#i kind of want to come up with a name for this au but i can't think of any broken television puns i like

[borathae]

Sext

↳ Full Art

"Because Taehyung is currently on a business trip, you and he haven't been able to be intimate in weeks. Plagued by unbearable desire, you ask him to send you something sexy. Luckily for you, your husband is an obedient good boy with an amazing artistic sense."

Pairing: CEO!Taehyung x CEO!Reader

Genre: Smut, married life!AU

Warnings: sub!Taehyung, Dom!Reader, sexting, sending of a dick pic, kinda public sex at first because he touches himself on a balcony, phone sex, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, lots of dirty talk, praise, good boy!kink, she uses a vibrator on herself, he uses his hands, she tells him to cum on his own briefs, he is so whiney and needy for her, guided aftercare, they're lowkey so kinky with each other

Wordcount: 4.2k

a/n: i decided to write something for the ihyily!couple again hohoho enjoy besties, this is very horny 💚 i hope you guys are enjoying my stories lately, feedback's been kinda little for all of them so i can't really tell. also big shoutout to all the lovely people who do leave feedback, i see you and love you!!! either way, enjoy my besties hehe

You are on your back, stretching your limbs from you in the middle of your king sized bed and with your eyes glued to the sky light on your ceiling. On normal nights, you would already be fast asleep by now, but because you haven’t been with your husband in a week, you aren’t. 

The bed is too big without him. 

You miss him so much. You miss his cuddles and his kisses and his voice and his scent and his smiles and his jokes and his hugs and his everything. You huff out air in frustration. Yes, you miss his everything. 

You roll your head to the side, flipping your phone to check the time on your clock app. When one of you is on a business trip in another time zone, you always put in the zone on your apps to see what time the other is currently experiencing. 

Taehyung must currently experience early evening hours. The beginning of sundowns, the sound of people driving home from work, the scent of dinner in the air. You want to be with him. Listen to Paris get ready for sleep, eat dinner on the balcony, drink wine and play with him.

You falter for a moment. There it is again. That heavy lump in your stomach. That heavy, hot lump of build up frustration. It has been bothering you ever since the morning, making it difficult to work. If Taehyung was home, he would have already helped you take care of it. You miss him so much. In more ways than one.

Before Taehyung left for his business trip to Paris, you and he weren’t able to have goodbye sex because you were on your period and felt too shitty to be horny. You aren’t on your period anymore and you are paying the price. You keep thinking back to the last night with him where you cuddled instead of fucked. If you could turn back time, you would take him so many times in so many ways that he forgets his own name. 

Your eyes gaze at your home screen. A family pictures of you, Taehyung and your daughter. Nope. You need other pictures, now is Not the time for family pictures. You need to see him and only him. In the kind of ways only you get to see him. You open your pictures and the folder you titled “my stinker”. It contains pictures solely of Taehyung. Be it random candid pics, posed pictures or all the selcas he sends you. There are too many of them and you are currently getting lost in them. 

He is so handsome and cute and pretty and sexy and handsome and, and, and. 

You huff out air. You want to bite his cheek and feel him up, but you can’t. It’s fucking unfair. 

Missing him unbearably, you open your messages next. Your text is typed within seconds.

-          You: do you have time?

Taehyung’s answer comes moments later.

-          My handsome ♡: I do, but why are you still up? 

It is currently one in the morning where you are. You normally fall asleep at eleven, sometimes even ten because being a working CEO and mother is exhausting even with such a supportive and involved husband as Taehyung by your side.

-          You: i can’t sleep ㅠㅠ

-          My handsome ♡: NOOOO why?

-          You: I miss you ㅠㅠ and I’m lowkey horny

-          My handsome ♡: 😪😪 

-          My handsome ♡: I understand your pain

-          My handsome ♡: 😪😪

You wiggle your toes in excitement.

-          You: are you horny too?

-          My handsome ♡: 😂😂 No, I meant that I miss you too 😂😂😂

You huff out air, feeling slightly hot in embarrassment.

-          You: sorry, I misunderstood ✊🏻😔

-          My handsome ♡: 😂😂 It’s fine ♡♡♡ 

-          My handsome ♡: I’m getting horny now that you mentioned it ;)

You feel hot in excitement. He is willing to play into it. God, you are tingling like crazy between your legs.

-          You: are you?

-          My handsome ♡: ;) yes ;)

-          You: fuck baby…

You put the phone aside for a moment to get a toy and some lube. 

You prop yourself up on your backrest and work yourself up with just two fingers first. You get to play with him. The aspect is turning you on to the point where typing becomes difficult to do with one hand.

-          You: I got a toy…

-          My handsome ♡: omg 🥵 are you using it? 

-          You: soon…working myself up

-          My handsome ♡: You’re so hot 🥵😭🥵

-          You: fuck Tae 🥵 where are you?

-          My handsome ♡: Hotel balcony. I’ve got the sun setting and a glass of wine by my side. I’m wearing your favourite sweater ;)

-          You: the green one?

-          My handsome ♡: Yes ;););)

-          You: 🥵🥵 you are seducing me

-          My Handsome ♡: 😂 only you can get horny over a jumper

-          You: Don’t judge me, you look hot in it

You take a few deep breaths. Your touch feels good. Knowing that he is sharing this moment with you really excites you. You crave something again.

-          You: Fuck Tae, send me something sexy please 👉👈

-          My handsome ♡: Something sexy? Like this?

A selfie of him arrives next. He is looking into the camera with half-lidded eyes and his lower lip between his teeth. The golden light of the setting sun gives his hair and skin such a sexy glow to them. On the lower corner of the picture, glimpses of his green sweater are visible.

You bite your lower lip and let out a frustrated whimper. You want to crawl through your phone and eat his entire face. He is so fucking handsome.

You type your answer with shaky fingers.

-          You: I wanna tell you the nastiest things right now…

-          My handsome ♡: don’t hold back ;)

-          You: I wanna fucking sit on your face and ride it till I cream it…I’m touching myself right now, but all I want is your tongue on me…

- You: If you’d be here right now, I’d use your pretty nose as my toy and mark it as mine. Fuck Tae, you’re so sexy…

Taehyung types for a while. Knowing him, your answer surprised him despite your initial warning. He is a little shy cutie after all. You stay online until he finally answers you.

-          My handsome ♡: omg…

You smile, feeling your stomach tingle. All this time of typing and his flustered brain came up with “omg”. If you didn’t need him before, you need him like crazy starting now. Your fingers speed up between your legs. He is so sexy.

-          My handsome ♡: This just made me hard omg…

-          You: Show me fuckk I need to see

You are panting as you wait for the picture. Taehyung went offline, which means he is taking it with his phone camera. He will probably take a while because he is very particular about the kind of nudes he sends you. You have a folder of them on your phone, hidden behind a passcode only you know. He also never sends you nudes without getting asked or warning you, which makes them so much sexier. You can’t wait to see how he is going to show you his pretty cock.

The picture arrives with one singular emoji under it.

-          My handsome: 🥺

It taunts you. Of course he is acting like that when he literally just sent you his dick. You download the picture, opening it with bated breath. One you release in a moan once the view presents itself to your eyes.

He is pulling his beige pants down, exposing his shaft and pubes. His hand is in the picture, his green sweater is as well. The picture is clearly taken outside, judging by the warm, sunset-esque colours. He took it on his balcony.

You try to text him, but then get too needy to do so. You send him a picture back. Two of your fingers buried deep inside you. You are all wet and puffy, presenting yourself for his viewing pleasure. He sees it and goes offline instantly.

A second later your phone rings. It’s him.

You pick up without hesitation.

“Hey there”, you try to sound nonchalant, but your voice is just slightly raspy from arousal.

Taehyung is panting. You know that he is struggling with his words because of you.

“Tae?”

“Can I touch myself, please?” he croaks, sending jolts of excitement through you. He is such a good boy asking for permission like that.

“You wanna touch yourself?”

“Yes. Oh god, you’re so sexy”, he groans.

“Mhm…you’re sexier”, you purr and turn on the toy. You hold it close to the phone so Taehyung can hear.

His breathing speeds up. His chair creaks in the background as he clearly shifts in it.

“Please”, he begs quietly.

“Soon. Listen to me push it inside, yeah?”

“Yes, Madam. Oh god, you’re so sexy, I’m going insane.”

You drag the toy through your folds twice then finally thrust it into you, moaning loudly as it fills you up. Taehyung moans with you, turning you on like crazy.

“Tae…baby…I’m so wet, fuck…it fills me up so good…”

“Can, can I touch myself now?”

“Not yet, be patient.”

Taehyung whines, motivating you to move the toy inside you. God, you love when he is needy for you.

“Mhm Tae… I’m fucking myself with it. Almost feels like you.”

“Oh god, I’m so hard”, he whines, “please can I at least take it out?”

“Are you outside?”

“I am”, he has his sexy voice on. God, you want him so bad. 

“And you still wanna take it out?”

“Yes please, hurts so bad.”

“Poor boy.”

Taehyung whines, breathing shakily afterwards. You take out the toy and thrust it back inside, giving him a delicious moan. You know for a fact that he can hear the vibrations and how wet you are around the silicon shaft.

“Please Madam…” he begs with an obvious pout on his lips.

“How much do you want it?”

“So much. I miss you, please I’m horny too.”

“I love it when you talk like this. Fine, take it out.”

Taehyung thanks you in a breathy moan, lifting his hips so he could pulls his pants over his butt. He lets it punch up under his balls, wrapping his long fingers around his cock. It glows prettily in the sunset light, begging to be touched.

“Now listen to me, okay?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Are you holding it right now?”

“Yes.”

“Feel up your shaft for me, but leave out your tip.”

Taehyung follows your orders, guiding his fist around his length. It feels good, but leaves him desperate. His tip is his favourite spot, it’s so sensitive and reactive. Having to leave it out feels like torture. He breathes heavily into the phone, giving you little whimpers each time his fingers have to stop right under his frenulum.

“For how long do I have to do that?” he asks hopefully.

“Until I tell you otherwise”, you dismiss him and bury the toy deeper, “fuck Tae seriously, this toy feels fucking amazing. It’s hitting the right spots.”

“Oh god.” He ogles his own cock and his fingers right under his tip. Maybe if he controls his voice well enough, you won’t find out that he is touching his tip. His fingers itch in the desire to disobey. One little movement… just one….

“You feel better tough, fuck I’m thinking about you and how you fuck me. You’re always such a good boy for me, Tae sweetie.”

Taehyung moans, moving his hand away from his tip as quickly as possible. What was he thinking? He doesn’t misbehave, he is your good boy. He bites down on his lower lip and keeps his touch focused on nothing but his shaft despite how leaky his tip gets because of it.

“Are you my good boy, Tae sweetie?”

“Yes, Madam. I’m your good boy”, he keens, nodding his head vigorously.

“Of course you are…are you wet for me?”

Taehyung looks at his tip. It is flushed red with pearls of excitement leaking from his slit. If you were here right now, you’d play with it or lick it off of him. Taehyung rolls his head back slightly at the fantasy, whimpering his answer.

“I’m wet for you.”

“You are…” You increase the vibrations, opening your legs further. “Take some of it and taste it for me.”

Taehyung obeys your orders, letting you listen to him as he licks his finger. He moans softly as he does it, acting slobbier than he needs to just so you have something good to listen to. Your breathing speeds up, your heart races. It sounds as if he is between your legs sucking and licking your clit.

“Does it taste sweet, baby?” you ask him shakily.

“Yeah, sweet”, he purrs, flicking his tongue against his own thumb.

“Fuck Tae, do it again.”

Taehyung obeys, licking and sucking on his fingers as if he was feasting on your pussy. You talked about sitting on his face and creaming his tongue and he is hellbent on making the fantasy as real as possible.

“It tastes so good, Madam”, he lulls.

“I wanna fucking sit on you, fuck.”

The desperation in your voice makes him tingle. He is needy too, but you sound feral. If he wasn’t such a good boy for you, he’d tell you a bratty little comment about your state. But instead of teasing you, he begs again.

“Can I touch my tip now, please?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

Taehyung acts instantly, wrapping his fingers tightly around his cockhead to pump it. He moans loudly, rolling his head back and closing his eyes.

“Thank you, ah…feels so good…”

“Slow down.”

His obedience comes before his mind can even register what his hand was doing. He slows down, keeping the movements as minimal as possible. The whimper he lets out makes you speed up in return.

“It’s so slow…”

“I know baby, I know. Keep it like this until I tell you otherwise.”

“It’s hard, mhhmmm.”

“Be my good boy, baby. I know you wanna be my good boy.”

“Yeah..good boy…”

You smile in bliss. He is so perfect. Even now that he is so desperate, he still listens. You could probably tell him to stop and put his cock back into his pants and he would listen. Your stomach tingles. What a good idea actually.

“Tae sweetie?”

“Yes, Madam”, he gets out between his heavy breaths.

“Stop touching yourself and put your pants back on.”

“What?” he sounds devastated.

“Go on, you heard me.”

“Why? Please…”

“By my good boy, baby.”

You hear him whimper in frustration followed by agonized sounds of him having to stuff his raging boner back into his pants. You throb around the toy at the aspect. He is such an obedient boy for you. It’s difficult to hold back on your orgasm when he is acting like that.

“I did it. I don’t know why you made me do that, but I did it”, he tells you with the biggest pout ever.

“Send me a pic.”

“Wait”, he is still clearly pouting.

Moments later your phone vibrates. You put him on speaker and open the picture he sent. He actually put his pants back on. The light material stretches around his boner, barely wanting to keep it in. A dark spot has appeared on the fabric where his tip can’t stop leaking.

You laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” he sounds distressed.

“Oh it’s nothing, I’m just laughing ‘cause you actually did it.”

“You told me to”, he is almost sassy in the way he talks back. Sassy but also very frustrated.

“Mhm I did. I was just messing with you.”

“___”, he gasps, making you laugh and moan at the same time.

“Okay, okay fuck stop whining, it’s making me cum.”

“No, you’re so mean. It hurts to have it inside”, he continues whining.

“Fuck Tae, keep talking and I’m gonna cum.”

“I, I…really?” he whimpers.

“Yes, fuck”, you pull the toy out, groaning in agony, “fuck that was so close.”

He takes a deep breath, squeaking as he breathes out.

“Please can I touch myself again? Please?”

“Go inside first.”

“Why do you wanna tease me today?”

“Just feeling like it.”

“Oh god.”

Taehyung keeps the balcony door open, now standing in his hotel bedroom with a hard-on in his pants and his head dizzy in need.

“I’m inside. Please can I touch myself now?”

“Get naked first.”

He puts the phone on speaker and starts undressing. He is in the midst of sliding off his sweater when you stop him.

“Keep the sweater on. I’ll ask for a picture of proof.”

“I’m already naked then.”

“Yes? Good boy. Send me a picture of your cock, keep the sweater in the angle.”

Taehyung obeys your orders, using the sound of your heavy breathing and little moans as motivation. The picture he takes is definitely not his most artistic masterpiece. It is a little blurry because he can’t stop his hands from shaking. Your loud reaction is satisfactory enough however.

“Fuck, look at you. I wanna sit on it. God, wanna fucking choke on it and make it squirt.”

Taehyung feels weak in the knees. It aches not to touch himself.

“Does this mean I can touch myself again? Please? Maybe? Please, please?”

“Soon. Put your briefs on the bed and do it over them, okay?”

He obeys your orders even if he is confused. He lays out his briefs and begins pumping his cock above them.

“I’m doing it, Madam”, he moans, feeling blurry. His touch is electric, his cock so sensitive.

“Good boy. Keep touching yourself. I want you to cum on them and then mail them to me.”

His knees buckle. He has to use the mattress to catch himself and push his own faltering body back into a standing position. He leaks heavy droplets of pleasure, feeling his pulse throb in his cock.

“What?” he squeaks.

“You heard me. Repeat it to me.”

“You want me to.” He gasps and whimpers. “Want me to cum on them and.” He keens your name. “And mail them to you.”

“That’s right.”

“Madam, this is getting me close.”

“I know it is. Don’t stop. Focus your touch on your tip.”

“I am”, he whines.

“Good boy. Keep telling me how close this is getting you.”

“It won’t take long.”

“Good boy, keep going.”

The line fills with your shared moans. He is so loud and breathy while you answer him in purrs and drawn-out moans. You both have your eyes closed, minds racing with images of shared moments together. If you concentrate hard enough, it almost feels as if you were fucking each other right now. As if Taehyung was pumping his cock deep into you, hitting the best spots over and over again.

“Fuck Tae, keep going baby. So good”, you moan, arching your back.

“Can I move my hips please?”

“Whatever you need baby, just keep moaning for me.”

Taehyung chases the pleasure instantly, fucking his own fist as if he was fucking you. He moans louder for you, feeling his sense of reality blur.

“You’re so tight tonight”, he gets out.

“I am?”

“Yeah, so tight. Ah!”

“Just for you baby, my good boy”, you moan, meeting his movements with needy rolls of your hips. Not that he is actually with you, but it feels like it.

You and he are so far gone in the fanatsy, the distance is no longer there. It’s just you and him. 

“Love fucking you, baby. Love it so much…aahmmm….”

“Madam…ah…love it too…”

It is Taehyung who breaks the fantasy first. His instincts told him to open his eyes and look at you and so he did only to be met with an empty bed and his hand around his own cock.

“I miss you”, he whimpers.

You open your eyes to his flushed face only to be met with the ceiling instead. Your stomach tightens.

“I miss you too”, you get out, “Tae, it felt like you were there.”

“For me too”, he confesses, “I’m really close, just letting you know.”

You laugh breathily, “fuck, you’re so good. Such a good boy. Tell me three things you love about yourself and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

“My, my eyes and my hands and my…my nose.”

“Cause I can grind on it?”

“Yeah”, he whimpers, nodding his head vigorously.

“Shit, so hot. Where are you touching yourself right now?”

“My tip. It’s so wet, Madam.”

“So sexy, fuck. Keep talking to me.”

“My, my cock is so flushed. I’m so red at the tip.”

“Fuck, so hot. Ah Tae”, you moan, rolling your eyes back in delight as you bury the toy as deep as possible to draw circles with it. Your voice pitches, only coming out as gasps.

Taehyung speeds up his hand, furrowing his brows at the perfect sounds you let out.

“Are you feeling good, Madam?”

“Yeah…so good…hitting the right spot.”

He exhales shakily, moaning deeply.

“I’m leaking on my briefs, Madam.”

“Shit. Tae. Woah fu-fuck.”

“Close?”

“Really.”

“It’s all over my fingers too. They’re so wet and sticky, Madam.”

“Tae. Baby”, you whimper, tightening around the toy.

“I can’t stop leaking, Madam”, he mewls for you, jerking his cock loud enough that you can hear the wet mess he makes.

“I’m cumming”, you get out and feel the knot burst. All you can gasp is his name, body shaking out of control as your high takes over.

Taehyung moans with you, scrunching his face in agony from holding back. He wants to cum with you, but knows that you never gave him permission to do. So he is left moaning prettily for you and listening to you floating on absolute bliss.

You come down with curses and shaky gasps for air, ending it with a disbelieved “damn”.

“Fuck, can I cum? Please?” Taehyung begs, feeling delirious in frustration. He genuinely can’t do this for long anymore.

“Cum for me, baby.”

“Yes. oh god yes. Madam, yes. ___, yes, yes, yes”, he chants and breaks with one last squeak of your name, emptying his heavy balls all over his briefs. He twitches and shakes, throwing his head back as your name repeatedly leaves him.

“Good boy. Cum for me. Good boy”, you talk him through it, tingling in your afterglow. Listening to his orgasm is truly the best way to calm down after your own intense high.

“I’m done. Can, can I stop?” he soon begs, sounding stressed. You know that his sensitive cock is burning in overstimulation.

If he wasn’t such a good boy tonight, you would have told him to keep going.

“If you have to. You were such a good boy tonight, you can choose yourself.”

“I’m stopping. Sensitive”, he says and the wet squelching stops. He breathes out shakily, mumbling a ruined, “holy fuck.”

“Mhm, liked it?”

“Yeah, liked it.”

“Did you cum on your briefs?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Good boy”, you praise and sigh in contentment, “lie down for me, sweetheart.”

He obeys, letting his head sink into the pillow. He takes one of them and hugs it to his chest. He purrs happily.

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah, just missing you.”

“I miss you too.” You sit up to discard the toy and clean yourself. “Do you have a tissue by hand?”

“Yeah, by the nightstand.”

“Clean yourself for me.”

He obeys, giggling quietly.

“I’m sensitive.”

“Be careful, yeah?” you chuckle fondly.

“Yes, Madam. Oh god, I’m so giddy. You fucked me so good.”

“I feel giddy too. You were such a good boy for me.”

Taehyung giggles, snuggling back into the pillows and kicking his feet giddily. He loves being your good boy.

“Do you actually want me to mail you my briefs?”

You laugh, “I think I was just being unhinged there. I feel like it would start to smell funny before it can get here.”

“Right”, he agrees, laughing with you, “oh god”, he exhales, “this was actually so sexy. I’m still dizzy.”

“I’m glad you liked it. I was kinda feeling myself.”

“I was feeling you too. You’re such a good talker.”

You wiggle your toes in giddiness, feeling really good inside. He always knows what the say to make you feel like the sexiest Dom ever.

“God, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You and he smile, hugging the pillows you are holding closer. If you concentrate hard enough, it almost feels as if you are hugging each other.

“Mhm, I’m so comfy. This is exactly what I needed.”

“Me too. I was thinking about you before you texted me. It’s been a week since I left and I kept thinking about our last night together.”

Your heart flutters. You and he are so similar.

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Tae, I regret not fucking you that night.”

“God, don’t say that”, he says, having to giggle.

You smile, “you’re cute.” A yawn interrupts you.

“Are you tired?” he asks.

“Mhm, yeah.” Another yawn. “I know it’s not really night at your place yet, but can you stay with me as I fall asleep?” you ask him.

“Of course, my sweetheart. Can I tell you about my day?”

“Please tell me. I wanna know everything, my sweetheart. I might doze off in the midst of it though.”

Taehyung laughs, “that’s okay. I don’t mind.”

[chaosandmarigolds]

cztery 🤍 of EMS Au thingy!! (I seriously need a name)

summary: Simon Riley is finding himself utterly in love with the newest paramedic on base, unfortunately he had the social skills of a five year old. fem reader!

Mary pats your shoulder as you stand in the briefing room, sure you had to give speeches and pathetic ice breaker introductions but this felt so…odd. Wearing what you assumed would be your new uniform, your home country patch on your arm along with the Star of Life proudly above it. Your blue EMS pants traded in for black tactical pants- not all that different, but much heavier. Beside you Mary stood, wearing a set of scrubs that looked oh so comfortable.

“And that’s Captain Price, he…well they’re all your boss but you can boss them around- it’s great.” She whispered in your ear with a little laugh.

The meeting you had with the Captain had been brief, short but you assumed he was kind. However that may be a flaw within yourself, as you always thought everyone was kind until proven not. So you nods, “Is he kind?”

Mary shrugs, “As long he’s gotten his cup of joe and a cigar.”

“that’s awful for him.”

“You can fight him if you want, waste of time and breath though-“ her words faltered off as he motioned for you to come forward and she gives you a little shove.

Your steps were calculated, slow, the boots they had given you were a half a size big and they weighed about the same as your EMS ones- as they were military grade, however at the least those fit. The reason you chose this profession is that you didn’t freeze, you didn’t get scared, but in that moment you felt everything in your crawling. By the time you were able to adjust you were already up front and apparently the captain had already given his whole spew on how amazing of a medic you were, all eyes were on you.

His eyes were on you.

And what the fuck was he-

if your face blinking suddenly to the man who rightfully looked terrifying wasn’t a good message that you were confused, you’re stammered response to the captain asking if you had anything to say would. “Uh, yeah, um, l-like,” you couldn’t tare your eyes away, it was like a weeping angel, look away and it would ruin you, however with a shuddered breath you go on, “like the captain said, I’ve been in this profession since I was 18 and I am immensely grateful for the opportunity to aid you.” —

Mary spun around in the chair, looking over the charts, watching you as you laid face down on one of the cots. “Gonna suffocate, Stitch.”

With a sniffle you turn your face to look at Mary, “I made a fool of myself, I ought to suffocate- death is kinder.”

“ought?” Mary laughs and then stands, grabbing your wrists to stand, “Jesus go back to bridgerton you drama queen, cmon, up she goes.”

A snarky remark was on the tip of your tongue when the door opened, the commotion of the hangar was hidden behind the steel doors, so as they opened the roaring noise came inside, and only for a moment behind they slid back shut. However you wished they hadn’t opened in the first place, because there stood the monstrous thing that caused your humiliation. Black gear, towering above any normal human and there sat on his face was a skull mask, as if it were some holiday.

Mary, however, seemed unfazed, “Jesus Christ, knock first! We coulda been indecent.”

The thing made a grunting noise in response walking forward and lightly nudging her to the side until it was just you and him, he was human. You assumed. As he did have eyes, eyes that looked like they were tearing you apart.

“Didn’t have the chance to have a proper meeting, Lieutenant Simon Riley,” he took your hand, forcibly at that- as you as it squeezing your wrist (bad habit, you would check your pulse when stressed), “At your service.”

If you could see Mary’s face it would be utterly flabbergasted and shock.

“Lieutenant….Riley?” You echo the name again, not bothering to pull your hand away because A- you didn’t think he would let you. That thing was the awkward man you had picked up last night? “Oh! I am so sorry, I um…” you let out a breath, “I didn’t recognize-“

“ T’s normal. Have a Good day.” Just as quickly as he left he had spun on his heel and left, leaving you standing perfectly still and Mary in some shock.

She lets out a laugh and looks to you, “Maybe we are in Bridgerton.”

You give her a look, a frown evident on your face.

(annnd that’s it :) )

[burntheedges]

do you feel it too?

Frankie Morales x f!reader | 5.5k words | masterlist | ao3

summary: Frankie's been Dreaming every night for weeks. He might be trying to pretend it isn't happening, but he knows what that means.

a/n: This is my entry for the Summer Lovin' Challenge! My prompt was "barbecue" and the moodboard and quote above. Thanks for the great idea and for hosting @pedgito @amanitacowboy @chaotic-mystery! And thank you to @sawymredfox for helping me figure out my idea and @katareyoudrilling for being an amazing beta, as always.

tags/warnings: soulmate AU, fluff, misunderstanding, reader has a nickname (Sunny), Colombia happened but no girlfriend/baby, kissing, cuddling, pet names (hermosa), food and drink mention, no use of y/n

...

“Fish!” 

Frankie was Dreaming, he was pretty sure. No, he knew he was. Dreams were the only place he ever saw her.

“Fish, get up man, come on.”

He knew he was looking into her eyes, even though he couldn’t quite tell what color they were. He always forgot them as soon as he looked at them. He knew he wouldn’t remember any of this once he woke up. He never did.

But he was absolutely certain she was beautiful. He’d always known that, since they first started Dreaming together, years ago.

He knew she was saying something, but he couldn’t hear her. She always tried to talk in the Dreams, always tried to communicate. It never worked (or maybe it did, and he just never remembered – maybe he forgot what she said the moment he heard it). He looked and saw her lips were moving, but it was another, more familiar voice that he heard instead.

“Fish, you asshole, we’re going to be late.”

Frankie felt the dream start to disintegrate around him and let out a noise in protest. He reached out to try to grab her arm, but there was nothing to grab. She slipped away like always as soon as he tried to touch her. 

Sometimes he thought he remembered a freckle or the color of her eyes or maybe the slant of her eyebrow, but he was just fooling himself. The only thing he could ever remember was the shape of her smile.

He opened his eyes to find Pope staring down at him, shaking his arm.

“Fish, come on cabrón, we don’t have time for this.” Pope looked extremely annoyed, but Frankie just covered his face with his hands and groaned.

“Just leave me here,” he said, low and muffled by his palms.

Pope started pulling at his arms. “No fucking way, man, you promised. We promised. And I promised I’d make sure you show up. Get the fuck up and in the shower, asshole.”

Frankie groaned again and threw his arms out like a starfish on the bed. “I’m so fucking tired, man.”

Pope paused and looked down at him, eyebrows furrowed. He sighed and shook his head. “More Dreams?”

Frankie closed his eyes and tried not to make any kind of face at all. “I feel like I close my eyes and that’s all I get – the Dreams. It doesn’t matter how tired I am or how long I’m asleep.”

Pope put his hands on his hips and just looked down at him for a moment. Frankie looked back at his best friend and hoped Pope couldn’t read everything going on in his head.

“You know what that means, Fish.” Pope’s tone was flat, no nonsense, like he didn’t want to leave any room for argument. 

Frankie barely let him finish before protesting. “No.”

“Fish–”

“No, man. You know how I feel.”

Pope sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do. And you know how I feel about that.”

Frankie just closed his eyes and shook his head. “Look, man, I’ll get up and get ready. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

Pope eyed him for a minute and looked like he might want to argue. But then he seemed to deflate and just put his hands up in front of him, palms out. “Ok ok, ya entendí.” He sighed again and turned away from the bed. “Get up, Fish, we have places to be.”

Frankie laid there for another minute, staring up at his ceiling. He’d told the guys he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but that didn’t mean he’d been able to stop thinking about it. 

He used to have a Dream every other month, sometimes less. For the last 3 weeks he’d been Dreaming every night. Every single fucking night. 

He knew what that meant. They all did. It was textbook – you had the Dreams if your soulmate was still out there, and they only got more frequent when you were about to meet them.

The only problem was, he didn’t want to meet her. Not anymore.

…

Twenty minutes later Frankie threw himself into the passenger seat of Pope’s truck and tugged his hat down low over his still-wet hair. “Let’s go then,” he grumbled. 

Pope rolled his eyes as started the car. “You better not walk into that party with that look on your face. It’s for Benny, man, come on.”

Frankie groaned and tucked his head against the window. “I know, ok? Shit. I know.”

Pope drove in silence and Frankie did his best to pull himself together. He felt like he’d barely slept, even though he was pretty sure he’d been asleep for most of the day. Like most of his days, lately. Just when he was starting to really stew in his own self-loathing, Pope spoke again.

“Fish. I know you don’t want to hear it. But I’m going to say it one more time, and then we can talk about something else and try to have fun at this party, for Benny’s sake. Deal?”

Frankie gritted his teeth and crossed his arms, but nodded.

Pope’s tone was gentle, and it made Frankie want to jump out of the car. “She’s still out there, man. And I know you think she won’t want you, but that's not how this works. Ok? All I want is for you to think about that. Just–” he stopped and for a minute Frankie thought maybe that was it, he was done and Frankie was off the hook. But Pope continued, “just try to think about the other side of it, ok? The side where you’re wrong, and she does want you. Just let yourself consider it. That’s all I ask.”

Frankie thought about arguing, and then he thought about saying nothing. After a moment he just said, “I’ll try.” Because if Pope asked, he would. He didn’t think it would help, but they’d been friends (brothers) for too long and they knew each other too well. He knew Pope would bother him about this until he agreed, anyway.

And some small, hidden part of him still hoped Pope was right.

…

They’d promised to get there early and help set up, and despite Pope almost tossing him out of bed, they were still on time.

Frankie spent the next couple of hours setting up tables and chairs and hanging string lights and generally doing whatever Will told him to do. He pretended not to notice Pope and Will and Benny having quiet conversations at the other end of the yard, conversations that were almost certainly about him and his Dreams. 

He also spent that time trying to think about anything other than what Pope had asked him to think about in the car.

Soon enough, the yard started to fill with familiar and unfamiliar faces. Yovanna arrived with Claire, Will’s soulmate, and told them Benny’s fiance (and soulmate) would be arriving soon.

Frankie found himself floating along the edge of the party, hiding in the shadows from the string lights, sometimes with his friends and sometimes alone. He was starting to wonder if he could get away with leaving when Claire appeared beside him, arm-in-arm with someone he didn’t know.

“Frankie! Have you met my friend Sunny? The one I told you about, we were roommates in college.” 

Frankie turned to greet them and was struck with a sudden sense of overwhelming deja vu. He shook it off and met her eyes. “Hi, I’m Frankie,” he said, nodding to Claire’s roommate. “Sunny?”

She smiled, and Frankie blinked, a bit taken aback. Shit, he thought, she’s so pretty. 

“Not my real name. It’s a college nickname I’ve never been able to escape.” She grinned at him, and he took a deep breath. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said and elbowed Claire. “All of you, really. Will’s got a lot of stories.”

Frankie grimaced, but tried to turn it into a smile. “From Will? Shit. Don’t believe a word he says.” 

Claire laughed and Sunny smiled, and Frankie took a long sip of his beer. It was warm, likely had been for a while, and he tried not to grimace again.

“Hey, Frankie, can I leave her with you? I need to help Will with something inside.” Clarie was already starting to move away towards the house as she spoke, and Sunny rolled her eyes. 

“What am I, your dog? Go inside, I can fend for myself.”

Claire laughed again and waved as she headed inside. 

Frankie turned back to Sunny and found that she was already looking at him. He tried not to stare but he couldn’t help but notice again how pretty she was. He was admiring the color of her eyes when she spoke.

“So,” she said, leaning towards him. “I hope you don’t mind me being extremely direct, but you don’t look very happy to be here.”

For a moment Frankie had the uncanny sensation of teetering on the edge of some sort of revelation, but unable to tip over in either direction and figure out what it was. He was stuck, balancing, wavering back and forth. It was disorienting. He shrugged. “Yeah, sorry, I don’t know if I’m good company. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, and Frankie squirmed a bit under her discerning gaze. “Me neither, actually. Stress, I guess. I just moved here and I’m still getting used to everything.”

He nodded, not sure what to say. His eyes trailed over her neck and shoulders and he tried not to notice how nice she looked in her top. 

She took pity on him and changed the subject. “So, Frankie? Is that a nickname?”

“It is. Francisco,” he offered, relaxing his shoulders purposefully. He could at least try to be friendly.

Sunny’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I love that. Do you ever go by Francisco?” 

Frankie actually felt himself start to smile. She was so animated; her open curiosity was starting to put him at ease. “Sometimes,” he said, looking down and then back up to meet her eyes. She was still smiling at him. “More in Spanish.”

“Francisco,” she murmured again, and he felt a shiver move down his spine. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugged again. “Not really. Most of them,” he gestured around the yard, ”call me Frankie or Fish. Catfish. My call sign.” 

She smiled again and nodded. “I’m not going to ask, not now anyway, but I just want to register my interest in hearing that story some time. Will refused to tell me.”

Frankie laughed, and then he blinked in surprise. When was the last time he’d laughed? He wasn’t sure. 

“Can I call you Francisco, then? I like it.” She bit her lip after she asked, and Frankie realized he was taking too long to answer because he was staring. Again.

“Oh, um, sure,” he said, and then tried not to wince at himself. “Of course. It sounds nice when you say it.” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth – what the fuck, man, don’t be weird – and glanced down, afraid to see how that awkward comment landed. He noticed they were both holding empty drinks.

“Can I get you a refill?” he asked, reaching out for her cup. He didn’t quite look up to meet her eyes again. She nodded and reached out to hand it to him.

As she did, the tips of their fingers brushed lightly against each other.

Frankie gasped, and he was pretty sure he heard her gasp, too, but he couldn’t look away from her hand. As soon as his fingertips brushed hers he was overwhelmed with the sensation of something like lightning crackling down his spine. He froze, fingers still touching hers, arm outstretched. His mouth dropped open as the aftershocks sent tremors through his body.

Finally, he tore his gaze upwards to look at Sunny again, and found her outright grinning. At him. She looked absolutely delighted. He didn’t know what to do or what to say or what face to make. 

Sunny broke the silence to ask, “did you feel it, too?”

Rather than answer, he turned around and ran.

…

For a moment you stood, frozen, hand still outstretched holding your empty cup. Your smile had frozen on your face and you felt it start to become a grimace. You don’t know how long you would have stood there, nothing but white noise in your head, if Claire hadn’t reappeared at your side.

“Hey, you ok? Where’s Frankie?” 

You shook yourself and blinked, dropping your hand down to your side. You turned to look at her and she must have seen something in your expression because her brow furrowed and she grabbed your elbow. “Come on, over here.”

Claire marched you around the side of the house to the path that led to the gate in the fence. There was no one else back there, and you felt your shoulders drop as soon as you were hidden from view.

“Ok, what happened,” she said, flat, barely a question. 

You sighed, staring down at the ground. “You were right? He is totally my type. Tall, with the hair and the shoulders and, ugh.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Claire cross her arms and lean against the wall next to you. “Ugh what? Did he say something? I mean, I wouldn’t have expected it, but he is a guy.”

You laughed, helplessly, and shook your head, glancing up at your friend. “He didn’t say anything weird. But um, just now. I don’t think I imagined it– no, I didn’t imagine it. It happened, I guess, but–”

Claire’s eyebrows flew upwards. “Wait–”

You kept talking, looking back down at the ground, steamrolling over whatever she wanted to say. “Our hands, well our fingers, touched, and I think… I’m pretty sure. I felt it.”

Claire made a strangled noise and you looked up at her to find her mouth dropped open in shock. “It? You mean–” she cut herself off, speechless.

You nodded. “Yeah, I mean, you can tell me if I’m wrong, but it was like a lightning strike all through my body. My spine tingled. I thought I was shaking, or maybe the ground was. It was…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Claire started to smile and you wanted to smile back, but you couldn’t. “Yes!” she said, grinning, “that’s exactly what it was like when I shook Will’s hand.” She seemed to notice you weren’t smiling, though, and hers started to fade. “Wait, but Frankie– where did he go?”

“He, um,” you started, gathering yourself. “He looked at me, and I know I was smiling, but he looked–” you cut yourself off, closing your eyes against the memory. “He looked terrified, Claire. Like he’d seen a ghost. I asked him if he felt it, too, and then,” you swallowed, trying not to let the emotions you’d been ignoring since it happened claw their way up your throat. “And then he ran.”

You opened your eyes after a moment of silence with no response from Claire. You saw that she was moving through a variety of emotions, jaw working as she considered what to say.

“Ok,” she said. “Ok. I think–” She shook her head, sighing in exasperation. “I think I know what’s going on. Can you wait here for one second? I need to grab someone.” You nodded, confused. “Don’t go anywhere, seriously. I’ll be right back.”

Before you could even open your mouth she was gone, back around the corner of the house into the backyard. You blinked, uncertain. You leaned harder into the wall of the house and pressed your palms into your eyes, trying not to think of anything but your breathing. Trying not to think about how long you’d waited for this, about how Claire knew you’d been starting to lose hope, though you’d hoped you might find him in your new city. About how you wanted, so badly, to know him.

Only a few minutes (of you resolutely not thinking about anything) had passed when you heard Claire coming back, talking to someone in a low voice.

“You have to tell her, Santi, you know–”

You opened your eyes again and found Claire approaching you with one of Will’s friends, one you’d just met about 45 minutes ago. Santiago, or Santi. Or Pope, he’d said. He looked worried.

“Wait, Claire, what happened? You said–” he stopped short when he saw you waiting. He looked around for a second as if he expected someone else to be nearby. “You said Frankie–”

Claire shook her head, and gestured towards you. “Tell him what you told me.” Her tone was direct, no nonsense, but you bristled.

“What? Claire–”

Your friend took a breath and her expression softened. “Hey,” she said, “trust me, ok? He’s Frankie’s best friend. Just tell him what happened.”

You turned to Santiago and saw that he looked way more confused than you felt. You sighed. “Ok, well, I guess it couldn’t hurt.” You bit your lip and crossed your arms in front of you, feeling suddenly defensive. You hadn’t expected Claire to make you repeat it to someone you barely knew. “Frankie, he– we were just talking. And he offered to get me a drink, so he went to take my cup, and our hands–”

As soon as you said the word “hands” Santiago’s eyebrows flew upwards. “Sunny–”

You ignored him, unable to stop now that you’d started. “Our hands touched. Just barely, but enough. I felt it. You know. And, well, I thought he did too, but I looked up and he looked–” you closed your eyes again. You didn’t want to remember his face again, but it was all you could see in your mind. “He looked–”

“Terrified.” Santiago finished your sentence for you and your eyes flew open. He looked worried and annoyed and resigned, all at once. “Am I right? He looked scared.”

You nodded, mouth dropping open. “How–”

Santiago sighed and shook his head. “Goddammit, Fish,” he muttered. “Look, I wouldn’t say this to anyone but you. You know that, right?”

You nodded, again, not sure where he was going with this, but knowing, somehow, that he meant it.

Santiago grimaced. “Ok. Well, I’ll try not to say too much. But Fish, that goddamned idiot, convinced himself you would never want him. That he was better off not meeting you, because you’d turn him away. I tried to tell him but he won’t listen, he–” Santiago sighed and wiped a hand over his face. “Look, I know you just met, but I swear–”

“Why would he think that?” you asked, confused. You couldn’t imagine that there would be something about him that would make you want to leave before you even got to know him. These were his friends, right? They cared about him. You trusted Will, and obviously you trusted Claire. And you were pretty sure these guys knew everything about each other, from the stories you’d heard. (And you kept remembering the way Frankie’s eyes had looked when he smiled at you, before he’d run. So warm.)

“He, well, we all did something, and–”

Claire interrupted Santiago before he could say anything else. “She already knows about it, Santi.”

He whirled, mouth dropping open to stare at Claire. “What?” He sounded scandalized. “How?”

Claire shrugged, and glanced at you. “She was with me, that night, when Will agreed to go with you. Couldn't really hide it.”

Santiago looked completely shocked. “Um,” he said, mouth opening and closing again. “Well, shit. That’ll probably help, then, if you already know about that whole disaster.”

You nodded. You did already know about Colombia. Maybe not all of the details, but the general gist of things. Enough.

For a moment none of you said anything. You assumed they were just taking in the revelations of the last twenty minutes, like you. Your head was starting to spin.

Santiago cleared his throat. “Ok, well, can I assume you do want to talk to him? And you don’t want to leave?”

You nodded. If nothing else, you were sure of that – you wanted to talk to Frankie. Francisco. He was your soulmate. Your breath hitched – that was the first time you’d even thought the word in the privacy of your own mind. Shit. You stood up a little straighter, suddenly resolute – you knew what you wanted to do.

“Do you know where he is?” you asked, meeting Santiago’s gaze. 

He nodded. “I saw him go upstairs, he’s probably hiding in the guest bathroom or something. And I drove him here, he can’t get away so easy.”

You squared your shoulders and nodded sharply, just once. “Ok. I’m going to find him.”

Santiago started to smile again, and Claire made a little squeaking noise as she covered her mouth with her hands. She looked excited. “Good luck. I’ll keep an eye on the door, ok?” Santi gestured towards the front of the house.

You nodded again and took a deep breath. “Thanks,” you said, turning to go and find your soulmate.

…

When you reached the upstairs landing, you faltered, suddenly unsure of yourself. Will and Claire hadn’t lived there long and you hadn’t even gotten a tour yet. There were 5 closed doors in the hallway, and you weren’t sure what to do next. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

He was your soulmate.

You opened your eyes again, brow furrowed, mouth serious. You were going to find him and you were going to talk.

You knocked lightly on the first door and opened it to find a guest bedroom. No Frankie in sight. The second door was a closet, and the third seemed to be Will and Claire’s bedroom. That left two.

Just then, you heard a noise from the room behind the second-to-last door. You moved towards it, silently. As you got closer you heard the low noise of a familiar voice, muttering, maybe talking to himself. 

You’d found him.

Before you could second guess yourself, you knocked. “Frankie– Francisco. I know you’re in there.” You tried to sound confident but you thought your voice probably gave away all of your insecurities anyway.

There was no response, but you swore you could feel how he suddenly tensed on the other side of the door. You knocked again. “Francisco? Can we–”

The door suddenly opened under your knuckles, and your last knock caused it to swing inwards. You froze, hand in the air, and looked down to find Frankie sitting on the floor. He had his knees up with this head resting on one hand, the other still raised from where he’d just opened the door.

You met his eyes and saw that he looked… well. The first word that came to mind was distraught. You opened your mouth to say something, maybe ask what was wrong, say anything that might help, but he spoke before you could.

“Shit,” he said, and his voice sounded rough and gravelly. “Shit, Sunny, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I just left you there, I–”

“Hey,” you cut him off, moving quickly to kneel next to him. “Hey, no, are you ok?” You reached out to touch him but faltered, unsure if you would be welcome. He hid his face in his hands again and you sat back on your heels. 

“... no,” he murmured after a moment. “I don’t think I’m ok.”

You moved again, shifting enough that you could close the door behind you before sitting back against it. “Hey, you know you can tell me.” You tried to sound encouraging. 

After a moment he sighed, and looked up at you again. You met his eyes and were struck, suddenly, with the knowledge that you knew those eyes. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t recognized them immediately, the moment you’d met him outside. You smiled at him. “Hey there, brown eyes,” you said, and he blinked. “I think I had a lot of dreams about you, recently.”

“Brown eyes?” He looked surprised.

You felt your face start to heat and you ducked your head. “That’s what I’ve always called you. In my head, anyway. It was always the only thing I could remember, when I woke up. That you had brown eyes. Not what they looked like. Just that they were brown.”

You glanced back up at him through your eyelashes and saw that he looked stunned. 

After a moment, he said, “I remembered your smile.”

You felt it start to stretch across your face in response. “Yeah?” you asked, wondering if he remembered more than you did. 

He nodded, starting to smile himself. It looked hesitant, and it was small, but it was still a smile. “Yeah, just– just the shape, the corner.” He glanced down at your mouth. “Just like that,” he whispered, eyes wide.

For a moment the two of you just looked at each other. You wondered if you were both looking for other familiarities, things you might remember, even though it was unlikely.

You felt the question crowding your throat, and couldn’t help but let it out. “Why did you run?” Your voice sounded small to your own ears and you watched the grimace form on his face in response. You turned towards him a bit more and your leg came to rest against his. Neither of you moved away from the contact.

He stared at the place your leg touched his as he answered. “I thought…” he trailed off and visibly gathered himself. “I thought you wouldn’t want me. There’s been– there are things, things I’ve done and I didn’t–”

You couldn’t help but interrupt. You didn’t like the look on his face, didn’t like the way he was talking about himself. “Francisco,” you said, voice a bit too loud. You cleared your throat and tried again, quieter. “I know about Colombia.” His head shot up, eyes wide. He looked afraid and you didn’t like that one bit. “I’m not saying I know everything, but I do know the basics. I know you were there.” Frankie’s mouth dropped open; he was obviously shocked. You wanted to reassure him, but you weren’t sure what to do, other than to just say it. “I’m not turning you down because of that, ok? I’m not turning you down at all. I–”

Frankie seemed to find his voice, suddenly, and interrupted you. “What? You– how?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I was with Claire, when Will went. She couldn’t really hide it.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dancing over your face. He seemed to be looking for something, but you didn’t know what. “Fuck,” he repeated. 

“Yeah, “ you repeated. “I mean, like I said, I know I don’t know all the details. But I’m not– I want to get to know you.” You nudged his leg with yours. “I mean, if you–”

Frankie laughed, suddenly, and you stopped short. He seemed giddy, like a weight had just lifted off his shoulders. He sat up a bit taller, and your eyes trailed over the line of his neck. “I thought–” he laughed again, incredulous, and shook his head. “I was so afraid. Of finding you and losing you because of– because of what we–” he trailed off again.

You couldn’t stand just sitting there anymore. You reached out a hand and lightly touched the back of his where it rested on his leg. He immediately flipped it over and clasped your hands together tightly. Your breath caught, but you couldn’t look away from his face.

“That’s not–” he squeezed your hand. “That’s not everything. But damn, I can’t believe it.” He closed his eyes and seemed at a loss for what to say next, even though he looked so much more at ease than he had only moments ago. You knew it was too soon for either of you to start in on your entire life stories. You had time. Or at least you hoped you had time.

“Hey, Francisco,” you said, and smiled at him. He opened his eyes and smiled back, a bit bigger this time. You liked the look of it. “I know we don’t know each other. Not yet. But, well. I think we might be made for each other.” You heard and felt a tightness in your throat as you said it, and you watched some strong emotion take over Frankie’s expression, too. He relaxed his grip on your hand only to lace your fingers together instead. He nodded, and you continued, “so I think we might be able to figure this out. Together. What, um,” you leaned in a little bit. “What do you think?”

Frankie grinned, suddenly, and it dazzled you. Your eyes caught on the crinkles by his eyes and the way he lifted his chin.

“I’d love to figure this out with you, hermosa,” he murmured. He pulled your hand upwards and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I’m sorry I ran away. I promise I’ll never run from you again.”

You shivered at the kiss, but your brow furrowed at the promise. “Frankie–”

He shook his head, looking resolute. “No, you deserve better than that. I promise, I’ll figure it out with you instead of running. Ok? We’ll do it together.”

You nodded, closing your eyes as you felt emotions swell in your chest again. He was so sweet, underneath the fear and the worry. Together sounded pretty good.

“Hey, Sunny,” he murmured, and you opened your eyes to meet his. His gaze was soft, again, like it had been when you’d barely started flirting outside. You thought he might still be afraid, but something had shifted. “Have I told you already that you’re fucking beautiful?”

Your cheeks heated and you tried to duck your head again, but you were stopped when he raised his free hand to cup your cheek gently. He lifted your gaze to meet his again. “Hey, no. I mean it. When I saw you outside, shit, Sunny, you’re so fucking pretty. That’s the first thing I thought.” Your cheek tingled under his touch and you wondered if you were imagining it or if it was part of the whole soulmate thing. Soulmates, you mused, and turned your head to press a kiss to his palm.

He sucked in a sharp breath, and you smiled.

“I told Claire you were exactly my type,” you said, and he started to look shy, eyes darting away. “With your hair, and those shoulders, and your smile–” you trailed off when he started to blush, and you smiled again, leaning into his hand. He was so handsome. “Hey, Francisco,” you said, and he met your eyes again. “Can I kiss you?”

His eyebrows flew upwards and his eyes darted to your lips. You bit your lip.

“Hermosa, you can kiss me anytime you like,” he murmured, and when his gaze met yours again your breath caught at the heat behind his eyes.

“Yeah?” you breathed, and he grinned.

“Yeah, Sunny. C’mere,” he pulled you towards him and you found yourself perched on his lap. After only a moment’s hesitation you slid your hands around his neck loosely. He placed his hands on your hips and squeezed gently. “S’this ok?” He sounded shy again, even though his grip was anything but.

“More than,” you replied, and then you pressed your lips to his.

You were swept away, instantly. You fell into the sensation of his lips against yours, of his body under you, of his hands sliding around your waist to pull you in tighter. You realized your hands were wound through his hair, though you didn’t remember moving them.

All you knew was the gentle movement of his mouth against yours. The brush of his lips and the tease of his tongue sent shivers up and down your spine. 

There was a warmth building inside of you that you’d never felt before, never even dreamed of. You broke away with a gasp, overwhelmed, and blinked your eyes open to find his waiting for you. He looked as stunned as you felt.

“Fuck,” you murmured. He nodded. “That was–”

“Better than I ever could have imagined,” he said, and you nodded. That was exactly right. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmured. He ran his hands lightly up and down your back and you shivered again. He smiled. “Sunny,” he said, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Let me take you out.”

You grinned and nodded. “You’d better.”

Frankie laughed, looking so much more carefree than he had when you’d found him in the bathroom. It tugged at your heart.

“You can take me out,” you said, “but right now I want you to kiss me some more.” You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, right where it quirked up into a smile. 

“Sunny, hermosa, mi sol, mi luz,” he said, pressing kisses along your jaw between each endearment. “I never want to stop kissing you.” You giggled, and he grinned. “What’s so funny, hermosa?”

You shook your head, still smiling widely. “I can’t wait to get to know you, Francisco.”

His smile softened, but stayed just as big. He tugged you closer and wrapped you up in his arms. “Me neither, baby.” He kissed you again, and you sank happily into his embrace.

...

a/n: I'd love to hear what you think! Also, quick translation: mi sol = my sun, mi luz = my light.

tag list: @harriedandharassed @jupiter-soups @ilovepedro @auteurdelabre @anoverwhelmingdin

@myloveistoolittle @iknowisoundcrazy @beezusvreeland @screechingphantommaker @bigboiseason123

@joelalorian @untamedheart81 @ashleyfilm @jessthebaker @jeewrites

@fluffygoffpanda @paleidiot @mithicakurogo @theclairvoyage @lizzie-cakes

@islacharlotte @syd-djarin @copperhalfcent @vabeachazn @spacedoutdaydreamer

@littlevenicebitch69 @secretelephanttattoo @pigeonmama @vickie5446 @sunnytuliptime

@glizzymcguirex @verymiraclemiracle @friskispunk @jennaispunk @darkheartgatita

@brittmb115 @bunniboo0015

(if the tag didn't work check your tumblr settings)

[villain-crown]

dust | @jegulus-microfic | words: 864

critical care, part 8 (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7)

a Jegulus nurse!AU

James Potter was a catch. 

A brilliant, handsome, charming catch. He was confident boarderlining on arrogant, suave verging on dazzling, one of the smartest nurses in Gryffindor, and god help him, he was not going to fuck up the pass he was attempting to make at Regulus Black.

The very same man who had just texted him his clean STD panel after telling him in no uncertain circumstances that they would be fucking soon and enthusiastically.

[Of course, I expect you to provide the same results.]

Hell, James would take whatever test Regulus asked of him. He’d take the entire nurse licensing exam all over again if he wanted it. And blood results? James would stick himself with a rusty nail if it meant satisfying Regulus’s requirements. 

Play it cool, Potter. Play it cool. 

Not desperate, no; just cool, suave, James Potter. 

He had this. 

[For sure! You’re very organized lol!]

The answer: [I prefer no condoms.]

Holy shit, he did not have this.

“...you think Dorcas would go for that?” 

Sirius was still carrying on their conversation and did not seem to realize that James was about to pass out right in front of him.

“Sure, Pads,” he all but wheezed, fighting to keep a straight face. “Dorcas. Good idea.”

“Really, James, are you okay? You look… weird.”

He waved him off, clearing his throat. “No, no, I’m just… dust! There’s lots of dust floating around.” He coughed pointedly once more. “Keep talking, I’m listening.”

[Does that bother you?] Regulus asked while James was in the middle of saving his number. 

Oh, James was bothered alright. 

After some deliberation, he decided he needed some kind of code name for the Slytherin to be saved under. It would be nothing short of incriminating for someone to see Regulus Black texting him suggestive shit, but he needed something slightly less obvious than Sirius’s Hot Little Brother. He thought back to the little silver chain twined around Regulus’s gorgeous neck. Three letters hug off it: RAB. 

Perfect. 

…This was completely crazy. He was having a straight-faced conversation about possibly the most earth shattering, borderline-pornographic sex he would ever have in his life with Regulus Black and Sirius wanted to stand there and talk pranks.

[You’re so fucking hot. I am fighting for my life here.]

[You could stand to suffer more. So tell me what you’re into.]

Oof, what a loaded question. Well, apparently he was into best friend’s little brothers who enjoyed dirty sex, which was an interest he could do without. 

Good sense made him pause. 

Was he ready to hand over very personal, potentially humiliating information to a coworker he’d just met yesterday? The memory of Regulus’s gorgeous, lithe body standing on his toes as he leaned into James’s space to whisper the things I like might be a bit much for you was the deciding factor. 

Jame Potter would honestly hand Regulus Black a fucking loaded gun if this conversation would just continue. 

But what could he say in response to a question like that? He didn’t want to come off as too much, but Regulus didn’t strike him as the kind of guy that would be satisfied with too little, either. 

Fuck, what to do.

Apparently, Regulus has some ideas.

“Am I not entertaining you here, Prongs?” Sirius snapped loudly, forcing James to look up from reading the incredibly dirty texts that Regulus was starting to send. His best friend was glaring at him.

Suddenly, Sirius lunged for his phone. 

And James, who hadn’t expected it, found that he was too slow to keep custody of it.

“SIRIUS, FUCK OFF!”

“No! I want to know what’s so fascinating on here that you can’t be bothered to listen to me for the last ten minutes!”

He tussled with Sirius to steal it back, but with no luck. At a certain point in the scuffle, James became uncomfortably aware that the family of the patient in bed eighteen was blatantly staring at them. Embarrassed, James backed off, straightening his burgundy scrubs and trying to look professional. Sirius, who could care less what other people thought, didn’t even bother looking up, instead taking his time examining James’s text messages. 

He held his breath, desperately trying to come up with a solid defense for why Sirius’s precious baby brother might be texting him some of the dirtiest shit James had ever been sent. You know, just in case Sirius Realized. 

I was framed.

It was an accident.

He looks like my future husband. 

Weak. Weak defenses, all of them. 

Get it together, Potter! 

“No condom, huh? Wow, what a whore,” Sirius declared with the admiration of one who had shared that title. He glanced through the texts and negative STD results, making James nearly ascend. “I respect him. This guy knows what he’s about! Rab, huh? Who’s this again?”

“I didn’t say.”

Bloody hell, Sirius was going to kill him—kill him twice: once for having a single sexual thought about his little brother and again for letting Sirius say that about Regulus, who, according to Marlene, he believed was an innocent baby angel who could do no wrong. 

“It’s just some guy,” James finished faintly.

“Huh.” Sirius handed the phone back. “Hot. You should fuck him.”

…Well, if you insist.

[artdcnaldson]

Ok so I’m coming around with the cheating fantasy (sorry im on the vanilla side) I gotta ask, how do you think the trio would snake back reader to their quad? The scenario is that at stanford reader had a relationship with the trio, broke up after a couple of years due to possessiveness, jealousy and borderline toxic behavior from all 4 of them. I can def see reader, after some years removed from them, a new boo and a ring on their finger, fall victim to Patrick first, him convincing reader to at least hear the trio out, the trio causing some chaos to readers engagement, all trying to get reader back to their fucked up little quad

GODDDDD I love the toxicity so badly fuck!!! I need more of this so fuck it. give me an au name we’re running this bad boy into the dirt if we have to

You run into Patrick at your second bar of your bachelorette bar crawl— with a short white dress and a little cheap tiara and veil and a sash that says Bride to Be in silver sparkles.

You choke down your shot when you notice him, eyes wide as you get fucking yanked into flashbacks of Patrick and Tashi and Art and all the shit you got into at Stanford. Good… and very bad.

You try to ignore him, but he’s not going to let that slide. He sidles up beside you at the bar, smiling wolfishly, like he wants to just eat you up.

He’s standing too close, leaning in so you can hear him over the loud music of the bar— his breath is warm and tickles your cheek as he tells you how good you look, that he’s missed you. His hand settles on your arm and he’s so warm.

“When’s the wedding?” He asks.

“25 days,” you reply. “At the botanical garden near his hometown.”

He thinks you sound a little dreamy about it, like it’s a fairytale. So he picks at it, needs to make it unravel. “Have you fucked?”

Your eyes go wide, you frown in annoyance, maybe a little bit of amusement, he thinks. “Patrick—“

He shrugs. “Well, I just remember how particular you were in college. Just want to make sure you’re marrying someone who knows how to take care of you.” Your mind unconsciously feeds you the memories in tiny flashes— how nice it had been to be their plaything, to be taken care of. Falling apart as Patrick’s cock bullied into you, or as Art buried him head between your thighs, or around Tashi’s fingers or strap.

Pillow princess. You had always been taken care of, at least sexually. They liked keeping their sweet girl satisfied in that way, even if the other areas could fall flat.

“Particular,” you echo. “You know most people have very fulfilling sex lives with just one partner.“

He grins, shrugs. “Well, you’re not most people.”

It pisses you off. And you’re losing the nice buzz you’d gotten from that first bar. You grab a stupid glowing shot off of a girl carrying a tray, throw it back with a huff.

“You don’t know anything about me, Patrick.” You meet his gaze, raise a brow.

“We dated for— what?— four years? I know plenty.” He pauses, leans closer. Impossibly closer. “I know how you act when you love someone, when you really love them in your fucked up way you do and not the bullshit romcom act you’re putting on for him. I know the kind of sounds you only take when you’re taking two cocks at once. Does your…” he trails off, looks at the stupid shirts your bridesmaids are wearing further down the bar. “Ben. Does Ben know that?”

You scoff, brush past him with hot annoyance in your belly. This is your fucking night— for fun and getting shitfaced with your friends before you get married and Ben doesn’t let you go out as much anymore. Before you have to carry his kids and lose yourself to a newer, boring version of yourself everyone would just call mom.

Whatever. Ben makes you happy. You don’t want to reach 30 and still be clinging to a toxic four way relationship from college. That would be clinical. You had been happy for three years away from them— you weren’t their girl anymore.

So why are you relieved when Patrick follows you into the alleyway between this bar and the one next door. When he pins your wrists above your head against the scratchy brick wall and tells you to stop him if you don’t want it.

“I don’t want it.” You say, weakly, while your lips instinctively seek out his. “I don’t… I don’t want it.”

“Don’t want what?” Don’t want this? Don’t want Ben? His lips brush against yours, teasingly, almost like it hadn’t even happened and you sigh.

“I just… I don’t—“ and you’re kissing him, messy and hungry and so fucking perfect. You’ve missed Patrick’s kisses— the intensity and need. Ben doesn’t kiss like that. Actually you can’t stand the way Ben kisses sometimes— like you’re already an old maid with no sexuality at all. Like he’s already planning the affair he’d have with his secretary in a few years.

Patrick’s hand slips between your thighs and you nearly sob with relief. He knows your body so well, he knows you so well. He makes you cum with no effort at all, gushing onto his fingers.

He tidies your sash, straightens your veil hairclip. He sucks his fingers between his lips, cleans them off. “Your bridesmaids are going to miss you,” Patrick says plainly. Testing you.

“Do you? Miss me, I mean. And I mean me, not… not that you miss fucking me.”

“We all miss you, baby. You know how crazy seeing your engagement photos made us? Fucking crushed us.” He kisses your forehead, so tenderly that your heart starts to stutter. You want to say something, but you don’t know what there really is to say. But Patrick gets it. He always does. “I hope Ben makes you really, really happy. You deserve better than just settling.”

You nod, but it’s all so confusing. Ben makes you happy, doesn’t he? You weren’t settling, were you? He was a good guy, a sweet guy, and you loved his family.

But was he the one person you wanted to spend your life with? Could one person really be all you needed?

You walked back into the party and got another drink from the bar, almost waiting for Patrick to come back in and whisk you away.

He never did.

[angelcqre]

CoD TMA AU

ARCHIVIST

Statement of [Name Redacted], regarding her camping trip in The Grampian Mountains. Original statement given January Fifteenth, Two Thousand and Fifteen. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Now, before you say anything, I know how I sound. I know that it was stupid to go out into the middle of uncharted wilderness and get piss drunk. Believe me, I'm not interested, the park ranger gave me an earful when he found me and the cops did the same. Especially now. But.. something happened, something bad, and if I don't - if I don't say it, I don't know. I'll explode.

So…

I'm not really an outdoors type. I'm an inside cat, I like to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea and my cat, but Farah insisted for her birthday that we go camping. She's always been like that - hiking, caving, camping, it's her thing, and when Farah wants something, she's set on it. Doesn't let it go, especially because she knows how to cash in favors.

So - we went. I didn't want to go, but we went. Me, Farah, her boyfriend, Alex, and her boyfriend's friend. John. I didn't really know him, but he seemed nice enough. We were supposed to spend a long weekend roughing it, three days and three nights for the holiday. We packed plenty of booze, plenty of food, all the proper first aid crap.. and we spent four hours hiking to what John said was the perfect spot.

He was strange from the get-go. A little too touchy-feely, a little too in your space, but he seemed… enthusiastic, I don't know. Eager. He was obviously passionate about it, kept stopping me to show me edible plants, poisonous mushrooms, whatever caught his eye. If it was notable, you'd best believe he was stopping to point it out. It was almost kind of cute, if it wasn't so.. feverish. [VOICE DROPS, ASSUMING SCOTTISH ACCENT.]

"Look, bonnie, look here," and he kept saying it, over and over. It felt like he was trying to prove something - like that he could take care of me, maybe? I don't know.

He just.. didn't stop. He had so much energy, kept moving, expression bright and eyes wild, kept insisting I call him Johnny. It wasn't.. flirting - I don't know what it was. Too familiar. He was so big, just this huge guy, looming over me, smiling with these insanely white teeth that..

Is it crazy to say they looked sharper than.. normal? I know, cliche, but they looked.. sharp. Like fangs. Whatever.

So we settle down on the first night, and of course we all start drinking, set some sausages over the fire, the whole deal. Farah is a clingy drunk, so she disappears with Alex into the woods as soon as she's got some booze in her, and then it's just me and John - Johnny. He hasn't drank a sip the whole time we've been there, just clutching the same beer bottle, nursing it for hours, just.. watching us, and his gaze is so intense. Like he's sizing us up.

At some point, he gets up. Says something about it being "about time", offers me this wink, and then he's strolling off into the woods, whistling to himself.

A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…

He doesn't come back for naarly an hour. They don't come back for nearly an hour, and I start to get a little worried. I mean, look at me, I would not be able to, like, fight a bear if it came down to it, you know? I just keep feeding the fire, getting jumpier and jumpier, but eventually, he comes back, and..

At first, I don't know what it is. He just looks.. dark. His mohawk looks wet, and his clothes are stuck to him, outlining every muscle, but he doesn't step out into the firelight, stays in the shadows, so only his eyes and his teeth are visible, reflecting the light, and it feels wrong, feels sick.

He asks me, point blank, if I'm tired, and angles his head towards one of the two tents, and I tell him no, not yet, I'm waiting for Farah to get back, and he, uh.. he tells me she's not coming back.

When he steps into the firelight, it's like he's prowling, stalking more than walking, you know? He's moving like… like a predator, all smooth and uncanny, and now that I can see him, I can see that the wetness is.. blood, and he's covered in it, like, head to toe. It's worse at his mouth, his teeth are totally stained, like he was just.. ripping into something, I don't know. Biting. And his teeth are too sharp, and with the way he's moving, and the blood, and.. the look on his face, I just.. bolt.

And he laughs.

I can hear it echoing through the woods, bouncing off of every tree, but I don't hear him running after me. No, he just.. starts walking, and that scares me more, because he's so casual about it. Like he knows I won't get away.

But I run, and as I run, I can hear it, bouncing off of every tree, and it's December, right, so there aren't any leaves to block the moon or muffle the sound. I can hear him whistling as he walks, always seeming to be too close to me, no matter how fast I run, just out of sight, and eventually, I get to a clearing.

Everything feels too still. No nightlife - and there hasn't been any wildlife, no birds, no squirrels, nothing, and I'm realizing how bad that is.

And of course, I trip. My foot gets stuck in a gopher hole, of all fucking things, and then I'm dropping down, and he's on me.

His hand on my wrist, leaning down, and he's -

I don't know.

His eyes are blown out, manic, his teeth so large, ears.. pointed? I don't know, but he's drooling as he ruts against me, all but frothing at the mouth, mumbling about mates and calling me his little bunny, telling me that I had my fun, but that he's ready to have his prize, and-

And I have my bear mace still.

Because I can't fight bears.

He starts fidgeting with my clothes, and I just.. I pull it out, spray him, and he's so big, so unnaturally big, his muscles all.. I don't know, tense, wrong, and I spray him until he's howling and then I run.

I don't think the park ranger was happy to see me, but I was sure as shit happy to see her.

The thing is.. and why I came to you guys..

I keep.. getting this feeling.

Like I'm being watched. Hunted.

Like I never really escaped him.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends. We attempted to contact Miss [REDACTED] following a similar statement we'd received months ago, regarding a man fitting the same description, but when Martin spoke to her, she informed him that all was fine, and that she was happy now.

That she was expecting pups.

Knowing Martin, he likely misheard her. I'm likely to dismiss this as a hallucination; with the mushrooms she discussed, perhaps she ingested some. The police seemed to think the same, and administered a drug test upon her statement, which came back... clean.

There isn't much more we can do here. If Miss- er, Mrs. MacTavish, doesn't wish to aid in further investigation, we, unfortunately, are stuck at a standstill.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

[olsenmyolsen]

Hi lovely!! To answer your question about what I’d like to see in the future, first of all I just want to say that I am so so deeply glad you’ve started writing and sharing your work with us, I just think you are so so so good at writing and extremely original with each concept you come up with!! I get SO excited every time I see you’ve posted something!! Personally, my favorite fics to read are female reader with either Wanda or Natasha, or with wandanat. Hands down my most favorite fic you’ve written and that I find myself thinking about frequently is, ‘you have me for the night,’ like it is seriously mindblowingly amazing as a concept and the way you executed it!😍

My other favorites you have so kindly created and shared with us to enjoy include ‘ups and downs,’ I just can’t get over how fantastic your writing is and how funny and enthralling this story is. ‘Taste,’ simply had me in a chokehold with how hot it was and all the pining and sexual tension! Your vampire reader stories and ‘inspiration,’ are also some of my personal favorites from you.

I think I personally really like stories that have some pining and build up which you write soooo deliciously well.

I would also eat it up if you ever had any interest in a female reader and Wanda or wandanat fic with reader being a new avenger and a werewolf who discovers that Wanda (or wandanat) is her mate when she joins the team. Maybe Wanda (or wandanat) even doesn’t like reader much or doesn’t trust her when she joins so it’s like an enemies to lovers, lots of pining kind of situation.

To whoever requested this mooooonths ago, I am so so so so sorry it took me this long to complete it. I honestly started and deleted writing it like five different times. I just couldn't find the right plot in my head. But hopefully, you enjoy this <3 And I truly apologize if you're upset with some liberties I took and changed.

After Midnight

master list . maroon master list . dark master list

Yes loosely based on the Chappell Roan song :)

Monster AU (Female Werewolf Reader X Monster Hunters WandaNat)

Summary: For some time now, Wanda has had visions of you. She doesn't know who you are, but when her senses lead her and her girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff, to a club, they end up learning more about the world than they thought they knew.

Word Count: 2.6K

Content: Crowded Places, Monsters, References to Sex, Teeth, Biting, Lust

You danced in a dress that you wanted forever with red lipstick painted on your lips.

The poppy music swirled around you and through the club, as you drank and made quick friends with girls you knew wouldn't remember your name the next day.

Only the fact that your teeth sunk into their neck.

And the cry of pleasure that followed.

Regardless, with a smile, you danced and drank (as if you could even get drunk) and waited for the woman you had been dreaming of for the last few months.

A woman you knew belonged to you.

A woman who, like you, had been dreaming of someone she felt connected to.

You.

"Wanda, are you sure this is it?" Natasha Romanoff asked of her partner Wanda Maximoff as they arrived outside the club The Full Moon.

To say Natasha was annoyed would be an understatement. Her girlfriend Wanda had been having these dreams of an ethereal animalistic woman for months.

Wanda was open and honest about what she would see. Natasha almost wishes she wasn't.

Almost.

And yes, Natasha knew what she was experiencing was jealousy, but when her girlfriend says she "feels a connection" to this mysterious person, how else was she supposed to feel?

So, as the two of them entered the club, they both had their sights set on finding you. Whoever you were.

The second the pair of Monster Hunters enter the club, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your sense going off. Yet, through the bodies of people in the club, you can't locate them as quickly.

Especially in your human form.

With a sigh, you give your empty glass to a hammered girl with big boobs and glasses as you leave the dance floor.

You hope to find the two monster hunters faster this way.

However, across the club, as the rainbow lights bounce off everything around Wanda and Natasha, they also sense something is off. Wanda gives Natasha a quizzical look after they order their drinks.

A purple cocktail for Wanda and a beer for Natasha.

"You sense it?" Wanda asks. Natasha nods as her eyes are already scanning what she can see. "A monster on this side of town? This late into the month? I don't know." Natasha replied to Wanda, who picked up her cocktail seconds after it was delivered.

Wanda also looks around the spacious room. "See anything?" She asks Natasha, who shakes her head. The two of them are experts in their field. They should be able to snuff out who or what is breaking the laws set before them, but they can't.

On top of that, they're off the clock.

Natasha turns back to the bar and takes a sip of her beer. Wanda looks at her girlfriend. "Let's just focus back on finding this mysterious person and figure out why I'm drawn to them."

Once again, that option isn't as thrilling to Natasha, but she follows along. She loves Wanda and knows how much this means to her. "Okay." She says, grabbing Wanda's hand and following her to the dance floor.

You move from your sat postion at a table far too close to a speaker as you watch the way a redhead follows another woman hand in hand into the crowd of drunks on the lit-up floor.

"Gotcha." You whisper spotting the off the clock Monster Hunters silhouetted in black. You smile, knowing you like to have fun with these people regardless, but it is far too late into the night for them to do anything.

After Midnight.

In the middle of a sea of people, Natasha and Wanda slowly start to lose themselves to the indie pop hits of today, but just as Wanda goes to finish off her cocktail, she gasps. Natasha immediately notices and comes to her side. "What is it?"

A vision plays out in Wanda's head—a vision you also see.

You smirk as the vision dissapears in your mind. You finally figured out what these visions mean.

"What is it?" Natasha asks as Wansa looks up and around the place. "She's here." Natasha looks as well but stops when Wanda gestures towards you, making your way through the crowd.

Natasha freezes as she looks over you. You're, of course, gorgeous (something maybe Wanda didn't fully explain), and you're wearing a red dress that hugs your curves beautifully.

Natasha looks from you to Wanda, whose mouth is slightly apart, in awe. "It's you," Wanda says, making you tilt your head with a smirk.

"Aside from my visions... Where do I know her from?" You question yourself before you stand in front of the pretty pair of faces looking at you. "Hi!" You say it with a sultry tone, making Natasha blatantly roll her eyes. Something you find amusing. Something Wanda ignores as she brings her body closer to you. "Hi." She says it with a soft, almost too-quiet tone.

"So you're from my vision." You cut to the chase as you bring your body closer to the brunette. Ignoring the glares from the redhead. "And you're from mine," Wanda replies.

Natasha huffs as she interrupts the eye fucking going on. "Okay. Yes. You have dreams about one another. What does that mean?" Natasha not so subtly moves in between you and the brunette. You look from the girl with the soft expression to the one with raging red hair. "And you are?" You say, biting back a smirk.

Natasha hates your attitude, forcing herself to narrow her eyes. She thinks you're lucky she's using all her strength not to fight you right now. "I'm Natasha Romanoff. I'm this one girlfriend." She says, pointing back to the brunette.

You smile. "Girlfriend?" You ask, questioning the other woman, who nods. "I'm Wanda. Wanda Maximoff." She extends her hand and raises her voice above the club music. You gingerly take her hand and shake it. The action sends a jolt of electricity through the two of you. Making you smile even wider.

"What?" Natasha asks as she sees the look on your face.

"It's just you two don't know why you've been having these visions, do you?" Each person shakes their head at you. "Well... there's no easy way to say this." You look around. Maybe the middle of the dance floor isn't the best place. "Follow me." You say to them, not caring if Natasha wants to follow or not.

You knew Wanda would.

You paid off the bouncer to the VIP area and closed the door to a private room. "Oh, come on." Natasha groans, seeing the bed in the middle of the room. "I didn't know The Full Moon was this kind of place." Wanda quietly held in a laugh as her girlfriend squeezes her hand. Annoyed. "It's not like that, I promise." You say, gesturing between you and Natasha, ignoring the comment about the bed as you move in front of the girlfriends.

It was just there for people to have a good time consensually.

As you look from one face to the other, it clicks for you.

However, just to be sure, you lightly sniff the air in the room, and your senses instantly alert you to the presence of two Monster Hunters.

The ones in front of you. 

You can't help but shake your head and smirk.

Of course.

"You two don't seem to know much about this place." You say to Natasha mainly. She rolls her eyes again. "Look, just tell us the real reason we're here." You put your hands up in a fake surrender and walk over the bed. Sitting down on it before moving back ever so slightly. Your covered breasts and long tan legs perfectly make Wanda want more.

"Wanda is my mate." You come right out and say it, knowing it would throw the two of them for a loop.

Also laughing knowing that they're Monster Hunters. They weren't supposed to be able to mate with said Monsters.

Wanda stares at you wide-eyed as if she can't believe what she just heard. Even if it was the truth and not that far from unbelievable.

She has witches blood in her after all.

Natasha, on the other hand, can't fathom it. She laughs like it's a big prank and steps closer to you. "Mate? Yeah right. Okay. Quit messing around around. Tell us the real reason."

You squint your eyes at Natasha and lie down on the bed. Sighing. "That is the real reason." Natasha opens and closes her mouth before stumbling to say: "Only Monsters can have mates." Natasha looks at you and slowly backs up. Grabbing a stunned Wanda, the two of them move away from the bed. "If it's true, then you're a Monster. That's why we sensed something. It was you!"

You lift your head up slightly. "First correction. Monsters aren't the only ones who can have mates. And secondly, do I look like a monster to you?"

"I th-"

"I was asking Wanda." Natasha closes her mouth and looks at her girlfriend. Her gaze on the person on the bed. You. "I.. I don't think you look like a Monster."

"Wanda!" Natasha says, unable to believe what Wanda was saying. Or trying to say. "I'm a beauty, Nat. What can I say." You smirk before looking at Natasha and winking. 

Even before tonight, she was having trouble coming up with reasons to be here, but now she's really struggling.

Natasha looks from Wanda to you once more. "What are you?"

"Wanda's mate. Now I don't know-"

"What are you really!?" Natasha asks, not wanting to hear any more about you and HER girlfriend. "Tasha." Wanda quietly says as she pulls on Nat's hand.

Wanda understands Natasha's frustrations and anger, but to Wanda, you were attractive, and Wanda did want to know more. Being rude wasn't going to solve anything.

You slowly pull yourself up and off the bed. Standing several feet away from the two. "I'm a Werewolf." You say, a tad quieter than you had been all night.

Something Natasha and Wanda picked up on.

"How do we know you're not lying?" Natasha asks, looking for more answers. "Aren't the visions enough?" You reply, almost annoyed. Natasha shakes her head. "Prove what you are."

You roll your eyes and take steps closer to Wanda and Natasha. Neither woman moving away. They're intrigued. You lift your upper lip up so the Monster Hunters can see a large canine tooth form before going away.

"The closer it gets to a full moon, the harder it becomes to control my human form."

Silence rests between everyone.

"Funny name for a bar then, no?" Wanda breaks the tension with a joke that makes you laugh. A sound Wanda giggles at.

Natasha squeezes Wanda's hand and does her best not to smile as she looks at you. "So now what?"

"Well, you're not taking me in. I'll tell you that." You look from the green shimmer in Wanda's eyes. "We won't," Wanda says without missing a beat.

Natasha sighs. "We weren't going to anyways. It's after hours and... and now the situation's complicated."

Truthfully, Natasha didn't care if she saw you ever again. But the more Wanda hung around you, the harder it was to pull her back.

"You know..." Natasha speaks up. "We came here tonight with one goal in mind. To see who Wanda was sharing visions with. But now that she's supposedly your mate and all that... What happens?" Natasha swallows and looks from Wanda to you and back. "Because I'm not losing Wanda to you. Not tonight." Natasha shakes her head as her eyes sting. But she sniffles and holds back the tears.

The thought of Wanda not being with her is eating away at her.

"You don't have to lose Wanda." You smirked as you brought your body closer and closer to Wanda. Her soft eyes going from her girlfriend to you.

She doesn't want to lose Natasha either.

"You know..." You lift your hand, making Natasha step forward, but she stops when she sees you push some hair from Wanda's face. "Us Monsters or Werewolf's aren't like Seahorses." Wanda tilts her head as she lays your hand on her cheek, bringing your eyes to Natasha. "Mating doesn't end with one person. It's normal and what usually happens, but... it doesn't have to be."

You bring your gaze back to Wanda as she looks from you to Natasha. Both of them understand your words. "You wouldn't lose her, Natasha."

You're honest and surprisingly caring. At least that's what Natasha thinks of you now.

"What are you doing now?" Natasha asks as you lean forward and look at Wanda's skin—especially the beautiful place on her neck.

Wanda can sense what you're thinking. "She wants to bite me." Natasha widens her eyes and goes to push you away, but you quickly grab her arm and twist it.

Your true strength coming through.

"I'm trying to be a good, good girl." You let go of Natasha, making her huff and stand in between you and Wanda. "I'm sorry I just love a little drama."

"We should get going," Natasha speaks to you as her eyes never leave yours. Yet she doesn't move. The second she gives you makes your mouth work faster than your brain. "I'm feeling kinda freaky." You raise a playful eyebrow. "Maybe it's the moonlight. Maybe it's something else. The club lights?" You shrug and step closer to Natasha.

Wanda watches as your eyes travel to Nat's smooth skin.

"I kinda wanna kiss your girlfriend, if you don't mind."

Natasha opens her mouth to argue, but Wanda stops her. "She's not talking to you," Wanda says as Nat looks back at you, wearing a widening grin. "M-me?" Natasha asks you.

And since walking into the club, the chip on Natasha's shoulder melts away. Wanda walks up behind her girlfriend, wraps her arms around her, and kisses her cheek. "We could never lose each other."

Yet Natasha still can't process what you're asking.

You nod as she stares at you. "You, Natasha." Wanda brings her lips up to Natasha's ears. "It's okay." You nod as your ears pick up Wanda's words. "And then Wanda."

"And then Wanda-" Natasha gets cut off as you invade her space and take her face in your hands. Your callous fingers move down Natasha's cheek as your aggressive kiss slows into one of passion.

This is what I wanted. This is what I like.

When you pull away, your lips are darker. Natasha stands stunned before bringing her fingers to her lips. Touching where you just were. "Yo-you just kissed me.?" She speaks, making you blush. "We can do more than that." You offer with a laugh.

Wanda, with her eyes dark, can read your mind as your kiss with Natasha opens up the connection between the three of you.

She knows you're not joking about the offer.

"Wanda..." Natasha turned her attention to Wanda as her girlfriend looked over her fondly. Lovingly. Natasha can see Wanda isn't upset by what just happened. Making Natasha's brain scramble for an answer.

A solution to the chaos of tonight.

"It'll be okay." Wanda steps forward and gives a quick peck. She can even taste you on Nat's pretty pink lips.

"B-but now... now what?" Natasha asks as she can't even think. You make your presence known again as you gently bring your hands to Natasha's. "We belong together. We make it real. I want to make this real." Natasha watches you for a moment in silence before your hands leave hers and grab Wanda's hair.

Moving it over her shoulder.

Exposing her neck.

This wasn't right.

And yet. Natasha can't help but move closer. Her mind being made up with each step. Natasha holds Wanda as you open your mouth.

However, it wasn't until the three of you were in the middle of the dance floor once again that you put your canine teeth in the side of her neck.

A scream of pleasure left her, and after midnight, that night, the three of you became more.

dividers by @/benkeibear

[onedappercat]

Why Does the Ortolan Sing?

A human AU Good Omens fanfic

(View uncensored art on AO3)

Chapter 20: So Much For Stardust

Rating: Explicit

Summary:

Following his mother’s death, Azira sets out to prepare his family’s bookshop for reopening. While appreciating the shop’s new sign, he hears the beckon of a siren’s song sounding from the coffee shop over the road. He succumbs to temptation to find the source of the hypnotic voice is an auburn-haired songbird. Intrigued by the singer’s beauty and haunted by his apparent loneliness, Azira is determined to introduce himself. There’s only one problem: the musician’s menacing, jealous, and possessive partner.

CW: Domestic abuse, loss of a loved one, adultery, toxic relationship, murder, blood, organized crime

Excerpt from chapter 20:

“Space is incredible, you know?” Crowley’s smile broadened as he stared up at God’s canvas. “It’s true eternity. So vast and limitless, we’re constantly finding something new. Even when Earth is long gone, the space we used to occupy will receive the light from star systems we’ve never known, never named, and the light from Earth will do the same. We’re fleeting, but space isn’t.”

“That’s beautiful…” Azira sighed. “And slightly tragic. Nothing lasts forever, I suppose.”

“Some things do.” Crowley took a deep breath of the fresh, country air. “Humans give names and stories to the stars, and I wonder who else out there, seeing the same stars from a different angle, have done the same. Like over there,” Crowley motioned to a cluster of stars Azira couldn’t differentiate from any others. “Coma Berenices. Humans looked at those stars and saw the hair of an Egyptian queen, sacrificed to Aphrodite to ensure her husband’s return from battle. Something so human. Or the Andromeda Galaxy… one of our neighbors. Named for a beauty whose parents angered the Gods, causing her to be sacrificed to a monster. The stories we assign them won’t last for eternity, but their light always reaches somewhere, even once they’re gone. And there’s an infinite number of them to do just that.”

“When you put it like that, eternity is… a hard concept to grasp.” Azira pondered for a moment. He’d had philosophical conversations with his parents, but eternity was never a topic they touched on. “I admit, my mind usually stays grounded in the stories in books; I don’t tend to consider just how insignificant that all is.”

Crowley eyed Azira at askance, then rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand and smiling. “Eternity is a mountain made of diamonds.”

“A what?” Azira grinned.

“There’s a mountain made of diamonds, a hundred miles wide and a hundred miles high, and every thousand years a bird comes and sharpens its beak on the mountain.”

“The same bird?”

Crowley waved his hand dismissively. “We’re talking diamond mountains; you want to harp on the age of the bird?”

“Right,” Azira chuckled. “Carry on.”

“So this bird sharpens its beak on the mountain, scraping away a tiny piece every time. Once that mountain has completely worn away, one second of eternity has passed.”

Azira stared up at Crowley, his face framed in the falling stars and glittering diamonds of eternity, sending their light to Earth. His lips parted, a soft gasp leaving him as he took in the eternal beauty, incomparable in his mind to the fleeting beauty that was Crowley. Crowley’s soft smile and gentle eyes were gazing at him with the kind of love actors attempt to portray in movies. It was so believable, as he watched the old black-and-whites with his mother, until he witnessed it himself.

“Make love to me under the stars,” Azira whispered. “Eternally.”

Continue from chapter 20 here.

Thank you so much to everyone at @goodomensafterdark for your help and putting up with my millions of questions! 🥰

[blog-name-idk]

The Plot Twist | 05

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

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Chapter 5: "It's fine! South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Of three things you are absolutely certain. First, soulmates exist. Second, the universe – and you don't know how potent its power may be – runs on some sort of karmic imbalance. And third, you are unconditionally, and irrevocably, fucked.

It is raining.

In a rare, extremely odd fit of forethought, you actually have an umbrella in your bag. Normally, you would scoff at weather predictions and dare the clouds to do their worst. But today, you found yourself grabbing your umbrella before leaving for your commute, and the skies that have darkened into an ominous, storm-like gray after your work shift do not phase you at all.

Today, your undoing lies in a different kind of disaster preparedness.

Hard water pelts down almost as if it is herding you, and you hurry from the assault of the rippling sky to the awning of a closed coffee shop to grab your umbrella. Expletives spew from your lips as you dig through your messy bag. You're so focused that you barely register someone also taking refuge from the sudden storm – a man wearing a mask and a bucket hat, but is shivering through a wet, black long sleeved t-shirt that's sticking to what looks like a very toned body.

Not that that's the type of thing you typically notice or anything.

"Found you!" you screech excitedly as you pull out your umbrella and brandish it at the sky. The man beside you flinches, like you're about to attack him, and you give him a disdainful look.

"S-sorry," he mutters, the brim of his hat still hiding his eyes. "I thought you meant something else."

Something else? Is he on the run from the mob, or fleeing the national military? The incredibility of either prospect nearly makes you snicker, but whatever, you need to get home before the storm gets –

BOOM!

– worse.

The thunderclap makes both of you jump, and you wince at the realization that the rain is coming down even harder. Unforgiving sheets of water pour down, and you can barely see even a few feet past the awning. Maybe you can get an Uber instead…

You pull out your phone to see no bars. No data, no phone signal, nothing. The guy next to you is shivering even more violently now, and you internally sigh. You can't just ignore him, not when helplessness is wafting off him in tenebrous waves.

"Do you have a ride coming?" you ask reluctantly, wishing you had been raised to be more selfish. Your mother does whatever the hell she wants, why hasn't she taught you the same? Though, to be fair, she probably would have been able to get the rain to stop by glaring. Perhaps someday, in your final form, you'll be just as powerful.

The man wilts and shakes his head, and you’re alarmed when you hear a sniffle. Shit, you are not equipped to handle a crying man. You're not even equipped to handle your own emotions.

"I – I left rehearsal because I had a fight with my hyung," the guy begins to share, morosely wiping his face with a wet hand that only leaves more moisture behind. His voice quivers, and despite your misgivings, the piteous sight of him tugs at your heartstrings. "And now I'm lost. I only have my phone, and it’s useless right now."

You start to feel a little sympathy for someone who's clearly been having a bad day. You're about to offer to share your umbrella to the nearest train station when he finally looks straight at you, meeting your eyes for the first time.

The patch of skin behind your ear suddenly tingles and–

Oh.

Oh.

The rain falls, lightning cracks, and your stomach drops in time with the crash of thunder that follows. Yet you can barely hear it over the sudden pounding of your heartbeat.

"Do you… Could you… If it's not too much trouble, could I walk with you to the train station?" Jeon Jungkook pleads, large doe-eyes gazing brilliantly at you from half of an unmistakable face.

This… is why you felt like bringing an umbrella today? Because of the universe and its cosmic–fucking–intervention?

The man across you fidgets, growing self-conscious as he waits for your answer. For a few long seconds, all you can do is stare numbly at him.

Are you going to have to assume every man you run into these days is one of your soulmates? How is this even possible?

You reach your decision in less than a minute.

Dejectedly, you hold out your umbrella wordlessly to Jungkook, and his face lights up. His smile does something unspeakable to your heart that you refuse to acknowledge. His expression scrunches – cutely, to your dismay – in confusion when you just hand him the umbrella. You shove a few crumpled bills from your back pocket into his free hand, careful not to touch his skin, and he looks completely baffled.

"For the train fare," you manage to choke out, already backing away into the unforgiving rain. It's coming down so hard the pelting drops almost hurt, but this is infinitely preferable to whatever the fuck the alternative is.

"What…? No! You don't have to – I just wanted to share – "

"It's fine!" you call over your shoulder, already twenty meters away and sopping wet in the opposite way to what the universe was probably trying to contrive. "Just get home safe! I'm sure your hyung is worried!"

With that you're off, leaving a very confused and equally charmed idol behind. Jungkook stares after the strange, kind girl, wondering why it feels like you're running away.

Pondering, he scratches the tattoo behind his ear.

He’s just about to run after you, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he opens it in surprise to see a wall of text messages.

How odd. The signal bars are full now.

At the influx of messages from his hyungs, his argument with Jimin at the rehearsal studio floods back into his mind, and Jungkook sniffles again and dials the familiar number.

"What do you want?" answers a grumbling Jimin, filling Jungkook's chest with guilt.

"Hyung, I'm so sorry!" Jungkook cries, blubbering in earnest now, the familiar voice opening the floodgates until his tears almost match the tempest around him.

"Don't call me!" his hyung scolds, clearly still angry. And yet, he picked up the call when he could have just ignored him. Jungkook hears Jimin sigh, the sound static and long. "Fine. Where are you?"

"I don't know," Jungkook whimpers as another crack of lightning cleaves the air. Thunder follows soon after, and he hopes that you're okay, wherever you've gone.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?!” Jimin demands, suddenly all love, all worry. "Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

Ah… warmth. This is what his team has taught him: brotherhood, love, and family. To be angry, to piss each other off, but in the end be willing to drop everything to help one another.

Something the stranger had done despite having no need to.

"I don't know where I am," Jungkook replies, already feeling a little better. "But I'll take a taxi home. S-someone gave me some money."

"Come safely. I'll wait outside for you."

Before Jungkook can protest, Jimin hangs up. The maknae can't help but smile despite how stressful the day has been. Between his team members and the kindness of the girl from earlier, his chest feels warm and fuzzy, driving away the cold and the gloom of the gray skies and icy rain.

He just wishes he had gotten your name.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Fuck.

You wake with a head full of cotton and a nose more clogged than a toilet at an American WacDonald's. Feeling like death, you drag yourself out of bed to the bathroom, force yourself into a scalding hot shower that – for a blessed moment – clears your sinuses. You get ready for work, and by the time you're ready, you at least look put together, though inside you're already wishing you could crawl back under your covers.

Any other time, you might have taken a day off to not inflict your coworkers with your germs, but today is that stupid executive meeting and you can't afford to miss it.

You pop some cold medicine into your mouth, mask up, and get to work early, because despite your utter lack of care when it comes to your personal life, you are a demon in the office.

"[Y/n]!" calls Mijoo, one of your favorite administrative assistants. It's for that reason and that reason alone that you pull your head away from your screen to give her a smile she probably can't see through the cloth of your mask.

"Hey," you greet, clearing your throat and relieved you haven't hit the "uncontrollable cough" stage of your cold yet. "What's going on?"

"Soonyoung is freaking out about something again," she replies quietly, casting her eyes over to the corner office where your Senior Vice-President resides.

You're not sure if he ever actually leaves the building.

You sigh. This is a big project, one that is being presented to the company execs, and you really need everything to go perfectly. It's a good thing you got here early.

"When I finish here, I'll go talk to him," you say reluctantly, making Mijoo shoot you a smile of relief.

After you've confirmed that everything should as expected, you push off your desk, letting your chair roll backwards. Then you slip your feet back into your heels, stand, and give a lazy stretch of your limbs before heading to put out the fire, rolling your shoulders as you do so.

Through the glass surrounding the door, you can see your VP frowning at his computer screen, gray brows knit in some sort of frustration. You knock twice, and he looks up, still frowning. It vanishes as soon as he realizes it's you, and with a grin he beckons you inside.

"[Y/n]! Thank goodness," he said in a relieved voice, already angling his monitor so that you can see. "I can't get VLOOKUP to work!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you shouldn't, instead ambling over to help the dinosaur who is (hopefully) planning on retiring soon. Why is someone so high up even messing with spreadsheets, anyway? You barely have time to do any hands-on work at this point, and all you manage is your own team.

"It's tricky," you agree fondly, humoring him not because you have to, but because he kind of reminds you of your grandpa. "Here, let me help."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your next meeting also has an unusually high number of execs, and you frown as you recall the vague wording of the invite. You settle in a chair next to your work friend slash rival Jaesung, who looks just as confused as you feel.

"Any idea what this 'very important meeting' is about?" you whisper in his direction, and he shakes his head.

"No clue, but there are rumors that there's something big coming up," he whispers back. The two of you are unable to speculate any further, however, as your CEO appears. What the hell?

By the time the meeting ends, you are torn between laughing and crying hysterically. The execs have announced the planned launch of a top secret flagship product, one that the company is expecting massive returns on due to a collaboration with – because this is your life now – motherfucking BTS.

And then VP Soonyoung stands, looks at you and Jaesung proudly, and says that as two of his best people, you will be spearheading the marketing and sales efforts. He adds, with an elderly jovial laugh, “Both of you will even get the chance to meet them, so go get your autograph plaques ready!”

As if you needed to be disincentivized!

"You’re so lucky!" wails Mijoo as you sit in your cube, where you have been staring woodenly at your computer screen for over five minutes now. She thinks you're in joyful shock, and maybe, it definitely is shock. The electric chair kind.

It's bad enough that you had to spend an entire wonderful excruciating evening with Hoba – Hoseok – and he is now aware of your existence, even if he hasn't realized you're soulmates. But now this?

You mull over filing for your immediate resignation, which only adds to your headache. Eventually, you conclude that your time and compensation package from Samsong are just too good, too unbeatable, and… you’ve grown as a professional here. People respect you, value you for you, and you absolutely love working with your personally curated team.

The problem is the universe keeps testing your limits. Executive meetings? Easy. Flagship product development? Doable with the right people. But passionate, self-consuming cosmic schemes involving the world’s biggest boy band in the guise of soulmateship?

You’d rather get hit by a car.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The universe hates me.

That is your last thought as you hear the squeal of tires on pavement and the frantic honks of a car horn before you're suddenly staring up at the sky, pain flaring throughout your entire body.

A man gets out of the black Hyundai Palisade with tinted windows, and you suddenly wish that you had been truly run over with no hope of recovery. Of course it's Kim fucking Namjoon of BTS, and he's looking at you in a mixture of panic and concern that makes your heart flutter despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" he asks, to which part of your brain thinks, What a fucking idiot of course I'm not. The other half stupidly admires the broad set of his shoulders, the strange mixture of grace and clumsiness as he stumbles over to your battered body.

Wait.

You return to your senses, and begin to push yourself back up to your feet.

"Yep, totally fine!" you insist through gritted teeth, ignoring the way one of your legs is twisted awkwardly, and the flare of agony that permeates your body when you're able to bring yourself upright. "It was my fault anyway!"

It wasn't, but you're not going to stick around to let this play out.

You begin to limp away as fast as your contorted ankle allows, ignoring the flabbergasted expression on Namjoon's handsome face.

"I – can I at least pay for your medical bills?" he asks as he takes a tentative step after you. You hobble faster despite the burning pain in your legs.

"It's fine!" you call behind you, getting a regrettable glimpse of his beautiful, worried eyes. "South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Unfortunately, you can only wobble so fast until the physically fit, able-bodied man catches up to you. By this point, your vision is fuzzing with strange dotted lights and your body doesn't feel quite real anymore. Namjoon's hand touches your shoulder, and you turn around to tell him off. Instead, you feel your legs buckle and strong arms catch you before everything goes black.

 ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"You keep appearing in unexpected places, and often." Jimin swallows, his heart beginning to race. "Your skin is always covered up. You don't eat or drink anything when I'm around."

He takes a deep breath, knowing you're just a step behind him.

"How old are you?"

You hesitate – just barely – before you reply.

"Twenty-five."

"... How long have you been twenty-five?"

"A few months."

A few months. A few months since he's moved into your apartment complex. A few months since the strange not-quite-ennui and melancholy has begun plaguing him. A few months since you have turned of age to manifest your soulmate connection.

"I know what you are."

He feels your body tense behind him, and a thrill runs down his spine. When you speak, he can feel your breath on his neck.

"Say it."

“Soulma–”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon looks anxiously at the nurse checking your vitals as you lay prone on the hospital bed, wishing he could do more to help.

"I think – I think she might have hit her head," he offers, for the tenth time, thinking about the way you had tried to run away on what the nurse is reasonably certain is a badly sprained ankle. The nurse gives him a tight smile, because one does not simply roll their eyes at the leader of Bangtan Sonyeondan, no matter how many times he's said the same thing.

"We'll check for it," the nurse promises, soothing the tall man. For the time being.

Namjoon chews on his lip as he gazes at you, wondering what your story is, what kind of past would drive you to such strange lengths.

For some reason, he itches to hold your hand, but that would be completely inappropriate from a total stranger. Especially when it could cause dating rumors if anyone gets a glimpse or a picture. His manager is already going to kill him for chasing down an injured girl in broad daylight.

His eyes keep getting drawn back to your face, peaceful in sleep and – dare he say it – quite pretty. Very pretty. Beautiful, even. And you had felt so soft and nice in his arms, warm and –

"Sir, please stay seated while I finish here," comes the nurse's tired voice, and Namjoon realizes he's gotten up and has an arm outstretched to stroke your cheek.

"Uh, sorry," he stutters, face burning as he sits back down. What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he feel drawn to this very strange, very lovely girl?

A soft groan tears Namjoon out of his spiraling thoughts, and his gaze shoots to your form as your eyelids flutter open.

"Wha – " you ask blearily, waking up from the weirdest parody dream of the world’s best vampire movie ever. Shifting in your bed, pain contorts your face and you let out a hiss. "Ow!"

Namjoon rushes over, and your mouth drops open when you realize who he is. Before you can react, he's holding your hand in his, and he staggers as something in the universe fundamentally shifts. By your gasp, you're experiencing a similar sensation, and you yank your hand out of his grip before he can get his bearings.

"Your leg seems severely strained," the nurse explains, blissfully unaware of the way the world is tumbling around the both of you. "We'll need to do x-rays to make sure it’s not broken."

"I'll… get a wheelchair…" Namjoon says, in a daze, desperate to be of help even as his mind races to understand what is going on. He stumbles outside of the room, desperately hoping that a moment alone will help him get his thoughts in order and help him find the right questions to ask.

Apparently these are questions he won't receive answers to any time soon, because by the time he's back, the room is empty. The nurse follows after him, and looks around in confusion.

"Where'd she go?" the nurse asks, and Namjoon wishes he knew the answer. Who are you? Why are you so hellbent on getting away from him?

And why does holding your hand feel like home?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

That was too close. Too fucking close.

You pull yourself onto the bus by the railing, ignoring the driver's confused, concerned expression as he takes in your hospital gown and the way you're wincing in pain. You swipe your card, only vaguely aware that everyone behind you can see your rump through the poorly tied flaps of the gown.

It's fine. Your dignity is unimportant compared to the bulletproof boy scout you just dodged.

You drag yourself to a handicapped seat – if there's ever a time you can confidently sit in one, it's now – and fall into it, finding an angle for your leg that gives some sort of relief.

Despite the pain, it's the warm feeling in your hand you can't stop thinking about.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon is at a loss.

Despite searching the entire hospital, the mysterious girl was nowhere to be found, vanishing from the premises as if she were never there. Still, out of personal guilt and liability, Namjoon lingered, offering to settle the missing girl’s hospital expenses, but the charge nurse expertly dismissed his generosity once it became apparent that he did not know you at all. He couldn’t even give them your name, or any proof of relation, and the rest of the staff quickly became tight-lipped around him.

Even Kim Namjoon, the illustrious 148 IQ leader of BTS, can’t argue against health privacy laws.

Since leaving his phone number with the charge nurse – his final, desperate effort – Namjoon has been staring at his phone, waiting for any news about you… news that simply never comes.

That same evening, he walks into the band’s shared dormitory with aplomb.

Single-minded, he heads straight for the living room and picks up the remote control off of the coffee table.

The flatscreen TV goes dark, and Kim Taehyung complains, “Hyung, no! What gives!”

Jungkook cries in offense, shooting up from the sofa, “My vampire baseball scene!”

Namjoon deigns them both with a long-suffering look. “We need to talk, so call the team.”

His assertive voice, usually reserved for critical matters and scolding, makes Taehyung and Jungkook abandon their emotional support movie in favor of gathering the rest of the group.

One by one, the boys pile into the living room from separate parts of the apartment at Namjoon’s behest. Most of them are sporting rumpled clothes and bedheads, save for Jimin, who looked ready to leave for his own place.

Namjoon announces, “There’s something I want to discuss. A… possibility.” He clears his throat. “A girl.”

"That's what you interrupted our movie for?" Taehyung asks, indignant. "A crush?"

Hoseok lets out an immediate sigh of relief. “Is that it?” And then he pauses, scratching at his nape, “Well, me too, I guess.”

Jimin’s eyes brighten. “No way, hyungs! Me too!”

When Jin, Jungkook, and Taehyung concede that they've also had a run-in with a very memorable girl recently, a new suspicion blooms in the back of Namjoon's mind.

Could they be talking about the same girl?

Though unlikely, he decides to ask, “Did any of you manage to get her name?”

Jin nods, seriously. “G0d$l@yeR_69.”

Namjoon shoots him another long-suffering look.

Hoseok stays silent, if only because his memories of you are one of the few non-idol centered things he still holds onto. Besides, his girl can’t possibly be their girl, too. The odds of that happening would be astronomical.

It's not so wrong to want to keep one aspect of his life to himself… right?

“Sorry, I… I didn’t get her name,” Jimin lies, for the same reason Hoseok keeps quiet. Besides, even if Jin is interested in you, Jimin's your neighbor! He should get first dibs! He's not going to give up your name so his handsome, charismatic hyung can find you and woo you before Jimin even has a chance to try.

"What's this important meeting about?" asks Min Yoongi, walking into the room with a mug of coffee in hand.

"A girl," Jungkook replies, somewhat dreamily, remembering the guardian angel that saved him that rainy day. Yoongi rolls his eyes and immediately turns around to leave despite Namjoon's protests. He has more important things to do than sit around gossiping, especially since he has a meeting with Samsong tomorrow about their new collaboration.

There's a hubbub behind him, a thump, and a curse from the ungainly leader as Namjoon's prized George Nakashima coffee table claims yet another victim. Yoongi's toe throbs, and he sighs.

"There's a first-aid kit in my room." He calls over his shoulder as he goes. "Knock yourselves out."

Far away, in a clinic near your apartment where your ankle is being put into a brace, you sneeze.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

[katyobsesses]

~ WIP Wednesday ~

I'm completely obsessed with my current WIP, a Modern Bridgerton AU! I'm roughly planning to have a story for each Bridgerton sibling, with some of them intertwining. I'm currently writing a rough outline of each story, vaguely following the show (and sometimes incorporating book stuff that might fit) but making it, obviously, modern. So Saphne are going to be a Fake Dating story (I'm thinking actors in a PR relationship) Kanthony are Enimies to Lovers (maybe rival Lawyers? I'm not too sure yet) and Polin are obviously Friends to Lovers! And it is part of the Polin Story (as yet untitled) that I'll be sharing today, because I started re-writing the Carriage Scene and couldn't stop (though I have yet to write the actual smut) and I am incredibly proud of what I have so far

Modern Bridgerton AU - Untitled Polin Story - "Carriage" scene

“Pen, wait!” Colin called as Penelope ran up the staircase, her curls flying behind her and the skirt of her dress fluttering around her legs.

“Not now, Colin,” She responded, slowing slightly as she got to the landing, stopping and taking a heaving breath that turned into a sob she quickly swallowed back.

“Penelope,” Colin whispered, slowly walking up the stairs towards her.

“I don't want to talk, Colin,” She said, her back still to him, and he watched as she straightened, taking a deep stuttering breath and slowly letting it loose. Her sniffles filled the hall, mingling with the distant thump of bass coming from one of her neighbours, but otherwise it was silent as Pen composed herself before turning to him.

She was beautiful, as she always had been, as he'd long taken for granted. Even with reddened eyes and messy mascara, fallen curls and flushed skin, she looked like a work of art. He was sure Benedict would be able to name exactly which, or, rather, he wouldn't, because Penelope was one of a kind.

“Please,” he said imploringly, nodding to the door of her flat, “Let me in?”

She regarded him, looking down from the landing above The overhead light made a halo around her head, [blah blah blah poetry about her standing tall in front of him, him having to look up at her beauty blah blah blah]

She nodded - the mask of composure falling away, letting him see the exhaustion and sad acceptance she was feeling - and turned to open the door. He took the last few steps two at a time, and followed her into the flat. He closed the door behind himself, toeing off his dress shoes and watching as she sighed, her hands running through her hair and snagging on bobby pins. She let out a sound of frustration before grabbing a claw clip from the table by the door and expertly twisting her hair up and away from her face. She leant down to undo the clasp on her shoes, and fumbled, letting out another sound of frustration that caught on a sob.

“Let me,” Colin said, voice soft in the quiet, and gestured to the bench in the hallway. She sat down heavily, and he crouched in front of her, unbuckling the clasp at one ankle, and then another.

“Why did you follow me home?” Penelope asked, as he gently took the first heel from her foot.

“You… you looked distressed, as you left the luncheon,” He answered.

“So you decided to follow me?”

Colin placed the second heel next to the first, neatly, before sitting back on his ankles. He chewed on his lip, before looking up at Penelope.

“What happened, between you and Deb?” He asked.

A silence stretched.

“Its odd,” Penelope said, swallowing around emotion, “When I asked for your help finding a boyfriend, I didn't think it would end with them breaking up with me, because of you.”

Colin blinked.

“Because he seems to think you have feelings for me,” She let out a disbelieving laugh, closing her eyes and bringing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

Colin's breath caught in his throat, and when he opened his mouth to respond - to say something, anything - the words he'd practiced again and again got caught along with it.

“Which is so ridiculous all I can do is laugh,” Penelope voice caught on the last word, the disbelieving laughter of before turning wet, “Now will you please just leave me to wallow alone?”

“I can't,” Colin breathed, his lungs aching with the effort of finally talking.

“Please!” Penelope practically begged, and Colin's nerves snapped.

“I can't,” He insisted, “Because…”

All of the speeches he'd written - in journals, on his notes app, in his mind - burst into his mind [change to something else] and he stumbled through the plethora of words. He looked down at the small flowers that adorned Penelope's dress, composing himself and his words, before looking back up. He met her eyes, bright with both unshed tears and…

Hope.

His resolve strengthened, and the words that tumbled over each other in his mind became clear.

“What if I did have feelings for you?” He said, the words a question but the answer clear. Or so he hoped.

“What?” The disbelief in Penelope's voice pierced his heart, denting and almost breaking it.

He sorted though the words, settling on the best to convey his feelings, before kneeling up, leaning closer to Penelope and taking her hands in his.

“I have spent so long,” He began, eyes locked on hers, “Trying to feel less, trying to be more like my brothers, and for a moment I thought I had succeeded,” He looked down, the intensity of Penelope's gaze making his heart thump in his chest, drowning out the music that floated through the walls from Penelope's neighbour.

“But the last few months,” He continued, watching his hands curl with Penelope's against the floral backdrop of her skirt, “Have been filled with feeling. Feelings like the total inability to stop thinking about…”

He looked up at her again, blue eyes meeting blue.

“You.”

The confession came out in a breathy whisper, and Colin watched Penelope’s eyes alight with hope once again, before shuttering. A wall separating her heart from his words, as if afraid they would end up breaking it. He never wanted to break her heart, quite the opposite in fact. He wanted to hold it gently next to his, to nurture it and show her that she did not have to settle for someone like Debling - someone who planned to leave her behind, someone who planned to gallivant around the world without her on his arm.

“About that kiss,” He continued, shaking his head with a soft laugh, “A kiss that I have been dreaming about every night since it happened. For months I have felt disappointment upon waking, I’ve started to prefer sleep, because in my dreams I am with you. In my dreams we are together,” His words had started to quicken, and he sensed a ramble incoming.

He wanted to tell her about every single dream he could remember - Dreams of the two of them on a beach in Greece, the sun shining off of her hair and painting freckles across her nose and over her shoulders. Dreams of her dressed in elaborate dresses as they danced at elaborate balls straight out of period dramas and fairy tales. Dreams of the two of them lounging on his sofa, his apartment now adorned with artwork he knew hung in her bedroom, a throw he had watched her crochet wrapped around their shoulders, as they watched Daphne and Simon act on screen. Dreams of her laid out against his sheets…

He sucked in a breath, closing his eyes against the visions of her, before opening them again and gazing at the real thing.

“They’re damn near torturous,” He told her, sincerity lacing his words, “They way they have given me so much hope, before the disappointment of reality sets in. But it is a feeling that I cannot, will not, do not want to give up.”

“Please,” Penelope shook her head, closing her eyes, “Don't say things you don't mean.”

He squeezed her hands, eyes mapping her face as he waited for hers to re-open. The thumping bass from next door got louder, the pace of it matching the quickness of his heartbeat.

Finally her eyes opened again, and met his.

“But I do mean it,” He told her, simply but with feeling. He smiled up at her, softening his gaze, “Its everything I've been wanting to say to you for… months.”

“But Colin,” She said, eyes darting over his face, “We’re friends.”

“Yeah but we…” he trailed off, brow furrowing as he took in her serious expression. He open and closed his mouth a few times, trying to get his words back into some semblance of order. But they were scattered to the wind once again.

“Right, of course, I'm sorry,” He looked away from Penelope, beginning to untangle his hand from hers, “I don't know what I was thinking! Pretend I didn't sa-”

“-But I’d very much like to be more than friends,” She interrupted him.

Colin's head snapped up, his sharp intake of breath catching in his throat. Penelope's eyes sparkled with mirth, her lips quirked in a smirk that turned into a soft smile as the muffled music swelled to a peak.

“So much more,” she continued, and Colin surged forward as the bass dropped.

He captured Penelope's lips with his.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ep 2. what a shame | myj, jjk

sugar, spice, and everything nice ep 2. but i'll miss you.

pairing(s): yoonji x reader x jungkook

summary: A previous meeting in the park has somehow led to "Operation Make Jeon Jungkook's Kinda-Sorts Girlfriend Admit She Like-Likes Him" and Min Yoonji is the lead operative. A criminal undercover, if you will. It goes... poorly.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is revealed to be pansexual; Yoonji outs herself to JK; internalized homophobia; denial is a river in Egypt that Yoonji is drowning in; alcohol consumption; f/f/m love triangle? slow burn; there will be smut in the future; non-idol!AU - Yoonji's POV

--

Funnily enough, it was actually Jeon Jungkook who brought up his maybe-kinda-sorta girlfriend.

“Hey, Yoonji-noona! You wanna go eat lamb skewers with me?”

“Uh, I guess. It’s been a while.”

“Ah, yeah, since university for me… you used to invite me a lot back then.”

Oh.

“But don’t worry, I’ll treat you this time, noona! Come on!”

Which was how Min Yoonji found herself silently munching on grilled lamb skewers as Jungkook wolfed them down like he hadn’t seen food in three days. Apparently, he had just come from a workout, which was why he was in a loose black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. His black track was jacket thrown over his duffel bag. His hair was half-tied back, still messy, almost sweaty.

“Slow down. The lamb isn’t gonna walk away,” she scoffed.

Jungkook froze. Mumbled a sorry, and ate one bite at a time instead of three. Now there was an awkward silence. A soju bottle on their table was half-gone, but Yoonji wasn’t really feeling the effects yet. Didn’t even feel hot yet in her acid wash charcoal hoodie. She was wearing slate blue jeans again, the baggy kind with paint stains. She glanced at Jungkook. He wasn’t looking at her. His plate was nearly empty. There were still four more on Yoonji’s plate.

She took one from hers and placed it on Jungkook’s plate.

Those big brown eyes went wide and he gave a confused look. “Hm?” Cheeks too full to give a good response. It was hilarious with the two lip rings.

“You look hungry.”

He struggled to take a huge gulp before gasping for air and shaking his head. “But what about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

“Clearly not as starved as you. Eat up.”

She poured herself more soju and sipped delicately. Jungkook continued eating, going back to not really looking at her. He was the kind of guy that needed space to say what he needed to say. Yoonji was the kind of girl that didn’t push for answers. She used a piece of lettuce to rip off a section of lamb and put it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Maybe he just wanted to eat out with someone.

“Hey, Yoonji-noona?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m undatable?”

Huh? Chew, chew, swallow. “Aren’t you currently dating someone?”

Jungkook’s eyes shifted. Uncomfortable. “Uh … Kinda.”

She frowned. “You can’t kinda date someone. You either are or you aren’t.”

He lifted his head and peered at her under furrowed brows.

“Well, would you date me?”

Yoonji stared at him. Her past discoveries and memories flashed back in her mind’s eye. Music that makes you fall in love. Photos of his smile. His muscular body. His head on her shoulder. Yeah, I’ll totally eat lamb skewers with you! Let’s go! It’s great with it is noona’s treat! His arms around another woman, saying nice things and being clingy. Making a fuss about winning a claw machine plush that could easily be purchased with basically the same amount of money.

She replied hollowly.

“We’ve been friends for a really long time. If we were gonna date, it would have happened already.”

Jungkook half-smiled.

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckled softly.

What?

But before Yoonji could ask, the fuck you mean, you figured, the young man tapped the empty wooden skewer on his plate and looked incredibly depressed.

“I think she’s mad at me. I must have done something,” he mumbled.

Yoonji blurted out the woman’s name so fast that it was nearly embarrassing. Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, sighing in confirmation and dropping the skewer to pick up his cup of soju. He gave the impression of like a kicked puppy. Big peepers included.

“What could you have done?”

His lips twisted and he shrugged, drowning his cup. “I don’t know. I thought you could help me with that.”

“Did you ask?”

He gawked at her like she had three heads.

She resisted the urge to bop him on the head and opened the other bottle of soju on their table, pouring him some more. “Okay, if you didn’t ask, then it means you either don’t have the balls to communicate or you already know what it is and don’t want to face the answer. If it is the former, then I’m sorry but you’re undatable. No one wants to date someone who doesn’t have the courage to speak up. It’s incredibly frustrating,” she huffed, nibbling away at more lamb.

He remained silent.

Yoonji made it through a whole skewer.

“So you know what it is, huh?” she finally said.

Those big peepers shifted from side to side again. A few strands of his black hair hung down as he chewed down on another skewer.

“Mmm… Kinda?”

This idiot. But, again, before Yoonji could get out her snappish remark, Jungkook suddenly followed up.

“What do you know about pansexuality, noona?”

She froze.

“W… What?”

“Pansexuality,” he repeated, looking spaced-out and pensive. “Although, she said she didn’t really like the term. She described it as sexual and romantic attraction not being affected by gender, as gender is a mental construct of an individual and could change throughout their lifetime.” His expression looked strained, as if he was being asked to calculate the magnetic flux of two intersecting wires. In short, attempting to comprehend a concept he had no clue about. It was going poorly. “To be honest, I didn’t really get it but I Googled it and it said something about how she could be sexually attracted to any gender and I…”

He sighed.

“I mean, I don’t wanna feel this way but it made me feel… less?”

Oh.

This was awkward.

Jungkook kept babbling even though Yoonji was too stunned to speak. “I was gonna ask Namjoon-hyung, but, I dunno… I’m kinda afraid he’ll scold me. Or probably recommend me books to read. I think I would end up more confused than anything. Hoseokie-hyung isn’t around, and I don’t really feel like asking any of the other hyungs. I don’t know if you’ll really get it either. But maybe you’ve met someone like that, noona.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Why would you say all this now?”

The living embodiment of a human Energizer bunny looked defeated. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. I probably shouldn’t have said anything anyway. I just feel too safe around you. But I shouldn’t go on talking about personal stuff. I guess you wouldn’t understand, huh?”

Yoonji grabbed his forearm and squeezed it.

He looked startled, sitting up abruptly, looking down at her white-knuckled hand then up at her face with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Why wouldn’t I understand?”

Jungkook blinked at her. “Uh… well, you only like guys.”

She scowled. “Who told you that?”

“Um… er… uh, no one, actually, I assumed–”

She slapped his arm and glared. “Exactly.”

There was a moment of mute shock.

From both sides, really. The gravity of what she said suddenly sunk in, and Yoonji looked away, feeling her cheeks heat. She had never said it to anyone but to her closest friend Jung Hoseok, after all, and she certainly never planned to tell Jungkook. Indirectly, but still. He was a relentless teaser when he had ammunition, and Yoonji was not interested in being subjected to jokes about her sexual preferences.

“I’m sor–”

“You have a problem with pansexual people?” She suddenly snapped, years of underlying resentment slowly rearing its ugly head.

“No. I just know that I’ll never be enough.”

He sounded so sad that she suddenly forgot all about her own internalized digressions. They didn’t involve him anyway. She turned back and Jungkook was the one looking down, his shoulders drooping.

“I… We still see each other, but I can’t help it. Every time we have sex, I feel like I’m not doing enough. I’m not enough,” he rambled on and Yoonji felt a strange shudder having the confirmation they were actually fucking even though it was blaringly obvious. “Then I get performance anxiety,” he winced, muttering it below his breath although she heard him perfectly clearly. “I can see she regrets telling me. She’s never brought it up again either. I know it’s me. I know it’s my fault. I mean, it was my fault to begin with because her having more experience than me already intimidated me and I said that we should just be casual–”

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

Somehow, he had slouched down so low in his seat that he seemed smaller than her. Puppy eyes struck her in the heart even though Yoonji knew they should be directed at someone else.

“Why the fuck did you tell her you want to be casual? You never want a causal relationship,” she continued scolding. “And why the fuck do you say you feel less? It’s so obvious that she clearly likes your dumb ass! Are there any brain cells up there? If I were you, I would do anything to be with her all the fucking time!”

Silence.

Jungkook stared with wide eyes and a mildly frightened expression.

Yoonji breathed out hard, greatly annoyed.

“Do you…”

She glared at his hesitation.

“Do you really think she likes me?”

This guy is unbelievable.

“Have you talked to her about me?” Jungkook pointed out. “Would you consider her a friend?”

Uh. “Well… no. I don’t know her at all, actually.”

He seemed disappointed. “Oh.”

Yoonji scoffed. “It is not going to be hard to get her to admit that she likes you.”

-

“What are you thinking of wearing?”

“A… dress. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to wear?”

A light shrug. “You can wear anything. The important thing is to be comfortable and believe that your outfit expresses how you want to feel.”

Min Yoonji was standing on an escalator with Jeon Jungkook’s maybe-kinda-sorta girlfriend, wondering how she willingly got herself in this situation of standing next to a woman with more presence than a blue whale. After the dinner, Jungkook had apologized and even expressed gratitude for Yoonji feeling safe enough to come out, which she promptly dismissed. It was weird to make it a big deal and ten times weirder that it was him that now knew because it now made her and Jungkook closer. Not something she had been going for.

She hadn’t been going for… this either.

Currently, Yoonji was standing on a mall escalator, wearing sneakers and loose slate jeans once again, but this time with a black-and-white bomber jacket over a long sleeve white shirt. She had tied up her hair in a ponytail and left some front pieces hanging out.

The other woman had her hair up too.

Twisted into a black claw clip. Maroon faux fur jacket with a black velvet dress under it. The dress flared out around the waist and the irregular hem draped along her bare legs when she walked. Black heeled boots with buckles along that side that were shaped like bats. Yoonji spied a black sling bag under the jacket, tucked just under the woman’s chest.

That elegant hand held her cell phone and tapped away at it, looking thoughtful.

There were no additional accessories on her phone except for a plain black bordered phone case with a pop socket on it. A cutesy tuxedo cat head with green eyes. All the nails of her dominant hand were cut shorter now, although all in a gentle almond shape. Painted a shimmery chocolate brown. Her other hand still had the long nails and now Yoonji suspected they must be natural. They weren’t as decorated as the manicures in the salons. She had looked up prices in her spare time. Only for fun, of course. And, holy fuck.

Women spent a lot on nice nails.

Yoonji wondered why she had promised Jungkook to help him figure this out.

“Where do you wanna go first?” her calm, smooth voice asked.

Yoonji stiffened, stepping off the escalator. “Uh, I don’t know.”

A curious look. “You don’t like shopping?”

She paused. Actually… “I do. But usually I accompany my friend Jung Hoseok and pick up stuff when he visits his favorite stores. He’s at military service right now, though.”

“Ah, hmm.”

They stopped walking, standing in the middle of the mall. The woman remained on her phone, doing something silently. People walked past them, ignoring their existence. The silence was getting just a touch past socially acceptable and Yoonji found herself needing to fill the void.

“Thank you, by the way.”

Those dark eyes drifted back and now she found herself trapped in a now-familiar scorched gaze. Something about it. It wasn’t the color of her irises but the intensity of focus. Yoonji noticed she didn’t often look directly at people but it was hard to look away once she noticed the other woman wasn’t wearing makeup, or at least any she could tell. Just glossy lip balm. It became all the more noticeable that the strength behind those eyes wasn’t the smoke-and-mirrors of a done-up face.

“I… Hm, I actually don’t get to wear more feminine clothes that often,” Yoonji confessed, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. For… reasons. “I repair guitars at a music shop for a living. In the beginning, when the customers came in, they didn’t really take me seriously when I dressed more… girly. I guess it just became more of a habit to dress the way I do. It’s casual and comfy, though, so I like ended up liking it. But when it comes to feminine styles, I don’t really know anything. Makes me a shitty girl, huh?”

The gaze broke and the woman turned her head to the sea of passing faces.

Yoonji let out the breath she hadn’t known she had been holding onto.

“There’s no such thing. Eh, in general, people don’t really know anything,” Jungkook’s friend-with-benefits chuckled. “You are a perfectly valid, good girl. Look around you. People wear whatever they want. Just because something is trendy doesn’t mean it suits everyone or makes them feel comfortable in themselves. Even if it looks good on them, they can feel discomfort in feeling disconnected with their inner selves.”

That playful smile came back.

“Do you really need my help? I think you should come as you are to the date. You look cool.”

She felt her cheeks burn.

Then.

Oh, right.

The premise of this excursion. A date Yoonji was supposedly going to go on that she didn’t know how to dress for and enlisting the help of a female acquaintance. Normal circumstances. Yeah. Totally. And she was of course going out with a guy. Duh. She deliberately skirted around the details of said guy though, since, uh, said guy didn’t exist.

“I think I would be a bit out of a place at a fancy restaurant.” She named the nicest restaurant she could remember. A place her parents went to for one of their wedding anniversaries.

“Oh, is that where it’s at? A bit much for a first date.”

Yoonji mustered up the best shrug she could.

“Don’t you have to make reservations?”

“He’s the one who invited, so I guess he did.”

“Hmmmm.”

It was a very bemused, hmmmm, and Yoonji thought the jig was up.

“Here, take a look. I’ve been saving some inspiration. Tell me what speaks to you.”

And then the woman handed Yoonji her phone. She took it awkwardly, a beat too slow, but her fingers caught the cat-head-shaped pop socket and gripped tightly, glancing at the screen. It was dark despite the bright lights. Then, without warning, a perfumed presence slid beside her and reached over to swipe at the top of the screen, swiftly changing the brightness. One breath was all it took. Warm and spiced and resonating of bitter coffee. Not the type that indicated a constant drinker, but the aftereffects of a unique fragrance. Yoonji felt her entire body hastily meander between calming down and freaking the fuck out.

She loved the scent of coffee. Maybe even had a mild addiction.

But the other female was too close, too close, so close Yoonji could feel the softness of the faux fur press into her upper arm and feel a head hovering over her shoulder.

“You can wear pants even to fancy places,” the calm voice was saying, slowly moving through the downloaded photos of model-worthy women dressed elegantly and maturely. “You don’t have to wear black either. Brown or even a jewel-toned color could be nice. If you pair slacks with a softer texture, like a cashmere sweater or a chiffon top, it won’t feel so stuffy.”

The terms didn’t exactly go over Yoonji’s head but, then again, her head wasn’t working. “Shouldn’t I wear a dress?” she mumbled thickly, trying to get her tongue to work.

“Theres no should or should not in fashion.” Soft chiding. “I thought you liked pants?”

“I have nice legs,” Yoonji unexpectedly found herself blurting.

The world stopped.

Well, only in her head. It wasn’t untrue, at least Yoonji didn’t think so, deep down. Would it seem like unnecessary boasting, though? Or could she been seen as rude, attempting to get a rise out of someone her friend was supposedly casually dating? Was saying that crossing a line somehow?

“Oh, you’re cool with showing them off?”

Her cheeks felt warm. “I… I mean, a guy would like that, right?”

“Sure. A girl would like that too.”

Yoonji froze.

The shimmery chocolate-colored fingernail breezed past a few more photos. To ones of models in various skirts and dresses. “Then, what about these? Color? No color? Something tighter or looser?”

“I…” There were quite a few nice outfits but Yoonji’s head was still spinning. Get a grip! “Not too tight. I’m not that into color but I’ll try it. More minimal and classic. Stuff I can wear again.”

“Ah, like this?”

There was a photo of a woman in a library, or at least a set that seemed like a library. She was wearing a cream turtleneck with a few thin gold bracelets and a tweed brown-plaid maxi skirt with a simple thin black belt. The lighting was warm and low, giving the photo a dreamy vibe.

Still, Yoonji frowned.

Does she think I’m this kind of girl?

“No, something a bit more… fun.”

Before either of them could say anything more, a notification popped down from the top. It simply read, Jungkook, followed by notice of an image attachment. Then, just as rapidly, the notification was replaced by another. A message this time.

Can’t you see how bad I want you?

Between the immediate goosebumps that quickly swept over Yoonji’s back and arms, and the sudden, tch, next to her, she didn’t move a centimeter as the phone was taken from her. Surely… Surely Jungkook knew they were going out today. But, then again, how could he predict his lady friend handing Yoonji her phone to browse fashion styles? But texting those kinds of things in broad daylight? What was in the photo?

Wait.

Why did Yoonji want to know?

“Sorry about that. I think I have a good idea of what you’re after now. Let’s go.”

Fingertips flicked her wrist to get her attention. Yoonji scrambled after the faux fur, startled and embarrassed and curious and confused and in general wondering how someone would respond to that. How someone could respond to that. But she was, typing away, and Yoonji resisted the urge to look. The reply was short though, as the phone was shoved back into the sling bag by the woman’s chest. She looked back to glance at her.

Narrowed dark eyes and enigmatic smile.

“You alright?”

Her heart was beating so fast that it was hard to speak.

“Y… Yeah,” Yoonji heard herself say even though she was definitely not alright.

-

Let your hair down.

She reached up and pulled the scrunchie out of her black hair, letting it fall by her shoulders. She had never been afraid of whether or not she had femininity. Her mother liked fashion, so even when she was young, Yoonji had been put in fashionable clothes. Dresses. Skirts. Blouses. As she got older, with the influence of her interests, it became quite clear that it was easier to dress more practically. Her mother complained, but her brother always defended her, pushing her to pursue her passion of music.

Yoonji, too, didn’t see what was wrong with dressing more boyishly.

She never liked the idea that men had to be a certain way and women had to be a certain way. Proper and refined. It wasn’t that she always wore baggy clothes, but they were the most convenient to throw on and see friends. There was no point in owning extravagant clothing anyway, since the music shop she worked at was casual and she had to move around a lot.

It simply made sense.

So, now, Yoonji stood in front of a mirror in a dressing room clad a white sweater and a dark brown miniskirt with her hair down, and wondered if she was pretty.

She didn’t doubt how conventionally nice she looked in the mirror. She had pale, creamy, fair skin that everyone envied or at least they said they did. Dark brown eyes that perhaps weren’t big enough to be innocent, but rather striking against her complexion. When she was a child, Yoonji used to have a blunt bob with straight cut bangs. They had grown out to wispy curtain bangs when she was at university and she kept them that way ever since. Her black hair slightly longer than shoulder length, thick and slightly wavy, mostly from keeping it tied up. She wasn’t tall but not short either. A narrow frame she couldn’t help. During high school she filled in a little in the chest, but good genetics had compensated by long legs and shapely hips. By that time female classmates had begun to avoid her and whisper behind their hands, resentful and irritated, while male classmates tried their best to strike up conversation. It was around this time that Yoonji had begun to resent her female schoolmates and their underhanded comments. At least boys were honest. Stupid, but honest.

Meh, typical high school drama.

Even now, Yoonji often found herself not really wanting to make friends with other women. It had always felt like a constant competition. They would either look down at her for wearing loose-fitting clothing or become two-faced when she dressed up. Because Yoonji always preferred to be comfortable, she had stayed with the same group of male friends for a long time, which was also something apparently not a lot of girls liked. They called her easy, slut, all those nice things. So, yeah, eventually Yoonji had no female friends anymore.

Guys she dated didn’t like it either. Thankfully, she could just dump them.

As if she was going to lose her friend group over some dumb boyfriend.

She frowned at her reflection in the mirror and took off the skirt, feeling strange with it on. It seemed like something the grown-up versions of those jealous high school girls would wear. Her panties were plain black, seamless. She didn’t like the colorful ones. There was a black skirt, a long one with a bow at the waist and a wrap detail. This was nice, but she couldn’t get the bow to lay down well. Perhaps she needed a different top. There was a forest green one with a rounded collar that tucked better into the bow skirt. This was also nice but something still felt not quite her style.

Not that Yoonji knew what her femme style even was.

These were all pieces picked out by Jungkook’s maybe girlfriend.

“Let your hair down.”

“What?”

A raised eyebrow. “In order for an outfit to look good, you have to style it the way you would wear it. You can’t get the whole picture and it becomes much harder to make a decision. So, let your hair down.”

There was another one, a black-on-black pinstripe blazer dress with two intricate silver buttons holding it closed. Very cool and feminine with an edge. Yoonji found she liked this one a lot however it made more sense for a corporate meeting than an imaginary date. She was a little sad to take it off.

Let your hair down.

She wore a simple bra too. Nothing crazy. Just one of those without a wire and no lace. Too itchy for her sensitive skin. There was a sheer aqua mint top next and a strappy black dress paired with it, successfully hiding the bra lines while leaving the billowy sleeves with the single ruffle at the cuff visible. The muted color looked nice against her skin. Her dark hair laid nicely against the gauzy aqua fabric. Carefree and a little messy. The dress had a few pleats, giving it a fuller skirt that made it easy to move.

The flash of a memory.

A manicured hand gripping hers.

It doesn’t mean anything.

But it could.

Yoonji closed her eyes.

Coffee. She smelled like coffee in a sweet, luxurious way, as if Yoonji had just bitten into a fruit and nut scone in a coffee shop. But there was that rock-and-roll dangerous vibe too. Industrial. Raw. And then there was those piercing eyes that seemed scorched. She had endured but with emerged with scars. Intense. She clearly presented feminine but there was something just not about her. They had been so close. So close. If Yoonji had turned her head, just so, then that heady coffee perfume would be right by her nose and those eyes would shift and stare back, inviting her to the darkness.

Their lips would brush against each other.

She would whisper her name.

Low and in wonder.

“Yoonji?”

There was a knock on the dressing room door.

Startled, she hastily stepped back from the door. Nearly collided into the rack of clothes and the damn mirror. Thankfully, she didn’t, although her hands planted into the wall and ricocheted her off, making her stumble slightly in her socks, almost tripping over her sneakers.

“This has nothing to do with your date, but I saw this striped sweater and I thought you might like it. Wanna try it?” the calm voice behind the door asked.

Yoonji gawked at the door.

Then she tiptoed over and opened it slightly, seeing the dark red fur coat, black velvet dress, and bat boots holding out a dark grey and black sweater. Thick horizontal stripes, oversized, drop shoulders, and cropped. Then her face appeared as the offered sweater lowered. Observant gaze with those scorched eyes and glossy full lips that were oh-so-kissable.

A half-smile.

“Anything work out?”

Her body was half-hid by the door. The other woman didn’t try to crane her head over to see more. She just stood there, holding out the sweater, half-smiling, on the line between teasing and curious. Yoonji glanced from the sweater to that half-smile.

“That looks like something you would wear.”

The half-smile became a full smirk.

“Maybe you like my style.”

Yoonji didn’t say anything. She reached out, but the sweater was pulled back a little. She frowned, faltering, and then the sweater was hooked onto her outstretched arm, the woman’s hand lightly resting on Yoonji’s wrist.

“Do you want to try something else? A different size, maybe?”

I did not just think about kissing her.

“I… I’m almost done. Just need to change back.”

“Mmmm, okay. I’ll be waiting.”

-

They were standing beside each other, waiting for their drink order. A paper bag sat in a chair by the table they were standing next to, unofficially officially claiming it.

They were currently in an awkward silence after Yoonji had picked a fight earlier.

“Wanna get something to drink?”

A distracted look. “Sure. I’ll treat you.” A head tick at the paper bag in Yoonji’s hand. “You’ve spent enough.”

She saw the phone with the tuxedo cat pop socket being tucked away in the sling bag once again.

“No, I’ll pay.”

“It’s just a drink.”

Yoonji waited until the other woman looked back in mild confusion.

“I wouldn’t want to owe you.”

A pause.

Then a half-smile.

“Ah. Okay, then. Lead the way.”

Yoonji went to the counter to receive the drinks. An iced Americano for herself and a Thai tea boba for her shopping partner. They sat down, busying themselves with their habits. Punching the straw in. Mixing up the physical ice even through the barista had already done a good job of that.

The calm voice broke the metaphorical ice first.

“What did you end up getting?”

The woman had come back to the dressing room as Yoonji was buttoning her jeans and told her she would be waiting outside the store since she received a call. She had simply answered back, sure, and known exactly who was on the phone. Somehow. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Even as she emerged from the doors, she could see the body language of the other female. Predatory. She was speaking low, and softly, before noticing Yoonji and cutting the call short.

For a moment, she thought about not answering the question but instead she sipped her iced Americano and answered. “The aqua shirt and black dress. And the sweater you brought in last minute.”

“Ah, cool. I thought you would go for the blazer dress.”

Yoonji stilled. “I wasn’t sure what outerwear to wear with it. My only nice coat is a long black wool coat my mom got me last winter.”

“Understandable.”

The silence was less awkward now. Still not great, no thanks to herself. Yoonji chewed her lip. A bad habit. She wondered what the phone call was about. It was too invasive to ask though. Add that to the text she had seen earlier and… surely that was crossing a line. Is he down bad for her that much? She tried not to think about it. How couldn’t he be? Caught a glimpse of how that stylish hand was placed possessively over her Thai tea boba. For a split second, Yoonji imagined those shimmering chocolate fingernails digging into a neck with a defined jaw, right under an ear with three piercings.

She suddenly became acutely aware that she was being stared at.

Yoonji looked up.

Scorched eyes across the table.

“How long have you known Jungkook?”

She straightened, clutching her iced Americano for chilling moral support “Uh…” Thought about it. “Over a decade, I guess. He joined the group through Taehyung and Jimin. But we didn’t really talk one-on-one until a couple years ago, when he stopped by the store I work at and asked to see some guitars. Wanted to get one tattooed, I think. That was what he said anyway.” She shrugged. “I dunno if he did, though.”

“I think I’ve seen a guitar tattoo on his sleeve.” A slow sip. Chew, chew. “I haven’t really inspected him thoroughly, though.”

“Haven’t you?” Yoonji heard herself say before she could stop herself.

Pause.

Chew, chew.

“You really don’t like me, huh?”

She tried to backtrack. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be cold. It’s just how I am.”

“Is that so?”

Yoonji found she couldn’t look forward anymore. This mission was so far a fail. She tried to salvage it somehow. “I mean, don’t you dislike me? Your boyfriend having a female friend and all that.”

A soft chuckle. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

What? “… What?”

“He says he’s not sure he wants to be in a committed relationship yet.”

What the fuck? Yoonji furrowed her brows and shook her drink roughly, trying to make sense of it all. “You’re kidding me. Jungkook? That airhead had the audacity to say that?”

“That’s what he told me. Feel free to ask him yourself.”

This wasn’t making any sense. Then, it clicked. It won’t matter even if I get her to say that she likes him. His need for constant validation is killing this before it even began. Whether or not Yoonji thought Jungkook’s insecurities were rational didn’t matter. He hooked up but never got too serious because it didn’t feel right yet. There was always something. I just know that I’ll never be enough. What a dumb thing to say. And, of course, if he voiced that the supposed cause was his partner’s sexuality, something she couldn’t help, then, yeah, of course.

They would be stuck in limbo like this.

“For the record, I’m glad he’s friends with you.”

Yoonji lifted her head, seeing an enigmatic smile.

“I quite like you.”

This was a complete mission fail.

“After all, you asked me on a date. It’s pretty rare for a girl to ask me on a date.”

Heat flared over Yoonji’s cheekbones. “I… I didn’t…”

A head tick, causing her hair to fall against her cheek. “Not once have you gushed about this supposed first date you’re going on. You don’t seem excited or nervous about it at all. Pretty unusual if you like this guy. But maybe you don’t know him that well and met him through an app. Then there would be some level of fear, I hope, unless you have nerves of steel and a black belt in taekwondo I don’t know about. There’s no apprehension though.” Yoonji felt her grip on the cold drink get colder and colder as her lies were broken through. “But let’s say you are going on this date and all you wanted was a second opinion. You never once asked me to view any of the outfits I picked out for you. Maybe you only wanted a free stylist, then. If this was purely transactional, then, why ask me to spend more time, sitting down and getting drinks at a café?”

Abort, abort.

But Yoonji was more frozen than the melting ice in her coffee.

“And you always get cold and distant when I mention I’m fucking Jungkook.”

That shadowed gaze.

Those predator eyes.

That fucking smile.

“But you don’t like him like that, right?”

She willed her mouth to say something but her brain had run out of ideas.

“I…”

Then Jungkook’s not-girlfriend said something that completely obliterated any capacity to form a sentence.

“What a shame.”

-

Min Yoonji was alone in her apartment, drinking a beer.

Getting drunk.

She was way past the days of being shit-face plastered out in bars and throwing herself in taxis to arrive home alone so she could throw up in the privacy of her own bathroom. Running from her issues by making her mind numb to the world. Yoonji had been – still was – good at it. She had a high tolerance. Some would call it lucky. Some would call her an undignified woman. She hadn’t cared either way. She had been young but self-aware enough to know exactly what she was doing and did it anyway. When she had her revelations, it had been easy to quit cold turkey because Yoonji had known damn well it was all in her head and all she had to do was fucking do it.

Also, she was getting a bit too old for dumb youth to be an excuse anymore.

Hmph.

Some of her past bad habits she completely avoided, however, alcohol was a central part of Korean socializing, so Yoonji had chosen to repair her relationship with it. Thus, she could now drink freely knowing her limits. But she rarely drank alone, and rarely that much when she did. A beer here. A glass of wine there. Some whiskey on lonely nights, vibing to the silent melody of the moon at four in the morning.

Yoonji sat at her small dining table and wondered if she should crack open another beer or held straight for the whiskey.

It was seven in the evening on a Friday.

Got home from work to start off the weekend and now she could not avoid it any longer. Her thoughts swam wildly in her head. She had been trying to keep them under wraps during the work week. Didn’t think about them. Hoped they would go away. They did not. It had been a long, long time since Yoonji had been read to filth like that. Certainly never with such precision and on purpose. Sure, sometimes arguments with previous flings would accidentally hit the nail right on the head – using them only for the physical aspect to avoid emotional connection, for example – but it had always been in anger and high tension, so Yoonji had always been able to play it off.

She couldn’t play off being caught in such a blatant lie by Jeon Jungkook’s definitely-not-but-definitely-was girlfriend.

There was no comeback. She hadn’t done anything at the café. Couldn’t. Couldn’t act. Couldn’t even say a word, only stared dumbly as the woman smiled, bowed, and excused herself to take care of personal business.

Jungkook, probably.

She willed herself to throw up at the thought.

Instead, Yoonji got up and went to go get the whiskey.

It wasn’t that she had never had relationships. She had, and deep ones at that, but upon reflection she could point out the exact reasons why she had entered – and exited – said relationships. To feel loved during a loveless time. To run away. To get access to guitars and learn about them. She loved, but Yoonji had always known it was the crude, fleeting, conditional love that would never last. Love with a purpose. She was never fully invested enough in them, always hiding her true self because, well, people can only betray you once they know all the deep, dark stuff. Hence why they were all only men. Specifically, the kind of men that wait for emotional depth to come to them rather than seeking it.

The kind of people that didn’t know how to recognize internal scars.

Also why she never told any of them that she was attracted to other people other than, uh, men.

Yoonji poured herself a healthy amount of liquor and went back to sit at her small dining table of four chairs, placing the glass on a cork coaster she bought over ten years ago. She always told herself that she simply didn’t need to tell them. Everything was fine. And yet for some reason it always felt like lying, even though it didn’t really matter.

Except it did.

Case in point, Jeon dumbass Jungkook worrying about not being enough for his hot-ass not-girlfriend, which was simply such ridiculously bone-headed thinking that Yoonji growled and threw back half of her whiskey, scowling at the thought.

It bothered her.

It bothered Yoonji that someone could confidently tell another such a deep secret like sexuality. To someone they were only casually fucking, no less, even though there was nothing fucking casual about the two of them. It bothered her to know that her feeling was right, the idea that someone could be bothered by that information even though it presumably didn’t matter. It bothered her that it was Jungkook, not because he was wrong but because if… maybe if he had already known about Yoonji’s personal tastes, then he might have been able to take it in stride. Maybe if she had been brave enough to say it out loud… And most of all, it bothered Yoonji because to know such a beautiful and clever and intuitive woman of that caliber could be rejected simply due to her sexuality…

Where the fuck does that put me?

Yoonji was not down on herself in terms of looks, but she knew that she lacked that kind of cool assertiveness and razor-sharp introspection. And, okay, maybe she didn’t know all the deep shit about Jungkook’s lady friend, but it was obvious she very comfortably lived life the way she wanted, aggressively so, which was precisely why Jungkook was attracted to her. Of course, he would have a boner in the presence of self-actualization.

If I…

She nursed the rest of the whiskey, sighing.

She thought about that Instagram post. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it meant something. Music that makes you fall in love. Idiot. She chewed the side of her lip. Maybe it was just a compliment to a friend. Yeah. How could it be anything else? It wasn’t some mushy-gushy shit. He hadn’t acted low-key weird at the time. He was too awkward for that. Or maybe it was because Yoonji had been dating that asshole guy at the time and she herself hadn’t noticed how her friends were faring due to being too occupied with that emotional rollercoaster. Fuck. But who cares if it meant anything? Not Yoonji. Yeah, definitely not me. The whiskey burned in the back of her throat. She barely noticed. I can admit it. I dated guys because they’re more physical than women. They don’t fucking scare me with that emotional shit. She found her way back into the kitchen and poured some more. The sting of alcohol. Sure, there are girls who only want to hook up but they’re emotionally intelligent and I don’t need to be known. So what if it was cowardly? It was okay to be cowardly. And it wasn’t only women, Yoonji knew. She knew that she generally avoided dating any and all genders that displayed deep emotional intelligence.

There isn’t much to me. You could figure it out if you listened to my songs.

She remembered Jungkook nagging her to post on Spotify, maybe even try and become an independent artist. But, no, no. Yoonji was stoic. Cool. One of the guys. None of that emotional shit.

I think I like her.

That was so fucking scary. Fuck. Feelings were so fucking scary. Like? Like-like? She reeled at her kitchen counter and it had nothing to do with the whiskey. That would be complicated shit. Not to mention the guilt. No, no. She was cool. She had always been cool. She didn’t outwardly show her emotions much. That was how they could be protected. That was how…

I’m not supposed to feel this.

And it was a difficult yes-and-no. Even if she knew it made no sense, she had still grown up with the idea of boy-meets-girl. Not girl-meets-boy-who-meets-girl-that-becomes girl-on-girl. Oh, shit. She pushed her whiskey glass away, shaking her head even though she was alone. Yes, alone. No nosy Jungkook poking his head over her shoulder and asking what she was up to. No Jungkook grinning extra wide as Yoonji piled meat onto his plate and calling her his favorite noona. No Jungkook taking her hand without hesitation to run to their destination, not worried if someone will say something. Who cares? Who cares? Yoonji scolded herself for thinking about him. I’m only doing that to avoid…

She shuddered, sinking down to the kitchen floor, the thoughts spinning, spinning.

What a shame.

Those manicured hands.

The casual head tilt.

Those scorched eyes.

I can’t think about you like that.

-

ep 3. take your time. (see you monday) sugar, spice, and everything nice

--

masterpost

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Teenage Dreams (13 going on 30 AU) - part 2

Eddie Munson x reader

<- previous part

Word Count:3, 054

Masterlist // Eddie Munson Masterlist

*dividers by @saradika-graphics

You roll around in bed, happily dreaming until you’re rudely awakened with a start as you find yourself slumped on the bedroom floor, realising that you must’ve rolled and fallen out of bed. Groggily you lift your sleep mask from your eyes and stumble around the room until you reach the door-handle.

It’s only when you start to walk through the hallway from your bedroom into the adjoining living space that you suddenly realise that you don’t recognise where you are.This wasn’t your home, the walls were a different colour, and the layout of the rooms were completely different. Actually, come to think of it, even in the dimly lit bedroom, the familiar sight of your Bananarama poster in your bedroom, was nowhere to be seen. 

You continue to stumble further into the living room, catching a look at yourself in the mirror.

With a shrieking scream you stumble back to the floor.

Who was that old woman looking back at you in the mirror? Surely that couldn’t have been your reflection, the last time you checked you were a thirteen year old girl, not a fully grown adult woman. 

You smush your face in your hands, pinching at your cheeks and raising your eyebrows, only for your reflection in the mirror to follow your every move. Your hands move down your body, skimming over the silky material of your slip dress nighty, stopping at the curves of your boobs. Boobs? When did they happen?

“What is happening?” you whisper softly to yourself. Your head was practically spinning with confusion. 

You stumble on unsteady feet to slump down in a nearby sofa chair, holding your head in your hands you try your best to make sense of what you had woken up to.

Finally you clear your head enough to look up, and see the small stack of mail on the coffee table. Picking up each envelope, you see your name printed on them clear as day, one after another you sift through the mail, and sure enough they’re all addressed to you.

“Okay…” you drag out as you talk to yourself, trying to understand what was happening. “So this is my apartment.”

Your eyes scan around the room, finally landing on the phone on the side table. Quickly you reach for it and immediately dial your familiar number of your family home. The phone’s dial tone rings for a few seconds before going to voicemail.

“We’re not here at the moment, but be sure to leave your message at the tone and we’ll get back to you when we can!” comes your mother’s chirpy message recording.

“This is a dream, this has to be a dream. It’s all just a very weird, very strange dream.”

You get up from your seat, thinking it might be a good idea to tentatively walk around your new dwellings, at least to see what kind of place you were now living in.

You make your way back down the hallway towards the bedroom in which you had previously stumbled out of, when the sound of running water and the faint low rumblings of someone singing was coming from the room opposite. Suddenly your heart-rate spikes when you realise that you’re not alone in your apartment. There is someone in your bathroom, and judging by the singing, it’s a guy. A man. A man in your shower. Presumably a naked man in your shower.

The bathroom door opens up, swirling streams of steam billow out to reveal some guy that you have never seen before. He was tall and toned, the water droplets cascading down his chiselled chest, down to where his towel was slung low on his hip.

“Oh hey, sweetcheeks, I was just finishing up in there, unless…you want to join me for a little early morning action?” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at you and dropping his towel.

You let out a yelp as you quickly cover your eyes. You most certainly did not want to join him, not one little bit. Hastily you run back to grab, presumably your, coat that’s hanging off the peg on the wall and slip on the pair of shoes set down by the door. You didn’t know where, but you had to get away, just anywhere but here.

The man calls out after you, hollering that nickname once more.

“Sweetcheeks! Where are you running off too?”

You sprint out of your front door, getting in the elevator and making your way out of your apartment block’s revolving door.

And there, on the curb stood next to a dark car with its back door open, is a woman. She’s got a mobile phone in one hand pressed against her ear as she talks rapidly to the person on the other end of the line, and in her other hand she’s got a steaming cup of coffee. 

“I don’t care if you have to drag him by his ballsack, I want him in New York in 12 hours, you hear me? He needs to be at the party.” she shouts before pulling away from the phone to look at you. “There you are! Can you hurry up and get in the car already, we’re going to be late.” she snaps, handing the cup of coffee over to you.

You shake your head, your parents always told you to never get into a stranger’s vehicle, and that rule had served you pretty well until now.

“I’m not supposed to get into the car with strangers!” you fluster.

“Come on, stop messing around, I really don’t have time for this, just get into the car.” she pleads between talking to the person on the phone. “Just tell him because Nancy Wheeler said so, that should get him off his ass.” she rolls her eyes, as if annoyed at the response the other person gives her. 

Wait, Nancy Wheeler? Was this Nancy Wheeler all grown up? 

“Hey, Honey-Bunches!” comes the voice of the strange man you had woken up to in your apartment. You look up and see that he’s leaning out of your apartment’s window. “Have a good day at work! I love you!”

Between the still unnamed, strange man in your apartment, and this lady who was increasingly trying to usher you into the back of the car, you weigh up your options. Taking the chance you slip into the back seat of the car.

Now you find yourself sitting next to Nancy in the back of the car, hurtling down the busy streets, although wherever she was taking you was anybody’s guess. 

“Look I know I’m your best friend, but the slip dress is a bit more sleep-wear than office-wear, don’t you think?” she says

“Are you really my best friend?” you ask, turning to look at her.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you’re pregnant, aren’t you?” 

“No! Oh no! God no!” you splutter.

“That’s a relief, you had me worried there. What did you get up to last night?” she asks, her eyebrows raising as she takes a sip from her coffee cup.

“See, that’s the thing, I’ve just had a really weird morning. I woke up in an apartment I’ve never seen before, and there was a naked man in my shower!” then you lean in closer to Nancy, letting your voice drop to a whisper. “I even saw his…you know what..” you flush,

“Ooh scandalous!” she giggles, before turning to the driver in the front. “You can just drop us out here thank you.” 

She opens her door and starts to walk towards the tall high rise building, with you desperately trailing behind her, frantically babbling your worries.

“Wait! Wait up! You don’t understand! Listen to me! I’m thirteen!”

“Look, if you’re going to start lying about your age, I go with 27, it’s a lot more believable.” Nancy shakes her head with a scoff.

“No, really! I know it sounds strange but I had this really weird dream…and what is that noise?” you swirl around on your toes trying to figure out where the sound is coming from.

“It’s your phone.” she says bluntly, reaching into your bag to pull out your mobile that was ringing incessantly. “It’s probably just William.”

“Who’s William?” 

“God how much did you have to drink last night, huh? William, you know, your boss. Tall, dark hair, kind of stuck up and arrogant” Nancy says, handing you your mobile phone.

You take your mobile off her, and press it to your ear, only to hear the now familiar voice of the guy from your apartment.

“Hey, cutie-pie..” he starts but you cut him off.

“You! Put on your pants and get out of my apartment! And stop it with all these stupid pet names!” you shout down the line, before snapping your phone shut.

“Ooh who was that?” Nancy giggles, as if she’s caught you in the middle of some scandalous bit of gossip.

“I have no idea.” you say bluntly. “I don’t know what’s happening, and I don’t know what to do.” you pout.

Nancy stops you in the middle of the street and grabs you by your shoulders.

“Look, I don’t know what’s up with you today, but you have got to get a grip on things. We have a meeting in 10 minutes!” she says, locking eyes with you as she lightly shakes you by the shoulders. “Repeat after me: I am Y/n. I’m a big-time magazine editor..”

“I am?”

“Yes. You’re a big-time magazine editor, and you are a tough bitch.” she nods, looking for you to repeat her words back to her.

“I am Y/n. I’m a big-time magazine editor..and I’m..” you mumble before dropping your voice to a shy whisper “a tough bitch.”

“And you are going to walk into that office, and you are not going to let anybody know that you’re hungover..”

“But I’m not hungover.” you try to correct her, but Nancy raises her eyebrows in suspicion.

“Good, you just keep telling yourself that, because the future of Star Magazine depends on you.”

“Star Magazine?” you stutter out. Star Magazine was the holy bible for every young woman going, you had spent many hours pouring over every article and picture, following their fashion and beauty advice like it was gospel, and always making sure to read your horoscope.

“Oh boy, this is going to be a long day.” Nancy shakes her head at you with a huff.

As you walk into the office space of the building, you're immediately bombarded with your assumed work colleagues who are looking to you for your opinion.

“We need to decide on a layout for this article before we go to print” says one guy, holding up two different images of magazine covers.

“Just pick any one, it’s not like it hardly matters.” Nancy says, leaning into your ear.

“Oh, um.. That one!” you smile and as quick as a flash the guy is gone.

You proceed to walk down the bustling space following Nancy’s every step. 

“There you two are! The dream team!” A tall man with dark hair comes strolling up to you. “I’m going to assume that my executive editors are late again because they were terribly busy promoting us at all of this city’s hottest parties.”

“You got it, William.” Nancy says, slyly rolling her eyes behind his back.

Okay, so this guy was your boss, best not to get on his bad side.

 You sit yourself down at the large table in the office’s meeting room, dutifully writing your name in a swirling script at the top of the page of blank notebook paper in front of you. Everyone else is settling themselves into their seats as William takes up his space standing at the head of the board-room’s table, awaiting everyone’s attention with a quietly commanding presence.

As you settle yourself down in your seat, an older woman pops her head over your shoulder.

“Is there anything you need from me, Miss L/n?” she asks sweetly

“You mean like a favour?” 

“Sure, if you want.” she nods slowly.

“I really need to find this guy, I’m not sure where he’s living but I can give you his number.” you say, hastily scribbling down Eddie’s name with his uncle Wayne’s phone number on to the paper, before tearing it off and handing it to the lady. It was unlikely that he was probably still living there, but it’s the only number you had to go off.

“Uh, if you could leave us please, so we can get the meeting started.” Quickly, the sweet older lady scurries off, under William’s intense stare.

William claps his hands together to get everyone’s attention on him. Without a word he pins a print of last month’s front cover of Star Magazine to the corkboard behind him, the print of the magazine sits next to a print of last month’s magazine from Diamond Magazine. Both magazine covers bear a lot of similarities, almost to the point of them being near-on identical.

“For the past six months, Diamond magazine has been one step-ahead of us, giving their readers the latest scoops in celebrity gossip and fashion tips, and we have been trailing behind them, falling out of popularity. We need to prove to everyone that Star Magazine is still hot and happening, and very much relevant.  Our party tonight is going to be huge, so we need to do everything we can to make sure that we come out on top for once, and steal back our lost readership.” he rattles off his concerns. “Y/N, what do you think?” he asks and suddenly everyone in the meeting turns their eyes to you, waiting for your reply.

“Uhh..Yeah, sounds good. Definitely sounds like you got a plan there, boss.” you nod, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

You trudge your feet out of the meeting room and down the hallway, when your eyes land on a door that has a small metal plate with your name on it.

“I guess this must be my office?” you say to yourself as you push through the door.

Once inside the room, you cast your eyes over the numerous fashion drawings, articles, and sticky post-it notes tacked on to the walls. Then your eyes see a small framed picture on your desk, it’s a photo of the strange naked man you had seen in your apartment, only this time he was wearing clothes. His arm was slung around your shoulder and he was planting a kiss on your cheek, and to your surprise there was a bright and beaming smile on your face.

You square your eyes, pointing to the picture.

“You can’t fool me, mister. I’m on to your games.” you scowl at the photo, but a sudden knock at your door startles you with a jump. 

“Good afternoon, Miss L/n, I have your messages, and I also have the information you asked for.” She smiles before continuing. “I called the number you gave me, the guy on the other end of the line seemed a bit stand-offish..” Yup, that was Wayne Munson, alright. “..But once I told him you were looking for Edward, he was only too happy to help. He’s living downtown, on 213 Park Street, apartment 2A” she says, handing you over a piece of paper with all the information on it.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier?” 

“Uh, it’s Patricia, Ma’am.”

“Patricia, you’re an absolute angel.” you bring her into a tight hug. “And please, don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel as old as my mother.” and with that you were rushing out the door and making your way out of the building.

“Wait! Should I cancel your 3.00 meeting?” Patricia calls after you, but she goes unanswered because nothing else mattered to you. You were going to meet Eddie and everything would be alright.

You flag down a taxi and ask them to take you to Park Street. You arrive at the address that Patricia had given you, and you stand outside the door, frantically buzzing the call button to be let into the building.

“Uh, hello, who is this?”

“Hi, this is Y/n and I’m looking for Eddie. And I don’t know if you’re the same Eddie but if you used to live in Roane county trailer park with your uncle Wayne, and your favourite band is Metallica then I need to speak to you right now.” you babble nervously into the speaker.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that..” comes the voice through the other end of the speaker.

“Eddie..please..it’s me.” you plead in a last effort to  speak to your friend.

You wait a second and the door unlocks for you. Quickly you go up to the floor where Eddie’s apartment hopefully is, and you locate his front door. You knock your fist against the wood, steadying your nerves with a breath hoping to any god that was listening that this was your Eddie.

The door opens up a peek, with the lock still bolted shut. 

“Um..Hello..?” Says the man from behind the door.

“Eddie?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah…That’s me.”

He was taller, the shorter mess of dark curls that you remember were longer, falling down around his shoulders in a shaggy mess. Those familiar chubby cheeks of the boy you remember were nowhere to be seen, but those big brown eyes and button nose were unmistakable. This was your Eddie, all grown up.

“You look so different..” you sigh.

“Uh..okay?”

“You don’t know me?” trying to hide the hurt in your voice that even your best friend didn’t recognise you. “It’s so funny because I saw you yesterday, only it wasn’t yesterday, because we were both thirteen and now we’re not, because I’m here talking to you.” you ramble quietly.

“Y/n?” Eddie asks. “Is it really you?”

“Yeah it’s me, Eddie.” a wave of relief washes over you once more as Eddie unbolts the door to open it up for you.

You fling your arms around him in a tight hug, happy to have him back in your life. His arm snakes around your body, giving you a friendly one-armed hug.

“Why don’t you come in?” he smiles, pulling away from the hug.

@paybacksawitch @penguinsandpotterheads @ali-r3n @aphrogeneias @eddiesxangel @mrsjellymunson @munsonology @onegirlmanytales @xxbimbobunnyxx @optimisticallygarbage @nailbatanddungeon

[connorsblog]

˙✧˖° SWEET TOOTH P.1 📷 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

warnings: gore descriptions of animals, mention of walkers (obv), and some cussing if you count that,,

pairing: soft!s4!carl grimes x reader

kind of an au where rick doesnt pass out and carl & judith reunite immediately after the prison era (if that makes sense)

I HAD COMPLETELY forgotten why i was here, i was supposed to be scavenging.. but i got side tracked by a cluster of ducks off the edge of this pond.

they all looked oddly peaceful, even when walkers were snarling quietly behind the doors of the barricaded houses from when the world went to absolute shit.

my keys dangled loudly from my pant pocket as i crouched down, but i no other place to put them because i lost my bag a while ago, probably nabbed by a walker that was wandering around and i didn't notice.

a duck waddled by my feet slowly, something in its mouth. "whatcha got?" i whispered, the duck looking me straight in the eye before dropping the item on the dewed grass.

i picked it up slowly, inspecting it. i realized after a solid 15 seconds of looking at it that it wasn't anything interesting — just a piece of overly rusted metal.

i shoved it in my back pocket before getting up from my grass mound i had made, and set off to wherever i found solace in for the time being.

a duck quacked behind me loudly, but i ignored it before i heard the crunching of flesh. i turned around hesitantly, a sob slipping between my lips as i saw multiple ducks being torn apart piece by piece — blood spurting everywhere.

i turned around before the walkers could notice i was still there, using all of my strength to climb up one of those tall, darkened trees until they disappeared.

EVEN AFTER SOME time, i was still stuck in that damn tree. why did i even fucking choose to go up here? i knew they wouldnt leave until the sun rose — chasing after it idiotically.

i think i started to doze off before i heard a gunshot ring through my ears — watching the walkers being shot from probably about two or three spots.

i sat up after they all dropped to the ground, my feet swung over the trunk. i guess the people that killed them hadn't realized my presence.

"who are you?" an older man had shouted out, i guess he didn't realize i was a damn kid but, better safe than sorry.

i called out my name before all three of them seemed to relax, the same man who yelled at me had beckoned me to come down.

"you all look rough," i said, crinkling my lip backwards for a second. i never really had a filter — but that didnt seem to affect any of them.

"yeah — we probably do," the woman said. her voice was nice, she sounded kind. well, some people are straight up horrible and they sound sweet as a damn peach tree.

"i'm michonne," the woman said, seeming to grin like she couldnt do anything but.

"i'm carl!" the young boy introduced himself enthusiastically, smiling. why did they all smile so damn big?

"rick," the older man husked out, not smiling. well, finally one with some sanity i guess.

after a few seconds of silence, carl handed me a piece of chocolate that was half melted. "do you like candy? i have more at the house —" he talked with a certain enthusiasm i couldnt reciprocate, especially after watching those ducks being torn apart.

rick interrupted him, "we can't show them the house! what if they have people?" rick whispered, but i heard every word.

"i lost my people 'bout a week ago. mainly just sticking to this neighborhood for now," i spoke up. i didn't want these damn country people to conspire about me.

"dad, let them come to the house!" carl pleaded, "they seem nice, and its already like nighttime now."

rick was in thought for a moment, putting his hand on his chin as his gun slacked in the holster.

"yeah — c'mon. it's gettin' late, kid."

a/n: this sucks so bad but i'm making this a series to preoccupy myself LMAO

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: ghosttotheparty! @ghosttotheparty has 72 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and 61 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@estrellami-1 or anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @ghosttotheparty:

love me softly

a mess of holy things

pretty girls (series)

hideout

fate

"This author has captivated me from day one. I’ve since gone back and read and re-read everything they have in fandoms that I am a part of, and I’m highly considering reading everything, regardless of fandom!" -- @estrellami-1

They also had this to say: "It was so hard to just pick five fics—I’d easily pick all of them if I could!! These five are just a few of their fics that I come back to, time and time again. This author’s way with words is absolutely stunning, and I want to be like them when I grow up! 😉" -- @estrellami-1

Below the cut, @ghosttotheparty answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I honestly just adore them so much. Characters that are opposites have always been something I’ve loved; Nico di Angelo and Will Solace are the first to come to mind. I’ve loved them since middle school (I’m in my third year of uni now), and I’ve apparently drawn some connections between their dynamics and Steddie’s. I also feel like Steddie just has so much potential in regards to different dynamics. There are so many alternate universes in which they’re entirely different from the way they are in the original show but there is still a consensus within the community of what kind of people they are and how they behave, speak, or interact. Despite writing the same characters over and over and over, I’ve had so much fun being able to experiment with different personalities and dynamics.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I think everyone knows at this point that I lovelovelove hurt/comfort. Physical injury and wounds, nursing the other back to health, trauma recovery, nightmares or flashbacks, sub/dom drop, panic attacks or breakdowns, give me all of it. (Bonus points if this is pre-relationship and the comforter calls the other a pet name (cough baby cough) for the first time in the midst of it all. God.)

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

See above. In all honesty, I love intensity. Heavy emotions like grief and anguish and rage are my fucking thing, and I think most of my longer fics involve at least one heavy scene with a panic attack or emotional breakdown. Something about the release and expression of emotions followed by tender patience and sweet comfort is just so cathartic for me.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I write more fics than there are fics that I read, unfortunately, but the first fic to come to mind was in my life by mourningshowers (@keycarabiner on tumblr). Sososo sweet and tender. It ripped me apart and then stitched me back together and gave me a lollipop as a treat. I also adore the series The Rush of Thunder (That Brings You Under) by callmejude (@callmejude on tumblr). The pacing and characterisation and dialogue were fucking phenomenal. Print this whole series out and bury me with it when I go.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I have a few AUs that I haven’t actually explored quite yet; one involves teacher!Steve and another is about punk!Stobin (platonic, Obviously), and yet another involves artist!Eddie. But more generally speaking I would like to explore some heavier themes in the future when I have the guts.

What is your writing process like?

Good question. I have no idea. I write pretty much every night, usually with Youtube or Netflix on next to me (typically playing things I’ve already seen so I don’t have to pay full attention to follow along, but my main go-tos are documentaries/docuseries), and I tend to just get as much out as I can. I write most linearly; I tend to not skip ahead and go back, but occasionally I’ll have an idea for a scene that I need to scribble out to make sure I don’t forget it. But my plotlines and focus points tend to shift as I’m writing, so sometimes these scenes end up changing as well.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I hadn’t noticed any, but Bee (@jewishrat420) pointed some out to me: - I consistently use the word ‘press’ - I phrase actions in lists with commas and a finalising and. - I tend to have repeating themes (for example, warm and cold and the quiet journey a character makes from their loneliness to the warmth of someone else). I’ve also noticed that I really like writing visceral imagery; even in fics for other ships I’ve mentioned one character longing to claw open their partner and climb inside them. I love bloody imagery, which Steddie are perfect for.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

If I’m uploading a fic with multiple chapters, I generally try to stay ahead of my posting schedule with at least one to two chapters already written in advance of posting. For my current wip, though, I’ve decided to post only when it’s complete, and to post on a schedule just in case I get behind or lose track.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Probably a mess of holy things.

How did you get the idea for a mess of holy things?

Ah, my love. The inspiration for this fic came from dirty paws by inifiniteorangepeel (@infinite-orangepeel on tumblr). Her version of Steve had me by the fucking throat, and I genuinely could not stop thinking about him even though I think this was before she even started uploading actual parts of the fic. I knew that I wanted to write some kind of religiously traumatised Steve, naive and curious about Eddie fucking Munson, and the haze of an idea snowballed into whatever this fic became.

When writing a mess of holy things, what was something you didn’t expect?

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting how confrontational it would feel. I was raised Catholic, and I put Steve’s parents in a category of religious people that I’ve never really known well. I was never forced to go to church or Sunday school (in fact, I think I only went to Sunday school for, like, three weeks), and for the most part as a child, my relationship with God was amicable. My abuela was very religious when I was young (my mother likes to say, “She was more Catholic than the Pope”), but I never felt as though her faith impeded upon my own life. She would tell me that my artistic skill was a gift from God, and she would pray over me when I had tummy aches, and even though I wasn’t very faithful, I found comfort in it. I also have always found a peace in holy buildings; churches and church graveyards are some of my favourite places to just sit in silence. So I wasn’t expecting the emotional whiplash writing holy things gave me. Writing from Steve’s point of view at first felt like writing fantasy, making it up as I went because I couldn’t write from experience; I have healthy relationships with both my parents, and even though my father had a very difficult childhood, he’s done everything he could to be a good father to me and my brother, so Steve’s father was entirely made up. It wasn’t until I got further along in the fic that I actually realised how big an impact even a slightly religious upbringing had on me as a queer person. My parents never taught me anything hateful, never complained about anybody in regards to God, but somehow this general religious disapproval latched itself to my ribcage, and I hadn’t realised I’d been carrying it around with me my whole life. And I was forced to confront it, along with the distrust that I’d inadvertently developed toward religious people.

What inspired love me softly?

My darling!! This fic started as a random one-shot about Eddie bitching to Gareth about having a crush on a normie, but the feedback was so lovely I decided to write another part. And then another. And then another. At some point the vague idea of a plot appeared, and this universe became very dear to me. I still have ideas for follow-up one-shots, which I keep in a collection on AO3. I think this fic is also what started my love for Tommy Hagan, who I’ve since claimed as an OC. He’s mine now.

What was your favorite part to write from hideout series?

While I was writing this series, I found that I love secret relationships. The idea of Steve having something in his life that he could turn to for some sense of normalcy despite everything in his life literally being straight out of a science-fiction movie was something I loved, and writing the majority of it from an outsider point of view was a fun experiment/exercise.

How do/did you feel writing fate (series)?

Oh, GOD. I love angst. I had the idea for Eddie’s death, specifically him singing the Tennessee Waltz and the whole “Do you think God’ll let me in?” thing, and I worked from there. I actually considered leaving the fic at Eddie’s death, but as much as I love angst, I also love happy and hopeful endings. Even though my heart hurt the entire time I wrote this whole series, I loved it all. Wayne’s point of view was a fun (ish) shift in perspectives and I’ve since included sections in his point of view because I love him so much. (I do also have a one-shot specifically about him living in my head, but I have yet to put it into words.)

What was the most difficult part of writing pretty girls (series)?

I don’t know if I would really consider it difficult, but it did require some actual thinking to write Steve as transfemme, or genderqueer in the opposite direction as me. To take my own experiences and feelings and shift them so they’re upside down was definitely interesting.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This is from one of my less known fics, spill my guts: “And I’m so fucking high right now, but Steve, I— I think I love you.” It just feels so representative of Steddie as a whole. (Honestly the whole scene kind of feels very Them: both of them high out of their minds and suddenly confessing their undying love in the most dramatic fucking way possible. Ugh. I love them.)

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m working right now on a fic that involves priest’s son!Steve and recovering addict!Eddie, and that’s all I’ll say on that <3

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Not entirely relevant, but I make playlists and pinboards for almost all my fics (if I don’t have one of either for a fic that you’d like one for, literally just hit me up and I’ll put one together); here are the ones I made for Steve & Eddie <3 S - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3dW3wTo8nD11RuqKs9aj52?si=9f98f4a287394152 https://www.pinterest.co.uk/ghosttotheparty/king-steve/ E - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4eWRFi07VIEKIoeaGwfFI5?si=791fa1f2dd6a4f7e https://www.pinterest.co.uk/ghosttotheparty/eddie-the-banished/

Thank you to our author, @ghosttotheparty, and our nominator, @estrellami-1! See more of @ghosttotheparty's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[redladydeath]

re: your vox mindbreak au, it's such a fascinating scenario with so many avenues of interest.

does vox definitively become one of alastor's thralls. you know, just like nifty is even though we're not sure her soul is alastor.

what sort of conflicts of interests would occur if he's still — if not commercially then emotionally, to them — part of the vees?

would alastor drag him to the hotel, making him a reluctant staff member, even though it fails to capture his interest? what surprising dynamics would crop up?

and if it occurs during/post-canon, and the hotel ensemble knew who vox used to be, would this irrevocably change his relationship with the cast who do not know alastor's cruelty? does vox have dysphoria when he remembers his head isn't a CRT, and then forgets, and then remembers, and then forgets, and then—? please reply asap im going insane.

Oh gosh, thank you. It's really flattering when people show interest in my weird little ideas.

does vox definitively become one of alastor's thralls

Not definitely. I have two avenues for this AU: One where the mindbreak happens in the 1960s, when Alastor and Vox have their first big fight, and one where it happens in the modern day, when Vox is part of the Vees. In the 60s route, he's one of Al's thralls; in the modern route, Alastor vanishes (possibly for seven years) immediately after breaking him and Val and Velvette are left to deal with the aftermath.

what sort of conflicts of interests would occur if he's still part of the vees?

Oh God, the subconscious yearning. Vox can't remember why he cares so much about these two random overlords, but he demonstrably does. He wouldn't feel so drawn to them and their products if they weren't important in some way. If Alastor ever ordered him to hurt them, he'd probably refuse (or at least try to talk his way out of it), which never happens anymore.

would alastor drag him to the hotel, making him a reluctant staff member, even though it fails to capture his interest? what surprising dynamics would crop up?

Of course! He's basically Alastor's loyal pet now– no reason not to bring him along! The hotel is novel enough that he's not particularly bored (always some wacky nonsense happening there!), even if the whole redemption thing is a bit out of his depth and doesn't feel possible.

Vox scares the absolute crap out of Husk. Knowing Niffty wasn't just a one-off and that Alastor is willing to do this to someone he considered a friend just because he didn't like his attitude is terrifying. Vox would also end up pretty close with Niffty, not because of their shared situation (neither of them are really aware of that), but because her 1950s sensibilities are comforting and familiar to him– she always makes sense to him in a way the rest of the world just doesn't. She also wouldn't even be remotely bothered by the constant out-of-nowhere topic changes or the short-term memory loss, so that's a plus.

and if it occurs during/post-canon, and the hotel ensemble knew who vox used to be, would this irrevocably change his relationship with the cast who do not know alastor's cruelty?

Oh yeah. I think seeing Alastor do something this extreme and unnecessary would be the final straw for Charlie. She's not even comfortable with killing genocidal freaks like Adam; no matter what Vox did, she wouldn't be okay with this. Plus, actually seeing him do this would make it click for everyone that maybe Niffty's not just some funny little creature, which would feel incredibly violating in retrospect given how much they've all come to care about her. Charlie would kick Alastor out of the hotel, which he'd be thrilled about, although he might end up back on their doorstep due to the constraints of his contract.

does vox have dysphoria when he remembers his head isn't a CRT, and then forgets, and then remembers, and then forgets, and then—?

Imo, in both routes he'd probably go back to the original 1950s set that he manifested with. It's just something he feels compelled to do– it's what Alastor would want him to do, after all. He'd probably need help making the change, but Alastor would do so happily / Velvette would do so reluctantly if that's what'll make him feel comfortable. I have a mental image where, when he first wakes up after The Incident, the first sign that something's wrong is that his display is fully black and white, despite the fact he's still using the modern flatscreen. But yeah, I imagine there'd be a lot of loops of "something is wrong– nevermind!– something is wrong– nevermind!" about various things, whether it's his body, the situation, or the presence/absence of certain people.

[tstain-is-an-idiot]

CU, except I swapped the genders and changed some minor story details

So basically it's a more magical girl-ish version of the story instead of a normal superhero one (she still is, but just more... magical, I guess?)