#based v loosely off of the song 'ten faced'

[appawling]

going back to my roots and drawing a lot of vocaloid lately, and using it as a way to practice perspective.

here's gumi!!!

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Why Wait?

Fandom: British Musician, British RPF, RPF, YUNGBLUD

Pairing: Dominic Harrison x Female Reader, YUNGBLUD x Female Reader

Characters: Dominic Harrison, Female Reader, YUNGBLUD

Word Count: 1689 // Rating: Explicit

Summary:  What do you say girl, we do something crazy

Tags/ Warnings: My Writing, Halloween Challenge, Writing Challenge, Songfics, Smut, YUNGBLUD, Tour, Touring, Las Vegas Shows, Las Vegas, P in V Sex, Vaginal Sex, Kissing, Fingering, Teasing, Needy Dom, Marriage, Proposals, Engagement, Engagement Rings, Reader’s Engagement Ring Looks Like This, Handjobs, Semi Public Sex, Sorta, Orgasms, Why Wait // Rascal Flatts

Notes:  This is part of my writing Challenge for Halloween 2022. All fics are based off of songs I love. The aim is to write one fic a day for 15 days straight. I’m doing a similar thing for Christmas but they will all be headcanons [requests welcome for that] Enjoy x  

Updated 8/23

15 DAYS OF SONGFICS FOR HALLOWEEN (OCT 15TH - OCT 31ST)

‘Fuckin class man,’ I heard Dom laugh a little way down the corridor as chatter ensued close by. I was sitting in the dressing room scrolling through my phone but I looked up when I heard his voice. He had just come off stage from his second show of the night and considering I had already seen the first [and all the others he’d done on this tour] I had opted to hang back to get ready since he had told me in no uncertain terms that we were definitely going out properly tonight. For the most part of our time in Vegas we’d stuck to our hotel and the casino that adjoined it. He was always busy so he didn’t have time to breathe let alone let loose on the strip, but tonight was our time to do that. Which is why I had opted to stay in his dressing room and get myself looking presentable. I’d never let him know that he’d been right and it had taken all of twenty minutes before I was ready and bored waiting for him.

As I placed my phone down the door opened and I spotted him lingering by it as he spoke to people I couldn’t see.

‘Yeah mate,’ he chuckled, ‘ten minutes yeah and I’ll be back out.’ ‘Meet in the bar?’ I heard someone say. ‘Yeah man,’ he smiled before he turned inside the room and caught sight of me. He kicked the door shut behind him as he came over to me with a bright smile and I stood up and allowed him to pull me into him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he kissed me. He was dripping with sweat, his hair sticking to his head as I ran my fingers through it. I couldn’t breathe, his arms were crushing me to him, but I didn’t care. Finally, he pulled away from me.

‘Hiya,’ I giggled. ‘Hi,’ he smirked, giving me another quick kiss. ‘Good show?’ I asked, reaching my hand so I could brush his sweaty fringe off of his face. ‘Fuckin brilliant,’ he said, ‘missed you though.’ ‘Like you’d even notice me over all those screaming fans,’ I chuckled. ‘Always do,’ he whispered before he leaned in and kissed me again. He pulled me closer again but his hands were now dancing underneath my shirt making goosebumps appear where his touch went. He kissed me deeper as I pushed him back towards the couch. As the backs of his legs hit the couch I pushed him down so he was sitting and shimmied my shirt off as I climbed onto his lap to straddle him. His hands caressed my chest, teasing my nipple with his thumb and forefinger as I kissed his jaw and neck roughly. I gasped as he pinched me hard which made him chuckle. I could feel him through my knickers, rigid against my core as he strained against his pants. I rocked my hips against him giggling as he grunted.

‘Don’t tease,’ he said in an entirely whiny voice. ‘I’ll stop teasing when you touch me,’ I said. I grabbed his hand and placed it under my skirt. He moved my underwear aside deftly as his fingers slid between already slick folds. I rocked against him enjoying the feeling of his rigid cock against my core and his fingers circling my clit. He placed one hand on the small of my back holding me in place as I leaned back enjoying the sensation. ‘Fuck,’ he grunted his hips bucking up against mine. I hadn’t even touched him yet and he was beside himself. ‘Want me to touch you, baby?’ I asked leaning forward and holding his face in my hands. He looked up at me with wide eyes and nodded. I leaned up onto my knees so there was space between us now and grabbed his hand so it was no longer touching me. Then I grabbed both of his hands and stationed them on my hips so he was holding me securely.

‘You’re not allowed to touch okay?’ I whispered kissing him again. He nodded. Then I fumbled with his pants until he was in my hand. He shivered as I ran my thumb across the tip which was now sticky from excitement. I massaged him gently in my hand watching as his head fell back against the couch and his eyes closed. Then, I carefully teased him through my pussy lips moaning as his head hit my clit. His eyes flew open as I did so, his pupils blown with lust. His hips bucked a little towards me as I did it again and I tutted, ‘needy.’

‘Please,’ he whimpered. I bit my lip as I used my free hand to caress his cheek. He leaned into it, kissing my wrist as I did. Then I positioned myself over him and eased myself gently down until he was all the way inside me. I moaned as I moved against him slowly at first taking all I could get. As I started to move quicker his breathing got a bit faster and his grip on my hips was hard enough that I was sure to have bruises there tomorrow.

My fingers went to my clit working it in rhythm with my movements. I was lost in the moment, enjoying the sensation when I looked down to find him watching me his gaze loving and full of lust.

‘Dom,’ I moaned as I felt my climax come over me. He was close behind me I could tell as his hips had started moving of their own accord meeting me with every thrust. ‘Fuck Y/N,’ he grunted as I rode it out like a wave meeting the shore. I fell against him, clinging to him as he pounded up into me solely focused on meeting me in bliss. I kissed him deeply my hand pressed tightly against his throat. And then he was cumming. He pulled his mouth away from mine burying his face in my shoulder as he attempted to muffle the sound of his moans.

As his orgasm faded he fell back against the couch, holding me as I lay against him, my head tucked into his neck. He grumbled as I pulled back.

‘One minute,’ I whispered kissing him on the cheek as I clambered off him, grabbing my shirt as I went to the small bathroom that adjoined the dressing room. I peed and cleaned myself up before checking myself in the mirror. Luckily our impromptu tryst hadn’t played too much havoc with my makeup.

When I left the bathroom he was already getting changed and I headed to the vanity to make myself a bit more presentable. I wiped the old now smudged lipstick away and replaced it, though I was sure it wasn’t going to last the night considering the mood Dom was in. I blended around my mouth and ran a comb through my hair and just as I finished I felt Dom come up behind me. His chin rested on my shoulder as he watched me.

‘Said you were needy,’ I chuckled making him laugh before he spun me around until I was facing him. ‘I know what I want,’ he said matter of factly. ‘Oh yeah, and what’s that?’ I challenged, hopping up onto the table so he was able to stand between my legs. ‘You,’ he said watching as I rolled my eyes, ‘I mean it.’ ‘Well you’ve got me,’ I said as I checked the time on my phone, ‘in fact less than five minutes ago you actually had me.’ ‘That’s not what I mean,’ he said simply. My eyebrows knitted together with confusion. ‘What are you going on about?’ ‘What would you say if I said let’s do something crazy?’ ‘I’d say what else is new,’ I giggled. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘seriously.’ ‘I’d say what is it?’ looking at him with bemusement, a smirk on my face. ‘Marry me.’

My mouth fell open as the words left his mouth. Had he really just said what I thought he had? My eyes roved his expression trying to figure out if there was a chance he was joking. He seemed serious.

‘Dom,’ I mumbled. ‘I mean it,’ he said, ‘why don’t we?’ ‘Just go and get married?’ ‘We’re in Vegas,’ he shrugged. ‘Yeah because everyone wants to get married by a bad Elvis impersonator,’ I said rolling my eyes. ‘It’s not like it’s not gonna happen one day,’ he reasoned, ‘I mean…you and me I sorta thought forever was a given.’ ‘It is,’ I said dropping my gaze. I had thought about it. I loved Dom more than anyone I’d ever loved but marriage just seemed a big next step. Especially to go and do right after the decision had been made. ‘So why wait?’ he said moving my hair out of my face. ‘Our friends, our family-’ ‘Will get over it. Weddings are a big hassle and I know our families. I don’t want anything but you and me,’ he said. ‘It’s all a bit fast,’ I said, ‘I mean there’s like things we need to think about.’ ‘There’s a hundred wedding chapels in town. We can find someone to witness it. Whatever you want to do I’m here for.’ ‘You’ve thought everything through huh?’ I said with a small smile. He smirked and I thanked God I was sitting down because I was sure that my knees would’ve buckled just looking at him. ‘Yep,’ he smirked. ‘Not everything though,’ I said turning my head away dramatically when I looked back he was watching me puzzled, ‘you’ve not even asked me to marry you yet. Not properly.’

‘Ah,’ he said pulling out of my grasp. He moved away and grabbed his discarded pants off of the floor fumbling with them for a minute. I watched him puzzled. Then he was back, pulling me off of the table so I was standing and dropping to one knee in front of me. Then he offered up a ring. I hadn’t realised until that moment how much he had thought this through. Most of our life was done living in the moment and I thought his marriage idea was nothing more than that but looking at him now I knew he was utterly and completely serious. My eyes roved over the ring he was holding in between his thumb and forefinger. A simple gold band with a stormy blue-grey diamond and of course, not in a ring box [that was way too straight-laced for him]. I had to admit though, it was beautiful.

‘Dom,’ I said thickly. ‘Y/N,’ he smiled, ‘will you marry me?’ ‘Of course I will.’

[expired-bat]

6 Meimei and any fine lady of choice

honestly i cant think of who to ship meimei with, so i came up w a mystery woman!!!

6 - Write about an intense kiss between your ship.

In the City That Never Sleeps, the nightlife is where it is to die for. The rest of the crew arrived to their designated club after a crazy show, getting their groove juices to spill onto the dancefloor. Meilin tried to push the heavy door open, but of course, Tony had to open it for her. She was the first to arrive, with the rest of her minions bandmates following suit. The neon lights danced around the room, casting vivid hues on the sea of bodies moving to the rhythm of the music. As she navigated through the crowd, Meilin couldn't help but feel the electric energy in the air.

She found herself at the bar, ordering a Manhattan to steel her nerves. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, and Meimei was ready to set loose. Drink in hand, she made her way to the dance floor, where the sea of bodies was in constant motion. She sees Ryan and Tony and made her way to them, seeing that they're the only two that will protect her (just in case some dickhead spiked her drink).

Meilin took a sip of her drink, watching the two having their little "dude-bro" moment of dancing on each other. How they managed to click without being in love, she doesn't know. She's aware of their benefits for one another, being that neither of them wouldn't shut up when she tried to go in the bathroom one too many times.

As the beats throbbed, Meilin moved with the music, losing herself in the vibrant energy. She felt her eyes on her. A man, she thought, a vile, disgusting, poor excuse of a man. When turned, she locked gazes with a enigmatic yet sexy woman. She is tall, with curves all in the right places and alluring brown eyes in the shape of almonds. Her hair is dark, long, and straightened, her skin in the color of chestnut, and her face painted in bold makeup. Her black dress hugs onto her curves, displaying her cleavage from the deep v-neck. Her eyes held a magnetic pull that drew the frontwoman in.

Meilin nudged Tony, shoving her Manhattan to his chest. The bassist was a bit bewildered that his bossgirl gave him her drink.

Without exchanging words, the woman joined Meilin on the dancefloor, seamlessly moving inn rhythm with her. The air was thick with anticipation, and as the base dropped, the two women shared an unspoken understanding. The dance became an intimate conversation, bodies speaking a language that transcended words.

Meilin's heart raced as the woman's hand grazed hers, sending shivers down her spine. the pulsating music surrounded them, drowning out the rest of the world. In the dimly lit club, their connection deepened, each movement conveying a shared desire.

Without hesitation, the woman leaned in, her lips capturing Meimei's in a passionate kiss. Her world faded away as the kiss deepened, the heat between them escalating. It was a moment suspended in time, the merging of two souls in the heart of the pulsating nightclub.

The kiss broke as the song reached another beat drop, leaving Meilin breathless and exhilarated. The woman offered a playful smile before disappearing into the crowd, leaving the frontwoman standing there, heart pounding, with the taste of her lips still lingering.

"Wheeeewwww, Meimei!"

Her head turned to see Ryan holding his phone in flash and Tony snickering behind him. Her face instantly turned red and stomped her heels towards him.

"HEY!! TURN THAT SHIT OFF!!!"

Like a kitten playing with it's toy, she reaches up high to snatch his phone from his hands, with the men laughing their asses off from her poor attempts to. It instantly ended when she stomped her heel onto the goth's toe, making him screech and drop his phone onto the grimy floor, shattering the screen. She snatches her drink from Tony's hand, chugging it all and going to the bar to order something stronger, probably ten shots of Fireball to forget the night.

[ladyartemesia]

The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and  @untaemedqueen​  were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago 

——◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman. 

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting. 

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner. 

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit’ the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen. 

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably. 

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’  wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up. 

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t. 

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good. 

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked. 

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point. 

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning. 

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away. 

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms. 

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.” 

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas. 

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in. 

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him. 

Not bloody likely. 

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods. 

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end. 

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine. 

He gulped. 

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly. 

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.” 

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words. 

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.” 

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.” 

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity. 

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. 

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.  

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle. 

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold. 

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power. 

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body. 

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek. 

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered. 

Please touch me, Alpha. 

Your eyes widened. 

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy. 

“You might desire it, but you are far too  honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily. 

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now. 

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple. 

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy. 

He will do no such thing. Please calm down. 

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them. 

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad. 

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her. 

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave. 

No. 

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze. 

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega. 

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply. 

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed. 

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow. 

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo. 

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might. 

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another. 

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together. 

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire. 

Yes, Alpha. 

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness. 

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace. 

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. 

And then you were gone. 

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury. 

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry. 

“No,” you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you. 

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head. 

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity. 

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.”  He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best. 

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you. 

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you. 

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek. 

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them. 

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head. 

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words. 

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them. 

“Well...I suppose they can.”  Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart. 

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess. 

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars. 

You were not like everybody else. 

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

——◐——

Now 

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind. 

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle. 

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours. 

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent. 

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of. 

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp. 

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them. 

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you. 

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you. 

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars. 

The alphas followed him without question. 

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done. 

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed. 

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin. 

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—  

I’m coming Omega—hold on. 

I’ll find you. 

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze. 

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived. 

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect. 

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements. 

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now. 

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else... 

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack. 

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so. 

Why would they challenge us now? 

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least. 

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn… 

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did. 

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves. 

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas. 

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive. 

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack. 

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke. 

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground. 

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground. 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws. 

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree. 

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon. 

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth. 

Luna are you okay? 

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists. 

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you. 

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist. 

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas. 

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes. 

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it. 

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate. 

By the time he saw you it was far too late. 

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing. 

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt. 

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes. 

For a moment all was quiet. 

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word. 

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable. 

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe. 

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss. 

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs. 

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else. 

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

If you are already on the taglist, then I will automatically tag you for the next part! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Please tell me what you thought of this update! I am really excited to hear your thoughts! Feedback really does fuel my writing and hearing from you means a lot to me! On days that its hard to write, I go back and I read your lovely words and it makes me want to keep going! I cannot overstate its value in my heart! Seriously this story keeps going because you guys have been so supportive and wonderful. You have no idea how much just a few word can brighten my world and fire up my muse. 

[gloomybabygirl]

{finally} Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: hi writers block how are ya??? okay so i have several fics that are WIP rn and I keep starting them and not being able to finish because they need to be mini series!! so today i told myself i needed to get something complete out or i’d burst and here it is lol. also I use a random name in here, i’m so sorry if it’s your name!!

A/N again: tag list is open!! message me if you want to be on my little drabble tag list :)

Warnings: language, alcohol, pining, some angst, friends to lovers trope that I can’t get away from, mentions of sex, THIS WON’T BE EDITED TILL TOMORROW MORNING

World Count: 2600 oops

Summary: You get drunk and Poe takes care of you

The music was blaring through the speakers at the local Cantina, the lights somehow blinding you with their flashing but not bright enough for you to see who you were grinding on. 

Hey, it was okay to let loose sometimes, right? Being at war is stressful and occasionally you would allow yourself one or two drinks at the Cantina with your friends. But your friends left you hours ago. And you had way more than 2 drinks. You were now on the dance floor with another drink and no shoes on, dancing with someone who’s face you couldn’t properly make out. Was it because of the light or the alcohol? Probably both. 

You finally sat back down at the table when the alien you were dancing with got mad because you spilled your drink on him. But you weren’t about to let that kill your buzz. How did you get up on the table? Doesn’t matter, you were here now. Arms snaking above your head and hips moving in what you imagined was a provocative way. You felt a tap on your bare foot and looked down to see an angry looking security guard. 

“Miss, we need you to get down off the table now.” He held out his hand to help you down. 

You slumped down in your booth. “You guys ruin all the fun.” 

“We’re closing here in about 10 minutes. Are you going to be able to get back home safely?” He asked.

Shit. You had only been on this planet a few days as the base had recently moved there. This was everyone’s first night at the Cantina and you were too many drinks in to know how to get back to base on your own. 

You must have looked confused because the security guard offered you an old communicator. “You have someone who can come pick you up?”

You bit your lip. You knew Jess or Kare could pick you up but they wouldn’t be happy about it. You slowly dialed the only person who wouldn’t be mad, taking your time to make sure you entered the right ID.

“Poe?” You asked into the phone when it stopped ringing.

“Yeah baby? Where are you?” You felt your heart leap out of your chest. You loved it when he called you baby. Even if you two weren’t exactly official. And you were pretty positive he had brought another girl home that night. Things were... complicated. You wanted so badly to tell Poe how much you cared about him and how you wanted to be his, but you were certain that wasn’t what he wanted. So, you took what you could get. Occasional sex in a storage closet accompanied by his friendship sprinkled with holding hard in secret and stolen forehead and nose kisses.  

“I’m still at the Cantina and I don’t remember how to get back to base. Can you come get me?” You really hoped he wasn’t with another girl. 

You heard laughing on the other end. 

“I’ll see you in ten minutes drunkie.” You heard the line click and felt a smile creep up on your face as you handed the communicator back to the security guard. At least he wasn’t mad. You felt yourself sway in your seat to the next song that came on and got up to dance. 

Ten minutes later, you felt someone grab your hips and start dancing with you. 

“How many drinks have you had baby? I’ve never seen you dance like this.” You heard Poe’s voice in your ear and his breath on your shoulder sent shivers down your spine. 

“Not sure at this point. Want to see how I was dancing before you came?” You spun around and started walking towards your table, climbing onto it again. 

As soon as you started dancing again your felt Poe reach up to grab your hand. You looked down at his beautiful worried face. 

“Hey, hey get down from there, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He pulled you down towards him and you leaned in to kiss him, hard. 

“Fine, but only because you’re a good kisser.” You laughed as he helped you down. 

“Um, where are your shoes?” Poe asked, looking down at your bare feet, sore from dancing. 

“I- uh... Don’t remember? I may have given them to some creep for 20 credits.”

“Maker, you’re wasted. Okay, let’s go back to base.” He reached around your legs and lifted you up into his arms, your arms automatically going around his neck as he walked out of the Cantina into the cold air. 

You nuzzled in closer to his neck, deeply breathing in his scent, not at all concerned that you were definitely being a creep. 

“You smell good,” you said into his neck, making him laugh at you.

“You’re funny when your drunk.” 

Suddenly you didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “Poe?” you asked, looking at him now.

“Yeah baby?” He cocked an eyebrow at you, already smiling, more than ready to hear what drunk you had to say next. 

“Where you with another girl tonight? I saw you flirting with that new recruit all night.” 

He didn’t drop his smile, but his eyes softened at your question. Of course he hadn’t slept with another girl tonight. He hadn’t slept with another girl in months. Not since he realized he was in love with his best friend. And for Poe, being in love in the middle of a war was less than ideal. Meaningless sex was one thing. Having someone he loved waiting for him to come home when he might not make it? That was another thing entirely. He was already mad enough at himself for getting so close to you and Finn in the first place. Although, he wasn’t in love with Finn. 

“No baby, I went back to my quarters alone.” 

“Oh. I thought you would have banged her. She’s prettier than some of the other girls you bring home.” 

Ouch. Is that what she thinks? I just sleep with everyone? My own damn fault for giving her that impression. 

“Not as pretty as you though,” he glanced at you to see your reaction, which was to bury your face in the crook of his neck. He could say that because you wouldn’t remember in the morning, right? 

He finally made it to the hallway leading to his quarters. 

“In fact, to prove it, want to have a sleepover tonight? Don’t worry, I’m not taking advantage of your drunkenness. No sex, I promise.” He was dumb to have started having sex with you in the first place. He couldn’t help it though, his feelings for you were so strong he needed to express them somehow. 

“Sleepover!” You giggled, making his heart swell. 

You loved when Poe asked you to sleep in his room or vise versa. Usually it meant sex which was always incredible, followed by sleeping in his arms. That was the best part about the arrangement. He let you stay in his arms all night, stroking his fingers through your hair and using his other hand to keep you securely pressed to him. 

He opened the door to his quarters and laid you down on the bed before going to grab you a shirt to sleep in. He tossed it at your face when he found it. 

He fucking loved seeing you in his shirts. Especially when you had just woken up in his arms, hair messy, eyes bleary with sleep. He’d give you every shirt he owned if it didn’t mean facing the General half naked. He watched, not so bashfully (or discreetly), as you stripped down and slipped on his shirt. 

“Are you gonna stand there staring all night or are you coming to bed?” You asked, knowing damn well what stripping in front of him was accomplishing. 

“Uh, yeah baby just give me one second.” He said rushing into the refresher to splash cold water on his face. Not sleeping with you was going to be harder than he had anticipated. 

You laid in Poe’s bed, waiting for him to come back and started looking around his room for a little orange droid, who was charging for the night. While you were sweeping your eyes over the room, you noticed a small slip of paper on Poe’s nightstand. Drunk and shamelessly curious, you let it fall open in your hand.

ID: RS- 4589 v. 909

Camryn <3

You felt your stomach drop. Camryn was the new recruit. So he hadn’t brought her back to his quarters, but he had gotten her Communicator ID. So much for being prettier than her. In your drunken state, you began to cry over that stupid pilot with his stupid beautiful face. Damn him. 

Of course he came back before you could wipe your tears away. 

“Woah, baby what’s wrong? What happened?” He came to sit next to you on the bed, but you moved away, pushing him off before he could sit down. Hearing him call you ‘baby’ made everything sting so much more. Why did he have to call you pet names and be so sweet? Did he want to make you want him? Was this all just some stupid game? Did he even care about you at all? 

That’s when it hit you. He didn’t care about you. How could he? If he cared about you, he wouldn’t just fuck you when it was convenient for him and then act like best buddies in the mess hall the next day. He wouldn’t call you ‘baby’ knowing it makes you think there could be something more, when there would never be. He wouldn’t keep you on the line by holding your hand under the table and kissing you on the forehead and letting you sleep in his room. He only did all of that so you’d keep being an easy go-to fuck buddy. You felt a fresh wave of tears falling hard from your eyes and you got up to leave. 

Poe was not about to let that happen. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to him even though you were struggling to get away from him as much as possible. 

“Baby, please stay. Let’s talk, what happened, what did I do?” He put every ounce of worry he had in his voice to make you listen and see that he was genuinely concerned. 

It worked. You made you way back to his bed and stood in front of it. Bu you didn’t want him to win this game he was playing. You just stood in front of his bed as a new wave of tears hit you. You crumpled to the floor, sobs wracking through your body. 

“Oh, baby no, don’t cry. I hate it when you cry. Please, tell me what’s hurting you so I can fix it.” He crouched down and sat in front of you on the floor, holding both your hands in his warm large ones. He waited patiently for your breath to even out until the sobs left you shivering on the floor. He fucking hated seeing you hurting like this. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and collect you in his arms and pull you onto his lap, holding you until you were ready to talk. 

You stilled, no fresh tears coming out. 

“Why are you crying baby?” He softly whispered. 

“Because no one cares about me.” You said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, not meeting his eyes.

Had Poe heard you right? How could you think no one cared about you? He cared about you more than anything in the world. He wanted now more than ever to convey that to you. He stood up, waking away from you a few feet. He couldn’t bare to see you this upset when he could fix it. And couldn’t. 

“Poe?” You sweet voice made him turn around, still angry with himself for falling in love with you in the first damn place. 

Kriff, you thought he was mad at you. He could tell by the look he had caused on your beautiful face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad. I just... I saw that Camryn gave you her ID. And... I don’t know I guess I got jealous.” You finished, looking down at your feet. 

Oh. Oh. “Kriff. Kriff, kriff, kriff. I’m so stupid.” Poe was tugging at his thick curls and walking around the room in frustration. It hit him that you thought he didn’t care about you because he had spent all this time making sure he didn’t let his feelings show too much. Turns out all he did was lead you on. 

“Poe? Why are you mad?” You asked timidly. 

He spun on his heel to look at you, “Because I care about you!” he yelled, “So damn much it hurts! And now I’ve hurt you because I was trying to protect you. I never let myself show you how much I care about you because I never wanted it to turn into anything serious. But I did. I really, really did. But I couldn’t let you get too close to me because I can’t stand the thought of someone I love waiting for me to come home from a mission I may not come back from.” 

His voice was weak by the end of his explanation. When you started crying again, he crossed the room in two long strides and pulled you onto his lap, cradling your head to his chest and kissing the top of your hair. 

“I’m sorry I led you on sweetheart. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you by trying to protect you. And now I’ve hurt you anyway. I just... I would hate for you to be here waiting for me to come home when I could be captured by the First Order or in a ditch somewhere in the Outer Rim. I could never leave someone I love behind like that.” 

You moved to wrap your arms around his neck and look up at him. That was the second time he said ‘love’. 

He looked at you with those sweet brown eyes, so full of love and sadness. “But here I am, in love with you and running that risk anyway.” He looked down, not wanting to meet you eyes after confessing his love for you multiple times. 

“Poe.” He didn’t look up. “Poe, baby.” You tilted his chin up gently to meet your eyes. 

“I don’t care about all that. I deal with the worry of you not making it home already. It’s terrifying, yes. But whatever time we have together, I’d rather spend it loving you properly and worrying if you’ll get home rather than holding back my love for you. And still worrying if you’ll get home. It’s worth it if we can be together, really together, for whatever amount of time we have.” 

He looked at you for a second more before dipping his head down to kiss you softly on the lips. He tried to convey every single ounce of love he had for you into the kiss, and you could feel it all the way in your toes. 

“So can we be together? Properly now?” you asked, still nervous he would say no. 

“Absolutely baby.” He stood up, carrying you with him to bed. He laid you down gently and slid into bed next to you, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as possible. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, nose, and both eyes with every declaration of love. 

“I love you too, Poe Dameron,” you whispered against his lips, kissing him once more before nuzzling into the crook of his neck and breathing in deeply. His scent got you more drunk than all the alcohol you had that night. 

He kissed the crown of your head and whispered, “Finally.” Bringing you impossibly closer to him as you drifted off to the steady beating of his heart. 

[harringtonstudios]

space cake.

plot: being machine gun kelly’s personal assistant comes with some interesting experiences.

A/N: NON-CON DRUG USE!! this was loosely based off something irl LMAO, enjoy ;) v long oops 

please send in any prompts! 

taglist: @iamdorka​ @no-shxt-sherl​ @bakerkells​

Being Machine Gun Kelly’s personal assistant was a unique job. There wasn’t a clear line of duties, and often you would find yourself driving around aimlessly, waiting on a text from the man himself. You’d been hired a few months ago, and it had been so easy to fall into a routine with Colson. He was surprisingly cool for a talented musician, and you’d soon learned that he was looking for more of a chill vibe than the other artists you had worked for. 

In past jobs, you were required to constantly attend to any needs. With Colson, it was more of having your phone on and being in the area in case of emergencies. There were always those days where he would send you a grocery list, and then an hour later, you’d be standing in his kitchen with a mixture of vegetables making dinner. Other days, he’d send you an address, and you would pick up his weed for the week. Sometimes, he’d ask for your help with his room, but you would always grimace and he’d wave it off, knowing that his room was a disaster zone. 

A couple of times he had hit you up to just sit on his couch while he played new songs on his speakers. Those days were your favorite, because you’d both sit in silence, him blowing smoke from his joint and you sipping on whatever drink you’d created in his bar. He would always wait for the song to finish, and then look over at you and raise an eyebrow. You relished in his music, and it was easy for you to tell him any opinions you had. He’d always take them seriously, scribbling notes down. After a good music session, you always felt a little bit closer to Colson, slow electricity building in the air. But you would always remind yourself to shake it off, bringing back distance between the two of you. This was a job, and even if he couldn’t tell, you needed this and you weren’t going to risk it for just anything.

-

You were standing in line for hot dogs when your phone buzzed twice. Both messages were from Colson, the first one had a list of ingredients and the second one had an address with a few leaf emojis. You sent him back a thumbs up before ordering your food and googling the random address he sent. It was a ten minute drive from the grocery store and you climbed into your car, eating one of the best hot dogs they offered in LA.

Grabbing the ingredients Colson had sent you, you pieced together his plans for the night. He was gonna bake a cake? He wanted a shit-ton of eggs, a few tubs of frosting, and boxes of cake mix. A part of you wanted to try and see if you could bake with him, but professional boundaries existed and you needed to maintain them.

- 

A few minutes later, you knocked on the door of the other address, “Hey, here for Kells,” you said to the man standing there. He nodded over at you before walking into his house. You stayed in the doorway as he walked back up to you, giving you a large cardboard box. The box was heavy, and you huffed as you balanced it in one hand before getting in your car, driving off. 

Parking in Colson’s driveway was difficult. There were cars filling up the space, and you could already hear the music coming from inside. Sighing, you decided to open the cardboard box to try and put some of the groceries inside of it. Right off, you regretted opening it. Packets of weed stared right up at you, and your eyes widened at the amount of drugs you’d been carrying. You quickly closed it back up and stacked a few cake mix boxes on top of it. Grabbing everything in your hands, you tried to efficiently close the door, determined not to make a second trip. 

Kicking the front door open, you waddled over to the kitchen counter. It was already covered with solo cups and alcohol bottles and you grew more confused about why anyone wanted to bake in the middle of what seemed to be a party. 

“Hey, Y/N! You’re back,” Colson shouted from across the room. 

You waved him over and started moving all the empty cups into the trash. Coming up behind you, he grabbed the box over your head. 

“Fuck yeah. This is gonna be the best night ever,” he muttered as you turned around to face him. 

“What’s all this even for?” you questioned as he giddily moved around the ingredients on the counter. 

“Don’t worry about it, you’re good to leave if you wanna,” he waved it off and you side stepped as he tried to move closer to the counter. Giving him full access, you grabbed your jacket and turned around to view the scene unfolding in front of you. 

The guys were all in various states of drunk, fumbling around the living room. Slim and Rook were assembling the frosting tubs in a line and you could tell it was going to be a night full of antics. A part of you desperately wanted to stay, to play along with the guys, knock a couple of drinks back and help them bake this disaster of a cake, but messing around with your employer’s friends wasn’t going to do you any favors, so you waved goodbye and walked out for the night. 

-

Two hours later, you were sitting in a bar. Your friends had set you up on a blind date, eager to get you back on the playing field. You didn’t have time in your randomized schedule to go out and dates always made you a little uneasy. 

A few minutes later, you felt a tap on your shoulder. “Y/N? Hey, nice to meet you,” the guy reached his hand out. You shook his hand, but already could feel yourself grimacing internally. It wasn’t that this guy was unattractive, it was more like he just wasn’t your type. He was dressed in a button down and khakis at a bar, it just didn’t work for you. You braced yourself for an evening of careless small talk and grabbed your drink as he led you to a table. 

Half an hour into the date, which was as boring as you’d anticipated, your phone buzzed. At first, you reached for it, but your date threw an unkind glance, so you brushed the notification off. A few minutes later, you got a few more buzzes and then a phone call. Your date threw another look at you. You smiled sweetly before picking up the phone. 

“Y/N! I need you to come over now,” Colson shouted over the noise through the phone. You pulled it back from your ear, before bringing it back. 

“Is everything okay?” you mumbled into the phone. 

“Yeah. Nooo. We’re out of alcohol,” he whined on the other end. 

You rolled your eyes, and spared a glance at your date who was picking at his teeth. Maybe this was a good thing, an excuse to leave this terrible date. 

“Sorry, something’s come up at work and I gotta head over,” you reached for your bag. Not particularly waiting for a response, you pushed in your chair and walked out of the bar. 

-

Walking to the corner store, you purchased a few bottles of Jameson and ordered a Lyft to Colson’s house. 

People were dancing all around, and you spotted Colson sitting on his kitchen counter. There was an impressive looking cake placed next to him, covered in different colors of frosting. You placed the new bottles next to the cake. 

“Fuck yeahhhh!” Colson fist bumped you as you hid your purse under the counter. Grabbing a cup you decided to get a little more drunk tonight. Honestly, you deserved it after sitting through that hellish date. 

Rook cut the cake into pieces to much celebration and soon enough, you had a fork in your hand. Reaching over to share with Colson, he snatched his plate away. 

“Hey no, I wanted that,” you grabbed for it. 

“No cake for you,” he responded and walked away. You stuck your tongue out behind his back before taking your fork and reaching into someone else's plate. 

Taking a few bites, it hit you that the cake tasted terrible. The flavor profile was just off. Everyone still seemed to be eating it, so you brushed it off and took a couple more bites for good measure. 

-

Half an hour later, you bumped into Colson as you walked up the stairway. He looked over at you, grinning until he caught sight of your face. “Y/N? Oh fuck, did you eat the cake,” he rushed out as he grabbed hold of your wrists.

“Yeah, haha. What gave it away?” you responded as you swayed a little. He cursed under his breath before looking around at the swarm of people moving around his house.

“Is there frosting on my mouth? What,” you started as he pulled you along. Following him upstairs, you smiled at the people dancing alongside his walls. Tripping over your own feet, you snatched back your wrists from his grip. 

“Dude, where are we going?” you asked as he moved people in front of him. 

“My room,” he answered and you hadn’t been this confused in a while. Colson knew you hated going into his room. He looked a little frantic, so you brushed your disgust off and stood behind him as he pulled the key out from his pocket. 

Moving into his room, you heard the music muffle itself as the door closed. There were clothes strewn everywhere, and you could see his luggage opened in a corner, things spilling out of it. Grimacing, you kicked a couple of things aside as you walked over to his bathroom. You didn’t feel too good. 

Splashing your face with cold water, you gasped. Everything around you was looking sharper, and you felt your heartbeat rabbiting as you gripped the sink. Your mind was racing, and you tried to take a deep breath as the world tilted just a little.

“What the fuck, what the fuck,” you breathed out as you closed your eyes. 

“Y/N, you okay?” Colson called out from behind the door. You looked back up in the mirror as your heart continued thudding against your chest.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled out. Your eyes looked hazy, and you touched your cheek, trying to feel your face. 

“Hey, it’s going to be fine. Open the door yeah?” you heard him say and you closed your eyes again. You couldn’t really walk, so you sat down on the floor. You shifted yourself to the door and reached up to turn the knob. He stumbled in and saw you on the floor, eyes shut. 

He sat across from you, legs crossed and you could feel his fingers run over your hands. “Hey, hey I’m here,” he murmured. 

“Colson, what’s going on?” you whispered. 

“So, um that cake you ate? It was laced. We wanted to make a space cake,” he responded and you opened your eyes. 

“A space cake, what the fuck is that,” you bit your tongue as your hands shook a little.

“Weed. A shit-ton of weed in that cake. I know you don’t smoke, it probably hit hard,” he explained.You exhaled, and took your hands out of his. Placing them on your thighs, you pushed down a little.

 “Let me get this straight, you made a cake edible, which I ate. And now I am high,” you muttered out, staring at his hands across from you. 

“Yeah, basically,” his hands twitched and you reached over for them again. Your heart seemed to relax when you could feel the weight of his fingers with yours. 

“I don’t smoke because the last time I did, I got crazy paranoid. Bad trip,” you whispered as you played with his hand. Continuing, you blurted out, “I didn’t want you to see all that.” 

“If it makes you feel better, I am really high right now,” he whispered back and you laughed a little. It did help, Colson could handle his weed better than you, but at least you weren’t the only one tripping. 

“Can I hold you,” he murmured, “you’re shaking.”

You looked up at his face and he looked so sincere. Nodding, you leaned in closer as he scooted over to where you were. You turned around, facing the wall as he wrapped his arms around you. His heartbeat was steady, calming, and you felt it against your back. 

“I didn’t want this to ever happen,” you mumbled as you stared at the chipping paint on the corner. 

“I can leave,” he started and you felt his arms move from around you. 

“No!” you shouted a little, and he paused. 

“Shit, I- okay look. I just didn’t want to get this close to you. You’re my boss and I need this job and I can’t actually like you,” you stumbled out. 

He was quiet for a beat and then he whispered, “You like me?” 

The tone in his voice was softer than you’d expected and his arms relaxed against you.

“No, never pfft. Why would I? You’re annoying and you never actually eat any fruits and you’re just terrible,” you rambled on and you could feel him laughing behind you.

“Oh, you totally have a crush on me,” he barked out between his laughs. 

“Shut up,” you felt hot all of a sudden and you closed your eyes again. 

“It’s all good. Honestly, I might like you too. There’s just something about you. It’s why I always wanna hear your thoughts on my stuff. You matter to me,” he said as he moved his thumbs over the back of your hand. 

You didn’t respond. Trying to get his words out of your head, you focused on the feeling of his thumb. After a few minutes of silence, you spoke out.

“Is there anyway I can sleep here tonight?”

“In my messy bed? I thought you hated this room,” he said, leaning his head against the back of yours. 

“It’s disgusting here. I just- I don’t wanna go back out there,” you sighed out. 

“Yeah, of course you can stay here Y/N,” and you turned around to see his grin. 

Even though you were tripping on some serious space cake, you found yourself smiling back. You’d deal with this in the morning, right now all you wanted was a warm bed and Colson Baker’s arms around you.

[heathered-beinn]

BTS American Hustle Life Ep6

Ep 5 recap:

BTS are still in LA learning about hip hop. After their lyric challenge last episode, they had a little party (bbq) with Warren G to celebrate. Over dinner Warren G asked them if they got to spend much time with their friends and family and we learned the heart-breaking truth that they don’t and that it’s been 2 years since some of them have even been home.

The episode’s challenge was to shoot a music video and their task was to find some women to appear in the video. Cue some hilarious and cringeworthy moments as 7 terrified lads combed the streets trying to speak to the opposite sex. The filming was equally – if not more - hilarious to watch.

Onwards and upwards…

So they are still filming and straight away Jungkook is getting himself into some mischief. I laughed when the stylist hurried out yelping to get out of there because he doesn’t have a spare outfit.

Jungkook makes it back to solid ground and starts recording his self-cam again. ROFL at him running away squealing when one of the ladies plays up to his camera.

Now the ladies are in bikinis and sunbathing and the groups have to sit next to them and film. I almost couldn’t breathe from laughing especially when V, Jungkook and Suga walking away pretty swiftly after they’d finished; Jungkook saying he nearly *died* back there. And Suga grinning like he’d just been released from prison and saying he’s relieved it’s over. I really never expected Suga to be so nervous of women! He’s usually so chill.

Lol at the three of them watching Jin and J-Hope filming with the ladies (and acting fairly naturally) and Jungkook wondering how they can have fun like that as he thought his heart was going to explode and he’d die *crying with laughter emoji*

 Ah, it was really no surprise that J-Hope won the challenge. He was the only one who had fun, could get within a foot of a women and not look two seconds from shitting himself LMAO.

His and Jin’s reward for being the winning team was a collectible figurine/model of their choice? Cool!

Next day…

So Jin and J-Hopes next challenge is to find their beat box master but they have to beat box in the street to draw them out? I totally agree J-Hope, it’s utterly embarrassing. Yep, I had a little fast forward through that.

So they find their master, Fraahz and go back to his place where he goes through the basics of beat boxing with them. Their attempts are cute, although I think that microphone may need to be turned upside down to drain the spit ewwwwww looooooooooooooooooool.

Elsewhere, RM and Jimin’s task is to find their dance master – lol at RM’s pained reaction at having to dance again

Oooooh they’re going to learn some bboying! Wow, Jimin picks it up pretty well – I always thought he was a good dancer (since he led the dance class in Carpool Karaoke) that’s why I was surprised that J-Hope was considered the band’s best. RM does a pretty good job too! They really are such a cute duo. It’s quite a unique friendship they have – hard to describe. Bet they’re knackered after that dance session though.

Yep! Well… RM is knackered.

V(?) teasingly trying to wake him up and RM kicking his leg in retaliation. This band really do act like brothers. It’s like they’ve lived together since they were born.

Lol at Jin and J-Hope repeatedly bursting into giggles as they fail time and time again to get through their beat box and meditation practice.

****************************************** 

It’s the next morning  and RM and Jimin meet their dance teacher in the park for a little exercise (although they claim they didn’t know it was for exercise).

AHAHAHAHA RM almost dead after running a couple of laps. To be fair it’s probably scorching outside which won’t help. LMAO, the dance teacher putting the weight jacket on Jimin as the exercise was too easy for him. Poor Jimin and RM look absolutely floored by the end – I hope the walk back to the dorm isn’t too far for those tired little legs.

They’re back in the dance studio later on and poor RM get’s hit in the head by Jimin’s foot – aww. RM gets revenge by slapping a high five to Jimin’s hand/wrist extremely hard *crying with laughter emoji*. I love these lads so much <3 They are such characters.

Jin and J-Hope meet Fraahz again in the park to go over their beatboxing practice. I was impressed that they managed to get through the meditation without bursting into giggles. That part with them turning animal sounds into beats was hilarious.

******************************************** While the others are working with their masters V, Suga, and Jungkook are chilling at the dorm watching basketball and Jungkook is pretending to shoot people with a tablet… Lol, here comes Tony and N to spoil their fun! What are the three of them going to get? RnB!

Wait whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?! Hold the **** phone. Did they just say they’ve never heard of Whoopi Goldberg????!!! I ain’t from the states either man but she is a l-e-g-e-n-d. These three lads need to sit down and watch Sister Act 1 and 2 STAT.

Iris Stevenson, the woman Sister Act 2 is based on, is such an inspiration.

OMG they are going to get to do some gospel singing! *squeal*

Wow, Jungkook, you have such a nice voice <3 What an absolute cutie.

This was a great thing for the 3 of them to do. Not only was Iris’s happy and motherly soul something I think they desperately needed but, from what the lads were saying afterwards, I think musically it was important they learned how to feel love for singing again. The amount of practice they had to do as trainees – and no doubt still have to do - and the type of practice, as well as the stress of trying to ‘make it’ seems to have taken a lot of joy away from their art. And that is a real shame. If you don’t like what you’re doing, if your heart isn’t in it, then how can you possibly be happy? You certainly won’t be the best you can be!

Aww V has a wonderful voice for this kind of music too. But he’s not feeling well :( You need to rest up sweetie.

Iris is such a lovely and amazing woman.

Go V and Suga bragging about how great Iris is <3 Wonderful lads.

Okay, so they are going to each show off what they’ve been learning and then score themselves out of 100 “fairly”. Why do I get the feeling that “fair” will be used very loosely lol.

J-Hope and Jin did well with beat boxing although I think Jimin and RM were a little harsh with giving them a score of 69. Bet that gets reciprocated when it’s their turn. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand I was right lol. RM did really well with the dancing thought, kudos to him.

Next up it’s Suga, V, and Jungkook. Aww sweet Jimin getting up out his seat to hug V and tell him how much he loves his voice <3 <3 And ten seconds later he rigs the scoring so that he and RM are not last *facepalm*. At least he takes it back at the end and honestly gives them a score of 100 points. This means he and RM lose and the punishment is….

The winners get to smash the losers faces into a plate of whipped cream. LMAO. This I have got to see!!!

Oh Jungkook… <3

“Oh delicious”

But Tony’s “Welcome to America” in reply just killed me

Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaha

Look at the happiness on Jungkook’s face *crying with laughter emoji*

*dead*

There are so many crude analogies that I could make here… Jungkook creaming Jimin’s face and them both loving it but I will… refrain.

LMAO RM flinging cream all over the place in retaliation.

So we got to see the music video and it was quite good. I felt it wasn’t very polished though as there was a noticeable difference between the colouring/lighting between the car scenes and the scenes at the mansion that you wouldn’t expect/want in a professional MV. I really like the song though.

Final musings.

Another enjoyable episode. This one was both fun and funny. The boys have got great personalities and can make even silence seem interesting. They are a delight to watch and I’m so glad I’m still at the beginning of the journey <3

Two eps to go: Episode 7 up next…

[seokjinsdisciple]

Welcome to Worlds - three

jinyoung x reader

(nonfamous! got7, also very much based off of pitch perfect)

requested, and will be split into three parts

warnings: unedited, mentions of public exposure, language, sub jinyoung, inexperienced jinyoung, just the usual sex stuff, idk i think thats it

word count: 2.7k

previous 

You and Jinyoung had ditched your groups after the announcement had been made. Got7 and The Silhouettes were moving onto the finals of the competition, with a disgruntled WayV and angry Ten being eliminated. None of that was on your mind now as Jinyoung led you through the streets of LA, the two of you practically running to this “fancy” restaurant. 

You would have believed that he was taking you somewhere nice if you hadn’t stopped in front of a 7/11. 

“Jinyoung,” you groaned, “please tell me we aren’t eating at 7/11!”

“We aren’t eating at 7/11,” Jinyoung smiled, pulling the doors to the convenience store open and grabbing your wrist, giving you no choice but to follow him into the store, “We are feasting at 7/11!”

“But why?” you asked, groaning as he pulled you down the candy aisle. 

“Because there is nothing better than a personal 7/11 party. Now pick out whatever you want, it’s my treat.”

You gave up fighting with him, walking down the aisles and grabbing a few of your favorite snacks. Then you headed over to the hotdogs, grabbing one for yourself and adding condiments to it. You met Jinyoung at the counter, sheepishly putting your haul on the counter beside him. 

“What?” You asked defensively as he looked pointedly at you, “You can’t come to America and not experience what it's like to eat a twinkie!”

Jinyong just laughed at you then, the two of you sitting on the curb right outside, opening your snacks and digging in. 

“Are you nervous about the next round of the competition?” Jinyoung asked, mouth half full of Doritos, cheese dust covering his fingers as he looked at you. 

“I guess,” you sighed, taking a sip of your water before continuing, “I just don't want another incident like last time to happen again. Plus I really wanna win.”

Jinyoung licked one of his fingers, groaning at the taste of the cheese flavoring, “If you don't want anything to happen again, you should stop wearing clothes like that,” he chuckled pointing to the cropped v-neck hoodie you were wearing. It had been pulled down slightly, exposing your cleavage more than usual. 

“Stop staring at my boobs, Jinyoung,” you laughed, fixing your shirt and pushing him lightly.

You spent a few hours sitting there, and before you knew it the sky had grown dark. Jinyoung waked you back to the hotel room, insisting to escort you all the way to your room. When he left, the girls you were rooming with demanded details, screaming about the handsome man who had just dropped you off.

It was like that for the next week, you sneaking away as much as you could to spend time with Jinyoung, oftentimes at 7/11, until one of you had to practice. Both of you practiced hard, and you could tell that Jinyoung was starting to become more stressed about the competition. You were too. The time you spent with him at 7/11 felt like a whole different world, the worries and pressure the two of you felt melting away the more time you spent with him. But now there was no more time, it was the day of the final competition and Jinyoung would be heading back to Korea tomorrow morning. 

You were getting ready in your dressing room, pulling your hair up to match the rest of the groups when a knock rang out at the door. One of the girls opened it, your attention only flickering to the person at the door after your groupmates started oohing. Jinyoung stood, not coming into the room, but eyes searching for yours in the doorway. His hands tightly wrapped around two slushies. You couldn’t help but grin, hurrying over to him and pushing him away from the curious eyes of your groupmates. 

“Couldn’t stay away?” You laughed, grabbing your favorite flavor from him.

“I mean, this is just gonna be the last time we are able to share a slushie,” he smiled sadly, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Ahh,” you hit him gently on the chest, “don’t go soft on me now, Jinyoung. That’s not like you.”

He just stuck out his tongue at you, handing you a straw, “Do you have time to sit and drink it with me?”

“I really don’t,” you sighed, “I have to finish my make up and then we have to do warmups. We perform before you.”

“Mm, that's right,” he nodded, a sad look crossing his eyes once again, “Well,  enjoy the slushie.”

“Wait- Jinyoung,” you stopped him, switching your favorite flavors for his, “that way we will be thinking of each other as we drink them.”

“I’ll always be thinking of you,” he mumbled, but you had already gone back into your dressing room, unable to hear him. 

You got ready quickly, the slushie tasted good and brought a smile to your lips every time you drank it. Before you knew it, you were walking on stage with your group, lights blaring at your forms as you waited for the audience to stop clapping. 

Your leader gave everyone their pitch, and the song began. The choreo this time was the most difficult it had been yet, a factor that you thought would help out your scores. Got7 had complex dances, so you needed to up yours in order to beat them. 

The song was almost done, your group performing the best they ever had, and when you finished, your chest heaved. It was over, all of this was over and there was nothing you could do about the results now. 

Got7 was next and when you made your way offstage Jinyoung and the rest of the boys shouted good jobs as your group replied with good lucks. You didn’t get a chance to watch their performance because you had to get ready for the results, your nerves growing as you sat in the audience. There were still 8 groups left in the competition, and they would be calling the top four groups to the stage. 

You waited anxiously as the MC walked across the stage, past the trophies, and to the podium. He began his beginning speech, but your ears were ringing, anxiety skyrocketing as you awaited the groups to be called. 

You smiled and cheered for the two groups who were called, jumping out of your seat as your group was called. As you were making your way to the stage, Got7 was also called, a smile growing on your face as you stood next to the other teams. 

If you thought you were nervous before, you were 10x more nervous as you awaited the MC to announce what place you had gotten, hoping and praying your group had pulled off a win. 

The first two groups got 3rd and 4th place, and you held your breath as the mc pulled the results from a sealed envelope. 

“And second place goes to,” The MC paused, your heart beating so loudly in your chest that you swore you wouldn’t be able to hear him announce the results, “GOT7!”

You felt the girls around you start screaming, incredulous looks thrown around the girls you considered your closest friends. You had won. The Silhouettes had won, you had beat Got7. 

You gripped your first place trophy, all of your members holding it above your heads as you chanted. The adrenaline of winning causing smiles, laughter, and tears to spread through the group of girls. 

You had missed Jinyoung, by the time your group stopped celebrating Got7 had already returned to the hotel. Although that caused a twinge of sadness, you were too ecstatic about winning to let it get you down. Your group decided to spend time at the hotel spa in celebration of the hard work you had put in the last couple of months to get here. To be the number one acapella group in the world. 

You had spent most of your time in the sauna, your groupmates long gone from the spa as you just sat and relaxed. The peace and quiet helping calm all of the wide range of emotions you were feeling. 

You opened your eyes as the door to the sauna opened. A broad-shouldered man had entered, his back to you as he closed the door firmly. When he turned, he gasped. You just smiled, Jinyoung staring at you, glancing down to the towel wrapped around your body and then back up to your eyes. 

“Wh-what are you doing here?” he stuttered, his grip on his towel so tight you could see the whitening of his knuckles. 

“It’s a public sauna, Jinyoung,” you laughed, patting the space beside you, “I’m allowed to be in here and so are you.”

He nodded at this, loosening his grip as he walked towards you. The noise of his towel hitting the ground drew your eyes down, and then once you realized where you were looking, back up again with a cough. 

“Well at least now we are even,” you said quietly, averting your eyes as he scrambled to wrap his towel around himself again. When he sat down, his face and ears were flushed so red there was no way it could be from the steam. 

“What happened to confident, cocky Jinyoung, hm?” You asked, chuckling as you tried to lighten the mood. Your own thoughts drifting to dirtier places. 

“I- uh,” he paused, covering his face with his hands, “A girl’s never- uh, I haven’t done anything like this,” he stuttered, his ears reddening. 

You grabbed a wrist, pulling his hand down so you could see his face clearly, “Jinyoung,” you paused, glancing down at the tent that had formed in the towel that sat loosely around his waist, “Are you a virgin?”

He let his other hand drop, still not making eye contact with you as he nodded his head. You took a deep breath, your dirty thoughts coming back in full form as you slid your hand across his thigh and grabbed his length. 

“No one has ever done this?” You asked, batting your eyelashes innocently as you pumped him once. His eyes shooting to your hand and then up to your eyes. He shook his head, his hands shooting up to cover his face. 

“Oh no, baby,” you tsked at him dropping your hand from his length, a whine leaving his throat at the lack of contact, “Don’t hide your pretty face, love.”

He dropped his hands then, lightly dragging your hand back to his cock with one finger. Your heart fluttered, he was so cute. You opened the towel, your hand wrapping around his bare cock now, a hiss leaving his pretty lips as you pumped once. You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Is this ok with you?” you asked, “Wanna keep going?”

“Y-yes please,” he stuttered, squeezing his eyes shut when your lips wrapped around his length. You went slowly, not wanting to overwhelm him with pleasure. Knowing he’s never been touched, you had a fire in the pit of your belly. You were going to make him feel good, but you had to make sure he didn’t come too soon. 

You twirled your tongue around the head of his cock, holding his other hand in your own as he started to whine. You could tell he was getting close, his hips bucking up slightly as you sucked him. Tears filled his eyes as you pulled your mouth off of him. 

“Shh baby, it’s okay,” you whispered, kissing his cheeks and then his lips, “Take care of me first and then I promise you can come.”

Jinyoung nodded at you then, pouting his lips and demanding another kiss before he slid your towel off and you sat down. He pressed a tentative kiss to your nipple, and at your instruction, took it into his mouth and sucked. Jinyoung’s eyes flew to yours as you let out a low moan, his mouth doing the same thing it had just done on your other nipple. You smiled at him, his inexperienced mouth ready to explore and learn, something that made your heat pulse and your thighs sticky with something other than sweat. 

“Jinyoung,” you moaned, pushing his head from your boobs down to your heat. He sat back a moment, staring intently at your core before pressing a soft kiss to your clit. When he sucked it, you jolted, pleasure filling you up as he started to lick and suck and explore. It was messy, and not at all perfect, but it didn’t matter. When he slid his finger inside you, you bucked your hips, Jinyoung looking up at you with confused eyes before quickly removing his finger. 

“No- baby, it felt good,” you said, breath heaving, almost as if to test if you were lying, he inserted his finger again, a low moan erupting from your throat as he pumped it in and out of you. His long fingers hitting all of the right places. 

“Good boy,” you moaned, getting too into the way Jinyoung was listening to everything you said. When he stopped, you opened your eyes and looked at him. 

“M good?” he asked, eyes watery and nose running. 

“Yes of course, baby, you are doing such a good job,” you praised pulling him up to your face and cupping his cheeks with your hands. He pressed a kiss to your lips, one that you returned happily. 

“Wanna do more,” he whispered, burying his head into your shoulder in an attempt to hide. 

“We can do more baby, don’t be shy,” you smiled, guiding him to a sitting position on the sauna bench. You pressed a gentle kiss to his nose before taking his hardness in your hand and guiding it into your heat. You took a moment to let him adjust, and for you too as well. Jinyoung was a lot bigger than anyone else you had ever slept with. 

“Ready for me to start moving?” You asked, searching his face for any last reservations, seeing none and getting a little yes, you raised your hips, slamming them back to meet his own. Jinyoung absolutely lost it then, hands grabbing at your waist and ass as he whined, moaned and groaned. You kept a consistent speed, feeling his length hit places that hadn’t been hit in a long time. You moaned with him, pressing a hasty kiss to his lips as he dug his nails into your back. 

You felt a tightening coil building up in your core at the sensation. Jinyoung’s moans getting more and more desperate as his mouth started sucking on your breasts again. You felt him twitch inside you, a slight bite on your nipple causing your high to come closer. You slid your hand down your torso, finding your clit and rubbing it as you continued to ride him. Jinyoung, overstimulated and whiny as he tried to get you to stop, so you did. Your core tightening and cumming around his sensitive, softening length. 

He pouted, tears threatening to spill and his nose sniffling as you spasmed around him.

You pressed a soothing kiss on his temple, gently pulling yourself off of him and sitting on his lap. His arms wrapped tightly around you as he begged for more kisses. 

“M gonna miss you,” he whispered, his hand pulling your head onto his broad chest. 

“I’m gonna miss you too,” you whispered back, your own hand finding grip in his hair and massaging his scalp soothingly. 

“Sorry for beating you,” you added, a light chuckle leaving Jinyoung’s mouth.

“We all know it's because the judges saw your boobs.”

You both laughed at that, you landing a gentle slap onto his toned chest in protest. You sat like that for a while, kissing softly and talking to each other. Your heart sunk as Jinyoung bid you goodbye at your hotel room door. Leaving a passionate kiss on your lips.

“I’ll see you at the next World’s,” you said, playing with his hand that was interlocked with your own. 

“Mhm,” Jinyoung agreed easily, kissing your forehead and finally letting you go, “but just know you are getting that pretty little ass kicked.”

You smiled at that, “I guess we will have to wait and see, hm?”

[whirlybirbs]

WE’RE GHOSTS.  ----  A.M. ;

summary: you, on a flight of fate, buy a journal belonging to an A. MORGAN. turns out it’s haunted. based on this plot idea i threw out into the world this morning. word count: who knows, this is v. freeform, i did not count pairing: ghost!arthur x reader, w/ a twist a/n: me? a ghost fan? yea. so far, this is a stand-alone fic. the end is loose, so if folks want another part, leave a lil comment, send my dumb ass an ask, i love ghost fics.

The journal comes with more questions than anything.

The withered pages are rich with personal history. quick, sketched-out drawings of places visited are accompanied by the smudge of fingerprints along the dog eared pages. The words, in practiced script, are incredibly human -- loss, heartbreak, happiness...

And then it just ends.

There’s pages left to be filled at the end, at-least twenty or so, and you find yourself wondering what in the world happened to A. MORGAN.

Things start moving.

It’s... little things.

Like, the can of beans from your cabinet is suddenly on the counter one morning. Your knife drawer, you find, slides open randomly. You blame it all on forgetfulness and loose hinges.

An old photo falls off the wall one night, scaring you half to death -- you pull yourself from the sheets, bleary eyed from sleep and confusion, to find the frame in the middle of the hall.

The snow around the family of deer glints in the light of the moon.

You blink, swearing you saw a reflection in the glass.

You ignore it. You put the picture back on the wall and move on.

It’s nearly winter.

The house creaks more, lonely and quiet, but full to the brim with something you can’t quite put your finger on. It feels heavier and you stoke the fireplace wondering if some time away from your family’s cabin would put you at ease.

The house was passed down to you when your parents moved south, chasing retirement and heat. You didn’t have the heart to let them put it on the market. Too many good memories.

But, now? Those are being snuffed out by nameless anxieties.

The noises haven’t stopped -- in fact, they’ve only gotten worse.

Things have started to move in the attic. You don’t have the heart to go up there. Instead, you lay in bed, as still as you can, while old furniture shifts above you.

The tinker of spurs on the floors up there is like bells in the wind.

The kitchen.

The sounds are coming from the kitchen.

It’s the shattering of glass that separates this from all the other incidents. This time, the baseball bat in your hands is gripped with a ferocious need for protection -- and you pad into the kitchen quiet as a mouse, fight or flight driving your hands to shake and eyes to dart.

When you pass the threshold of the kitchen, your jaw drops.

A bottle of Jack Daniels is spinning on its side on the quartz island, whiskey pouring from the bottle. Three shot glasses lined up and full, one shattered on the kitchen floor. Every drawer is open, as if someone had been searching for something...

And the journal sits, open, on the kitchen table. It’s on an early entry. One about the town of Valentine and a rowdy night in the local saloon.

“How the fuck --” you utter, reaching to touch the journal.

And as your fingers skim the page, all the lights in the kitchen strobe in one big flourish, bulbs shattering like gunshots in glittered little filaments as you screech, jumping six feet in the air.

Then the drawers, ramming back and forth and you realize it’s the knife drawer again -- and suddenly, a butcher knife sails across the room and embeds itself in the wall beside your head.

Right through a canvas painting of a white tailed buck in the snow.

The guy at Home Depot didn’t say a word when you bought four whole packs of new light bulbs, plaster, and chains at check out. The look on his face was sympathetic.

You get an extra shot in your coffee order on your way back to the Antique Store, journal in hand.

Well, not in hand. It’s rubber-banded shut in the backseat, weighed down by an old bible you found in a drawer in the guest room.

“All sales are final,” says the owner, shaking his head, “I finally got rid a’ that thing --”

“Yeah,” you bite, “And I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep since.”

“Here,” he says, cashing open the register and handing you a ten dollar bill, “Have your money. But, I ain’t taking that thing back... Why don’t you go burn it?”

Your eye twitches.

“You’re kidding.”

“Just burn it.”

You gawk at your friend, eyes pulled wide as you stab your steak.

“I can’t... I can’t do that --”

“It’s haunted, dude.”

“Yeah, but it’s... history.”

“Haunted history,” she muses over her wine, “It’s ruining your home --”

She gestures to the fresh plaster over your shoulder. The knife had left a good hole. Across from you, the pantry is chained closed and so is the drawer belonging to the aforementioned knife.

“ -- So, dowse it in holy water and burn it.”

“You’re kidding.”

She wasn’t. And the owner of the Antique Store wasn’t either.

The internet agrees with them.

You’ve been doing a lot of research.

Your knee bounces, lip pulled between your teeth as you eye the journal sitting before you on the kitchen counter. You’re worrying, torn between a deep regret of burning lost history -- I mean, the guilt of destroying A. Morgan’s life... the last living document of it...

The pantry door creaks open behind you.

“Will you stop?” you snap finally, words hiking in irritation, “Stop it.”

A moment’s pause.

And then it shuts.

You gawk, eyes darting to the journal as you round the counter. Your eyes narrow, finger darting out. 

“Listen up, Morgan --” you mutter, “I dunno who you think you are --”

The faucet behind you turns on.

“I pay the bills,” you say slowly, “I live here, and you’re more than welcome to stay but you need to stop scaring me.”

The faucet cuts abruptly in a cough. You spin, eyeing it in bewilderment.

“I’m going crazy,” you breathe, “I’m talking to a book.”

Suddenly there’s a hand on your hip. Like someone trying to pass by. 

You let him.

You step out of the shower one morning and there’s a hand-print in the steam of the mirror.

“If you’re tryin’ to peep on me in the shower,” you say quietly. “I’ll kill you.”

You swear you hear a laugh over your shoulder.

Humming. 

It’s like the fading of a song, in and out, and you can’t tell where it’s coming from. It pulls you from your sleep and as soon as you open your eyes you feel the weight of the bed shift.

Silence.

Things quiet down.

No more shattered glasses, no more flying knives, no more exploding bulbs. The pantry stays closed, but the beans keep appearing here and there -- which you don’t really mind.

A. Morgan’s journal has it’s own spot on your kitchen table now.

The touching happens more often. Most recently, you’d felt a hand on your shoulder while you’d sat and watched television in the living room. 

You look over the back of the couch.

“... Hello?”

Silence.

Things in the attic, however, are louder than ever.

You still don’t have the courage to go up there.

You settle on bundling up, after all it’s winter. And you need the coats that are up there. But, there’s something holding you back. You worry that going up there will shift the dynamic you’ve seemed to have settled into with the other guest in your home.

“You know,” you say politely in the direction of the journal as you’re cooking dinner, “I wish you’d keep it down up there --”

The attic floorboards creak and a bang! resounds through the house.

Your hand flies to your heart.

A low rumble of laughter carves through the dining room.

It’s a frigid Sunday morning when you decide to brave it. You pull the hatch down in the hallway, attic ladder folding out as you heave a sigh and try to keep your wits about you.

“I just need my jackets --” you say gently as you ascend the steps slowly, flashlight clicking on in your hands, “I’ll get them and get outta your hair, Morgan -- I...”

Your jaw drops.

The attic is...

“Oh my god.”

A mess.

“What the hell have you been up to...?” you breathe, stepping over mounds of clothes spilling from box overturned on the floor.

The furniture is old -- passed down to your mom’s mom by her mom. Inside are old dresses, old shirts, furs and scarves and hats and... the doors to the wardrobe are open, exposing the now bare mahogany of the back. It’s been emptied, and you breathe a soft exclamation of shock as you near it, stepping over the pastel fabrics pooled on the floor.

In the back of the dresser, there are scratches.

WHERE AM I?

As you read it, your breath curls around you.

You feel like you’ve been shoved into an icebox. Behind your eyes, a shallow grave in the middle of winter flashes like a bad dream. 

There’s a sound over your shoulder then, like a cough, and you spin -- eyes dilating in the dark as your flashlight follows. The whole attic has been torn through.

It smells like tobacco.

The doors to the wardrobe slam shut then with a desperate rattle and you jump, eyes peeled wide as the mirrors fixed to the outer doors glimmer back at you.

The man in the reflection looks scared.

And then he’s gone.

You ask your coworker to help you move the wardrobe one afternoon.

“Nice piece a’ furniture,” he’d remarked as he helped you maneuver it down the ladder, “Where’s it going?”

“My room --” you say, straining to lift the heavy piece, “I felt guilt having this up there in the dark.”

“Nice place.”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

You’re working at your desk when you hear it, head snapping to the sound -- it’s gone in a beat, fading into the back of your mind and you’re left wondering if it even happened.

And... then you smell the tobacco.

Smoke curls in the rays of the winter afternoon sun pouring through the windows.

The reflection -- it’s not you. It’s him. You freeze, eyes trying their best to memorize the figure of the reclined outlaw. He’s on your bed, like a man out of time, hat tipped low to hide everything but the cut of his jaw. He’s looking at you, you realize, and when you turn to look at the spot on the bed, you see there’s an imprint. 

“Thanks,” you says slowly, “You’ve certainly settled in.”

A laugh. In one ear, rattling around and out the other.

Blue eyes meet yours in the reflection.

There’s blood on his collar.

And then he’s gone.

“Who’re you?”

You pull your eyes up from his journal. 

In the wardrobe mirror, his reflection paints him long and broad and rugged. His hat is in hands, calloused and bruised, and he looks pale; his cheeks are gaunt and eyes a bit hollow, but you can see the handsome cut of his profile more clearly now without his hat obscuring the view. He’s hunched over the side of the bed. 

A. Morgan is scared.

“I, uh... I should be asking you that, I think.”

“Arthur.”

Silence. The smell of tobacco is all that lingers behind.

You buy a book -- GUNSLINGERS & THE WEST, a collection of biographies by Theodore Levin. It’s the only thing you can find that mentions Arthur Morgan, aside from a few old newspaper clippings that briefly mention a man of the same name from a town called Blackwater. 

The history is a bit muddied, the newspaper articles only giving you pieces of the picture.

The book helps.

He was a member of the Van der Linde’s... some gang from back in the day. Son of Lyle and Beatrice Morgan. Surname is Welsh. Born in 1863. It doesn’t tell you much more than that., only that Arthur helped Levin composite some of the images and stories in his book.

How nice of him.

“Y’ still didn’t say who y’ are.”

You jump fifty feet in the air.

The bathroom mirror is dark, but you can see him there over your shoulder as the faucet runs -- the glow of a lit cigarette hangs from his lips. There’s the smell again. His spurs jingle as he settles against the sill.

You rub at the sleep in your eyes. 

It’s 3am. 

“Am I dead?”

You don’t know how to answer him. 

He disappears in an exhale of smoke.

On the table in the kitchen, pages of his journal begin to turn.

Without prompting, you tell him your name.

You’re chopping carrots for stew as you speak.

The pages stop.

“I think you’re dead,” you say softly, “I think -- I don’t know. I think you’ve been dead for a long time... I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Your house is quiet for a few days. 

Eerily so.

You’d become used to the weight of someone else’s energy in the house for so long that... well, you’re a little worried that your words in the kitchen the other dat had maybe been cause enough for him to move on.

And that’s when the dreams start.

Laughter. The burn of whiskey bubbles in your throat. There’s a smile on your lips and a hand dragging you to the fire and sweet words being chirped into your ear. 

Suddenly, you realize, this isn’t your life.

“Wha’s wrong, sweetpea, huh?”

Blue eyes glimmer with worry, lacking hollow divide.

The faces around the fire have no discernible features. When you think you’ve nailed them down, they melt into a changing river of expressions. Blurred. Running like rain. Panic rises in your throat.

Arthur’s face is the last thing you see before you wake up.

You’re not supposed to be there.

“I know you.”

You think maybe he’s right.

His hands are on your skin, searing and hot and dangerously tempting. They hike up your thighs, mouth pressed hotly to your own -- the moments twists like a knife in your gut and you’re pushing it away, hands shoving in a flurry of confusion.

This isn’t right, this isn’t your life.

Arthur’s face is flooded with concern. 

A beat passes. Heavy breaths linger between you both. Finally, from above him in his lap, you speak.

“You do know me.”

“Who is she?”

Arthur clears his throat. He’s coughing, heavy and wet, into his arm. Blood runs down his chin. It hurts, the mere sound of it, and his breath runs ragged.

“I was gonna marry her.”

“Is that how you know me?”

He doesn’t need to say a word. You know the answer already.

Fate’s a funny thing.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Hi sorry to be a pain but will the be more HRH ? Thank You

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations|Part VII: Magnolias| Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market | Part XVII: Stables

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XVIII: Alarms

In the bounded sanctity of dreams, Fraser had free rein.

With his eyes closed and separated from the world, he could touch Claire freely. He could carefully catalog each reaction that his fingertips drew from her at his leisure, drawing each exquisite noise and breath and prickle of goosebumps into full relief.  

(The diamond-shaped parting of her bee-stung lips, dry from sleep, posed in an invitation.  

The catch of her breath, one that was always accompanied by her head tilting and her lashes pulsing together like they had a main line to her heartbeat.)

With his hand low on his belly and creeping lower (alone in the dark of his flat consisting of square rooms and artificial light), Jamie could taste her (the sea-salt spray of sweat and clean linen tang of a single dusky nipple as it hardened under his lips and a humid bath of his breath).  He could envision her (the almost invisible tenting of the bed sheet that just barely covered the other nipple as it beseeched him for a fair and equal treatment).  

Inhaling and then holding his breath, Jamie found that he could recreate for himself the improbable way Claire resituated herself onto her side when she was spent, her cheek pressed against her forearm.  He could feel the wisp of her breath as delicate as dangling wisteria as she grumbled quietly, somnolently, insinuating a single ankle between his legs.

“Ye look beautiful in the mornin’ sun,” he whispered in his mind’s eye as he traced a finger up her arm. Pulsing beneath his hand and led by imagination alone, he found that his fingertips followed an aimless road (a hearty green vein at the sweat-tacky inner crease of her elbow). His curiosity led him off a marked path and over the culvert between her arm and body to test the curving munros of her buttocks.

“What is that you think you are doing, Fraser?” she asked into the pillow, those well-trained lips heavy in a pout (sated and sleepy, but somehow still aroused).

“Nothing,” he said truthfully.

He had never felt so content to have not a thing to guide him, to limit him.

They had no curfew.

They had no prying eyes to find them.

They had no fear that loose lips would sink ships.

He found himself mesmerized by the silly bits of her – the pulsating, soft heat of her armpit, the mole at the base of her spine (one he suspected she barely knew was there) that grew a single jet-black hair, the almost invisible sliver of toenail on her strangely fat small toe.  

He scaled the soft curve of her breast and rappelled its opposing slope like a reckless mountaineer, and carefully walked his fingers across the stable bridge of her well-formed sternum.

“Are ye awake, my Sassenach?” he inquired vaguely, hand slipping beneath the sheet. He hated that she slept in this dizzy waking dream of his.  And so he ghosted across the gentle curve of her belly to the thatch of trimmed hair between her thighs and the heat that resided there like a siren song.  To wake her, to rouse her further.

“I am not even here, Fraser,” she said sleepily, “but you can touch me properly.”

Outside of the dream where his fantasy resided, he wrapped a careful hand around himself. He licked his lips as he tried to transform his calloused fingers and broad palm into her small, delicate touch.  Fingers sinking into bed sheets, he could not recreate the sensation of touching her “properly,” the bits as slick as waterweed and thrumming and begging to roar beneath his attentions.

But some things he could recreate with near one hundred percent fidelity.

Her breath.

Her smell.

Her intonation as her pupils went fathomless.

Her femoral pulse hammering away beneath his lips as he kissed her carefully with his chin clumsily (on purpose) brushing the heat of her.

Those were things that he had memorized.

Those were things that he could call to mind with the easiness of breathing or blinking, reaching to scratch an itch or drifting off to sleep.

He did not pause to entertain the threat that someday all he would have was the imitation of her.  (A memory as fine as could be, but ultimately only the forgery of a masterpiece.)  Instead, he gripped, tugged, let his mouth fall open as he set a rhythm, knowing that his wanting would always be just this way.

His alarm, though (the bloody thing), had a mind of its own.  The twin brass bells chattered and shook. The clock danced across his nightstand and clipped the edge of his water glass with a disconcerting ping, begging to be slapped into silence by his palm.  At the jangling announcement of another day, he groaned, fisted the bed sheets, and tilted his head back.  His fingers (the poor substitute for any lover, let alone one as perfect as Claire) released his cock, and he willed himself to think of something (anything) to make the bobbing, throbbing ache of arousal subside.

Friday.  It was Friday.  

Inhaling, he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes.  He wondered what kind of pressure it would take to make his eyeballs burst as he expelled the granules of his dream from the pinched pink corners of his eyes.

In ten hours they would be together.  In ten hours they could drift away together.

He rose from bed with a back that ached in the sweet way that brought a river’s torrent of recollection of the previous evening (Claire glowing on the hay in the stables, her cheeks pinked and glistening, her fingers trembling as she pressed them over what he knew was a hammering heart).  Colonel James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser smiled as he parted his curtains and looked out into the gray of early morning.

Another day.

Those ten hours passed like a century, and when they were reunited and riding north for his cabin from the city, she squeezed his side (quick, pulsing, seeking).  She may have screeched her request (stop!) into his ear, but it was unheard over the mechanical grumble of the motorcycle’s engine and the fierce whipping of the wind past their helmets.  He didn’t need her to say it, though.  From her touch, he knew to stop, and so they pulled into a dusty lay-by dotted with oily puddles and the orange butts of cigarettes.

“Ye okay then, Sassenach?” he asked once they were at a full stop.

“Never better, just seems a shame to let it all pass by at fifty-five miles per hour.”  She inhaled, wetting her lips (it was an unguarded instinct so easily obliged by her that he felt a tightening in his wame like a fist holding on for dear life). “It is truly a beautiful part of our country.”

She stepped over one of the puddles and hoisted herself up onto a great moss-covered rock, brought herself over a gap to another, and then another until she towered over him.

“I am sure you agree.”

“About?”

“That it is beautiful,” she sighed, a hint of faux exasperation shining through as she unfastened her helmet, tossed it to him without warning, and spread her arms out.  He fastened the helmet carefully to the handlebars, watching her tip her head backwards and inhale.  “It is exhilarating to think of land that no man, no woman has touched.  Where no feet have tread.  Where it is just open except for nature. Our kingdom is untouched.”

His voice was light as he teased, “It’s most certainly yer kingdom, ma’am.”

Humming, Claire tented her eyes with the palm of her hand and looked out at the landscape.  “It is yours, too, Fraser.  Maybe we could live here.”

This time (knowing that it was an impossibility - the idea of living here - and knowing that she knew it all the same), his lips released some combination of vowels, and he rose off of the motorbike.  He raked a hand through his hair as he approached her.  “My mam was a fierce nationalist. Didna want a thing to do with the commonwealth.  England was her main problem, no’ so much Wales.  Northern Ireland, weel, that was enough of a mess when she died that I dinna ken what she thought about that. But ye’ll see a white rose bush at the cabin.”

A poem rattled about in her swimming head –

The rose of all the world is not for me.

I want for my part

Only the little white rose of Scotland.

That smells sharp and sweet - and

Breaks the heart.

– and she inhaled, unsteady.

“That’s her doin’, her way of putting a middle finger up to… weel… yer family I’d suppose.”

Claire turned on the rock, the toes of her camel-colored oxfords collecting moss and smudging with grit in the process.  He was smiling at her, his eyes glowing under impossibly long lashes.  She fisted her small hands on her hips and gave him a smile that threatened to steal his breath. ‘Christ ye’re beautiful,’ he thought to say, his lips poised to set the compliment free. But she laughed, interrupting the sentiment, and said, “I am flattered she thought of us with such frequency.”

“Ye’re no’ concerned that she’d likely no’ approve of ye then?” he asked, voice full of mock reproach.  With a mind of their own, his hands fastened to her hips with his thumbs searching out the soft skin of her belly and fingers gripping her waistband.

“I have made a decision where it comes to all things involving you, Fraser,” she said plainly as she cupped one hand along his jaw and laid the other to rest loosely on his shoulder. “And it is that no one will stand in judgment of us.”

“No one?”

“No one,” her echo confirmed as she drew him close. His face was level with her sternum, and she sensed his reaction to the broadness of her statement in the marrow of her bones when his grip tightened.  And with a stunning amount of naieveté for someone so savvy (she was no fool, after all), she concluded, “We have some things to figure out, of course, but time is ours right now, Fraser.”

He kissed the center of her chest (a wayward kiss that was not symbolic as it did not land over her heart and one not meant to arouse; it was undesigned and merely the outlet of his affection for her). He sighed when she brought her fingertips to his hairline.

“We’ve an entire kingdom, Claire.”

“Aye,” she whispered, the affirmation coming from her like slanted cursive.  “That we do.”

After a not insubstantial bit of time there soaking in the pure silence of the place (of each other), they returned to the motorcycle and rode another twenty miles, slowing only for a wayward pair lambs unaccustomed to moving at the pleasure of a human (even for a queen).  At the front of the cabin, Claire took the key from Jamie as he juggled her small bag along and a larger one of his own (she had teased him mercilessly about the size of it before they departed, resulting in a pinch to her arse that made her squeak).

The interior smelled like their previous weekend.

Her perfume.  His aftershave.  Burnt sausage and tattie scones.

She stepped inside and turned to Fraser. She looked at him through the open door and quickly shed her clothes.  He dropped their bags on the front stoop and stuttered a step as he made it up the stairs with his trousers slipping to his knees. Freed of clothes, he lifted her, made a perch on the table behind the sofa where a week earlier their bodies had been joined again and again.  

“Take your kingdom, Fraser,” she whispered.  

And then her mouth absorbed his growls, his body joined her fully, and his lips procured unendangered moans that rolled from her belly and through her lips.  

Sixteen miles away Jenny Murray (wife of Ian Alistair Murray, mother of three - James Fraser Murray and Margaret Ellen Murray and Katherine Mary Murray – and sister of her son’s namesake – in that order, thank ye verra kindly) was sitting down for the first uninterrupted portion of her Friday afternoon.  Her lower body ached from carrying an angry, teething Kitty around on her hip all afternoon, and her eyes burned from the ceaseless exhaustion of merely having three children.  Her finger carefully holding the lid on her teapot as she poured, she let herself indulge in the almost-foreign quiet of her home and the lavender that rose in the steam.

And then the phone.

It rang once.

She cursed and considered not answering.

It rang again.

“Fuck,” she hissed, remembering her reluctantly slumbering and teething bairn only separated by twenty-two stairs and a half-closed door from the jangling phone.

It rang a third time.

She leapt up then, hissing a curse as her knee knocked into the side table and sloshed her tea onto its saucer.  

“Murray residence,” she said, her voice still slicing with its curtness despite her low tone.  Her brow furrowed, her fingers curling into the spiral of the cord. She swallowed, knowing the news conveyed to her by the primary school’s headmaster was true even as she asked for clarification. “Maggie brought what to school?”

The answer did not change.

But the world would.

ETA: The poem in the text is The Little White Rose by Hugh MacDiarmid. You can take a read through a short biography about him and his other work here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/hugh-macdiarmid.

[discordrpbythalia]

I WILL KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP ;

Many young people dream of their WEDDING. They imagine the dress, the flowers and their lover standing at the ALTAR. When they close their eyes, they can almost smell the wedding CAKE and hear the cheesy LOVE songs. And all of their friends are there, smiling and praising all of the BEAUTY in the room – and all attention on the HAPPY COUPLE. What most don’t imagine is their wedding gown soaked in BLOOD. They don’t imagine the SCREAMS as their friends are cleaved in half. They don’t picture their Prince Charming with a MURDEROUS grin on their face. Unfortunately, life is LESS like a romantic COMEDY, and much more like the HORROR stories we all pretend to not be AFRAID of. HARPER’S ISLAND, located an hour from Seattle’s coast, is the destination for one of these happy unions. Family and friends from all across the country have gathered on one half of the happy couple’s BIRTHPLACE to take part in the ceremony. As a special treat, their family has paid for A WEEK of vacation on the local hotel for ALL GUESTS. What most of these ignorant guests don’t know is that TEN YEARS AGO, a SERIAL KILLER was on the loose. JOHN WAKEFIELD killed TEN PEOPLE before he was SHOT by the local sheriff – but it has been said that he will NOT be the LAST. Many LOCALS are uneasy with having this many strangers gathered on the island, all remembering the killings a little too well. When wedding guests are KILLED off ONE BY ONE, the locals and the newcomers must take a deep breath and admit that A NEW SERIAL KILLER might be walking among them. ( keep reading for more information !! )

SO YOU BETTER TRY AND KEEP AWAKE ;

THIS IS AN IC DISCORD SERVER. This blog serves only to organize those who have not yet been accepted.

THIS IS WAVE 2.

There will be a second arrival of muses, and POTENTIALLY, a new murderer. There is already a current murderer. New additions will be ‘late arrivals’ to the wedding week.

In this group verse, your character will either be a part of the wedding party (as family of the groom/bride or friend of the groom/bride) or one of the locals. As an added bonus, you may audition for the secret role of the new serial killer as well. The identity of the serial killer will only be known by the killer themselves and me, the admin of the group. Together, we will make decisions on which character to kill off next. Please note this means your muse may (and is likely to) die. I will always contact the next victim and ask them to post a drabble of their death. After their death, I will reveal the identity of the killer so that they can smugly follow the rest of the plot.

Events will be posted, and though they will not ‘officially’ be held, interactions based on them are highly encouraged. This could for example be a bonfire, a rehearsal dinner, a picnic, a bachelor/bachelorette party, etc. It is not a new day until I have made the announcement; this is because a lot of things can happen in one day when people are dying like flies, and to make sure everyone has had the chance to interact based on the latest event/twist/death. Characters are, of course, allowed to not follow the wedding events and go on their own adventures.

This server and plot are set up to encourage extensive pre-established relationships between characters. Histories are encouraged – exes, childhood friends, jealous lovers, old flames, sibling/family interactions are encouraged and are fairly necessary for this. All plotting may be done in server or privately, as long as the mod is kept updated about important interactions.

This server is all about SECRETS. IC secrets should be given and are encouraged. All secrets must be made known to the mod for plot use.

KEEP YOUR LEFT EYE OPEN ;

The RULES: i. Do NOT share any plot knowledge you may have. This includes the identity of the killer, who will die next, and any other potential twists. If you play the killer or if your character has been killed, I need to trust that you will not ruin the surprise. ii. No OOC drama or godmodding other players. IC drama is certainly encouraged, but if there is an issue between anyone, please take it up with them privately or approach a mod. iii. Both canon characters and OCs are welcome. As this is a discord server, faceclaims do not come into play. We will not be accepting duplicates of the same muse unless a twin or family au is worked out between the players. iv. Send your application and verse-related asks to this blog until you are accepted and provided with the discord server link. v. Stay updated and active! This server will likely move fast, and interaction is key. If you go inactive for too long, it’s likely your muse will become plot fodder and murdered, or simply removed from the server. I understand real life will always come first, please just try to keep up to date. vi. ALL players must be 18+, and their muses 21+. THIS IS NOT A SFW SERVER. We will not be writing explicit material, but it will be trigger-heavy and fairly uncensored. vii. Each player is allowed up to two (2) muses. This is encouraged, in the case that one is killed early, you are not simply sitting in the ether watching the fun happen !

AND YOUR RIGHT TOE TWITCHING ;

The APPLICATION form: Mun name & pronouns: Mun age (18+ only!): Role: Are they related to the bride/groom, are they friends, are they a local? Stereotype: What stereotypical (horror movie) label could fit them best? Secret: If they have any secrets from the rest of the locals/wedding party, now is the time to write them, or if there is anything the mod should know. If not, leave this space empty. This part of the application will not be shown to others. Brief Biography: Suggested length is about a paragraph. Tell us about who your character is. Please include name, age (muses must be 21+!), and pronouns in addition to brief backstory. Here is a SERIAL KILLER APPLICATION form: * everyone can apply as the serial killer; I will choose one. Motive: Why would they start killing guests (and locals)? Style: What would your character’s killing style be? Are they humane; do they keep trophies; do they like hearing the screams; what are their favorite weapons? Justification: How does your character justify killing people? Do they want entertainment; do they want to show how clever they are; do they think the victims had it coming?

CAUSE I’M IN THE KITCHEN ;

After application ACCEPTANCE: you will be sent the Discord server link. All future interactions, ic and ooc, will happen in-server.

WITH A KNIFE THAT’S ITCHING FOR YOUR RED BLOOD ;

A current list of MEMBERS:

Regina Scott / 37, she/her / The Wedding Planner / written by Thalia

Ianto Jones / 23, he/him / The Brother of the Bride / The DJ / written by Jacklynn

Ophelia Smith / 21, she/her / The Bride / written by Meg

Rory Williams / 23, he/him / The Groom / written by Gabe

John Smith / 60, he/him / The Wedding Guest / written by Charlie

Shelby Wyatt / 28, she/her / The Ranch Owner / The Local / written by Thalia DECEASED

Sam Mullin / 30, she/her / The Bartender / The Local / written by Tara

Bree Tinsley / 22, she/her / The Bridesmaid / written by Tara

Garcia Flynn / 48, he/him / The Cop / The Local / written by Harper

Zara Young / 28, she/her / The Personal Assistant / written by Jacklynn

Josh Lyman / 37, he/him / The Wedding Guest / written by Ellie

Spencer Reid / 29, he/him / The Cop / The Local / written by Ellie DECEASED

Mels Zucker / 23, she/her / The Local / written by Alex

Irene Larra / 45, she/her / The Wedding Guest / written by Alex

Ezekiel Jones / 27, he/him / The Wedding Guest / written by Harper DECEASED

Glenda Jones / 47, she/her / The Mother of the Bride / written by Charlie

Max Ward / 22, he/him / The Wedding Guest / written by C DECEASED

Jonathan Smith / 50, he/him / The Father of the Bride / written by Meg

Gabriel Waverly / 21, they/them / The Local / written by Gabe

Ronan Lynch / 21, he/him / The Local / The Dockworker / written by Ellie

Donna Moss / 30, she/her / The Wedding Guest / written by Callie

Clara Oswald Williams / 28, she/her / The Sister of the Groom / written by Thalia

Gwen Cooper / 23, she/her / The Wedding Guest / written by Thalia

[watchtheblog]

devolve around the world

there are some things in life that are inevitable. for instance, if you live in la long enough, sooner or later one or more of the following are going to happen:

someone you know will die from a curable disease because they insisted on trying to cure it by only using CBD!

you’ll see an ex (who literally never knew you were dating) on a date with someone else and have to pretend like that doesn’t make you want to spit on a dog.

your favorite type of milk will be deemed a carcinogen.

you will be cancelled.

and then there are things you thought would happen to you if you moved to la because you once read a buzzfeed article on things that happen in la (that luckily - despite risk - can be avoided):

adopting a dog so as to promulgate the message “adopt don’t shop” because you care about animals, and/or the idea of owning something that could be described as “bedraggled”.

purchasing a fancy dog from a breeder because you are rich, and impervious to the contempt that you and your show puppy will likely be met with.

getting a nose job because you have a “deviated septum”. (i have a 70% deviated septum and no nose job… WE EXIST!)

falsely developing a food allergy as a means to lose weight, fit in, inadvertently ruin every dining experience for the rest of time.

joining a cult disguised as a fun place of worship based loosely around a religion you’re familiar with.

i have lived in los angeles for three years and have successfully avoided participating in any of the aforementioned “LA!” things. i had always assumed i would continue living life with agency, avoiding things that were anathema to me for the rest of my life, but then something happened. last month, i went to coachella. 

coachella is a music festival you might know of if you are alive and know of things that are annoying. 

before attending this entropic weekend, i just imagined it as an outdoor forum for people to exhibit their vast collection of beige, fringed clothing in what you might call a *real life “shop this look” you want to unsubscribe from*.

but, it was so much more. 

it was tens of thousands of people working towards a collective goal of becoming one giant, constantly rejuvenating cliche.

it was your best friend’s ex, the ghost of every girl you’ve ever seen in a bathroom at 3am, the son of that woman who’s always shouting on the app “next door” about something exactly zero people besides her give a fuck about, people you’ve seen on instagram and wondered ‘where do these people hang out’ and shuddered with gratitude realizing you’d never be in a room with them ever in your life unless you got lost and for some reason ended up at a meet and greet for one of those problematic youtube people…

it was all different types of people unified exclusively by their unique ability to exist only in a drunken coke haze.

and then there was me.

being in public socially is one of the most unnatural things for me - i’d be much more at ease drowning, for instance, or trapped inside a tabernacle - but i was obligated to attend for reasons that aren’t an interesting part of the narrative.

off top, coachella combines two of my most hated and feared things: fun, and men with verified instagram accounts. in addition, as someone who doesn’t really GET music, and whose anxiety barely allows her to hang out with the two people in her life who still afford her the privilege of calling them a friend, this, of course, was a catastrophic 72 hours for little binx.

things kicked off as you might expect - with a man spitting water out of his mouth onto my face with zero provocation (and less than zero repercussion!) while i stood awkwardly at the entrance of this thing - and then devolved from there… culminating in me walking 5 miles to a “nearby” CVS to get an uber at 11pm because the idea of that was somehow more compelling than spending even two more minutes inside that gated night terror.

i don’t understand the equation for fun; the math doesn’t compute for me - and while i assume it’s remedial because i routinely see the cast of jersey shore continuing to enjoy themselves, i cannot crack the code.

after i swiped my wristband nine hundred and sixty five times and got to the area designated VIP, i tried to have fun. i smiled dumbly into space in case someone i knew could see me, or in case i was in the back of a famous dog’s instagram story. i moved the lower half of my body v subtly so as to imitate dancing. i did my best to pretend that the sensory overload - from instruments smashing to make sounds amplified by millions (??) of speakers, the aroma of axe body spray and that perfume shaped like an apple, juul vapor, and the cacophony of clanking bangles, body chains and human beings yelling “yaas” - was not attacking my sensibilities in an irreparable way.

after 9 minutes, i was ready to go. of course, as i was not alone, and this was not an event i could just leave by myself without saying goodbye - like, say, my cousin’s wedding, or 30 seconds into any dinner party i’ve ever been at where someone was funnier or more interesting than me - i had to continue to feign appreciation for this $2000 string on my wrist by doing more smiling and swaying.

more music i don’t care about, more spray tan fumes, more photos to convey the hashtag “blessed”… and then finally it was time to leave. 

but first i had to run into someone who had friend zoned me mere weeks prior to this.

and by “run in”, i of course mean that i saw this person, *absolutely singlehandedly* made a point to go out of my way to approach him, and then harassed him for a disturbing amount of time about something i already knew the answer to!!

i am a symphony only a dog whistle can orchestrate.

anyway, great… only six hundred twenty more swipes of this hand noose and i would be free.

but no, not so fast, because once we’d swiped our wrist bolo ties enough times that it felt like we’d given dozens of ghosts hand jobs, i looked up and realized we were no longer within the confines of that delusion jamboree, but we were standing on the concrete flanked by a committee of some of the most unhelpful people i’ve ever come across outside of the people who let you into the TSA lines at the airport.

and on one hand - we escaped! - on the other - no no no.

and so began our long day’s journey into night, brilliantly erasing the horrors of coachella and replacing them with a cursed 110 minute tour of indio’s main through street.

when we got into our uber a fortnight later, an ariana grande song i had heard for the first time (and subsequently 50 times thereafter) came on and as i looked at my phone, realizing that it would take another 45 minutes to get home, i was like “ooh. this is fun.”

[the-resurrection-3d]

Having a very sustained anxiety attack so I’m just gonna post some of what I was writing before I had to take the L. This would take place during part two of ETF but all you need to know is that Tord is a zombie.

Warnings for: mentions of necrophilia, rape (none shown), implied alcoholism and drug abuse 

Pairing: mentioned Edd/Tom/Tord 

One of Tord's best defenses against cravings is to read all his fan-mail from necrophiliacs.

 A lot of them are pretty standard for a celebrity, at least so Tord assumes -- you've changed my life, helped me through hard times, bladdy blah blah. Perhaps that's what that woman Stella Day was going on about with "inspiration porn."

The DSM-V has ten different classifications of necrophiliac, from simply roleplaying 1s to warmth-repellent 10s only able to perform with a bonafide corpse. Tord isn't really sure why that would catch on, of all things, especially when the UK doesn't use the DSM-V anyway -- makes it all sound like a video game, a leveling-system based on how much a social failure you are.

He likes to pretend the numbers they identify themselves as are the inverses of how attractive they are beyond the page. He likes to pretend his hands aren't shaking. He likes to pretend he has sweat glands left to make the pages wet.

In his lap, Ringo purrs.

----

 Ringo is the best cat a man could ever ask for. Sure, Tord had never had a cat before he'd moved in with Edd and Tom, but any cat that doesn't scratch at him when he picks her and screams into her soft, furry body is alright by him.

 She simply murps, looks at him as if to ask, rather kindly, what the fresh hell he thinks he's doing. He holds her in his arms like a newborn infant, forcing trembling lips up in a smile as he presses a kiss to her forehead, lets her lick at his finger. Cats love dead things, after all.

---

 "You have my eyes," Tord says softly in a language he knows she doesn't understand, raising up one of her paws for a gentle hi-five.

Something crashes -- a loud curse -- and Ringo dashes off into the dark abyss of the living room, her back claws cutting a clean wide line down the top of Tord's foot.

A questioning noise from Tord, moving to the cupboard for the duct tape.

 “Jammed my fuckin' toe," Tom grouses from down the hall, his door swinging open. "Fucking hate Christmas." 

Saint Nick just loves messing with you personally, Tord thinks, remaining silent as Tom appears before him, Edd's dinosaur pajamas clutched tight around him like a blanket.

Ah, the eternal duality of Thomas: loves to sleep alone, loves more to steal his boyfriends' clothes.

"My luck always gets worse around the holidays – ever notice that?" A full-body shiver as Tom shoulders past Tord to the fridge -- to his vodka. "Even the alcohol's somehow always worse! Like you have entirely new drinks just for getting smashed on Christmas and yet it all sucks. And it's fucking freezing, how are you not cold?"

Tord clears his throat. Tom pulls his head out of the fridge, looks at the clock on the microwave. 1:30am.

Tom shrugs. "I'll move my 10 am bottle to 10:15.” Tom pulls out his latest – still half-full from Edd gently chiding it out of his hands when Tom had gotten so sloshed he couldn’t even cut his own slice of pizza, and Tord had only watched and chewed his nails and thought of Tom’s mother. Tom looks as though he’s waiting for Tord to say something, but Tord doesn’t.

When Tom passes him again, Tom taps his shoulder, says he’s bleeding, says to turn the heat up, and then once he’s out into the hall again and banging a loose limb on the closet door: “Extra blankets in here.”

---

Tord feels like a harp whose strings are being plucked by some bird of prey mistaking them for stubborn worms.

---

Tord opens the fridge, closes. Opens, closes. Chews gum. Paces. Goes to his lab and chews some of his brain tissue samples – Romeros don’t hit the spot, not at all, but they’re grey and slimy and if he pretends hard enough then –

He plays his guitar and sings those songs that have always calmed him, making up what he can’t remember. Classical guitar done with jagged, dirty nails.

Sweet communist, the communist daughter, standing on the seaweed water…

He wishes Matt were here. Matt never perform without a fix.

---

Soundproof walls, steel everywhere to take his punches and kicks. Inside the harp’s strings are corroding in acid and he can hear it. No blood roaring in his ears, not even the scuttle of insects or the spreading of fungi’s’ thin, groping fingers. The foul, diseased magic that keeps a corpse upright sounds like a dull, mechanical droning.

Or like elevator music, slowed waaaay the fuck down.

The scene from the movie, the torso flailing about on the lab table, her brown skin stretched taut over what was left of her face like plastic wrap after all the air has been sucked out. Her naked spine wiggling back and forth, back and forth. “The pain of being dead.”

--

At 2:25 am Tord stumbles out into the white-streaked night and feels his knees sink into the still-piling snow. It’s not melting. He scoops some up into his hands and imagines the snowman in the front yard is himself as he launches a hard-packed ball at the back of its head. It doesn’t fall off. Damn.

Tom is too drunk and Edd too heavy a sleeper to notice if he goes back inside and gets the flamethrower, right?

----

It’s not entirely festive – the problem with Romeros is that along with sound, they’re attracted to bright, flashing lights, so all the strings of varicolored bulbs that normally would dress each building have been or are currently being pulled down by some slack-jawed mouth-breather, groans muffled by the crunch of glass under their broken, yellow teeth.

“Bror!” He calls to each of them. “God jul, søte bror! God jul!”

They wave back. Big, empty smiles.

---

One of the things zombie-hunters like to do is start fires in trashcans and either blow the can up or pick off their targets one-by-one from the rooftops. The collectors,— game-rangers, organ thieves, and necrophiliacs—they try and get you alone.

That was always one of the things his father would warn him about during one of his attempts to dissuade Tord from following in his uncle’s footsteps: your drug dealer could rob you, rape you, string you up like a Christmas ham, or God knows what.

What Tord heard was: trust no one.

So Tord looks for the familiar flag in the window of the mortuary: red, white, gray, and black.

He can remember Edd designing it, what feels like so long ago: red for blood; white for maggots (aka a little extra fun); gray for the color of zombified flesh; black for being a black-pilled incel loser. Tord feels his skin inch.

He’s only wearing the sweater and jeans he’d fallen asleep in. How terribly unsexy; he leans against the dusty brick wall to roll the cuff of his pants up, exposing his prosthetic to the cold, howling air. Fixes his hair best as he can in the dark glass.

What had Matt called him? The face that launched a thousand freaks?

A wink, a finger gun to his reflection. The flamethrower left in the trashcan just out of view from the door.

[some-rfa-imagines]

my r [saeran]

based off of the song 'my r' | fem!reader | soulmate au but i'll tell you which at the end (don't skip there!) | v sad ending my bad | also unedited but that's nothing new lmao

also, i know the act of  taking off your shoes before committing suicide has Japanese origin but for the sake of the oneshot just pretend pls. this is a slightly different storyline than the main game as well ^^;

this is from my wattpad so it’s format is a little different than it usually is here ^^;

TW: Suicide/implied suicide, abuse, swearing, general sadness & angst.

Please be VERY careful and if you're feeling depressed PLEASE talk to someone. NEVER take your own life, I promise it's not worth it.

Saeran pushed open the door to the rooftop. He had had enough, his energy was completely drained and honestly? He really saw no point to the world. Monochrome. Monochrome was his life, his resolve, his will to keep on living. His soulmate could do better. God, soulmates. The thought made him feel cold, lonely, empty. Saeran was still young, 23 was a perfectly acceptable age to not have a soulmate. In fact, the elderly home that he volunteered at occasionally had many people still without a soulmate.

But Saeran didn't really care. About the words on his wrist nor about the existence of a soulmate of his own. The abuse from his mother until she passed, maybe, ten years ago, had slowly squeezed every drop of empathy from him, sucking him dry. He was 13 when she finally died. From there, he was placed into foster care - without his brother. But nobody wanted a husk of a child. At 15 he finally ran away and got a temporary job as a florists assistant. After that, he simply existed.

Now here he was, at 23, standing above the city with a note clutched firmly in his hand. Sighing, he wandered over to a bench, sitting down to remove his shoes. That's when he saw a purse, left beside him on the seat. Eyes widening, Saeran jolted, frantically looking around the edge of the skyrise. Across the rooftop, stood a girl with two, loose, (h/c) braids. She was in a loose, black top and high-waisted shorts. Behind her rested two black shoes, socks tucked neatly inside. Her back was turned to him and she looked up at the night sky, stars barely visible against the light of the city.

Saeran froze. He didn't know what to do. He watched as she stepped up onto the ledge. In a fit of panic, he stood, pacing quickly across the cement roof.

"Hey! Don't do it, please!"

Woah, wait a minute, what the fuck did I just say? He was now behind her, heaving slightly from moving so suddenly, eyes wide. I don't even care - I don't have the right to care. Saeran clenched his hands into tight fists by his side. He was pissed now. This was such a missed opportunity. Damn.

You turned around - slowly so you didn't fall - before seeing the accuser of the shouting. Before you stood a man, roughly your age, with silvery-white hair. The tips were a light pink and the roots had begun to grow out into a soft vermillion. He wore a black jacket, red singlet and had a striking tattoo on his right arm. But what captivated you most were his eyes - one a luminescent gold, the colour of honey and the other a bright teal that seemed to literally glow. Your breath caught in your throat. Swept up in the soft amber glow of the city, this stranger looked simply stunning.

Little did you know, he was equally captivated by you.

"Please, just come down from there. I promise, whatever is pushing you to this is so much more fucking insignificant than you might think."

"...Okay..." A whisper fell from your lips. Hey, Saeran considered, it's a start.

Slowly, you stepped down from the ledge, pulling yourself over the glass railing. Moving quietly as to not startle you, the stranger picked up your shoes and held out a hand to you. Tentatively, you took it and he guided you further onto the rooftop. You reached the bench where you had abandoned your purse. There, you began to talk. 'You've probably heard it all before,' you said. You told him about your cheating boyfriend, about how - on your three-year anniversary mind you, - he admitted to seeing other people behind your back. You were absolutely devastated. 'I really thought he might be the one, but then he told me he was done.'

Saeran grit his teeth. You've got to be kidding me.

"Oh, for god's sake, please!" He shouted, standing to face you in frustration. You jumped slightly, startled by his unexpected reaction. "Are you serious?!"

"W-What...?"

"I just can't believe that for some stupid reason - for some fucking asshole - you got here before me!" His outburst came as a painful shock to the system. "Are you upset, just because you couldn't get what you wanted? You've got to be joking- at least you've never been robbed of anything! Of your future, of your friends!"

You blinked in surprise before your vision hazed. You felt the soft, familiar trickle of tears as you forced out a broken laugh. Burying your face in your hands, you nodded, chest heaving in disbelief as you came to your senses. The stranger was silent now and you looked up, crookedly smiling at him. "Yeah. God, you're so right. What the hell am I doing...?" All the tension drained from your body and you gazed up at the sky, exhausted. "I'm feeling better now, thank you."

Saeran was quiet for a moment. How do you respond to that? He had never been good at socialising with others. "You don't need to thank me." He murmured, turning to face the sky as well.

You laughed from beside him and he paused, listening. After a moment, he decided he liked the sound of your laughter more than your crying.

"I will anyway. Thank you for listening, and for talking me down."

He let a small smile touch his lips. "Yeah, no problem."

Alright, today. Today is the day.

Several months after his last attempt, Saeran wandered up onto the rooftop of his apartment complex once more. It was late afternoon and he wanted to get this over with before he could be interrupted again. Stretching lazily, he rested a hand against the wall to support himself, unlacing his shoes and kicking off his socks. He dug around in his jacket pocket, picking out a letter from between his keys and phone. Holding onto it tightly so it wouldn't fly away in the breeze, Saeran tucked his phone and keys into his shoes.

Glancing up, he froze. What the fuck is she doing back here? Again, just like last time, the girl with (h/c) hair stood on the edge, just beyond the glass panes. She rested tranquilly against the railing, quietly lost thought. This time, she wore a knitted cream jumper and a black skirt. Her hair glowed amber in the afternoon light, the breeze picking it up and toying with it. Saeran watched warily as she mindlessly drew patterns on the glass edge. It was then Saeran realised how delicately she held herself. It was though she thought of herself as glass.

"Oi! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He shouted, voice carrying across the breeze.

You started at the sudden interruption in your stream of thought. Wait a moment, I recognise that voice... Turning, you faced the same stranger who stopped you last time, his hair lit up gold in the honey, afternoon glow. Barefoot, he walked toward you as you twisted to rest your body weight on the thin railing. You heard cars behind you - the evening rush. "Hey, stranger. What a coincidence."

"Come on, dipstick. You'll slip, get back over here." He held out a hand to you and a soft chuckle slipped through your lips. You unfurled your arms, taking his hand and climbing nimbly back over the railing.

Saeran internally sighed in relief, glad she stepped down so easily. If she hadn't... well, he wouldn't know what to do. God, he thought, I'm such a hypocrite.

"Why do you even care what happens to me?" Her soft-spoken words shook him out of his stupor. "Everyone else ignores me, everyone else steals. It's not like we exactly fit together either."

Saeran glanced down at the girl by his side. She looked out over the cityscape, resting against the railing once more, and he could see her (e/c) eyes looked a little duller than last time. Sighing tiredly, he looked over the skyrises as well. "You must be joking." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at him. He continued, "another day, another stupid reason to get here before me."

He looked over at her, catching her quiet eyes. "Even if your friends seem to hate you, you still have your family and they still love you. Even if everyone backstabs you, you still have dinner on the table when you go home. Right?" Saeran held her gaze, watching her reaction closely.

You gasped softly, caught in the man's tired eyes. They were even more beautiful up close. What the hell am I doing... Why haven't I learnt my lesson yet? I'm such an idiot. You smiled lightly. "Yeah. I'm hungry."

Stepping away from the railing, you picked up your shoes and walked barefoot back to the door. Beaming, you faced the stranger. "Come get some food with me - my treat. For saving me again."

Saeran blinked before chuckling to himself. It's going to have to wait. As long as he could guarantee the girl standing in front of him would be okay tonight, he could survive a few more weeks. It was okay, even if no one did the same for him. Even if he had to hide his own pain every time he took on hers.

-

Half a year later, he tries again. Exactly like the first time, Saeran sees (Y/N). Sitting on the edge. She wore a soft yellow cardigan and her hair was loosely braided.

"(Y/N)...?" He surprised himself by speaking. He didn't think his voice could be so soft. It's become a habit and before he knows it, his shoes are off and he's running towards her. Saeran's hands shake as he jumps over the railing, slowing to a stop behind her. (Y/N) was uncharacteristically quiet.

After their impromptu dinner 6 months ago, they exchanged phone numbers and kept in contact. (Y/N) had moved back in with her parents while she got back on her feet and they hadn't been able to meet for some time. Some time passed and she suddenly stopped answering her phone. Saeran would never admit it, but he was incredibly worried about her and constantly hoped she was okay.

Walking to her side, he took a seat next to her. Noting her shoes were already off, he watched her carefully. Her eyes were completely dull, lifeless, familiar. He knew those eyes. He knew those eyes very well. He knew those eyes because those eyes were the exact same that stared at him in the mirror every morning. Those eyes that smiles never quite reached, that laughter didn't crease and that didn't light up in anticipation. Oh, god, what have they done to you?

Silently, she reached out, grasping his hand tightly. Her eyes never left the horizon as the wind picked up, ruffling her hair and lifting her cardigan. Bandages...

"I just want to stop the scars that grow every time that I go home. That's why I came up here instead." That's what the girl in the cardigan said.

...Woah, wait a minute, what did I just say? I couldn't care less either way. But in the moment, I just screamed something that I did not believe.

"Hey, don't do it, please."

Panic. Saeran's fight or flight response triggered and a wave of dread overcame him. AAAA What to do! I can't stop her this time, oh this is new. For once I think I've bitten off more than I can chew. He clasped her hand tightly to his chest. The wind bit at his eyes as icy tears began to spill. (Y/N) froze. Then her eyes turned sad, so very sad and she shoved herself further back onto the ledge before tugging him into her embrace. Please just go away, so I can't see... Your pitiful expression is just too much for me.

A broken laugh fell from your lips as you held Saeran as tight as you could muster. "I guess today is just not my day." You pursed your lips, looking out over the sunset. "I guess today is just not my day."

There's no one on the rooftop today. I guess it's time. Saeran surveyed the empty roof. Yep. No one. He sighed, kicking off his shoes and socks. He fumbled in his pocket for the fourth time, pulling out letter number four. Rewritten, permanently. Just me, myself and I. He exhaled lightly, dropping his phone and keys into his shoes as well as a second letter, just in case.

"There's no one who can interfere. No one to get in my way." He mumbled, cracking his neck. Taking off his jacket, he dropped it on the railing before running a hand through his red locks. "I'm going to do it. And I'll be free." He mounted the railing, dropping swiftly down onto the other side. "I'll be okay, (Y/N)."

You sprinted towards the rooftop door. You knew something was wrong - why didn't I check on him earlier? Yanking it open, your bare feet stung against the concrete as you raced towards the man on the edge of the building. Idiot, idiot, idiot! You screamed before you could even consider stopping yourself.

"SAERAN! DON'T DO IT! PLEASE!"

A doctor in the ward was the first to notice. Your last words to him cried loud enough for bystanders to finally notice the commotion on the rooftop. Your last words, carved into his wrists as his were into yours.

soulmate AU where the first and last words you say to your soulmate are written on their wrists, but the first only appear after you've said the last. weellll i just made myself sad

[h-styles-babes]

Bad Habit

I may have...uh...written a thing. I was listening to Bad Habit by The Kooks, and I got inspired. So, this little diddy is very loosely based off the song and music video. I couldn’t get this scenario out of my head, and this is what came of it. I know I promised some one shot requests and some work on the new fic that I’m working on, but this just...grabbed me and wouldn’t let go, ya know? I was merely a victim in the making of this. So, I hope you all enjoy ;) xx

“Yeh comin’ out with us for a drink tonight? We’re meeting Carrie at Fitz’s.”

Vivian shook her head, stuffing her frozen hands into her jacket pockets. It was Thursday night, after their last lecture of the evening. None of them had class the next day, so Thursdays were their typical party nights. Viv would usually be eager to join her mates, but she had other plans that didn’t include being in a crowded pub. Her laptop was to be her companion that night, and that was more than enough for her. Especially with the content it would be allowing her to view. 

“I’m gonna have a night in. Give myself a break from last week. Christ knows my liver could use it.”

“Last weekend was rough,” Teddy agreed. “I woke up cuddled to fuckin’ Liam, vomit on me shirt, and a hand cuff on only one wrist.” He shuddered like the memory gave him the chills.

“Kinky,” Viv snickered. 

“That was a good cuddle, though, wasn’t it?” Liam defended. “I was cosy.” “We just gonna ignore the vomit and handcuff I mentioned?”

“I honestly don’t even know how that happened,” Viv reflected. “I swear I was with you two until we fell asleep that night.”

“Teddy and I went out after we got you into bed,” Liam said. “Think we ran into a couple birds at a pub a few blocks over.”

“Well, it was Halloween weekend. Was one of ‘em dressed as a police woman?”

“Oh my god! That’s right!” Teddy exclaimed, smacking his palm to his forehead. “That redhead was a sexy officer. That’s definitely where the handcuffs came from.”

“And I’m pretty sure her friend was the one who got the vomit on your shirt,” Liam said with a definitive nod. 

“Well, as fun as this little flashback has been, this is where I get off,” Viv announced, even though the two boys knew full well where she lived. Since they were in their second year, Viv was able to get a flat just off campus by herself. It was just a studio thing, but it served its purpose, and she was glad to be out of student housing. While she’d enjoyed having a roommate,—who was the aforementioned Carrie that she’d formed a strong friendship with—she didn’t so much enjoy not having private space and having to share a loo with twenty other girls. She had to maintain a part-time job in order to pay for her rent and food, but it was well worth it to have her own space. 

“We’ll be at Fitz’s if yeh change your mind,” Teddy shouted to her as she mounted the stairs to take her two her second-level flat. 

“I’m stayin’ in, I promise. I’ll see yeh this weekend.”

The two boys waved at her as a goodbye and sent their well wishes of a good night. They were still in sight when Viv finally shut her door and locked it behind her. 

The flat was a warm reprieve from the autumn chill outside. She didn’t have to turn her heat on much, since her large windows allowed in enough light during the day to keep the old building warm into the evening. Well, that was when the sun was out enough. Luckily, that day had been mostly free of clouds, so Viv didn’t think twice about shucking her coat and boots and just bustling around her flat in her jumper and leggings. She got her laptop booted up as she went about making herself a cuppa and rummaging around for something to eat. She’d gone grocery shopping at the beginning of the week, but she still seemed to be a bit awful at the whole meal-making thing. She knew she had the ingredients necessary for a decent meal, she just wasn’t sure how to put it together, really. The kettle was whistling by the time she decided on some soup and a grilled cheese.

So, she made herself a brew while she waited for her chicken noodle soup to heat. She let the bag steep while she buttered some bread and sprinkled some shredded cheese. Within ten minutes, she had herself a proper meal, and she’d just sat down when a little notification popped up on her computer screen. If it had been a week earlier, she’d have been absolutely embarrassed by the sender of the message and the website that it had been sent through, but, as it was, she felt a fluttering in her tummy and stirring between her hips. She still wasn’t exactly proud of her late night escapades, but she didn’t feel the shame she once had. 

The message read that the video would be live in half an hour, so Vivian finished her dinner and cuppa in peace, though the excitement was definitely building within her. She was getting wet just at the thought of what she’d be witnessing in just a few minutes, and if she wasn’t already so far gone, she’d be a little weirded out at herself. But, as it were, she did a little shimmy when there was only five minutes left until the stream started, and she busied herself with washing the dishes she’d used and pouring herself a glass of wine. 

While her sofa was comfy, she decided her bed was a more comfortable place to be, so she hunkered down there, setting her laptop up beside her and opening the webpage she needed. The screen was blank, aside from the ads and recommended videos on the sides, but she knew in a few minutes the most exciting part of her week would be broadcast for her to see. The message sent out as she sat there announced that there was only one more minute until the broadcast went live. She took one last sip of her wine. The username ‘UniBoy94’ was marked as ‘online’ just before the screen flickered to life. That fluttery feeling was back as her newly favourite obsession filled her screen. 

The only sound coming through the speakers were whatever music was playing in the man’s room on the other side of the screen. Vivian noticed the familiar chords of a song that she liked and had just discovered from a more local band she’d actually seen at a bar a few weeks ago. She couldn’t linger on that fact too long, though, because the man took a deep breath, straining his pecs against the soft-looking cotton of his plain grey t-shirt. She could only see him from the neck down, keeping what she could assume were perfect lips from her eyes, though she could imagine his lips were parted as he took his breath. His large hands came into view, his rings adorned on his long fingers. There was a small cross tattoo on his left hand that she was strangely fond of—probably because it was such a conflict with the lascivious acts he did so often for people to watch. 

His right hand snuck up under his shirt and slowly dragged the material up his torso, first revealing the matching laurels tattooed into the dips of his V line. Viv couldn’t help but lick her lips as she watched his shirt ride up higher and higher, exposing his happy trail, belly button, large butterfly tattoo, his pecs. He let his shirt stay there, hooking the hem into his mouth, keeping his face out of view of the camera. His right hand trailed back down his body, slipping his fingers into the waistband of the boxers he was wearing. The rings caught at the elastic band as he continued to drag his hand down, exposing the light patch of hair that weirdly made Viv aroused. She’d never really admit it to anyone, but she liked mens’ body hair in it’s natural state. The man on the other side of the screen kept his pubic area trimmed neat, but he didn’t seem to completely remove any part of it, including where it connected up into his happy trail. Viv was particularly fond of the look. 

His hand abandoned its adventure into his boxers as he sat upright to use both hands to draw his shirt over his head. Viv was glad to see the swallows just below each of his collar bones, as well as all the tattoos that adorned the upper part of his left arm. For the most part, his tattoos were all on that arm, except for one that was on his right forearm. The strange contrast between the two sides of him would seem a bit off to some people, but it pleased the part of Viv that couldn’t decide if she was more attracted to men with tattoos or men that were a clean-skinned. She got both in the mystery man on the other side of the screen. 

Vivian’s breathing sped up as the man leaned forward to type on the computer, his message popping up on the screen once he was finished. 

‘Got a request to use a vibrator. Your wish = my command.’

Viv could have sworn she felt her heart skip a beat. That was her suggestion from Tuesday night’s session. While watching him work his hand over himself, scratch his short nails down his lightly sculpted abs, and thrust his hips up into his slick hand was enough to send her over, she really wanted to see him when there was more stimulation. He was already pretty vocal as it was, grunting when he approached his orgasm and whimpering when something he did felt particularly good, but she could only imagine the noises he’d make if something was vibrating against his cock. 

She wasn’t disappointed.

He peeled the red boxers from his hips, still kneeling on his bed. His cock was already hard, and it bobbed as he sat back to discard the last of the material that was covering him. He settled back into the pillows behind him and reached for something off camera, cock resting against his belly. He had the most impressive dick Viv had ever seen. She admired everything about it, from the length that nearly reached his belly button, the girth that looked like it would offer a nice stretch when he’d enter her, the glistening red tip, to the vein that ran up his length, visibly pulsing when he was particularly aroused. While she’d never encountered it in person, it was what she stacked every other dick up against, but it was hardly fair. UniBoy was the stuff of legends, and she would have thought it was photoshopped if she didn’t know for certain that these little videos of his were broadcasted live. 

He came back with a vibrator in hand, already plugged in somewhere off screen. Not only was it a vibrator, but it was a wand that Viv had seen used in countless porn videos. She was always envious of the people using them, as she could hear the power of the vibrations, even through the shitty speakers of her laptop. She’d always wanted one ever since she knew what a vibrator was, but they were expensive for a vibrator, and the twenty quid one she owned did fine. Maybe when she made more than was enough to pay rent and bills, then she’d buy a fancy one. 

The man wielded the toy in his right hand, clicking it on to what appeared to be the lowest setting. He very slowly touched the bulbous end of the want to the place where the shaft of his cock met his balls, and he automatically tensed, a low moan rumbling through his chest. If Viv had been wet before, she was absolutely dripping now, and he hadn’t even properly touched himself yet. She quickly set her wine on her bedside table and reached under the covers to slip herself out of her sleep shorts and panties. Her left hand lingered over her folds, gently teasing the little bud that peaked out from the center. She was sensitive already, and she could already guess that she wasn’t going to make it through this whole session before cumming. 

He still only hand the wand pressed to his length, his free left hand resting at his chest, tweaking his right nipple every so often. Viv watched as he trailed the head of the device up to the tip of his penis, letting it rest against the underside as he flicked the vibrations to a higher setting. He whimpered, left hand clenching into the skin of his chest as he heaved a bit with the extra stimulation. Viv let her fingers dip between her folds, feeling how absolutely drenched she was for the first time. She’d never been so wet in her life until she’d discovered this boy’s videos. It had started as an innocent scroll through Tumblr, looking at stuff the people she followed posted. In the middle of her posts about weird science facts and cute videos of hairless cats was a very naughty two minute video of a man stroking himself. The film was in black and white, but Viv was immediately taken with the display of tattoos and the way the man’s body reacted to his own ministrations. If she hadn’t been in the library, she would have played the video then and there, but she saved it so she could come back to it later.

When she got home later that evening, she took a scroll through the blog of the person who posted the video. Everything was anonymous, and the man never posted anything of his face or where he was from or what he did outside of making videos. It was obvious he was in uni, just from his username, but outside of that, there was no personal information, not even his first name. She was taken with his videos and the other content of his blog, and she could admit to herself that she’d gotten off to his short snippets of videos more than a few times in the few days she took scouring his blog for content. 

That was a few weeks ago, and somehow she had graduated to actually paying to see his live streams that he’d had advertised on his page. It wasn’t a lot to view a video—only five quid—but she could see the viewer number on the screen, and there was very nearly five thousand people watching. The man made a lot of money masturbating for random people on the internet, and she couldn’t begrudge him that. Honestly, she didn’t understand why she hadn’t thought of that as opposed to working part time at a book store. She’d be making a hell of a lot more money, that’s for sure. 

So, this was how she spent her Tuesday and Thursday nights, now. She wasn’t even upset that she shelled out ten pounds a week for this, because at least she knew she was helping him attend uni and pay for the assumed flat that he lived in. Plus, she stopped having to search through thousands of porn videos when she was horny in order to just find one video that she could actually stand to watch. She had been without a boyfriend for nearly a year now, and her hand wasn’t really cutting it, so the porn was a necessary evil. Now, though, she watched the exact content she wanted to see. And, the fact that she paid to view his videos meant she was able to see all his past videos whenever she pleased. She didn’t think it got much better than that. 

Besides actually having sex with him of course, but that wasn’t very likely to happen.

The man finally pulled the vibrator away from his straining cock to reveal rivulets of precum dripping down his shaft, his head completely red. He let his left hand drift down and used only his first finger and thumb to circle around the head, dragging the slickness down his length. The stroked just like that, ever so slowly for what seemed like whole minutes. It was pure torture for Viv, following the same slow pace he set for himself as she dipped her fingers into her clenching hole. His hips began slowly pushing up to meet his downward pulls, his control wavering. 

As his pace began to speed up, Viv used her other hand to rub broad circles over her clit, making herself whimper. She wanted so badly to cum already, but she’d made a game with herself to not let herself cum until the man did. She loved to watch the way his whole body clenched with his release, and it was exactly what she needed to push herself over the edge. 

The vibrator was still buzzing in his other hand, and Vivian’s chest constricted as she heard him turn it up two settings before bringing it to his already-sensitive head. 

“Fuuu—” drew out from his lips. Viv could guess he’d thrown his head back by the way the muscles in his neck strained. She could see a bright pink flush spreading across his chest as it heaved from his laboured breath. He had to be the sexiest man she had ever seen, and she’d never had even a peek of his face. 

Viv’s circles on her clit got faster and smaller as his left hand sped up, matching his strokes exactly. She plunged two fingers from her other hand inside of her, hooking them to press against that spongy spot along her front wall. She was always glad for her longer fingers, because it made piano playing more of a breeze, but she also liked their ability to reach that place inside her that had her hitching her breath when she pressed just right. 

She heard more than saw him amp up the vibrator one more setting, followed by his string of, “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” 

He got vocal like that often, and the depth and timbre of his voice turned Viv on just as much as watching him touch himself did. She was sure it wasn’t always that deep or strained, but something about his inability to contain himself while getting himself off for a bunch of strangers absolutely ruined her. 

“‘m gonna cum,” he huffed out, the snapping of his hips into his fist getting faster. He never relented on the constant vibration to his swollen head, which only made Viv move faster, chasing her own orgasm. She could feel that coil ready to snap in her belly, and she was just waiting for that last piece to just completely send her over. 

Before she could become desperate for it, his abs clenched harshly and his thighs flexed as he pushed up once more to meet his hand. He never completely removed the vibrator from himself, but he just trailed it down to his balls again, letting it feed the force of his climax.  She watched, captivated, as his milky cum spurt from his head, shooting up over his stomach and dribbling down over his fist, covering his rings. Hearing him groan and bite out various curses pushed Viv over, throwing her head back and letting out a moan of her own as her release washed over her. 

She opened her eyes back up just in time to watch the man on screen shakily prop himself back up in order to get to his keyboard. She watched as his shaky hands struggled to type out a message, catching her own breath as the little bubble popped up on screen. 

‘To the bird who suggested the vibrator: You’re my fucking queen.’

Vivian’s tummy erupted in those flutters for an entirely different reason then.

So...obviously since the fic involves an OFC, I am willing to build on this if anyone would like to see more parts. I actually do have a rough outline of a short story if people would like more. If not, it will remain this onsehot. But, if you do want more, let me know! I do so appreciate hearing from you guys.

Nikki xx

[girlwsoftsound]

Story Time || Ross MacDonald Oneshot

Word Count: 2,010 Summary: Upon bringing your young son to the bookstore with you, you hear a man’s voice that catches the attention of you both. Author’s Note: Major thanks to @u2bibliophile for the lovely idea <3 It was so cute and fun to write. Also the book Ross reads in this is Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. I’ve linked the music version I document in the story. Highly recommend listening to it when the time comes! Be sure to throw in a like or comment if you liked it! I love seeing feedback from you all. Please feel free to read my other work here! Enjoy!

“Mommy, I want this book!”

You had heard it all day. Your little one’s voice, still high and childlike, yet as annoying as a little boy’s voice ever could be. He wasn’t usually a bad kid - no, usually Carter maintained the same calm demeanor that had drawn you to his father. That is, before he abandoned you during your pregnancy for someone who was very much not pregnant and less of a burden. You would never let Carter get that way. Though, you supposed in moments like this where he didn’t listen to you and kept whining, he was that way to some extent. It made you despise it more.

“Carter, sweetie, we can’t get that book. Mommy has to go get a book for her work. We don’t have the money.”

“But mom!”

“Not today,” you sighed, shaking your head. As much as it hurt to tell him no, you had to. You really did not have the money, and the book he had his eyes on contained actual toys attached to it in a big set. You were sure it would be expensive, however much it was. You simply couldn’t afford it, not when your own book would be its own fortune. Taking Carter’s hand, you brought him back towards the more education-based books. They were far less interesting to the little blonde boy. No four year old could find interest in thick, pictureless books. He didn’t see any pretty colors or cool figures. It might as well have been pure nothingness in front of him. He grumbled and acted sluggish as you brought him to your specific section. A loud sigh voiced his displeasure. You gave him a sympathetic smile as you pulled one of the books off the shelf.

“I know buddy, it’s boring. I’m almost done, and then we can go home and play. Alright?”

He hardly looked satisfied. But, it was enough to make him quiet, and that was good enough for you. You started filing through the books, until finally after about ten minutes of looking, you got what you needed. Picking Carter up off the ground where he had decided to sit and pout, you began making your way through the store. Though you were a bit wary to move past where Carter had seen the book set he wanted, he kept his calm. You chalked it up to him wanted to go home, which frankly you could not blame him for. The quieter he was, the faster you could get him home. But then, just as you were about to make your way to the checkout counter, music started to play. Acoustic guitar music that caught your little boy’s attention in mere seconds. Grinning from ear to ear, he pulled at your shirt and pointed over to its source, which of course just had to be the section with his toy book.

“Mommy, I wanna’ hear the music!”

“Carter, I don’t know if we-”

“Pleeeeease?”

You sighed. You had been a pretty mean mom to him, dragging him around and refusing to buy anything for his time and patience. This was the least thing you could do. Besides, it was free to listen to music. If it got Carter excited, who were you to stop him? Taking his hand, you gave in and walked him over. He giggled and thanked you as profusely as any excited four year old could. As you made your way over, the sound of a really deep voice filled the air. A few other voices giggled around him, and when you got close enough, you noticed that these voices belonged to three handsome men, friends of the one responsible for the acoustic sounds. A small crowd of kids were surrounding them, eagerly watching the four as their parents waited off to the side. Whoever these men were, they seemed important. You were pretty fond of the one with the guitar, yourself. He laughed and then scratched at his beard.

“I was only joking that I’d give everyone a concert, but now that I’ve got a crowd, I suppose I might as well perform something for them anyway.”

“You better,” the guy with curly black hair laughed, gazing out at the kids, “the little ones look ready to hear some music.”

“Alright then,” he spoke, smiling their way, “do any of you kids have a song you want me to sing?”

The taller of the three standing giggled, saying “Old MacDonald should do the trick” to the visible chagrin of the bearded boy. The other two joined in on the giggles, along with some parents. Apparently, these boys definitely were famous. And jokesters, apparently.

“Sir?”

All eyes fell on your boy, Carter, standing right in front of you with a little blush but excitement evident in his face. You blushed as the bearded guy first looked to you before gazing Carter’s way. Giving him a soft smile, he gestured for him to speak.

“Can you sing the song from the book my mommy usually sings to me?”

The man grinned even brighter. “Of course! What book does she sing to you?”

“Chicka Chicka Boom Boom.”

A few kids giggled at the choice, but the man held his smile. He fiddled a bit with his guitar and then began strumming it to the all too familiar tune. He threw Carter a wink.

“Of course, buddy. That’s a throwback to my childhood! We’re all about as old as it is, anyway. I know it by heart because of that, if I’m being honest. I’d love to sing it for you.”

“Yay!”

Clearing his throat, he began to strum louder, growing rather animated facially.

“A told B, and B told C, "I'll meet you at the top of the coconut tree." "Wheee!" said D to E F G, "I'll beat you to the top of the coconut tree." Chicka chicka boom boom! Will there be enough room? Here comes H up the coconut tree, and I and J and tag-along K, all on their way up the coconut tree. Chicka chicka boom boom! Will there be enough room? Look who's coming! L M N O P! And Q R S! And T U V! Still more - W! And X Y Z! The whole alphabet up the - Oh, no!”

The other boys all laughed as he pretended to fall off of his seat, flailing about. The kids also got a kick out of it, including your little Carter, who had been trying his best to mouth along to the song as he danced to it. You smiled and ruffled up his hair, which got a smile from both Carter and the man up front. He continued.

”Chicka chicka... BOOM! BOOM! Skit skat skoodle doot. Flip flop flee. Everybody running to the coconut tree. Mamas and papas and uncles and aunts hug their little dears, then dust their pants. "Help us up," cried A B C. Next from the pileup skinned-knee D, and stubbed-toe E and patched-up F. Then comes G all out of breath. H is tangled up with I. J and K are about to cry. L is knotted like a tie. M is looped. N is stopped. O is twisted alley-oop. Skit skat skoodle doot. Flip flop flee. Look who's coming! It's black-eyed P, Q R S, and loose-tooth T. Then U V W wiggle-jiggle free. Last to come X Y Z. And the sun goes down on the coconut tree... But - chicka chicka boom boom! Look, there's a full moon. A is out of bed, and this is what he said, "Dare double dare, you can't catch me. I'll beat you to the top of the coconut tree." Chicka chicka BOOM! BOOM! Chicka chicka BOOM! BOOM!”

And with that, the song was done. Everyone clapped and cheered, the man bowing for the kids and getting patted on the back by his friends. You clapped as well, smiling at him and the way your little boy clapped and cheered as loud as he normally did for his favorite TV shows, or any superhero movie you let him watch. His little blonde mop ran up to the man and hugged him tight. You blushed, only able to watch the adorable sight through your fingers. The man waved and beckoned you to come over, the curly haired boy telling everyone thank you for coming and something about the year ‘1975’. Moving forward, you came and picked Carter up, the little boy still all smiles at the man. You held out your hand.

“{Y/N},” you told him kindly, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” he replied, grinning back at Carter, “I’m Ross. Who’s this little guy?”

“Carter.”

“Nice to meet you, Carter,” he spoke in the most sweet voice you had ever heard a man use. “You’re quite a handsome lad.”

“What do you say, love?”

“Thank you Mr. Ross,” he replied, polite just like you raised him. Ross reached and messed with his hair, causing him to giggle. “I really like how each letter had..had a different voice!”

Ross smiled. “Thank you! My family always did that for me when I was your age,” he added, poking at Carter’s chest. Carter giggled and squirmed in your arms, making you laugh and have to set him down. Once his feet touched the floor, he was off playing with the other kids sticking around in the area. You shook your head.

“He seems like a firecracker, that one.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’m assuming he has his father’s hair?”

You bit your lip. His father. “Yeah, he does. Thankfully, he doesn’t have much more of the guy.”

“Bad father?”

“You have no idea. He’s out of Carter’s life probably for the best.”

Ross’ expression softened. “I’m sorry. Genuinely. He deserves a good dad. But, from how polite and sweet he is, I see he has a good mother to back him up.”

Blushing, you felt like a silly schoolgirl around her crush. Apparently his voice wasn’t the only thing that was smooth. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll find someone good for him sooner or later. I try my best to keep him happy in the meantime.”

“You’re doing a wonderful job.”

“Thank you.”

“Look...I hate being so blunt but...you’re a beautiful woman,” Ross rambled nervously, “ and I adore your child. I would really like to get to know you and, if I could be so lucky, him, better. Would you want to go get dinner sometime? My treat?”

You smiled and reached to rub his arm, getting him to look at you. The smile he gave back to you when meeting your eyes lit up your world. “I would love to. And, eventually, we would love to as well. Do you want to exchange numbers?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

You quickly did. Upon receiving your phone back, you found out that his last name was MacDonald, hence the taller man’s joke about ‘Old MacDonald’. You smiled at it before pocketing your phone and calling Carter back over. He jogged over and then held his hands up, allowing you to pick him up and hold him at your side.

“Say goodbye to Mr. Ross, Carter.”

“Bye-bye,” he said sweetly, waving to Ross. Ross waved back, throwing a grin back to his friends who were watching quietly a bit away.

“Bye, little guy.”

“See you later Ross,” you said to him, smiling behind your blush. “I’ll text you when I’m free for dinner, yeah?”

Ross nodded. “Yeah, that sounds wonderful. You two get home safely.”

“Same to you.”

With one final wave, you turned and went back over to the checkout counter. After quickly buying your book, you headed out with Carter to your car. As you went to buckle him into his booster seat, Carter tapped you on the arm.

“Mommy?”

Pulling back to look at him, you cocked your head to the side. “What, love?”

“I really like Mr. Ross.”

You smiled. “You know what? I do too, buddy.”