically sigh and he chuckles.

“Well you can start tomorrow. We have a date to go on today.”

“What about your.. situation?”

“We could stop by my dorm and I’ll change.” You nod.

“Well let’s go then!” You peck Xavier one last time before grabbing onto his hand and dragging him along with you.

@grqvestones @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @mermaidm0tel6 @lastwandastan @swiftielover-1989 @ghwoticz @shopy-12 @4pparecium

𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗜 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝗶𝗰 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀, 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ꨄ

[sapphicsaints]

omg i just discovered your blog and i’m in love 🥹 i instantly fell in love with tamar and i wish there were more fics about her out there (and tolya too, perks of being bi)

if you’re still taking requests, could you please write about reader possibly being a lantsov and grisha at the same time? maybe she’s super close with nikolai and tamar is like her sworn protector? idk, something with some angst (like reader getting hurt during an attack or something) but all ends well? i mean she’s the princess of ravka, she better survive 😅

thank you so much, and please, keep writing, i love your fics! 💙

I made a promise

Tamar x f!GrishaLantsovReader

A/N: Sorry this took me so long, I loved writing this thank you! I made this so it should hopefully fit with both the books and the tv show, and I'm still taking requests please send them :)

Warnings: Injury 

Word Count: ~2k

Summary: “She’s a handful.” He warned her.

“How bad could-” 

“Don’t say it.” He interrupted her, and she laughed. “You mean it, if she comes with us, you’ll swear to protect her?” 

“Yes.” Tamar looked a bit exasperated. “I will,”  

-

Y/n was the first Lantsov Grisha in a long time – but she was convinced by her mother to keep her powers a secret – and her heritage. Two bastards? Her mother had been busy. She was two years younger than her brother, and over time they’d bonded over many things, including their suspicious heritage. 

Unfortunately she didn’t gain his silver tongue. Her brashness and attitude got her into trouble at the Little Palace. As soon as she completed her military service, which she’d run away to do, just like her dear brother – they sent her to study in Ketterdam, at her insistence. The well compensated shipping clerk did put up a good effort, but she managed to get the truth out of him. Her brother got an earful when she tracked him down, mostly about how pissed she was he didn’t tell her, or let her go with him, and on and on. The guards that accompanied him were highly amused. Shu twins – she liked them immediately. Especially the girl, Tamar. 

“At least tell me where you’re headed next?” 

He sighed, “Novyi Zem.” 

“Take me with you when you come back?” 

“I’ll think about it.” That was a no. 

She set her best glare on him, “I guess I can’t follow in your footsteps forever. I heard they’re hiring in the barrel…” 

“No.” His voice was sharp. 

“Who are you to tell me what to do? You’re a pirate.” 

“Privateer.” He corrected me. “And that’s different from joining a gang.” 

“Renting out heart-rending services is different than actually joining a gang.” She rolled her eyes. 

“And how do you know they won’t hold you hostage?” 

“I’m good at hiding,” she blew it off. “Everyone thinks I’m in the southern colonies to recover from my ‘illness’.” He nodded, she had a point. “And I wasn’t exactly paraded around like you or Vasily. I’m the obvious bastard. Mother never cared” 

“Careful” he warned, she was treading dangerous ground. He still loved their mother despite everything, and she knew that. But she couldn't care less for them. They’d discarded her at the first possible opportunity, why should she waste energy on them? 

She took a deep breath. “I’m already doing it. There’s no point in trying to stop me now.” 

“Can’t blame me for wanting to protect you.” 

“I was infantry too” was her response. “I can take care of myself.” 

“And if you can’t?” 

“We’ll see just how much father thinks I’m worth.”

-

“She’s very insistent.” Tamar commented later that night. “You might as well let her come.” 

“She’ll be in danger with us.” Nikolai hedged. 

“But there is more danger in Ketterdam.” Tamar countered. “Especially for Grisha.” 

“Will you swear to protect her?” Nikolai said, half-jokingly, rolling his shoulders back and leaning against the railing. They’d set sail in two mornings. 

“I swear it.” Nikolai blinked once. The only sign of his surprise. 

“She’s a handful.” He warned her. 

“How bad could-”

“Don’t say it.” He interrupted her, and she laughed. “You mean it, if she comes with us, you’ll swear to protect her?” 

“Yes.” Tamar looked a bit exasperated. “I will, and I’ll teach her.” 

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” His head shook. Y/n’s already quite good with a blade and pistol, but under Tamar’s tutelage, she’ll absolutely shine. If she doesn’t kill her first.

“I like a little challenge now and then.” 

-

Nikolai ended up eating his words. Tamar and Y/n got along incredibly well, and ended up being absolutely lethal together. He made her repeat her story a hundred times before she came within eye-sight of the ship. A stray heart-render Nikolai found. Her Kerch is fluent, so they passed her off as being from Ketterdam. Also speaks Ravkan and Fjerdan. Y/n seemed to understand the seriousness of it.  

“Stray. Like I’m a scruffy dog.” 

“At least you get to keep your name. It’s common enough.”  He’d reasoned. Not her real name, one she’d already made up for herself. He was, but shouldn’t have been, surprised to find his sister had a few fake persona’s ready. 

“A serious question,” he asked her. “How did you track me down?” 

She looked at him like he was the stupidest human alive, and he was transported back to their childhood. 

“Pirates need to swim, Nikolai!” Y/n had jumped in the lake, her boots discarded on the bank. “See.” She waved her arms above her head, treading the water. 

“I’m going to be a privateer.” He scowled, pushing out the small ‘boat’ they’d built together. Random bits of wood they found around the castle. What looked like the top of Y/n’s wooden nightstand, sawed off, and strung together with some ripped up curtains. 

“Same thing.” She huffed. “Get in.” He slowly waded in, glaring at her the entire time. Saints, the water is freezing. Why did he let her convince him to come swim anyways? Spring is barely here.

“Why do I always have to push the boat?”  

“Things were easy back then, weren’t they?” She murmured, as if she’d seen the memory too. Easy. They didn’t know what the word ‘bastard’ meant, or why Y/n’s ‘powers’ were a secret, even from Vasily. Vasily - who didn’t give a shit about them. Never asked after Y/n once in his letters. Thinking about him would put Nikolai in an unnecessary piss poor mood, so he thought about the future instead. What it might look like out on the seas, but with his sister by his side this time. 

-

“Tamar, would you defend me if Nikolai tried to turn me into a broodmare?” 

Zoya spit her tea out across the table, right onto Y/n’s shirt, who jumped, grabbing a cloth napkin to try and soak it up, glaring at the squaller, who only looked at her incredulously. 

“Did she just say that?” Zoya turned to Genya, who looked at the possible broodmare, sucking in her lips to keep from laughing. 

“It’s a genuine concern.” Y/n protested. 

“Saints, Y/n.” Nikolai spoke from the door. “You’ve asked her that every day for the last week, always when I’m in earshot. Is there something you’d like to ask me yourself? You’d make a pisspoor broodmare. For the record.” 

“No,” Y/n leaned her head back, tilting slightly to meet Tamar’s eyes with an easy grin on her face. “I’d rather ask Tamar.” 

Nikolai let out a long-suffering sigh. One he saved especially for her. Zoya had watched the whole interaction closely. Nikolai looked both annoyed and amused. Tamar went along with it, almost like it was a joke between them. Between them. No matter how much she’d poked and prodded, neither would say anything about a possible romantic relationship. 

“I’m sworn to protect her.” Tamar had emphasized. As far as she knew, sworn protectors didn’t need to stand that close. Or glare daggers at any men or women who looked at her a bit too appreciatively. Nikolai didn’t seem to care about it. 

-

Everything happened incredibly fast. One minute, she was on her horse, laughing at a joke Tamar told, the next she’s in her bed with a pounding headache, and pain radiating through every inch of her. Hushed voices spoke in the background, quieting as soon as she groaned. Her mouth was dry, and even opening her eyes felt like too great of a task.

“Can you hear me?” A strained voice sounded, “Y/n?” She can, she can hear them, but she can’t do anything - can’t move, can’t blink, can’t speak. With great effort, she shifts her hand slightly. By a sharp inhale, she can tell the motion is noticed. Saints, why can’t she just open her eyes? Her consciousness flickers out slowly, and she drifts back to sleep, the hushed, strained voice still haunting her. 

-

Tamar could barely sleep, could hardly think beyond how she failed. She failed y/n, failed her promise to Nikolai, and now she’s lying in her bed - deathly injured, and barely awake. Healers have been there around the clock, doing everything they can to keep the princess alive. 

“If you hadn’t gotten her back when you did …” One of them said to her, shaking her head as she walked off. Tamar could’ve throttled the woman. Was that supposed to make her feel better? If anything it made her feel worse. Knowing just how Y/n was, just how close she still is. 

“Any improvement?” Nikolai asked, hands in his pockets, strolling down the hall. To anyone else, he might’ve looked nonchalant, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the tight lines in his face. 

“Based on how you’re still pacing like a trapped tiger, I’d say no.” The attempted joke fell flat, both of them staring at the other. 

“I don’t blame you.” Nikolai said quietly. 

“That doesn’t matter.” Tamar stared back at the door, at the room she’d been kicked out of an hour ago. I blame myself, went unsaid. He didn’t bother trying to convince her otherwise, knowing it’s futile. 

-

“It’s been a week.” An unfamiliar voice spoke in a hushed tone. 

“I know.” Another said grimly. 

“I didn’t know.” Y/n grumbled, her voice hoarse. A shocked gasp sounded, and if she could she would have rolled her eyes. Saints, people are dramatic. At the moment, opening her eyes felt like the hardest thing she’s ever done, later she might admit she’s a tad dramatic. White ceilings, she squinted against the bright light in the room, hearing the sounds of curtains shutting. “That’s better.” She sighed. 

A warm, calloused hand gripped her gently, “Y/n.” Her voice sounded like a whisper, or maybe a prayer. She turned her head slightly, Tamar. At that moment, she decided that’s her favorite view to wake up to. One she’d like to see for the rest of her days. 

“Hi.” A half laugh half sob emerged from the woman’s throat, a grin fighting its way onto her face. “Don’t look so sad.” She pouted. 

“We need to see her.” An irritating voice grated against her ears. 

“You can see me fine from here.” She snapped. Her throat already feels rough and sore. From a few measly words. 

“Glad to see near death hasn’t dimmed your spirits.” Nikolai.

“So that’s what happened,” she mused. The mattress shifted, and Tamar sat next to her, hand still gripping hers. 

“I have to insist you clear the area.” The same irritating voice sounded, tittering across the room. 

“I have to insist you shut up.” She’s a princess, she can get away with this, right? “And leave.” 

Blood pressure skyrocketed from her left. Good, she’s glad she pissed the woman off. 

“Very well, your highness.” Footsteps padded out of the room, good riddance. 

“She was trying to help.” Tamar chastised, but she could tell she’s pleased. 

“You heal me.” 

She hesitated, but Nikolai snorted. “You heard the princess.” Y/n could sense there was something else Tamar wanted to say. 

“Nikolai leave.” 

“Glad to see you too.” He muttered, but sauntered out of the room. 

“I- I’m sorry.” Tamar said quietly. She looked heartbroken. 

“You have nothing to-”

“No.” She said insistently, “I swore to protect you.” 

“You what?!” 

“I made a promise to protect you, and I failed.” 

“Tamar,” y/n said quietly, “how did I get back to the castle?” 

“I brought you.” 

“What happened to the attackers?” 

“They’re dead.” Her voice hardened. 

“You did protect me. I’d be dead if I was out there alone.” Her hand gripped hers tighter. Y/n managed to raise her arm, with some effort, and kiss the back of her hand. A smile crossed the other woman’s face. “You didn’t fail.” She emphasized, and could tell Tamar didn’t really believe her, but something in her seemed to relax, a bit of tension left her shoulders. Tamar’s thumb ran over the back over her hand, and her heart started pounding and she bit nervously on her bottom lip and decided to bite the bullet, pushing up on her elbows. 

One hand gripped the back of Tamar’s head, pulling her down. A calloused hand gripped her cheek, meeting her halfway.

[candycryptids]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers ╰(´︶`)╯♡

;0;! Oh jeez ok ☀️ 😌

Frogs- this one might be kinda obvious I guess based on my blog title and all but I really like frogs and toads and tadpoles I think they’re really fascinating little critters and every time I learn something new about frogs it makes me feel all sparkly. Like they swallow when they blink- because their eyes go down into the body and it squishes food down their throat. Isn’t that WILD? Nature is so cool. (-unfortunately there’s one Toad I can’t stand because the way she carries her babies makes me freak out. Sorry Suriname Toad! If trypophobia is a problem for you don’t look her up 🥰)

Scented Plushies- I love… being able to smush my face into a soft plush animal and smell a pleasant smell. (I like sweet/fruity/pastry kinda smells) It’s like… IDK I have a bunch of them in my bed with me so I can pick one to cozy up with and it helps me sleep? (I have to sleep with a plush animal anyways, the way I sleep I’ll fuck up my shoulders if I don’t have Little Guy Support lol.) but also uh. Yeah Build A Bear has insertable smells and they last for like ever and they’re really pleasant ;; my favorite I think is their seasonal Pumpkin Spice, but I also really loved their other seasonal, Sunken Treasure, it was like, mango-y …

Pork Katsu- whenever we make it at home it’s kind of a special occasion cos it takes some doin, tryin stuff yk, but it’s always SO GOOD… we never have enough leftovers for Katsudon the next day lmfao. Oh there’s also a little restaurant inside the Hmart we go to, they do Katsu Sandwiches? And they come with a Fruit Sando too (it’s filled with seasonal fresh fruit and whip cream and it’s SO PRETTY and tastes SOOOO good.) gotta be one of my top tens of food (both kinda of sandwich LOL, but also just Pork Katsu. I group them together mentally as one thing in my brain 🤔)

Dark Chocolate Terry’s Orange - already drooling thinkin about that Winter only treat auuuuu…. It’s just so good, and it’s easy to snack off of for like, weeks. Cos you slap it on the table a bunch and it has a bunch of fake orange wedges made of dark chocolate to Nomf on. If you like chocolate and Orange you should try one once, I think they’re pretty great! I think some off-brands also makes like, ones with fillings like mint and raspberry? They’re pretty decent too from what I remember… (oops.. double food Happies. Well.! Food makes me happy!!!)

Leaving my Rambling Gushing Tags on peoples art also makes me really happy tbh it’s just not something I can condense into one-two words for the bold and color format I started - lol. But I for real get so excited seeing the stuff people create (I count gpose as art actually, it’s a creative outlet!!! Art!!) and I don’t have a LOT of art technical terms- it’s been a while since high school so I don’t even fully remember the terms they taught me back then- but I’m still like. Idk I see a cool shot, or a piece of art, and my heart becomes like, thunderstorm on the ocean, crash boom!!!!! So I write a bunch of tags pointing out what I like and what I think (with restraint, sometimes, I try not to thirst tag too heavily since I don’t want to make people uncomfortable and like. Block me LMFAO then I wouldn’t get to see their cool characters/art anymore yk) and I just. I hope it makes them happy too? But thinking that it might/does make them happy to get ramble excited tags (cos I do Lmfao) makes me really happy too? Idk. I just wanna put out good energy on people’s stuff. Encourage them to keep pursuing their hobbies? They cared enough to post it so others could see it which meant they wanted to show others, rather than not posting it all and keeping it to themselves, and, idk. This got really long LOL. I just have a lot of feelings about this i guess. Ty for sending this ask btw it’s been fun to answer ;w;

[olderthannetfic]

Hello, I’m a very anxiouse proshipper and I’m looking for guidence I guess. For context in 2016, I was a part of the undertale fandom, and the popular problematic ships at the time where frans and fontcest. When drawing fontcest, I got a horiffic message in my inbox, going into detaile about ilr animal abuse related to some fontcest art I drew, and I’ve been turned off to being openly proship since. Throught the years I’ve been feeling very fucked up about calling myself proship, or making anything problematic. At one point I drew vrabbit (fnaf), and HCed him as a pedo cuz that’s the most obviouse vibes he gave off. I never drew him doing anything pedophilic, though I did draw him around his own (killed and robotociced) kids, and got a callout post made on my (that has now since been half deleted, I say half because it was initially a post made under a keep reading, and that og post is gone, but reblogs of the post remain). Recently Encanto came out, and the new ship there was an uncle and neice ship of bruno and mirabel, so of course I drew some art about it, but was scared to post it. And when I finally did, some people got upset at me, understandably so, but instead of ppl just blocking me and leaving, they would confront me directly, saying my art was now tainted, or that they hated me for “normalizing their abuse” (i’ve been abused too, I think, I don’t know if it counts as “real abuse” anymore because it was just sexual assult, and that feels like it’s the bottom of the barrel in comparason to someone being raped on the daily). But it sucks, because I’ve always been into this stuff, I don’t know why, I don’t know if I’m coping, I don’t know if something’s severely wronge with me, I asked my therapist once and they said so long as it’s art, it shouldn’t matter and it’s fine, but I feel like a shitty human being on a near constant basis when I start thinking about it. I’ve remade my blog like 2 times already, I’m wondering if I should do it again, this time just be more clear that I’m proship, or if I should just shut the hell up, because I don’t want more people coming to me about irl animal death. Like I don’t even take these ships all that seriously, I’m just some ace guy putting my kinks onto characters, I don’t care that characters are naked cuz a body that doesn’t arouse me on it’s own, and I want to be able to hc characters as something horrible ontop of how horrible they already are, like vrabbit was litterally murdering children, who’s to say he’s not some repressed pedo trying to counteract that shit with child murder instead? Idk, I don’t know if any of this was consistent, I just want to know if I should even be worrying about this shit or not, if I should start over again, or if I should just give up and forget the ritual of making art and posting it online in the hopes that someone sees it and thinks “ah, I vibe with that”. I’m just, tiered, man. Sorry to come to you with all this shit.

--

Nonnie, I think you need to talk to your therapist again.

Humans have all kinds of wacky fantasies. Nothing especially bad ever happened to me, and I was looking at snuff stories on the internet as a 13-year-old. Nothing you're into is unusual, and the way you're engaging with it sounds pretty mild and no big deal.

If you feel awful on a daily basis, that's about anxiety or self esteem or depression, not any realistic reaction to your art. Your therapist needs to hear how much you're struggling.

I don't think you need to use the word 'proship' if you don't feel like it. I no longer use it for myself because it's far too tame and watered down for my actual views.

Remake or don't, but turn off all anon asks or the equivalent on every platform. Accept DMs only from people you follow. Block early and often. Post your stuff, but make it very clear you have a zero tolerance policy for jackasses.

[whitetrashjj]

ok i’m gonna sound like a bitch for saying this but i hate how not only in the obx fandom, but in all fandoms in general, when u first into the fandom u try and become close with the bigger creators that are friends with other big creators and for some reason u just get unnoticed or unwanted how do i explain? it’s not only on tiktok that i see it happening but still.. like girl i follow u and i’m being supportive of u and ur content and u just ignore me? one girl that had less followers than me (just an example) followed me back and i was SO happy, i had just gotten into the fandom and now i see that she unfollowed me :D girl-

Okayyyy. Let’s talk about this I guess

I joined this fandom on day one, instantly I became friends with a group that were also there and very active in the fandom, fic writers mainly. I’m guessing this is the group of ‘bigger creators’ you are talking about.

Now I admit - I don’t venture out of this group much these days. Not because I’m snubbing anyone but because I am damn busy. Most of my time I get for fandom is answering asks because it’s quick and easy. I try to get writing and gif making in there and when I comes to reblogging content it’s always stuff that my friend have sent to our chat and even then I don’t get to it. I barely read fic anymore, I once used to read the jiara tag like the morning paper and now I barely get in there. So I guess that seems like I only interact with those creators. I’m sure the same goes for a lot of them.

I think you need to take a moment to consider what my notifications look like. I appreciate the support and of course I recognise blog names but there’s a lot there for me to be considering every note that comes through. As for asks, 99% anonymous so even if it’s the same 2 people sending me asks I have no clue who it is. And again, there are so many I try and answer as many as I can.

As for ignoring you directly. I cannot remember the last time I got a dm from someone I don’t already talk to. I don’t care if a follow someone or not my dms are always open to anyone who wants to chat. I’m not great at responding quickly because of who I am as a person - and again, busy af. But I don’t ignore people. I need you to consider that if you want to make more connections in fandom you need to make the first step, especially if you are dealing with people who already have a lot of traffic in their blogs. There are very few people in the jiara fandom on here that I would consider unapproachable or that would snub you.

As for this blog. I don’t know who it is so I cannot comment on why they would unfollow you but personally I only unfollow people if I find them to be rude or disrespectful or I don’t like the way the post or interest with content (this one is not always personal). I’m confused how you say you get ingnored by bigger blogs but site that this one who unfollowed you has less followers?

Look I don’t know you and I don’t know your content or your experience. But I’ve had this before and I simply do not want to be blamed for ignoring people when I haven’t seen the active effort to get to know me or become my friend. I don’t have the time to be scrolling through every jiara blog and following and starting conversations with people I find cool but that does not mean I won’t respond well to people who reach out. I do not see myself more than anyone because of any note or follower count - perhaps don’t put the bigger blogs on a pedestal and just try and make connections with them