#the detail photos were supposed to be next to each other

[sturnioz]

♯┆fully introducing. . . fwb!chris .ᐟ

you and fwb!chris stopped hooking up after realising you were both taking things way too far, and that the arrangement was lasting longer than necessary — but when you show up at the triplets birthday party empty handed, you both know one birthday present that he'll enjoy the most.

"you're here?" chris' eyebrows raises in surprise at your arrival, but it still doesn't stop him from throwing his arm around your shoulder to coax you into a hug that you immediately return, your hands rubbing his back. "i didn't expect you to, like, be here.."

"i'm not going to miss your birthday," you say with a light laugh, pulling back from the embrace to give him a sheepish smile. "i kinda forgot to buy a present on my way here... i'm sorry."

"no — no, s'cool. don't worry about it," chris dismisses with a wave of his hand before he scratches the back of his neck, adjusting the cap on his head. "the party is about to end soon but, do you — can you stay behind when everyone leaves, or somethin'?"

"sure," you nod slowly. "i'll go wait in your room.."

you've been waiting for fifteen minutes, listening to chris' laughter echoing in the living-room as he bids everyone goodbye and thanks them for coming to his and his brother's birthday celebrations, while you mindlessly walk around his familiar bedroom, capturing the small details of the space that hasn't changed since you were last here.

the walls are still white, decorated with a few random posters of his favourite artists. he still has that neatly stacked record collection that sits in the corner, untouched and left in pristine condition, and he still has his shoe collection tucked away in the other corner, some pairs left slightly askew.

he also still has a few photo frames sitting on his desk next to his computer, and your fingers ghost over the images of him with his friends and family, the locations holding a lot of memories. but you pause when your fingertips touch a particular photo that you were certain chris wouldn't have kept, and your heart swells uncomfortably in your chest.

the photo that catches your eye is one of you and chris at a carnival, both of you wearing silly headbands and grinning widely. chris stands behind you with his arms loosely draped around your shoulders, his cheek pressed against yours. your hand rests on his arm while the other hand squeezes his jaw playfully.

staring at it, your stomach swirls with regret as you take a step back. you feel suddenly guilty for showing up at his birthday, after you were the one that decided to call it quits on your odd situation.

you and chris were friends with benefits — an arrangement that lasted much longer than either of you had originally planned. you were hooking up to satisfy your needs, fucking each other when you were sexually frustrated and in need of a release, or sometimes when you were board.

what was only supposed to be a month-long fling turned into two months, then five, then a year, and eventually nearly a year and a half.

the predicament wasn't good for either of you — feelings had spiralled out of control, and even your shared close friends had pointed out how strangely long it had been going on.

it made you feel terrible when a girl once approached you, saying she liked chris and wanted to ask him out, but couldn't due to the uncertainty around your relationship.

that exact night, you had explained to chris that maybe you had both dragged out the friends with benefits situation longer than you should have, and in doing so, were preventing each other from meeting other people. chris was confused and hesitant, but he eventually agreed, leaving you both to shake on it as you ended your friends with benefits situation.

it's been two months since then, and truthfully, you've both struggled to keep in contact with each other without things feeling awkward and whenever you share eye contact, you're reminded of the intimate moments you've shared.

it felt a dent in your friendship, but you were desperate to still keep chris as the close friend as he once was, which is why you showed up tonight, despite the complicated history.

"sorry for makin' you wait so long," you hear chris apologise behind you, and you're startled at the sudden voice, peering over your shoulder to see chris close his bedroom door behind himself with a grin. "had to help matt and nick get nate into the uber, the kid didn't wanna leave."

"you should've let him stay," you tell him with a kind smile. "then you wouldn't be alone in here for the night on your birthday."

"well, i mean, i was hopin' that you would stay with me tonight," chris admits with an airy laugh, rubbing his jaw — a familiar nervous habit you recognise from your time together. "since we, like, haven't been able to spend time together, y'know?"

"i get it," you nod in understanding, wanting nothing more than to catch up and spend time with him as well "i... i'm still sorry for not getting you a birthday present."

"you can still give me one..." chris murmurs softly as he takes a step forward, his finger scratching his cheek. your eyes widen slightly, immediately knowing what he's hinting at when you feel his hands cradle your face, his thumb pulling at your bottom lip. "you... you can give me you."

"chris..." you warn him, and your fingers curl around his wrist, but you don't pull his hands away.

"c'mon.. you don't miss it?" chris questions you and you get surprised, watching as his teeth kneads down on his bottom lip as he stands closer to you. "i miss it. a lot — more than i'd like to admit, to be honest."

"i do," you admit quietly. "but that doesn't mean we should."

"we enjoyed ourselves, we — we liked it," he states, grazing his lips over yours. "that's all that matters, right? i mean, we were fuckin' happy, so — so who cares what others think? i'd never want them like i want you.. don't you want me too?"

"you talk too much," you sigh, fisting the collar of his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss which he reciprocates almost instantly, refusing to give either of you a chance to breath as he's licking inside your mouth and kissing your lips raw.

his quick and nimble fingers are tugging down the zipper of your jeans, and you gasp when you feel his hand slip beneath the waistband of your panties, pressing his fingers to your folds and rubbing your clit in circular motions that elicits a whine from you, baffled by the fact he still knows your body so well.

he's laying you down on his unmade bed, hovering above you, resting one hand by the side of your head to keep him upright while the other plays with your pussy — the kiss hot and heavy as his fingers push through your opening, curling them and grazing the spot that has your thighs snapping shut around his hand.

chris is drinking up your moans, panting in your mouth as he grinds down on your thigh while bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm, and he's grinning against your lips as you're embarrassingly quick to cum over his fingers, the wet squelching sounds echoing throughout the quietness of his bedroom.

"yeah, that's it..." he sighs over your mouth. "good, ma.. jus' like that."

neither of you give yourself time to calm down as he's already sitting back on his knees to pull his pants and boxers down to his thighs, not wanting to waste any time in taking his clothes off fully.

you do the same, lifting your hips to pull down your own jeans and underwear, cursing under your breath when the material gets stuck around your shoes and chris laughs, helping you yank off your shoes to leave your lower half bare for him.

chris resumes his position above you — guiding himself to your slick pussy and stroking the head of his cock between your puffy folds, gathering your arousal for an easy slip in, and you wrap your thighs around his hips as he does so, the feeling of being full with his cock leaves you a moaning messy already, gripping at his shoulders as he thrusts, grunting with each deep stroke.

"chriiiis..." you mewl his name loudly and he grins, slotting his lips to yours as he pounds relentlessly, skin slapping against skin.

he's not letting up, his pace brutal when he feels your nails dig into his shoulder blades and he tastes the salty tears that slip down your cheeks from the pleasure and sensitivity of not being fucked in so long.

"so fuckin' pretty, ma," he compliments you when he parts from your lips, admiring you beneath him. his eyes dart above your head for a moment, glancing at the headboard that rattles but holds the birthday gift someone had gifted him earlier this morning, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shakes his head. "yeah... you're definitely my favourite birthday present."

© STURNIOZ

[flemingsfreckles]

Newlyweds

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Preview: You and Jessie finally get married, when you get home, your original plans get derailed by your sleepy wife

Warnings: suggestive, mentions of sex (fingering), getting walked in on, no detailed smut, non sexual nudity, showering together,

WC: 1.6k

A/N: this ended up soft and fluffy, I thought about taking it the smut route but I didn’t, sorry I know yall love some smut, I also finished writing this just now and I’m just gonna post it, it’ll edit it if I find errors but it’s very possible they’re in there.

Jessie was practically cackling as she ran down the hallway of your home toward your bedroom with you cradled in her arms.

“If you fall you’re going to get us both hurt Jessie.” You tried to protest when she went to pick you up outside the front door.

“It’ll be fine! Plus it’s a tradition thing.”

“I think the tradition is the groom carries the bride through the door, last time I checked we’re both the bride.”

“Shhh just let me do it.” You had, reluctantly let her pick you up, bridal style, walking you through the door of your house. It only took 3 steps for Jessie to in fact trip over the rug that sat at the entrance.

Thankfully neither of you were hurt, she had managed to catch both herself and you before either of you hit the floor.

“Jessie!”

That’s what set her off laughing. And she couldn’t stop, she was hysterically laughing as she kept moving, using your body to push open the bedroom door. By the time she placed you on the bed you were laughing too. You couldn’t help it, your wife’s laugh was contagious.

“I cannot believe you almost fell.” You shake your head looking up at where she stood next to the bed. Going limp she flops down onto the bed next to you. She’s laying on her stomach, looking at you as you lay on your back, turned to the side to look at your wife.

“Hi wifey.” She whispers to you, the biggest toothy grin across her face.

“Hi wife.” You lean in and kiss her gently.

You both lay, just staring at each other, soaking in the fact that just a few hours ago you had officially gotten married.

The two of you had joked for so long that you practically were married, being together since you were 17 and 18, you had stayed together falling in love with each other more and more as the time went on. Now being 25 and 26 you finally had done it, in front of all your friends and family, you were married.

As you stare at her you notice her eyes starting to flutter closed, then she’d open them with a couple hard blinks, before they’d start to droop again. The sight is adorable, Jessie’s sleepy face gently placed on the bed.

“Let’s go to sleep Jess”

“No, we’re supposed to, ya know, consummate the marriage.” She cracks her eyes enough to look at you and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Babe, I think that tradition is more for people who didn’t sleep together before marriage, we’ve been having sex for like 8 years.”

“But still, we’ve never had sex as wives.”

“What do you call the fingering in the reception bathroom then?” You counter.

You weren’t too proud of it, but something about seeing Jessie in her tuxedo declaring how much she loved you in front of everyone you both cared about, turned you on. You couldn’t help yourself but to whisper some filthy words into Jessie’s ear as both of you sat having dinner. The two of you had snuck off to a bathroom during your reception to have a moment to yourselves, one thing turned into another and before you knew it Jessie had you sitting on the sink, her fingers under your dress and inside of you.

Jessie’s face turned red at the memory.

“That doesn’t count as consummation, no one finished.” She argues with you.

“That’s not my fault, you can thank your sister for that.”

Jessie’s little, but thankfully adult, sister had come looking for both of you. The photographer needed you both for photos with your brand new wedding bands. You thought you had locked the door when you walked in, turns out Jessie had already made an attempt to lock it, meaning you unlocked it. She had looked everywhere, before she opened the bathroom door, seeing her older sister between your thighs, your dress hiked up around your waist and Jessie’s hand between your legs.

“Oh, you two are disgusting.” She clasped her hand over her eyes. “Wash your hands and both of you get out here, the photographer needs you!” Jessie had been mortified, being caught by her sister of all people, she would’ve preferred a teammate. You had laughed it off and dragged your red faced wife out of the bathroom.

The party continued on for a few hours after and while you were still very turned on by your wife, the exhaustion of the day started to sink in not exactly leaving either of you in the mood for what you knew would be multiple rounds of sex.

You watched as Jessie’s eyes continued to flutter shut each time they shut they stay closed for longer and longer until you’re pretty convinced she wasn’t going to open them again.

“Hey,” you gently nudge her shoulder and her eyes crack open. “Let’s go shower and get changed.”

“But I’m so comfortable here.”

“Come on babe, we can have our first shower together as wives.” Saying the word wife and it not being a joke anymore made you smile.

“So cozy in the bed.” She mumbled as her eyes closed again.

“Alright, hang on.” You stand up, moving over to the side of the bed closest to her, you scoop your arms under her shoulders and the other under her knees. She doesn’t protest as you lift her and carry her into the bathroom.

You gently place her on the floor and give her a kiss. “Let’s get you undressed.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Jessie smirks at you.

“No, you were just falling asleep on the bed.”

She pouts at you, arms crossed. You gently take her wrists, undoing the cufflinks of her dress shirt and then sliding off her tuxedo coat. Your fingers move to the buttons on her vest, undoing those and helping her remove it. Lastly is her dress shirt, she works from the top down as you work to undo the bottom of her shirt. Your hands meet in the middle and she pulls the shirt off and quickly follows it with her sports bra.

“My beautiful wife.” You lean down placing kisses across her exposed skin. While your mouth stays kissing her chest, your fingers move to her belt, undoing it and sliding it out from her pants. She undoes the button on her slacks and lets them fall to the floor. You hands find the elastic of her boxers and you slowly pull them down. Moving your head from her chest you place kisses along both of her thighs as you remove her underwear.

“You’re turn.” She says, you turn away from her to allow her access to the zipper and ties on your dress.

Jessie’s hands find the top tie and begin undoing the knot. “Have I told you enough how beautiful you look?” She says as her fingers move to the next tie. “Absolutely stunning, you took my breath away.” Her hands then move to the zipper, undoing the rest of the dress. She brings her hands up to where the top of the dress sat. She begins pulling it off of your body, similarly to your actions she brings her lips, placing them on every inch of skin on your back she exposes pulling down your dress.

Jessie extends a hand to you to help you step out and over the dress. “Wow.” She takes the time to look you up and down. You had bought a new set of lingerie for the wedding. It was a lacy white set, one you knew would make your wife crazy. “Where did you get this?” Her fingers work into the straps of the bra.

“Oh you know, just something I had lying around.” You joke with her. Her eyes are locked on your chest. “Quit staring, I’ll put it on again tomorrow for you to fully enjoy.” The comment had Jessie biting her lip, likely thinking of what she’d get to do to you after a good night's sleep.

You move your own hands to your bra, unclasping the back while Jessie’s thumbs hook into your matching panties and pull them down your legs. She comes back up to meet your lips with hers.

You both stay for a second, grinning at each other, both overwhelmed with happiness. You pull away to start the shower, while you wait for it to run warm you pull Jessie into your arms, hugging from behind. You turn the two of you toward the mirror above the vanity.

“Look at my wife.” You point in the mirror at Jessie’s figure in front of you.

“Ehh she’s alright but look at my wife!” She teases you back, pointing at you in the mirror.

“I love you, wife.”

“I love you, wife”

Your arms release her, giving her a quick squeeze with your hand on her shoulders. “Let’s hurry up and shower so we can sleep and then tomorrow we can do all the consummating you want.” You give her a wink and she quickly follows you into the shower, the two of you having a moment of peace and relaxation after the day’s festivities. As you looked at her in the shower, you couldn’t help but think how it was just the two of you, and that was all you would ever need. You and her.

[alessiasfreckles]

amnesia - part 6 (ona batlle x reader, alexia putellas x reader, ona batlle x alexia putellas)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

a/n: this is a short one, sorry! but the next chapter is coming and will be a lot longer x

-------

“We can’t tell her,” Alexia said after a moment of silence. “She’s only just started getting her memories back, I don’t want to overwhelm her. She’s already had to deal with so much in the past few weeks.”

“Fuck,” Ona repeated. “I should never have come here. I just got her to forgive me, to trust me again, and now this, fuck!”

“It’s okay,” Alexia said, trying to soothe the younger player. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“How? I promised her, no more lying! She’ll never forgive us.”

“It’s not… lying, necessarily. It’s just not telling her something,” Alexia said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself of that fact just as much as she was trying to convince Ona. “Not telling isn’t the same as lying.”

“Mierda,” the brunette dragged her hands down her face. “This can’t happen again.”

---

You hadn’t heard anything from Alexia or Ona all day, which was a little odd, but you supposed that they were at training and it was to be expected that they couldn’t be on their phones 24/7. Still, you found yourself missing them, both of them. 

Plus, you were bored, and started to feel frustrated about all of the hazy spots in your memory. So, you did what anyone in your position would do and googled yourself. First you read through your wikipedia page, which, to be fair, you’d already done a couple of times since waking up. Nothing really stood out there, except for some lines under ‘Personal life’ that detailed your involvement in the LGBTQ+ community. 

Where else could you find out more about yourself? You deliberated for a minute before going on Twitter and searching your name - you had a hunch that you’d been told not to look yourself up on social media before, that it was something most players tried to avoid. Still, you figured that social media would probably give you some more information, even if it was just about what people thought of you.

Once the search loaded, your laptop was flooded with posts about your accident, people theorising about what had happened, how you were doing. Scrolling back a little, you found posts with pictures of you and Alexia at the café you’d gone to together, with captions talking about the two of you. Some of them speculated what you were doing, if you were dating - you had gathered that your relationship with Ona wasn’t public knowledge, although a lot of people liked to talk about whether or not you were together.

As you kept scrolling, you realised that there was a fairly large amount of people who were convinced that it was Alexia you were dating, not Ona. You looked at photos posted of the two of you, people gushing over the way you were looking at each other, the way Alexia would touch you, her hand on your shoulder, your arm. You saw countless edits of the two of you, snippets of videos where you were deep in conversation or laughing together, Alexia’s smile always directed at you.

For a brief moment you wondered why the two of you weren’t dating, why it was you and Ona, and then felt guilty for even having that thought. You loved Ona, you knew that, you could feel it throughout your body, permeating your bones. Still, the thought remained at the back of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

By the time 4pm rolled around and Ona finally rang your doorbell, you were so bored and sick of your own thoughts you could scream. 

“Thank god you’re here,” you said as she came in. “I’m so bored I’m going to rip my hair out.”

“Oh, so you just want me around to keep you entertained?” Ona asked, a mischievous grin on her face. “I see how it is.”

“Yep,” you shrugged. “Gotta keep things interesting somehow, you know?”

Ona swallowed down the guilt rising in her throat as she thought about that morning. She couldn’t let you know anything had happened. It wasn’t going to happen again. It was a one-off, a mistake. “What have you been up to today?” she asked brightly.

Your stomach twisted as you thought about the videos of you and Alexia. “Not much,” you quickly said. “I looked myself up online a bit, but there’s only so many times I can read my own wikipedia page before I start to feel like a narcissist.”

Ona laughed, not questioning your day’s activities any further, and the wave of relief you felt was tinged with shame.

[l0v3tast3]

AHH Hello!!! I absolutely love your writing, it’s so good!!!!

I was wondering…

Y/n always wear a mask to conceal her identity, in hopes the 141 doesn’t find out that Makarov is her father!!

141 had captured Makarov for interrogation, and y/n is there. As the interrogation continues, they start to notice that y/n and Makarov know each other, by the subtle little informality they spoke to one another. And the truth starts to come out, little by little!!!!

✎ tysm i love you :(( i absolutely love this idea the angst potential is just *chef's kiss* i'm sorry this one took like over a month to make oops, also i tried to keep personal details abt the reader as vague as possible, pls let me know if there's something i can fix!!

✎ tags: female reader, military reader, major daddy issues, violence, mentions of blood, hurt/barely any comfort if at all, not proofread im too cool for that,

✎ word count: 2,704

the silence in the cold, gray interrogation room was so thick that you were choking on it. you knew you had just fucked up, badly.

you had done so well so far, too. you're fabricated identity had fooled everyone. the name you had chosen stuck, and no one ever noticed your old one threatening to jump from your mouth when you introduced yourself. you always kept the childhood memories and little anecdotes vague. you stuck to your rehearsed lines better than a world-famous actor. you did every single thing right.

and now, here he was, your own blood, fucking it all up for you, again.

technically, he had made you fuck it up for yourself. it was just how makarov worked; he was a spider weaving a web in the corner, watching, waiting. this man, your supposed father, didn't know anything real about you. he didn't know you as a father should know his daughter. but he knew which buttons to press.

he only knew what to say to you when it would allow him the opportunity of watching you fall a little deeper towards rock bottom.

you knew that the room had cameras covering every square inch, and the microphones ensured that you're accidental admission to your heritage was heard by your entire task force.

there was a red hot pit opening inside of you, caving your insides in like a black hole and threatening to consume your entire being. it was rage, you realized. something you only ever seemed to feel in the presence of one person.

you briefly considered killing him, right there and then. was this really the straw that broke your back? it truly was just another thing to add to the list. you had known he would do this.

no, you were angry at yourself.

on the other side of the door, the four men of the 141 task force were all stood still in shock. what the hell did you just say?

none of them wanted to believe it. they especially didn't want to admit that it made sense. you had done a fucking fantastic job of hiding it, they'll admit that, but even you couldn't hide everything.

price saw the way you tensed when you were passed laswell's photo of makarov in the bar, after you had all put an end to hassan's plan. he saw the way you dropped it and slid it to the next person quickly, as if touching the picture had burned your fingertips.

soap had asked you if you were okay more than once during the plane ride to russia. you were so restless, so different from your usual grounded self. you just said you were having some flying anxiety. he felt stupid now for writing it off so easily.

and kyle, the first one to trust you (and to even really talk to you), he had seen the anger sparking off of you while you shot your way through the tower to get to makarov. floor after floor, bullet after bullet, you had paved a path of blood through the mercenaries. he wondered if someone else had taken your mask and gear and was pretending to be you.

simon saw the fear in you when you all got to the last door. you had been so quick in your endeavor to get here, but he saw you hesitate to follow them in. he saw how you never took your wide eyes off of him, and how you stayed a few steps back, moving far out of the way when price began to escort him out in handcuffs.

and when they had asked you to go into the interrogation room, they all saw how you stopped breathing, and the sweat collecting on what little skin they could see above your mask. you had stuttered when you quietly agreed.

when you stepped into the room, makarov took one look at your eyes, and you knew he recognized you. no, he recognized the hatred. and it made him smile.

now, sitting in the cold metal chair, you realized that it wasn't just one mistake, but a series of them; you had let him unravel you, again. you understood, finally, that he saw you as he did everyone else. he saw you as someone that held him back.

part of you had always known, ever since you were young, still single-digits, and he would only visit you once every few months, if that. you had elected to ignore it. now you couldn't.

you couldn't move. behind you was the door that would lead you to the consequences of your actions. in front of you was the reason for those actions.

this is what you had wanted, wasn't it? it was like something snapped back into place, and you suddenly remembered that everything you had done up until now, every time you put the mask on before leaving your room, every lie you had told and every person you had killed had been to get you here. in front of your father. you remembered that the image of him with a bullet between his eyes was what kept you going.

if you killed him, would it finally absolve you? the gun on your hip felt twenty pounds heavier now. your fingers, folded together in your lap with a white-knuckle grip, felt like lead. would this sin make all the other wrongs right?

a tiny voice was telling you to just walk away, let the team's wrath come down on you and let them deal with makarov, but you had already thrown the table between you towards the wall, he was already on the ground with your hands wrapped around his throat.

you were yelling, no, screaming at him. all the compacted feelings from years and years of being as quiet as possible came up like vomit, spewing out in a mess that could never be cleaned up.

there were more than just makarov's hands on you, pushing and pulling you away from him and dragging you out of the room, kicking and screeching to let you just finally kill him, while two other blurry shapes hauled him back into his own chair.

the heavy metal door shut behind the two people practically carrying you, and they finally let you go. you stumbled a few steps away, whirling around for the next target of your fury.

your captain and lieutenant were standing in front of you, both tensed, waiting for you to do something. you couldn't exactly make out their faces- were you crying?

"what in the bloody hell just happened in there?" price snarled. it was the voice he used when he was face to face with his enemy.

"let me back in there." it was a demand. you needed to kill him.

"that's not gonna happen," simon barked. john and kyle had come out from the interrogation room to stand behind the other two men. "you need to explain, now."

they all stared at you with varying looks of anger and hurt. it wasn't the first time you'd ever had it directed at you, but this was somehow worse than all the others.

every cell in your body was shrieking at you to just run for the door, to somehow get through all four of these men, your teammates, your friends, and kill makarov. but their glares glued you to your spot.

"please-" your voice was trembling, years of grief and agony dripping from every word, "please, just let me kill him. you have to let me kill him." you spoke slowly and quietly, focusing on just trying to get the words out. you took a shaky breath and focused your eyes on a muddy bootprint on the floor. you didn't want to see the looks on their faces.

"you don't understand, you just- just let me back in there, please, i'll get whatever you need out of him, but he needs to die!" your voice was getting louder, and you briefly wondered if your father could hear you. "his men are probably already on their way here. don't you get it? if i don't kill him now, he will get out."

the men in front of you were more shocked now than anything at the change in your demeanor. you had been coined the "second ghost" throughout the units, partly for the mask, but also because of your detachment. you were kind, but you always held logic above emotion.

in front of them now was nothing short of a nervous wreck.

despite not moving, you were frantic. you were wringing your hands together, pressed tight against your stomach. your eyes darted from side to side, person to person, between them and the door to makarov.

price took a step forward and you took a step back. he was slow, bringing his hand up as if he were approaching a wild animal. if he was still angry, he was hiding it now.

"come on, kid, let's just get out of 'ere, eh? go somewhere away from him," he said lowly. the other three men watched tensely, not moving, but their hands still close to their guns. just in case.

"no, no- just let me- price, you need to let me back in there!" you were a broken record, you knew it, but there was nothing else to say, nothing else you could think about. this was what you had been waiting for, you were right where you had wanted to be for the past- how many years now? how long has he tormented you for now?

you could feel your father's presence in the next room like bugs crawling across your body. it made your head feel fuzzy and your hands shake. was it from rage or fear? you couldn't tell, so you chose the rage.

it was like bile stuck in your throat, all the pain makarov had caused you finally being unearthed. you wanted to throw it all up and spit it out onto him, lay your organs and hatred alike out on the table in front of him so he could see the decay. you wanted him to rot from the inside out like you had.

your eyes glanced at the door one last time before focusing on price. he was watching you, just a couple of steps in front of you now.

"let me back in there, john." it was a whisper, but still the steadiest thing you had spoken since they had dragged you out.

"no." he said your name quietly, and you heard it as the plea it was, but you're head decided it was done listening.

your body threw itself at him, swinging underneath his arms and onto his back to try and get him on the ground. the room exploded into yelling, and multiple pairs of hands were on you in an instant, hauling you off of price and forcing you face-down onto the ground with your hands behind your back.

cold metal latching around your wrists didn't stop your screaming and kicking, lashing out at the air around you. it didn't work well, because you were being hauled back to your feet and pushed into a separate interrogation room.

whoever was carrying you didn't bother with trying to attach your handcuffs to the table, basically throwing you in and slamming the door shut before you could get back on your feet.

outside the cell, the four men stood in silent shock. what was there to say, where would they even start? would they really be able to hear each other over your muffled screams to let you out?

you didn't know how long you had been in there once the door finally opens again, but you had stopped screaming and struggling to get out of the room. you had sat down at the table, your hands folded in front of you on the cold surface. you stared down at the blood beading and smearing around the handcuffs.

kyle squeezed in through the tiny amount he'd let the door open before he shut it quickly, keeping his eyes on you. you didn't look up, your red eyes staying fixed on one point even as he slowly moved closer. he followed them to see the red rings underneath the steel, and a pang of guilt squeezed his heart tight.

he sat down across from you, folding his hands in front of him on the table, mirroring you. you still hadn't looked up at him, or done anything to acknowledge his presence; you hadn't even moved.

"are you alright?" kyle implored. he kept his voice soft, bending over a little to try to look you in the eye.

it took you a few moments to respond; he almost started to think you didn't hear him before you opened your mouth slowly.

"is he dead?" you croaked.

kyle let out an audible sigh while he leaned back in his seat, bringing his hands up to drag them down his face.

"no, we still need him. you know that."

you didn't say anything after that.

after sitting in silence for two full minutes, he spoke up. "you realize not telling us about this makes you look really bad, yeah?"

"you don't trust me anymore?" you whispered it, like you didn't want him to hear and answer. you knew what he would say.

"you aren't making it very easy."

kyle wanted to trust you still. part of him was angry and confused as to why you had kept something like this from them. the other part, the bigger part of him, knew that you were on still on the same side of it all. and he knew the other three men felt the same, but they couldn't just dismiss this.

"we can work this out, ya' know. you just have to be honest with us," he added after you once again stayed silent.

"be honest?" you echoed. you finally looked up at him. "about what? you heard me. makarov is my father. i want him dead. that's all there is to say."

kyle took his turn to not speak, weighing your words, figuring out where to go from there.

"why didn't you tell us?" he finally asked.

you looked back down at your wrists. "if i had told you i was makarov's daughter before i joined the team, then all i would have ever been is makarov's daughter." you paused to take a deep, shaky breath. it was uncomfortable with your mask still on, wet with tears, but you refused to take it off, to give away the last piece of your identity that was still yours at the moment.

"it's something we should have known," he contended quickly. "we could have used the information you have-"

you cut him off, your eyes snapping back up to glare daggers at him. "you think i know anything more than you?" you barked. something between a laugh and a sob escaped your throat before you could continue. "i was eight years old the last time i saw him in person. i was raised by live-in nannies. he only visited, what, maybe twice a year? and i don't know why he even bothered, either."

your hands were clenched into tight fists, and the same sting that circled your wrists was appearing in your palms. you kept going though; you didn't know if you could stop now.

"every time i get somewhere, every time i start making a life for myself again, he fucks it all up. never showed his damn face, but it was him, it was always-" you finally cut yourself off, not wanting to drag more memories out from the dark.

"makarov may be my father, but i am not his daughter. i swear, kyle, i fucking swear it." you were pleading with him to believe you now. you needed them to understand.

you could see it in the way his eyebrows creased that he wanted to take your words as the truth. but he didn't say anything (what could he have said?).

the door opened once again, and price half-entered the room to wave kyle back out. he avoided your gaze, something he'd never done before. then you were alone again.

[mrkis]

⛧ this is apart of my ‘MARK BDAY REQUEST SPECIAL’ event that i will be doing for his bday (wednesday-sunday). requests are OPEN for this.

REQUEST: ⇢ showing up to ex fwb!mark’s bday party and forgetting a present so he asks you to stay back when everyone else leaves 🫣🫣

⛧ WARNINGS: 18+ content. ex fwb!mark, make outs, fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex,

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

( “You’re here?” Mark’s brows raise in surprise at your arrival, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing one arm around your shoulder to coax you into a hug that you immediately return, your hands rubbing his back and feeling the warmth beneath your palms. “I didn’t, like, expect you to be here”

“I’m not going to miss your birthday” You tell him with a light laugh, pulling back from the embrace to look at him with a sheepish smile. “Although, I forgot to buy a birthday present on my way here… I’m sorry”

“No, it’s cool, don’t worry about it” Mark dismisses it with a wave of his hand before he scratches the back of his neck. “The party is about to end soon though… Do you, like, mind if you stay behind when everyone leaves or something?”

“Sure” You nod, “I’ll go wait in your room” )

You’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes for Mark to bid everyone goodbye and thank them for coming to his birthday party, hearing his laughter from the living room as you mindlessly walk around his bedroom, capturing small details of the space that hasn’t been changed since you last were in here.

His walls are still white, decorated with a few random posters of his favourite artists. His vinyl collection is still stacked in the corner of the room, untouched and in pristine condition. His favourite guitar was tucked away in a case that leaned against his wardrobe, stickers of Spider-Man and the Canadian flags plastered across the black case. 

His bed sheets are still blue—so are the covers—and it’s freshly made, familiar with how he doesn’t allow himself to begin his day without making his bed the second he gets out of it. He still has the miniature Spider-Man plush that you bought him for his last birthday (and you’d be lying if you said you still didn’t have your Spider-Gwen plush underneath the covers of your own bed which, funnily enough, he bought you for your birthday). 

He also still has a few photo frames sitting on his desk next to his computer and your fingers ghost of the ones of him and his friends, his family and others that hold a lot of memory due to their locations. But you pause when the tips of your fingers touch a photo that you were sure Mark wouldn’t have kept and your heart swells in your chest.

It’s of you and him at a carnival, silly headbands on your head with goofy smiles on your faces, Mark standing behind you with his arms loosely wrapping around your shoulders and cheek pressed against yours with your one hand resting on his arm while the other shows a peace sign. 

You gut swirls with regret as you take a step back, suddenly feeling guilty for showing up at his birthday after you were the one that decided to call it quits on your odd situation. 

You and Mark were friends with benefits, the situation lasting a lot longer than you both originally had planned. You were hooking up to satisfy your needs, fucking each other when you were frustrated or in need of a release or were just bored. It was only supposed to be for a month, but a month lead into two months which lead into five, and the five lead to a year which eventually ended up being almost two and a half years. 

The predicament wasn’t good for both of you. Feelings were spiralling and even close friends were pointing out how strangely long it had been happening for and it made you feel terrible when a girl had walked up to you in a bar and told you that she liked Mark and wanted to ask him out but couldn’t due to you both being so close, and her being unsure of what you both really were. 

You explained it to Mark that night—saying that maybe you had both dragged this out longer than you should’ve and were stopping each other from meeting other people. Mark was hesitant, but he agreed, leaving you both to shake on it as you ended your friends with benefits situation.

It’s been two months since that happened and truthfully, you both struggled to keep in contact with each other without things seeming awkward and being reminded that you’ve seen each other naked every time you shared eye contact. It left a dent in your friendship, but you were desperate to still keep him as a close friend as he previously was, which is why you showed up tonight. 

“Sorry for making you wait for so long” You hear Mark apologise behind you and you jump at the sudden voice, peering over your shoulder to see Mark closing his bedroom door behind himself with a sheepish smile on his face. “Haechan and Chenle didn’t want to leave”

“Should’ve let them stay” You tell him with a kind smile, “Then you wouldn’t be alone for the night on your birthday”

“Well, I, uh, you know, I was hoping you would stay with me tonight” Mark admits with an awkward laugh, patting down the back of his hair, a little nervous habit you picked up during your time together. “Since we, like, haven’t been able to spend time together”

“I get it” You say in understanding, wanting nothing more than to spend time with him too and catch up on all the things you’ve missed. Even being in his presence is making you feel happy and content. “I’m still sorry about not getting you a birthday present, by the way”

“You can still give me one…” Mark speaks softly as he takes a step forward and your eyes widen slightly, immediately recognising what he’s hinting at as you feel his hands come up to touch your cheeks, his thumb pulling at your bottom lip. “You can give me you, you know”

“Mark,” You warn him, curling your fingers around his wrists but not pulling his hands away. 

“You don’t miss it?” Mark questions you and you get surprised, watching as his teeth bites down on his bottom lip when he stands closer to you. “I miss it, a lot—more than I’d like to admit, actually” 

“I do,” You admit quietly. “But that doesn’t mean we should”

“We enjoyed ourselves” He states, giving your lips a quick kiss that has you almost yanking him down for another. “That’s all that matters, right? We were happy. Who cares what others think? I’d never want them like I want you… Don’t you want me too?”

“You talk too much” You sigh, fisting the collar of his shirt and pulling him in for another kiss, deeper and more hungry than the first and Mark reciprocates almost immediately, not giving either of you a chance to breathe as he’s licking inside your mouth and kissing your lips raw.

Nimble fingers are tugging down the zipper of your jeans and you gasp when you feel his hand slip inside your pants, pressing his fingers to your folds and rubbing your clit in circular motions that has you whining, baffled by the fact he still knows your body so well.

He’s laying you down on his bed, hovering over you and resting one hand by the side of your head as the other plays with your pussy, the kiss hot and heavy as his fingers slip inside your pussy, curling them and grazing the spot that has your thighs clenching around his hand.

Mark’s drinking up your moans, panting in your mouth as he rubs his confined cock on your thigh while bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm, smiling against your lips as you’re embarrassingly quick to cum over his fingers, the wet sounds echoing throughout the quietness of his room and you wail as his thumb rubs your clit to ride out the pleasure. 

“That’s it” He sighs over your mouth. “That’s my girl… good”

Neither of you give yourself time to calm down as he’s already leaning back to get pull his pants and boxers down to his thighs, not wanting to waste any time in taking off his clothes fully and you do the same, lifting your hips to pull down your own jeans and underwear, cursing under your breath as they get stuck on your shoes and Mark laughs, helping you yank off your shoes to leave your bottom half bare for him. 

Mark resumes his position above you, guiding himself to your slick pussy and stroking the tip between your folds, gathering your arousal for an easy slip in and you wrap your thighs around his waist as he does so, the feeling of being full with his cock leaves you a moaning miss already, gripping at his shoulders as he thrusts, grunting with each deep stroke. 

“Mark” You moan his name loudly and he smiles, slotting his lips with yours as his cock pounds relentlessly into your pussy, skin slapping against skin. He’s not letting up, his pace even quickens when he feels your fingers dig into his shoulders and tastes the salty tears that slip down your cheeks from the pleasure and sensitivity of not being fucked in so long. 

“You’re so pretty, baby” He compliments you when he pulls back from your lips, admiring you beneath him and you grow flustered. His eyes dart above your head, staring at the Spider-Man plush that rests against his pillows before he looks back down at you, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “You’re definitely my favourite birthday present”

©mrkis

[haruka-norikoyo]

Monoma x reader who is Mirio’s younger sibling part 7

Hey ya’ll uh, warning: ✨angst ✨

Other Parts:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Part 7/?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Neito knew something was wrong when you didn’t text him back on the last day of your Hero Work Study. He reasoned it out. Unlike the internships, you are seen like a real sidekick rather than a guest. Maybe the work tired you out and you fell asleep before you could respond. It wouldn’t be farfetched. His classmates that did get an opportunity to do Hero Work Study became visibly fatigued in class. Even Kendo, who is one of the most resilient people he knew.

Still, his unseen messages plagued his mind. The dread festered within him even as he woke up the next day, when you said you’d be back from absence. He checks his messages, and, still no reply. Normally he would have waited until just before class starts to pester 1-A, but this time he heads straight to their dorm building. He gets there in time to find Iida herding out three classmates, who look as though they’d might as well fall asleep standing. He clears his throat. “You lot sure look awfully stressed despite not being in a Work Study.” Despite the sneer on his face, he finds that he’s unable to sound as theatric as he usually does.

The three students, Mina, Kaminari, and Sero collectively groan. Each one of them too preoccupied by their all nighter-induced headaches to formulate a proper response. Iida chops his hands at Neito. “Monoma-san, don’t you think appearing in front of our dormitory as soon as we wake up is taking this rivalry a bit far!?”

He ignores Iida’s words, glancing around as more students shuffle out of the building. He doesn’t see you. In fact, neither does he see most of the other 1-A students who have Work Study. “Are you listening—” Neito walks past Iida and the other three as soon as he spots Tokoyami. “You’re one of the students in 1-A who has Hero Study, aren’t you?”

Tokoyami blinks. It takes a moment to realize that he’s actually asking him, rather than it being a taunt. “…yes, that’s right.”

Neito disregards the cautious edge in his voice, continuing. “Has there been trouble with the 1-A students in Hero Study?”

“Not… that I’ve heard of,” he responds, uncertainly. “It’s a little odd that you would as that.”

“Your classmates were supposed to only be gone for a day. Isn’t it strange that all of them aren’t here again today? I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve gotten into trouble again.” Tokoyami narrows his eyes, but before he can respond, Bakugo walks right between them.

“Put a lid on it, extra. They’re fine. Now get outta my sight.”

Neito lets out a “tsk” as they all left for class.

***

“Eraserhead-sensei isn’t here?” Neito stands in front of the staff’s dorms. He had gone to the third year’s dorms first to ask Mirio about you, but he isn’t there either. Now, he’s here with Vlad, finding out that your teacher is absent as well.

“He’s out on duties. Class A had Midnight as their substitute teacher earlier.” “Does… does it have something to do with why (y/n) and Togata-senpai aren’t here?”

Vlad shakes his head. “The affairs of their Hero Study are separate from UA. I wasn’t given any details about it.”

Neito lowers his head. His mouth presses into a thin line as his brows creases. He looks up when Vlad places his hand on his shoulder.

“I know you’re worried about them. That comes with the territory of working with heroes. I’m sure they’re alright.”

“Yeah…” he nods. The weight in his chest is still unbearable, but just a little is alleviated. His phone buzzes in his pockets, followed by his ringtone. “Ah, I’ll take this phone call, sensei. Thank you for meeting with me.” He waves and checks the caller ID as he walks from the staff’s dorm. His screen displays a blurry photo of Mirio that you had taken. He immediately answers. “Hello? Nii-san, are you okay? What about (y/n)? Neither of you are at school. Did something happen during the Hero Study—”

“Woah woah! Slow down.” Hearing Mirio’s voice full of cheer, he allows himself to relax his tense shoulders. “(Y/n) and I are… er, fine. I can’t really get into much detail about our Hero Study.”

“So something happened.”

Mirio lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well… say, why don’t you visit us at the hospital?”

***

It did not help Neito’s heart hearing that you’ve been admitted into a hospital despite Mirio’s assurances that you aren’t critically injured or anything. Although his request to leave campus was abrupt, Vlad had no problems accompanying him to the hospital. He stays in the lobby while Neito rushes up to where receptionist directed him to.

“(Y/n)!” he nearly trips on his own feet entering your room. You smile at him, the bandage on your cheek creasing. Neito stops abruptly at the side of your bed, his hand hesitantly reaching for you until it settles on your hand with the least bandages. His movement is cautious as to not hurt you. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Neito clicks his tongue. “I swear! Seriously, I’m alright. Look at my radiant smile, see?” You force out a toothy grin, making him sigh.

“Honestly, you…” slowly, he leans in, his forehead against your shoulder. “Why didn’t you answer any of my texts or calls? When you didn’t come to school after you said you’d be back, I thought the worst.”

“Yeah, ehe… I broke my phone so I couldn’t contact you soon. I’m sorry.”

“No no, you shouldn’t be apologizing,” he sighs. “…I’m glad you’re safe.”

You hum, rubbing his head with your free hand. It does sting to move it, but you maintain your smile until he reluctantly parts with you.

“You sure you don’t want anything? I can get you something before I leave.” Of course, not without doting on you. “I’m fine, Neito,” you shake your head. “The nurses are a button away. Plus I don’t really need anything else.”

“What about your clothes and something to pass the time? Your phone broke, right?”

“My parents already brought all I need— and Recovery Girl will be seeing me as soon as my stamina is back. I won’t be here for that long.”

“Okay…” You wave at him before he can even consider anything else, which he returns with a worried smile, leaving the room at last.

“I should still get (y/n) something,” Neito mutters to himself as he walks down the hallway. He glances at the clock on the wall. “I still have time, so… yeah, I should visit onii-san.” The receptionist had told him both Togata’s room numbers, so it was easy finding where Mirio is. Somehow, he isn’t surprised to see Mirio doing crunches despite being hospitalized. “You’re as lively as ever.”

“Oh!” he looks up. “Monoma, hey. Thought you’d never visit me.” Mirio sits up properly.

“As brutal as you are with training, I wouldn’t just ignore you when you’re in the hospital,” Neito rubs the back of his head. “So… how long will you be staying in the hospital? (Y/n) said Recovery Girl will be seeing them soon but what about you?”

“Oh, I’ll be out of the hospital in three days.”

“I see… right before out day off… well, at least you wouldn’t be going to school immediately….” he trails off.

Mirio’s expression remains nearly the same, but Neito has been around him enough to decipher when he’s thinking about something. “Is there… something wrong?”

“About that…” Mirio’s brows creases. “Actually, I’m taking some time off from class. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to continue our quirk training cause you see…” He scratches his head as he takes a moment to continue. “I lost my quirk.”

“Huh?” Neito doesn’t even hear whatever Mirio saying next. What did he mean he lost his quirk? Or— no— it must be something else. That would be terrible. Impossible. An quirk can’t just… be lost. At least, not a quirk like Mirio’s where it isn’t dependent on a specific body part. “Monoma?”

He snaps out of his daze. He stares, wide eyed. “Yeah?” “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh…” He laughs. Tense and humourless. His eyes turns to the floor. “I just don’t know what you mean by that.”

“I mean that I can’t use my quirk anymore.” Neito raises his gaze. Mirio doesn’t have the overly positive smile on his face anymore. It’s replaced by a seriousness that extinguishes any chance of a joke. Mirio continues on carefully, and he wonders why he looks so concerned. “I don’t know how much details I can give you since things are pretty classified, so I won’t try to explain. Sorry about that. I’d like to see if you’re still able copy my quirk so we can still continue our training.”

Neito stares at his outstretched hand for a second. He doesn’t feel himself move his, but he finds himself holding it anyway. It’s clear now. “It’s… really gone…”

Mirio smiles bitterly, “Ah, so you can’t. I guess it’s literally out of my DNA. Too bad, I would’ve liked to continue training you.” “Why…”

“Woah! Hey, it’s okay, I’m still a hero,” Mirio hastily places his hand on Neito’s shoulder. “No need to feel bad for me.”

He doesn’t get why Mirio’s nearly panicked to comfort him until his vision blurs. The tears pool in Neito’s eyes. No no no, why is he the one crying? Mirio’s the one that lost his quirk. He shuts his eyes as the tears keep flowing and rubs them as if he can make them disappear. “But why? Y-You worked so hard to make your quirk worthy of fighting frontlines and someone— something… just takes it away!?”

Was he smiling and so cheerfully exercising so he wouldn’t worry? “Wh— What’ll happen to your hero career? You’ll… You’ll still be a hero, won’t you!?”

“Yes, yes, of course I’ll be. Monoma calm down for a second…”

“How can I be calm when— when everything you worked so hard for just… just…”

“Monoma, deep breaths,” Mirio places his other hand on his other shoulder. Neito stops himself from speaking. He takes a long breath, slowly exhaling. Once he’s done, he silently looks at Mirio who had patiently waited for him to calm down.

“I know it’s a lot to hear considering you didn’t even know someone can lose their quirk until just now,” he watches his expression. “I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t bother me… but, there’s nothing I can do about it, can I?”

Neito’s eyes ask if that’s really the case, but he doesn’t bring himself to ask, fearing what he knows the answer will be.

“I understand why you’re agitated by this. But I won’t let everything I’ve done until now be in vain. I promise you.” Mirio withdraws one of his hands, placing a fist over his heart. “I’m still Lemllion. My goal has not changed.”

Neito’s breath hitches. “Right…” He hates that he’s the one being comforted. That he didn’t notice anything wrong with Mirio’s smile. Smiles… “Does (y/n) know?”

“Yeah…”

Your expression when he met up with you earlier— how did he not notice anything? He should’ve known there was more to it than trying to look strong while injured. Mirio’s grip on his shoulder tightens. “(Y/n)’s trying their best to smile like how I am, but… take care of them, okay?”

Neito nods. He doesn’t need to be told twice, wordlessly leaving the room after a silent agreement. He returns to your hospital room, finding you under the covers. “(Y/n).”

“Neito? I thought you left already,” you pull the sheets of your form, sitting up now that he’s once again at your bedside. This time, he wraps his arms around you, pulling his head to his chest. “Neito..?”

His thumbs rubs soothing circles at the back of your head. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear to you what brought this change of demeanor. “He told you.”

“As much as he could, anyway.”

“Did he tell you that I saw it happen? That I was a second too late?”

“No. That’s probably the last thing in his mind.”

“…”

You try to listen to his heartbeat. No avail. It’s probably too faint to hear above your own while it rings in your ears. It grows louder. The breaking of the walls, then the gunshot, and seeing your brother’s blood splatter as he shielded the little girl you had failed to save once. “Do you blame yourself?”

You’re back in the hospital. Your boyfriends arms feel warmer around you now that you’ve found his heartbeat.

You think back to Eri’s expression when Mirio was shot. Horror. Guilt. “No. I… not anymore.” It isn’t her fault. Neither is it yours. That’s what you’ll tell her if it is ever brought up. Before then, you take a deep breath. The festering guilt expels from your chest along with your breath. “Good,” Neito says. Your shoulders loosen as you bring your arms up to him. “Were you able to do it?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t have a single clue as to what it is, but he lets out a proud hum. “Then you don’t have to be a hero right now.”

Neito’s voice nearly lulls you to sleep. Or maybe it is the relief flooding your veins as warm tears trickle down your cheeks. Eventually, you did end up sleeping. A rest a lot more peaceful than the first time around.

[accio-victuuri]

NOVEMBER 19 : The Full Story 📝

oh well sort of, cause this is what is known and shared publicly with tons of filling in the blanks by cpfs. someone made a side by side incidents during this day and time for the past years 2017 to now 2023 and it’s good to see it all laid out. it’s hilarious to see the realization among turtles that we could be wrong about their anniversary date. for years, we always talked about the month of June but now, November is making a great argument 😂

( these freakin masterminds are so naughty! I swear!!! 🤣🤣🤣 )

source of the compilation i’m using to outline is 圣衣雪琳 cause they perfectly summed up the key points very well. I already talked about some of these in my previous post but this is for the “11/19 lore” exclusively and so we can expand on other years.

I’m a sucker for timelines so let’s go 💪🏼

2017: At this time, they already know of each other and depending on who you ask might have already been low key stalking the other. LOL. WYB’s was about Just Dance and ZZ is a selfie and hotpot ; the latter post about going home.

I don’t think that this holds much significance in terms of an actual relationship and stuff happening behind the scenes. However, it feels like fate that they both posted on this day even without that significance being there. We cpfs love to talk about how they are fated and certain things, no matter how mundane, turned out to be a piece that completed the puzzle. There is some push back with some turtles saying this shouldn’t be included cause it seems like the start of this 11/19 is 2018 but again, just leaving this here. I could probably add 2015/2016 if we really wanna back track lol

2018: THIS IS THE KEY CPN IN ALL OF THIS. I have already explained it here. The infamous Japan trip. How both of them seemingly making references to their post from this year vs today (2023) especially XZ who even posted on the same time. There are so many rumors about this timeline, even going as far as saying the next day, they started living together. How this was WYB saying it’s WYB, not LWJ. So the relationship they have now is not between fictional characters but the real one.

I’m eating this candy whole. No one can tell me otherwise. I’m sold 🤣🤣🤣

Have we been wrong? did they officially become together 11/19/2018. Some are even pointing out that one of GG’s photos shared today appears to be him traveling back from IM to Beijing.

and who is in Beijing? His home. Yibo. 🏡

We love to think about them sharing photos to each other and i’m imagining this is ZZ sending something similar to WYB and saying that he is on his way back.

2019: Bazaar video was released, it’s message being a favorite among BXGs. Going by the assumption that this is their anniversary of sorts, it makes sense to have a message like that to be delivered.

how he met his love in a dream ( presumably that summer and playing wwx opposite wyb’s lwj ) and when he woke up, his love is still there. meaning even in reality, he still feels the same. no. it was not scripted, the one who shot it said it was xz’s answer and he was shocked too.

They posted some work related stuff on that day, with WYB’s being audi’s. the part of the caption we are clowning about is : Don’t blame me for not reminding you. Which in the original post and context is about the benefits you will get if you buy an Audi. but in cpn speak it could mean that ZZ probably forget, but he actually didn’t cause that bazaar love confession was clear.

2020: I already talked in detail over here #2 with was going on at the time.

It’s also the start of the whole Thursday is a good day to see you, in reference to WYB’s vogue post. Then it snowballed into a whole CPN of it’s own.

I forgot to add one important thing tho, around this time 11/18 there schedules were public and both are supposed to go back to Beijing. WYB was from Hangzhou and ZZ was from Nanjing. The incident of WYB changing his flight 3x so he can go back to Beijing is this time 11/18. We clowned that he was so eager to be in the same city with ZZ but with what we think now, it could be he wanted them to be together badly because it’s their anniversary the next day 11/19. 🤯

2021: Both of them posting a Douyin video that involves changing clothes. Which is a very common transition trend on the app but seeing it done on the same day was a treat and unusual. GG’s was posted 11/17 and WYB was 11/19.

I wanna remind people too that this is the same month we got the mysterious “voices” both in Shenzhen Vlog ( his husband wang yibo ) and talks of ZZ being at the Luoyang press conference filming. The same month the whole Ximalaya CPN started too. So they were definitely “acting up”.

2022: No actual posts but a parallel. 11/17, Guangdian appeared on the itunes chart because of fan’s effort. 11/18, WYB released a song ( government related ) called Light Chaser. So spotlight = light chaser has similar element and theme of light. Then on 11/20 WYB’s shared a douyin with 👀.

2023: Probably making up for how quiet last year was, they decided to give us a big hint/s of what 11/19 is all about. 😂😂😂

This is all fake and cpn talk. I do enjoy when candies go years back! This journey of trying to piece things together is a bxg’s strength so we’re really thriving today— with all the possibly unrelated events we have managed to stitch together into this! 🙃

[ninyard]

Darling as much as i support you going crazy over those fbi octonary characters I'm going to need more kevillison headcanons ok? Thanks

my gift to you:

- I mentioned before that they go to the banquets together post-TKM. Did I mention they match their outfits? Allison in a gorgeous long emerald green dress and Kevin with a green tie and handkerchief. The only colour that they don’t match is the one time Allison decides to wear a red dress - Kevin refuses to wear red with his suits, even if it’s on top of a white shirt instead of a black one.

- When it comes to hooking up, they have no shame around each other AT ALL. They have that kind of relationship, and they’re so on the same page about the FWB situation, that there’s literally nothing they won’t do or try with each other just for the sake of it. Worst one was when Allison was curious what it would be like if he spoke French to her. She INSTANTLY got the ick and had to stop. (Best one was sitting on opposite ends of the room and-)

- There’s a thousand different pics on several of the foxes phones of Kevin 1) carrying Allison because she got too lazy to walk 2) carrying Allison’s heels because they were hurting her feet and 3) wearing no jacket because he gave it Allison when she got cold.

- One time Kevin asks Allison to coverup his tattoo with makeup. He stares at his unmarked skin for so long before he has to ask her to take it off. He hasn’t seen his face without something on it since he was a kid.

- They’ve been each others new years kiss two years in a row. They’ve both promised it won’t happen again but. When the countdown starts and they’re standing next to each other? What ELSE are they supposed to do?

- (Most of the foxes pretend not to know that they’re hooking up. But they all know.)

- Allison is one of the only (if not the only) fox outside of Andrew or Neil that has ever actually asked him exactly what happened when he broke his hand. And not “oh Riko kicked it until it stopped working the end”. She asks him to talk her through the day, while tracing over the scars on the back of his hand. Kevin tells her too much (in his opinion) but she listens to every detail. She asks him about Jean, about the drive to find David, about the healing process afterwards. He hardly looks at her at all when he talks about it, but he doesn’t feel uncomfortable sharing it with her.

- She’s talked him through a panic attack once or twice.

- When Kevin starts getting into hobbies outside of Exy, and tries his hand at photography, she is ALWAYS willing to model for him. Granted, he mostly just takes photos of mundane life and beautiful things, not staged photo shoots, but she will never, ever tell him not to take a photo of her. Yes mostly because she loves photos of herself, but she also sees how his face lights up when he takes a nice one, and she loves seeing him passionate about something other than Exy.

- This is an actual picture of them. got sent it via the interdimensional portal I opened.

[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (4)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 5.3k

— 🍄 summary: you continue with your investigation on the mysterious deaths and disappearances in the small town of Farrow's End. and that includes enlisting the help of: two (cute) scientists, one shy bookstore owner, and one charming barista.

— ☕ content warnings: scientific inaccuracies, brief mentions of death/suicide/decomposition, bookworm!namjoon, soft boi!yoongi, mc and yoongi are both massive nerds, chemist/marine biologist!jimin

— 🕸️ a/n: and it continues! thanks for reading :)

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 4: lattes and legwork

october 8, 2004

Legwork (noun): work that involves much traveling to collect information, especially when such work is difficult but boring. That's what this case required a lot of.

You got the film developed from your fieldwork outing with Yoongi, organizing the photos according to each victim. Michael Bradley: strange fungus, unusual tree rot. Jarvis Laplan: circle of dead grass in the woods. Sharon Mason: the lake and nothing more.

The autopsy reports were another thing entirely. It took you almost a week to get through them, with all the research it required to understand the terminology.

Starting with Laplan, cause of death: "blood loss from multiple traumatic injuries." When bite marks were found on the body (or rather, what was left of the body) a forensic dentist was called in to examine them.

You had to do some research on bite-mark identification, and found out that Laplan's body was covered in a multitude of avulsions (bite resulting in the removal of skin), lacerations (puncture wounds), and hemorrhages (a profusely bleeding bite).

The tooth marks suggested an attack from a bear (according to the forensic dentist and a local wildlife expert) judging from the combination of marks from canines and molars, indicating it was from an omnivore.

But that's not what they said in the papers. You're guessing it was because bears are not at all common in this region, so they claimed it was most likely a mountain lion to make it easier to swallow.

You wonder if the mayor's influence contributed to such a change, maybe as an effort to keep the real details under wraps. The fact that she wanted your entire investigation to be off the books certainly supported the idea.

They didn't mention in the papers that his eyes were missing, along with his heart, liver, tongue, and right pointer finger.

The police report stated that the gun he had in his possession at the time of his death hadn't been fired, and the autopsy report supported this, since no gunpowder residue was found on the body.

It makes you wonder why an experienced hunter like Laplan hadn't fired a single shot. Was this predator really that swift?

Other than the out-of-place bite marks, there was nothing else unusual in Laplan's autopsy report. Well, other than the circle of dead grass he was found in, but you'll have to consult Yoongi about that.

You reached out to Mrs. Laplan, and to your surprise, she consented to an interview. Well, you suppose it wouldn't be too unusual for her to agree to talk to a supposed "journalist" if she was convinced that her husband died of a random animal attack rather than something suspicious that she'd want to keep under wraps.

Speaking of which, Mrs. Bradley was still actively evading your efforts to get any kind of information out of her. But you'll take what you can get.

In the time it took you to work through Laplan's autopsy report, you became quite well-acquainted with the bookshop and its main employee.

Maybe it's because you often darken their doorstep at the dead of night, but he's one of the only people you see working there. The others being a very nice (always colorfully dressed) young woman, most likely a University student, and a quiet but helpful old man with tortoiseshell glasses.

But the tall, handsome man works the most hours, usually reading at the front desk or tapping away at his typewriter. You're guessing that he's the owner, judging from the amount of maintenance he does around the place.

The man was right about one thing, the place was full of cozy nooks and little corners to curl up in, all with warm-toned lamps and oak wood surfaces to write on. You rotate between an armchair tucked against a frosty window, and a mahogany desk in an alcove of shelves with a green bankers lamp to illuminate the darkness.

After acquiring the autopsy reports, you spend several days pouring over anatomy textbooks and forensic guides (not noticing the initials JK scrawled inside the cover of most of the volumes you examine).

The bookshop is much bigger than the exterior implies. The more you explore, the more you find branching passageways and curves that twist into new sections and labels on the shelves. Mystery leads to UFOs, then Conspiracy Theories, then Unsolved Cases.

And then, just when you think you're familiarizing yourself with the map of the layout, the next day the sections are jumbled and the shelves twist in different directions.

One afternoon, as you're taking a break to stretch your legs, the narrow path through the shelves leads you to an antique case (locked) with several leather bound volumes inscribed with gold lettering. You can't quite make out any of the titles, faded from age, but obviously they are valuable.

After combing through every possible detail in Laplan’s folder, you move on to Sharon Mason. And where you had hoped to find some answers, it seemed you only stumble upon more mysteries.

Your first guess was death by drowning, since she was found in the lake, but that wasn’t the case. Cause of death: hypothermia; no water in the lungs whatsoever.

You listened to the autopsy transcript several times, Dr. Kim’s deep voice almost lulling you into a trance. You consumed an alarming number of lattes to offset it.

Dr. Kim and Jungkook, his assistant/apprentice, concluded that Mason had entered the water before she died, and the temperature of the lake only brought her demise quicker.

There were no external signs of struggle, no bruises or abrasions, nothing to suggest that she’d been forced into the water.

In all likelihood, Sharon Mason had entered the lake of her own volition, and stayed there until her slow, cold death. Which of course didn't make much sense.

There was no suicide note, no reported signs of distress (according to the press, that is). Her system was free of alcohol or drugs, and the death was classified as accidental.

The strange thing was that her body had barely decomposed. She was reported missing the morning after disappearing from her home (no sign of a struggle), and despite many search parties, she was missing for over two weeks.

Even if the cause of death isn't drowning, a body will sink almost immediately after death (you found out during your research), and her body had to reach the bloating phase of decomposition for her to float back to the surface.

A hiker discovered her corpse early one morning. The authorities were called, and Dr. Kim was able to examine the scene. He recorded the ambient temperature and the temperature of the water, both very cold, and took note of the local wildlife.

Animals, insects, and larvae will begin to feed on a body within hours after death, but apparently Mason's body hadn't been touched at all, despite the abundant lake ecosystem.

Unfortunately, you couldn't find all of your research materials at the bookshop. Forensic research on decomposition in aqueous environments was apparently very lacking.

After two days of scrutinizing Mason's file, you started to get a little frustrated at the lack of answers. How the hell did she end up in that lake? Why was her body oddly undisturbed? And above all, how the fuck does everything connect?

Maybe it's your restless shifting, or the exasperated sighs that keep escaping from your mouth, but soon the tall man is approaching the desk that you've claimed with your seemingly endless array of books, files, and papers. And empty coffee cups.

"Sprung a leak?" he asks with a chuckle, and the low timbre of his voice seems to reverberate up your spine.

"Huh?" you mumble, a bit startled by his sudden approach. Definitely not as articulate as you usually are, but you were four hours deep at this point.

The man's smile falters a little, like he just realized that he was talking to a stranger and not a friend that was privy to his inside jokes.

"Uh," he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Has your boat sprung a leak? Sailing the seas, I mean."

He gestures to the ocean of papers and file folders and open books across the wood surface. It takes you a minute, you blame it on the caffeine crash.

"Ah," you say, suddenly getting it. The sea of knowledge.

And instead of looking at him like he has two heads, like he was half expecting, you can't help but chuckle as the image of your skull bobbing through chaotic waves, with your brain struggling to pilot the vessel safely, pops into your mind.

"Yes, sprung a leak and taking on water, I'm afraid," you reply, leaning back in your chair.

"Hmm," the man mumbles like he knows the feeling well.

"Care for a soother?" he asks, and you look up at him, curious.

It's like your lingering gaze makes him nervous somehow, because then he's tucking his chin into the fabric of his turtleneck, taking a step back through the labyrinth of shelves.

"Come," he says softly, disappearing just as quickly as he appeared.

You follow him back to the front desk, where an electric kettle is already steaming. He opens a tin and scoops some tea leaves and dried flower buds into a small teapot, pouring the hot water on top.

"May I ask what you're working on?" he asks as it steeps.

You lean against the large desk with a barely concealed scoff.

"I hardly know myself. Work, nonetheless."

He nods, humming like he knows the feeling.

"Tedious reading?" he asks.

"In a way, yes," you respond as all the medical terms flash behind your eyelids.

"It helps to use a little reward system," he says, grabbing the nearest volume (Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley, with both the 1818 and 1831 versions). Opening to a random page, he reaches to his left and grabs a stray, half-eaten chocolate bar. He breaks off a square and places it halfway down the page.

"See? You've gotta pace yourself," he says.

You chuckle when he pretends to the scan the page and then pops the sweet into his mouth.

"Are you a writer?" you can't help but ask, your curiosity is too vicious. There's the same typewriter on his desk, and you've heard him clacking away at it every time you come into the shop. And yes, sometimes he dozes off at his desk with his head resting on his hand.

"Oh, yes," he says sheepishly, glancing back at it and the numerous scraps of paper surrounding it. Then his face drops suddenly.

"Does the typing bother you?" he asks nervously, as if he isn't the owner of the place.

"No, no!" you assure him. "I like it, it's therapeutic."

You swear to god you hear a little giggle escape the tall, broad man in front of you, but when you glance over he looks just as composed as he always is.

It's then that the pot gets done brewing, and he tears his eyes away from you to pour two steaming cups of red-tinged tea. It's sweet and herbal, warming you from the inside.

"I've hit a bit of a roadblock," you admit.

He looks up from his teacup, eyes open and patient. He has the face of a good listener.

"You could always consult the University library. There's bound to be a thesis paper or two for every obscure topic in the world," he adds as if he could read your mind.

You add it to your to-do list. The two of you sip your tea in comfortable silence. He was right, it's a nice soother for the post-caffeine buzz downswing.

It isn't until you're packing up the leave for the night, eyes practically drooping shut, that you remember to ask for his name.

"Namjoon," he replies with a glowing smile to accompany his glowing tan skin.

You tell him yours in return, unaware that he already knows.

october 9, 2004

You have to hunt a bit more for him this time. After wandering the linoleum halls and dated lecture rooms, you finally find him in one of the biology labs.

Yoongi stands over a wide table, surveying the several plant specimens, cuttings, and roots spread out in front of him, every once and a while consulting the microscope to his left. He's wearing a rubber apron and gloves, along with a pair of black square-rimmed glasses that slightly magnify the size of his eyes.

"Got something for you," he says suddenly, but not to you.

You realize you've been watching him for several moments, a little too entranced by his careful movements and methodology.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out an old-looking string of pearls. Delicately and with something akin to shyness, he drapes it over the stem and leaves of a nearby, slightly droopy, potted plant.

You swear you see the plant perk up a bit, leaves stretching out further than they did before.

"See?" Yoongi says softly. A pause. "Nonsense, everyone deserves to feel pretty."

Oh. You're moving to knock on the door and interrupt your thoughts before you can imagine him directing those words at you.

Yoongi startles slightly, reaching up to quickly pull the glasses from his face and slip them into his apron pocket. A shame really, you would've liked to get a better look at him in them.

"Hello," he says with another awkward, straight-lipped smile. His signature expression, you've noticed.

"Hello again," you greet, approaching his work table. "Any word on that fungus?"

He averts his eyes almost immediately.

"Uh, yes," he begins, pulling a few papers from one of the several stacks around him.

"It's some kind of stinkhorn," he says, gesturing to a jumble of scientific jargon on the page that you don't understand.

But you know what a stinkhorn is, thanks to the book about unusual fungal features that Namjoon recommended to you.

Stinkhorns are a type of mushroom that secrete a gel called gleba, which has been described as smelling similar to rotting meat, carrion, or even feces. The substance attracts flies and other insects, which pick up the sticky spores when they land on the mushroom and spread it around, aiding in its reproduction.

"It's not from here, my colleague says it's native to the Northern regions," Yoongi continues.

"Well, that would explain why no one seems to know what the hell we're dealing with," you mutter, half to yourself.

"Wait," you say, realizing something. "Stinkhorns reproduce through gleba. Our fungus had pores and ridges. And now it has another method for spore dispersal? Isn't that highly unusual?"

After your fieldwork outing, you poked a little deeper into mycology. You found that mushrooms typically have either pores, gills, teeth, ridges, or some other form of spore dispersal like gleba.

But you've never heard of a mushroom with multiple structures. It sounds like an evolutionary weakness to devote energy to more than one reproductive system when one does the trick just fine.

You express as much to Yoongi, and he looks at you with a strange reverence in his eyes. Almost like he's impressed, but you wouldn't dare believe such a thought.

"It is unusual," he agrees. "But not impossible."

"Well of course, the word "impossible" doesn't really belong in science," you blurt out in a passion-fueled bout of energy.

You've spent way too long studying the scientific intricacies of several cases because you were simply entranced by it. And if the world had dealt you a different hand, you probably would've ended up as a scientific researcher instead of a private investigator.

Yoongi shoots you that look again, the one that looks suspiciously like admiration.

"So what is it exactly?" you interrupt before the heat can reach your face.

"Well," Yoongi says, trailing off. "It's new. Undiscovered, I mean."

Hmm. You aren't sure if that helps you or hinders you. On one hand, you can let the mayor know that the strange fungus she hired you to look into is a new species, requiring intervention and study from someone more qualified than you. Maybe she could even fund a new research program here at the University.

On the other hand, you would've liked to get at least one explanation for all the strange happenings going on in this town.

"And that's all he got?" you ask gently, already anticipating the answer.

Yoongi smiles that straight-lipped smile and nods, like he's sorry he can't offer more help.

"Well, anyways," you say, moving on to the next bullet point on your list.

"I finally got the autopsy reports."

You pull out the photos of Laplan's scene of death. You and Yoongi look down at the picture of a body, resting in a pool of blood, lying in the center of a circle of dead grass.

"I wanted to ask your opinion on this," you pose, pointing to it.

"Hmm," he says, brows furrowed. "Maybe it's from the mycelium. You know, as it spreads it depletes the environment of nutrients, often creating a circle of dead matter."

You examine the photo again.

"But there are no mushrooms," you say, remembering the ring of fungus in Bradley's yard.

Yoongi shrugs.

"Mycelium doesn't produce mushrooms all the time, only in specific conditions. The mushrooms are like fruit, while the mycelium is like a tree. It's the true organism."

Hmm, interesting.

"I know right," Yoongi says suddenly, and you realize that you said it out loud.

You brush off your slight embarrassment by moving on to your next point.

"I was wondering if you could refer me to a chemist? Or rather, someone who knows their way around aquatic environments?"

Yoongi considers it for a moment. Then he's pulling off his gloves and leading you to the door.

"Come with me," he says, shrugging off his apron to reveal the black and white sweater underneath.

You follow him, rushing to gather your papers and shove them back into your bag (which only seems to be getting fuller by the day).

"I have a friend, he's a genius really," Yoongi says as you walk. "Double degrees in chemistry and marine biology, going for his master's now."

He guides you down several hallways and up several flights of stairs (pausing after the climb to catch his breath and curse the inanimate object, which you find only slightly adorable).

"He's also a lab tech, so he has access to the equipment for almost any test you can think of," he continues.

The two of you emerge into the the chemistry department, and Yoongi leads you into another lab, empty except for one person.

He's of average height, dressed in (tight) black jeans, leather jacket, and heeled Chelsea boots. His hair is a strange silver-gray, with underlying blue undertones as the light shifts.

He looks up as you enter the room, abandoning the petri dish he had been examining. His face is obscured by a black mask and orange-tinged glasses, but his eyes underneath are sharp and purposeful.

"Jimin, this is _____," Yoongi begins, and you can hear the strange emphasis he puts on your name.

Jimin's brows raise just a hair, and in a split second he scans you up and down.

"Hello, it's very nice to meet you," he says, holding out a hand to shake. His voice is light yet somehow sultry at the same time, curling at the edges like smoke.

You shake his hand, which is oddly cold and slightly slick.

"_______ here is looking for someone to aid in her investigation," Yoongi adds, giving Jimin a pointed look that you don't notice.

"Is that so? Well, I'd be happy to help in any way I can," Jimin says, and you notice that his voice has a natural flirtatious lilt to it, but in all likelihood he talks to everyone like that.

"Excellent, are you available next weekend for some fieldwork?" you ask right away.

You can't see it because of the mask, but judging from the way his cheeks plump up, a smile suddenly crosses Jimin's face.

"Yes, happy to. First thing in the morning, right?" he says, sneaking a little glance at Yoongi.

You, confused, shift your gaze between them, Yoongi looking embarrassed and Jimin looking smug. Has he been talking about you?

"Right, first thing," you reply, making your voice confident and straightforward the way you always do when it comes to work matters. "How do you take your coffee? It's on me."

Jimin tells you with another smile, and Yoongi asks if he can tag along. You tell him of course, hiding the burst of giddiness you feel at him still being interested in helping you.

You exchange contact information, with Jimin slowly and subtly entering your personal space. And you're slightly ashamed that you don't realize it until his shoulder is pressed against yours. And you're slightly more ashamed to admit that you don't pull away.

You finally tear yourself away from him when Yoongi clenches his jaw in your direction. Thanking them for their time, you hurry out of the lab, face hot.

After you're gone, Jimin looks at Yoongi with a smirk. "So she can handle herself in the morgue, but shies away at a little physical contact?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes at Jimin's laugh. Because he knows what that laugh means, it's the sound of someone who just found something new to play with.

october 12, 2004

In the days that follow, you trudge on with your list of tedious legwork. You interview Laplan's wife Lisa, a nice simple woman who answers your questions without resistance. She even makes you a cup of tea after she shows you inside.

You notice signs of a hunter in Laplan's home: mounted antlers, extensive taxidermy. The two of you sit in a pair of musty-smelling armchairs as you sip your tea.

Lisa confirms that Laplan was an avid hunter, who apparently was very dissatisfied by the "out of control" local wildlife. When you ask her to elaborate, Lisa explains that her husband often complained of numerous cats, crows, and deer in the surrounding forest. She says that in the days leading up to his death, he became a bit obsessed with ridding the environment of them.

Then she mentions the dreams. Horrible, disjointed dreams that her husband was apparently plagued with in the weeks before his death. He avoided talking about them, but Lisa claimed that they severely affected his mental state.

He didn’t abuse any substances, to her knowledge, and other than his sudden passion for local population control, he was a normal man.

It was clear that Mrs. Laplan didn’t believe that her husband's death was anything other than an accident, an avoidable tragedy.

At the end of your visit, you offered your condolences and thanked her for her time.

Sharon Mason’s parents, on the other hand, don’t share the same sentiment.

They are, understandably, shaken and teary-eyed. Seventeen is too young.

You apologize for intruding, but they brush that off, seemingly eager to reveal “the truth” about their daughter's death.

“And what is the truth?” you ask.

They aren’t entirely sure. But the one thing they know for sure, Sharon didn’t commit suicide. You don’t think she did either, but they don’t need you to affirm that for them.

Apparently, Mason had been plagued with dreams too. They started after she and her friends went swimming in the lake.

Her parents didn't find out about it until after she was gone. After she was reported missing, her friends confessed to sneaking out and going for a midnight dip about two weeks before her death.

Her parents had always warned her about the woods and especially the lake, given the fact that it was believed to be polluted with toxic chemicals and home to several types of leeches and predatory fish.

You asked if it was in Sharon's nature to sneak out and go somewhere she wasn't supposed to be, and they said no, it wasn't like her at all.

You'll have to see if you can interview some of the friends who were involved in the incident.

The dreams got so bad that Sharon's mother apparently took her to see a local psychic, who claimed that dark and evil forces were using Sharon's body and mind as a conduit. You don't know how much of that you believe, but you asked for her information so you could try to get an interview with her anyway.

The Mason parents expressed their frustration with how the press covered the story. At first, you thought it was merely because the story suggested suicide, but the Mason parents went on to complain about the "outrageous accusations" and "inappropriate suggestions" made.

You don't remember seeing anything of the sort in the newspaper, but you suppose you'll have to look into it.

It goes without saying, but you have a lot more work to do.

october 13, 2004

During your time in Farrow's End, you've also become quite well-acquainted with the owner of the cafe, Cat's Den. There are a handful of other employees, mostly young University students, but the man with the full lips is the one who works all the night shifts, which is usually when you're there.

He's very talkative, but not in an annoying way. He'll only speak to you when you're clearly in a lull from your work, or when you're waiting at the counter for a refill.

His name is Jin, and yes, he is in fact the owner of the establishment. And from what you've seen, he runs it with very high standards. All the treats, pastries, and baked goods are made fresh everyday.

Several (very) early mornings, you've watched him laminate pastry dough with almost hypnotizing precision and speed. Then he'll twist the dough into a variety of shapes, brush them with beaten eggs, and bake them so the entire cafe smells of buttery, flakey goodness.

And yes, maybe he's noticed you watching him in all his methodical detail. And yes, maybe he's made a bit of a habit of placing a fresh, still-steaming croissant in front of you (free of charge) every time you're in the cafe when the first batch comes out.

But it's not because he likes you or anything. Because you don't let yourself stare at him for too long at any given time. Not when he wears close-fitting pressed pants, not when he sheds his outerwear in the heat of the kitchen, revealing the thin layer of muscle on his arms from years of kneading dough. Not even when he runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back to reveal his forehead, sometimes glistening with sweat.

Today especially. A very large order has been placed at the cafe, and Jin has been baking all day. There's a recurrent theme: pure vanilla bean.

You've lost count on how many vanilla beans he's cut open, scraping out the precious black flecks inside then putting them in a menagerie of treats. Vanilla scones, vanilla cheesecake with vanilla mousse, cupcakes with creamy vanilla frosting.

By the time evening rolls around, the counters are practically covered with boxes and bags filled with vanilla-flavored confectionary.

But it's not until midnight that the person who placed the order comes to pick it up.

A black Mercedes pulls up, headlights flashing through the windows of the cafe, and parks against the curb.

Jin seems to recognize it, because then he's gathering up the multitude of packages and carrying them outside to the waiting car.

The driver emerges, wearing a black coat and boots. You can't see his face because of the wide-brimmed hat he's wearing, but you can see black hair curling at the back of his neck.

Jin moves to put the boxes in the trunk, the shadowed man makes an effort to help him. Then he shakes the mysterious man's hand and returns inside.

"Quite a big order, huh?" you can't help but say when Jin returns.

Jin looks from you to the strange man, who is getting back into his car, and chuckles a little nervously.

"Yeah, for a birthday," Jin answers, and disappears into one of the storage rooms.

When you look out the window again, you see several bystanders stop to stare at the car pulling away from the curb, looking at the Mercedes as if the president is inside.

You're hurrying out the door before you can think twice.

"Who's that?" you ask the nearest passerby. They glance at you for a quick second before looking back at the dark car, the driver obscured by the tinted windows.

"It's one of the Jungs," they answer, unbothered.

"The Jungs?" you ask, letting your confusion and subsequent curiosity bleed through.

"Mm hmm," the bystander replies. "You know, the ones who own the old Addams house."

"Filthy rich bastards own half the town," someone else pipes in.

"Really?" you say, trying to catch another glance at the dark car. "So they live there?"

"What? No, the family is spread out like a plague. The whole clan hasn't been in town since the eighties."

You're extremely engaged by the fact that all of this seems to be common knowledge among the townsfolk, as well as the shared contempt/fascination with the mysterious Jung family.

"So who lives there now?" you ask, curiosity has you in its grip like a viper.

"One of them, obviously. I don't know their name."

The little crowd has dissolved now, everyone going back to their business.

And again, you're left with more questions than answers. And yet another topic to research.

Jimin's birthday celebration proceeds splendidly. They decorate the mansion with dried kelp streamers and seashell garlands and pearlescent jellyfish lamps. There's a feast of his favorite foods, an abundance of his favorite vanilla treats, and (most importantly) bottomless champagne.

Everyone is told to be home by three a.m. (thanks to their busy schedules and nocturnal patterns) so the festivities can begin. It's just the seven of them. Well, the seven of them plus Thing, and the pets, and Yoongi's plants (every single one of them named and dotted on by the botanist).

Then, sometime after all the feasting and dancing and drinking, they end up sprawled out in the main room, sleepy and sated.

"Hyung," Jin says, and the only person that term applies to raises his head.

"She saw you at the cafe. Was asking questions about you too," Jin continues, slightly wariness in his voice.

But Hoseok only smirks. Delighting in the idea of you thinking about him, inquiring about him.

"She's a private investigator, that's what she does," Jimin quips, speech slightly slurred from all the liquor.

Jin throws him a half-convincing glare.

"I think what Jin's getting at is..." Yoongi interrupts. "How close do we let her get?"

"She's done more in just a few weeks than we've done in months," Namjoon argues.

"Well yeah, she's getting paid for it," Jungkook adds.

"But she does have some sort of sight?" Hoseok cuts in, thinking.

Everyone affirms, and Hoseok quirks a brow.

"And he doesn't scare easy?" he asks.

"Not in the traditional sense," Jimin quirks with a chuckle, fondly remembering how you shied away from just a little physical contact. He wonders how you would react if he—

"You better not scare her away," Yoongi suddenly cuts in, pointing an accusatory finger in Jimin's direction, who just laughs in response. Because he has no intention of that. Scaring you, maybe. But driving you away? Nope.

"Seems to me like the type who needs to be eased in," Namjoon says, sounding contemplative. He looks up at Hoseok.

"Let her figure it out for herself. At the rate she's going, she'll get there in no time."

Everyone looks to Hoseok for his response, and he offers a mischievous smile.

"It wouldn't hurt to give her a few hints."

a/n: thank you so much for reading!! i would absolutely love to hear any of your thoughts! it makes future chapter practically write themselves lol

NEXT UPDATE: 06/01/24

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Floyd Leech - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Floyd: Honestly, before comin' here, I was only expecting to see paintings of the Great Seven…

Floyd: But there's actually a ton of unusual and cool lookin' stuff, like paintings of all their underlings.

Floyd: What should I check out next…? AH!

Floyd: It's the eels who worked for the Sea Witch. Look at those glowing eyes and those sharp fangs… So cool～

???: Hey, hey, don't you think these two look alike? Are they brothers?

Kalim: Also, kinda feels like they're similar to you and Jade.

Floyd: Oh hey, it's Sea Otter-chan. Yeah, I guess we might have similar color scales 'n all.

Floyd: But it's not like Jade and me think we're actually similar to each other at all.

Kalim: Eh, really?

Floyd: Yeah. Sometimes people'll mess me and Jade up and can't tell us apart, but I really don't get how they can't figure it out.

Floyd: Back when I first came to the surface, there was this one time that I got some funny looks in a hair salon that I went into for a haircut.

Floyd: They cut it just the way I asked, but what they were saying just wasn't adding up. And then, when I went to pay, they said this:

Floyd: "Leech-san, your hair grows back very quickly. I only just cut it a moment ago, I'm so surprised that it grew this long already."

Floyd: Yeaah, I'd say I was the one who was more surprised. This was my first time, but they said "a moment ago." Isn't that weird?

Kalim: Eh? What does it mean? Did you lengthen your hair with magic?

Floyd: Nah, come on, think. It was my first time in the shop, but…

Kalim: Ah, no way…!?

Floyd: Did you finally figure it out, Sea Otter-chan? Yeah, basically, Jade went and got his hair cut from the same place right before I did.

Kalim: I get it. So basically, the stylists there thought you two were the same person.

Floyd: Yup. Guess they didn't realize it because we both made the reservation under the name "Leech."

Floyd: Before that, even, when I went to get my passport photo taken to come to the surface, something similar happened.

Floyd: I'm like, seriously, how do they not realize it? Everyone's so bad at details.

Kalim: Wooow. I thought it'd be fun to have a twin sibling, but I guess it's not always great.

Floyd: Not really? Just like you said, there's a ton of fun that comes out of it.

Floyd: I'm never bored when Jade's around. Also…

Floyd: If I ever randomly feel like wearing something completely different from my usual stuff, I can just borrow stuff from him, from the clothes down to the shoes.

Floyd: Me 'n Jade like different colors and styles of clothes, and even go to completely different clothing stores.

Floyd: I can swap up my style in a snap, so it's actually pretty cool.

Kalim: Ahaha, yeah, that sounds like a blast!

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Kalim: The King of Beasts here looks like he's relaxing, what a great painting～!

Floyd: Oh, there's an explanation next to it. It says, "This depicts the scene where the hornbill chamberlain is soothing the King of Beasts with a song."

Floyd: Huuuuh. So even lions relax while listening to music, huh.

Floyd: They say that this king was always strategizing, so maybe it was important for him to have his relaxation time, huh.

Floyd: Y'know, Sea Lion-senpai's the same, but aren't lions always just sleeping?

Floyd: I thought they were supposed to be ferocious, but even when I went to the zoo as a part of our land boot camp, they were all asleep… That was a major letdown.

Kalim: Hm? What do you mean by boot camp? Did you attend somewhere else other than Night Raven College?

Floyd: Yeah. Uh, so basically, the land boot camp is basically where the merfolk that're lookin' to come up to the surface go to study and practice stuff about land.

Floyd: You live there for a month, and they do a ton of different lessons, like how to walk, or how to live on land.

Kalim: Wow, that sounds really cool! So, what kind of stuff did you learn at the zoo?

Floyd: Uhhh, something about figuring the differences out between land animals? I have a super hard time telling apart animals that look similar, so.

Floyd: At first, I thought a giraffe was just a horse with a long neck, and I couldn't even tell the difference between foxes, dogs, and racoons.

Kalim: FOXES AND DOGS AND RACCOONS～!? BUT THEY'RE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT!?

Floyd: Are they? They're all fuzzballs to me.

Floyd: But I could tell that an elephant was different from horses and the like, because it wasn't all fuzzy.

Floyd: Oh yeah, and the lions too. I thought all those cats I'd run into would one day grow large like them.

Kalim: EEEHH!! You'd mix up cats and lions too? I don't think I've ever seen cats with a mane…

Kalim: Ah, but… I guess I can't say anything. I used to think that when dolphins grew up, they turned into whales.

Floyd: Huuuh～? No way that'd happen. Why'd you think the name'd change like that?

Kalim: I don't really know, but I think I can get how someone who was raised in the ocean could believe that a cat would grow into a lion.

Floyd: Yeah, yeah. I bet if one of you surface dwellers came to the ocean floor, there'd be a ton of stuff you don't know, too.

Floyd: ―Oooh! That painting over there looks awesome. I'ma go check it out.

Kalim: Oh, which one? …HEY, FLOYD! WAIT FOR ME, I'M COMING TOO!

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Floyd: The color composition in this painting's super amazing. The blue sky with the golden bug is a perfect combo.

Kalim: It's a painting of the Sorcerer of the Sands and a scarab! Both his posture and expression is really cool.

Floyd: I heard that this golden bug thing was the key to finding a magical cave… Why'd they make it look like a bug?

Floyd: Wouldn't that be hard to figure out? Insects and keys look nothin' alike.

Kalim: Hmmm, well, maybe… Maybe they tried to make it hard to figure out on purpose.

Kalim: They say there was some legendary treasure inside the cave. So I guess it's because no one would ever think a little bug would be the key, right?

Floyd: I get it. So then, if this was the ocean, the key might've been in the shape of a shell, or a crab.

Floyd: I bet it took the Sorcerer of the Sands a long time to find that magic cave because of that key.

Floyd: Or maybe, he was actually enjoying the treasure hunt?

Floyd: I know I get more excited tryin' everything I can to get my hands on something. The more difficult the better.

Kalim: What, have you gone treasure hunting too, Floyd?

Floyd: Not really treasure, but a ring.

Floyd: I once found this silver ring online that looks like an eel is wrapped around your finger.

Kalim: Woah! I've never seen a ring that looks like that before! I bet it'd look good on you.

Floyd: Riiight? But the manufacturers had already discontinued it. I wouldn't be able to find it so easily.

Floyd: And when something is hard to get… doesn't it just make you want it more?

Floyd: So, after that, I went looking for it, big time.

Floyd: I went 'round to a bunch of second-hand shops that carry the brand, and even asked my pops to reach out to some of his connections who'd know about stuff like that.

Floyd: I get bored pretty easily, so I usually don't try that hard trying to find just one thing. Cool, huh?

Kalim: You must have really wanted it, then! So? Were you able to find it?

Floyd: Yup. One of pop's connections was able to find it and get it for me.

Floyd: When I put it on, it totally felt like the ring was made just for me! And I got super attached to it.

Floyd: So then, I wore it pretty much all the time after that, even when I exercised or took showers…

Floyd: It ended up getting a ton of scratches, and got all tarnished, man～

Floyd: Silver stuff tends to degrade pretty quickly if you don't take care of it, but the ring's design was a bit complicated, so it was way too annoying to clean.

Kalim: Then, what if you remake it in platinum or white gold? They don't tarnish that easily. I can introduce you to one of my family's craftsmen!

Floyd: Naaah.

Kalim: Eh, why? I thought that was a pretty good idea…

Floyd: C'mon, Sea Otter-chan. I was all happy because it was hard to get my hands on.

Floyd: If I had someone make it for me, then that's not the same thing.

Floyd: It's 'cause it took a ton of hard work and searching for it was fun that I like that specific ring.

Floyd: Maybe it's a pain to clean, but I like it. So I'll use it until it breaks.

Kalim: Searching for it was fun, huh. I guess I never thought of it like that.

Kalim: Okay then, well, let me know if you're ever in a bind again. I'll totally help you then!

Floyd: 'Kaaay. I think I'm bored of this floor. I'm gonna go somewhere else. Bye, Sea Otter-chan.

Kalim: Yeah! See you later, Floyd.

Floyd: Hmmm, what should I look at next… Ooh. I've seen this painting of the Mer-King before, back in the ocean～

Floyd: I think they said that he was a super good guy, but could be unreasonable, too… Ugh, stubborn leaders like that sound like a paaain.

Floyd: Yeaaaah... The best kinda boss's gotta be someone like the benevolent Sea Witch.

[unreliablesnake]

His new little pet (Kyle Garrick x f!reader)

Summary: Kyle becomes obsessed with you and comes up with a plan to get you.

Note: dark!Gaz. I wanted to write something like this after reading the first few pages of You. // If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics.

Warning: kidnapping, drugs, sexual themes, stalking, etc.

A friend of his took a bunch of photos at a big festival, one he couldn’t attend because he was on another continent at the time, taking out bad guys to keep the balance in the world. But as he swiped through the photos in her Instagram post late at night in an empty briefing room, Kyle’s thumb stopped above the screen as he took a closer look at one of the pictures. 

His friend was posing with a friend of hers, one he had seen in photos before. You were tagged which made it easy to find out who you were, and based on your profile and previous content, you didn’t even live that far from him. How irresponsible of you to post about your favorite places to visit in the morning, and sharing pictures with a view outside your window that makes it easy to pinpoint where exactly you live. 

The obsession over you came as a surprise as he couldn’t recall the last time he got so hooked on the idea of being with someone. You were on his mind all day long, sometimes during times he was supposed to focus on something entirely different with a weapon in his hand, waiting for the commands coming from Price. 

But how could he focus when you were so irresistible? He memorized every detail, the shape of your kissable pink lips, the color of your eyes, the way you usually styled your hair, and that bikini which left little to his imagination. Oh, if he ever got the chance to be with you, he sure as hell wouldn’t let you post such pictures. The last thing he needed was knowing other men were drooling over the curves of your body. 

When he wasn’t deployed, he began to hang out around your apartment, patiently waiting for you so he could learn more about your daily routine. You usually came down to a nearby bakery in the morning to get something for breakfast, then you left for work where you stayed until late in the afternoon. From there the program you chose varied all the time; sometimes you spent time with your friends, sometimes you stayed at home. 

From his brief conversations with your mutual friend, he learned even more about you. Wednesday is reserved for emergency venting meetings with your closest friends, a little three-people group whose members had known each other since their teenage years. Every Friday you meet with your friends to have a drink in a pub, watch a movie together, or sometimes you go to a restaurant to talk over some fancy dinner. Saturday is usually reserved for dates or going to a party with the core group. Sunday was the day you always spent with your family. 

A creature of habit, that’s what you were. To him it was good news, this way he could make an accidental meeting happen at a place he knew you would visit. Kyle decided to make his move after the next mission, during which he carefully crafted a plan to make it seem like it wasn’t planned beforehand and as if he had only vaguely remembered you from a picture from your mutual friend’s profile. 

The bakery near your apartment seemed to be the best option on a Friday morning. If things went well, you might invite him to hang out with you and your friends, or you could even offer to see him one-on-one the next day. He wouldn’t force this. Sure, he would ask for your number–you know, just in case something happens to that mutual friend of yours–but there’s no way he would ask you out. Not yet. 

He would eventually send you a text that simply says, “Jennie’s birthday is coming up, we should throw a party for her.” And you would probably reply, “Good idea, let’s meet to discuss the plan.” It would be easy. You were too kind and loyal to say no to an idea like that. From this point on, it would be way too easy. He gossips about friends you don’t want to attend, he cracks jokes to lighten the mood, and he would gently touch your shoulder every now and then, just a little not to make you uncomfortable, but still get your attention as he passes by. 

He waited a little further away from the bakery, keeping enough distance to be out of sight, but staying close enough to enter a few seconds after you. And just as expected, you arrived at the usual time, at seven o’clock to have enough time to eat at home and get to work by nine. Kyle walked in with his phone in hand, his eyes focused somewhere between the screen and you so he knew exactly when he would accidentally bump into you.

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he apologized as he looked up and locked the phone. 

You flashed a charming little smile at him as you pulled on the strap of your bag. “No problem, it happens to the best of us.” 

He couldn’t believe how nice you were and how your voice was as sweet as honey. Just as he was thinking about how to keep up the conversation, his lips almost forming the first word of the next sentence, you narrowed your eyes and clearly took a better look at him. The expression on your face slowly changed, showing that you were thinking hard about something. 

“Don’t we know each other?” 

It took Kyle by surprise. He couldn’t recall meeting you in person before, but you seemed so sure that you knew each other that he didn’t dare to speak up at first. He then told you he couldn’t remember ever meeting you, but–because there was a but, why wouldn’t there be one–he mentioned that you looked familiar too. You wondered if he lived nearby, and he was quick to confirm he did indeed and maybe that was the key. 

But then a look of realization appeared on your face. “Jennie’s Instagram,” you exclaimed happily. “I knew I saw you before. You’re friends with her, right?”

His brain short-circuited for a moment as you grabbed his elbow and pulled him out of the line so you could talk without interruptions. Clearing his throat, he flashed a kind smile at you and nodded. “Yeah, I knew you looked familiar too. You went to that festival together a few months back.”

“As we do every year,” you said with a laugh that sounded like music to his ears. He couldn’t wait to hear you laugh at his jokes while the two of you were sitting on his couch with his arm around your shoulder. “How long have you known her?”

“For about four years, I guess,” he replied slowly as he thought about the answer. Not because he cared that much about his friendship with Jennie at this moment, but because he wanted to make sure you got the answer you were looking for. “Yes, four, she came to my 30th birthday party as the girlfriend of one of my old friends.”

The last part of his sentence caught your interest. “Old friend?”

Kyle nodded. “They broke up and our little group was already mad at him, so I guess we kinda inherited Jennie after the breakup,” he explained with a laugh. “How did you meet her?”

Some asshole bumped into you as he walked in, as if the shop wasn't big enough for everyone. But the line was away from you and he seemingly wasn't coming in to meet someone, which meant the little incident was probably more than just an accident. Kyle had to keep himself under control so he wouldn't go after him and force him to apologize.

He shouldn't do that. He definitely shouldn't scare you. In his eyes you were like a delicate flower, a wild animal that could easily be scared away with a loud noise.

“We went to college together,” you replied after you returned your attention to him.

At first he didn't even remember his question that you answered. But soon his mind wandered to dangerous waters knowing Jennie and her rebellious past, but he tried to keep a straight face. He definitely shouldn't think about whether or not she had made a move on you, if the two of you lived together as roommates, or if she had some juicy story about you.

“Sounds like fun,” he said with a forced smile.

In reality, he didn't want to think about you being in college. Were you one of those girls who tasted freedom for the first time and went wild for those few years? The more he was looking at you, the more he could imagine your wild side. Maybe you had a long string of one-night stands, guys you brought home after those big parties you attended.

Kyle knew you were past that wild phase. Sure, this side of yours came out to play when you went to festivals or visited a club with your friends on a Saturday evening, but in your everyday life you were a completely different person. Chill yet disciplined, and practical. Spontaneity wasn't in your dictionary from Sunday to Friday. 

“I should get going or else I'll be late from work,” you suddenly spoke up with your eyes on the screen of your phone. This sentence got his attention and maybe the hint of disappointment crossed his face when he looked at you. You didn’t seem to notice because it was gone by the time you put your phone in your pocket and looked up at him with a beaming smile. “See you around.”

Nodding, he watched as you left the shop without standing back in the line to get your breakfast. Poor you, now you will probably have to get something else to eat. Hopefully you won’t starve yourself. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his jacket and left as well, going home to spend the rest of the day stalking you on social media. 

It always surprised him how much you shared on different platforms. Photos, locations, thoughts, moodboards, sometimes your interests, and you were always ready to engage in conversations with others. This made tracking you a lot easier for him, but at the same time it also reminded him of how much you craved attention. Why else would you post so much? 

If he had you all for himself, he would definitely talk to you about this. He huffed at the word if. It wasn’t an if, it was a when. Because it was only a matter of time until he got what he wanted so badly, he just had to be patient for now. Until that day he would keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe, and learn even more about you. He could ask Jennie about you after casually mentioning that he met you by accident. Knowing her, she would be quick to start telling him stories. 

But what happened in reality surely surprised him. He told Jennie about the meeting the next day when she called, and two days later she called him again, this time asking him if he was interested in you. “You have no idea,” he wanted to say but eventually he kept this to himself. So instead of properly answering, all he said was a nonchalant “she’s cute,” as if he hadn’t been thinking about you for weeks. His friend sounded excited but refused to elaborate on why. 

Later that day he received a notification on Instagram that told him you were now following him. Kyle knew better than to instantly follow you back, he wanted to make it look like he wasn’t in a hurry to let you know he remembered you. He wasn’t surprised to see you slip into his DMs the next day, although he expected you to keep your distance just a little longer. 

Hey, do you remember me? We met in that bakery last week. Jennie’s friend?

A smile appeared on his lips upon reading the message. Oh, you were so desperate. You spent the day when you followed him liking all of his recent photos, sometimes even leaving a cute comment with emojis. And now it was you coming to him, basically begging for his attention. 

I remember.

What are you doing on Saturday?

Date night. Based on the way you had let that asshole fuck you last Saturday, he didn’t expect you to move on so fast. That guy was one of the worst, some moron who treated you as if you were nothing more but a cheap whore. Yet you enjoyed yourself apparently because otherwise you wouldn’t have let him stay the night. And he saw the messages. He visited your apartment one day while you were at work and snooped around your laptop for your passwords. 

How naive of you to save every password in the browser. Anyone could take a look at them. What made his little search even more joyful was the fact you seemingly had a software on your phone to have remote access to it, this way he could check your phone too. So he logged into your accounts and deleted every message that was related to a new login. He spent an entire night going through every single one of your conversations in hope to find out what you liked. 

You looked like an angel, even talked like one, but deep down you were a really dirty girl, having several spicy conversations with different men. Roleplay, detailed chats about nights spent together, or sharing fantasies; it was hard to choose a favorite. He could still hear your moans as he read them, the sound of the video feed from your apartment last Saturday still a vivid memory in his mind. 

He only responded to your question the next day, keeping the casual tone as if he hadn’t known what you wanted from him. You want to grab a beer? Sure. Let's invite Jennie too. You sent your reply in five minutes, stating that you were thinking more of going alone, just the two of you.

“Slut,” he thought with a laugh. But he didn't mind as long as he was getting what he needed badly, the chance for his fingers to trace your body, his lips traveling from the shell of your ear down to your wet, tight cunt. He wanted to see you fall apart over and over again so he could build you up from scratch just the way he wanted.

Late in the afternoon on Friday he stood across the street in your neighborhood, watching you get ready through the window. You didn’t seem to care that there were no curtains and anyone could see you walk out of the shower to get dressed in your bedroom. A free show, one that made him be painfully aware of how tight his jeans were.

Then his phone beeped. Then it beeped again. With a groan he took a look at it, only to find a message you received. He had never heard of the man who wrote to you, but the things he sent you made it clear he wasn’t just a friend. He wondered how you could do this to him, why you decided to chat with a guy when you were about to go on a date with him the next day.

Let’s skip dinner. I’m waiting for you in the Ritz. Room 312. Bring some clothes, you’re only going home on Sunday. Until then you’re mine.

I’m visiting my parents on Sunday.

Cancel it. I’m not asking.

Yes, Sir.

A luxury hotel for the weekend just to fuck you in peace? Who the hell was this guy? Without much thinking he checked his profile and there he found a bunch of photos of him and his family. He was married which meant he was a lying piece of shit, but you didn’t seem to mind playing the role of the other woman in his life.

When Kyle looked up, he saw you folding clothes, probably putting them in a suitcase as this guy told you. You were so obedient, such a nice little pet, it would be a shame to hide you. If he had you, he would surely put you on display, letting everybody know you were his.

It was only the next day when a new message popped up on his phone. It took you more than half a day to cancel your meeting, telling him a family emergency came in the way. You didn’t mention a raincheck, it looked like you weren’t as interested as he had assumed. What a shame.

But it was okay. He could wait.

Price called him a few days later to inform him about a new mission. Kyle didn’t feel like going, but there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe distance would help. Maybe he could come up with a plan to get you. So he went there, spending every free second reading the messages you exchanged with others. 

This man you had spent the weekend with was bombarding you with messages. Apparently he sent you flowers, an expensive necklace you were very grateful for, and hell, he even offered to buy you a car because he didn’t like the idea of you using public transportation like the rest of the city. “Any guy could get touchy in the crowd and I don’t like the idea of others touching what’s mine,” he reasoned.

By the time he returned home, Kyle had a plan. He rented an apartment in an almost empty building and spent a lot of money on making it soundproof. You would like it. Well, you would learn to like it. It would be your new home, one you shared with him. The next days were spent near the building you lived in to see if your habits had changed while he was gone but lucky for him you were doing things the way as always.

So on a Friday evening when you went to a bar with your friends, he carefully spiked your drink then left to wait for it to start affecting you. He even left for half an hour, just to arrive as if he hadn't been there before. Who would be suspicious of someone who arrived when you were already a bit strange?

“Hey, Jennie’s friend,” he said when he stopped by your table, acting like he didn't remember your name. Your friends gave him a strange look, but when they saw the cheerful smile on your face, they visibly relaxed. “It's been a while.”

“Kyle! I'm so so sorry for ghosting you,” you slurred as you jumped up and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Why don't we hang out tonight?”

“And your friends?” Screw them, of course, but still, Mr. Nice Guy had to ask. 

You rolled your eyes at him. “I spend every Friday with them. But you! You're a rare sight.” He gently pushed you away to make it seem like he wasn't all that happy to have you all over him, like his mind wasn't already in overdrive from the scent of your perfume. “Let me make it up to you. I canceled the meeting and I'm so sad about it,” you said with a pout.

With a laugh he gave a questioning look to your friends, his eyes falling on the one who seemed the most protective from the group. She carefully considered the possibility of letting your drunk self leave with someone they didn't know, but you then began to beg her and she gave in with the condition of you calling him once you were at home.

A little detour was okay, he could manage that. You spend some time together, he walks you home, he waits for you to talk to your friend, then he returns to your home to get you. He knew you would love your new home because he took care of everything. From the few visits in your apartment when you weren’t home along with the video feed from your place, he learned which products you liked, what size your clothes were, what you liked to wear at home. He bought everything, “a shopping spree to surprise my girlfriend who stays over a lot lately,” he had said in a store with a loving smile, making everyone believe that this was all. 

The two of you decided to go grab something to eat, but you weren’t feeling well–thanks to the drugs he had given you, how smart of him–so he took you home instead. “Call your friend, then go to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow to see if you’re feeling better. But if you need anything in the meantime,” he began quietly as he stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek, “call me.”

He checked the feed from a nearby bar and listened to your conversation with that friend. 

“Lucy, I’m home in one piece,” you said as you leaned against the headboard of your bed. 

“Good. And that guy?”

“He left. I hoped he would stay to entertain me, but he wanted me to get some rest.”

Kyle couldn’t help but chuckle at your disappointment. You would get what you wanted in no time. You would be begging him to stop after he pulled out oh-so-many orgasms out of you, but he still wasn’t sure if he would give you the freedom to decide. Once you finally ended the call, he went back to your apartment and quietly walked into your bedroom, careful not to startle you. 

You were half-asleep already, but when he sat on the edge of your bed, your eyes opened and you looked at him. “Kyle?” He nodded as he swept a strand of hair behind your ear. “You came back?” you mumbled. 

“Get dressed, I want to show you something,” he told you before standing up to get you some clothes. 

By now the alcohol and the drug turned you into this obedient little thing, so you got dressed and followed him without questions. The car ride felt like an eternity, but he knew in less than twenty minutes you would officially become his. He rested his hand on your thigh the whole time, his thumb drawing circles into your skin through your jeans. You were sleeping peacefully so he could look over at you any time he wanted. 

When you reached your destination, he helped you out of the car and guided you to the third floor where his secret apartment was. You didn’t ask questions, you just crawled under the covers in bed and asked him to join you. Kyle didn’t have to be told twice, so he took off his shoes and occupied the empty side of the bed. “Get some sleep, pet. We will have the rest of our lives to have fun, trust me,” he whispered to you before leaning over to kiss you. 

[flemingsfreckles]

Be a Good Teammate pt.3

Jessie Fleming x USWNT!Reader (also Seattle!Reader)

Read Part 1, Part 2

Preview: You and Jessie face off in the NWSL

Warnings: very minor injury, bloody nose

WC: 3.6k

A/N: okay so I sort of lied, this was supposed to be the part where they grab dinner but then I sat down to write it and it was going to be way too long for one part, so here’s part 3. Part 4 will be the dinner, I promise.

A short day later and here you were, lined up in the tunnel, staring at the back of Nikki’s head while you shook out your legs, alternating side to side. You hated standing in the tunnel before a game, it gave you too much time to think. Thinking about all the details, all the moves, all the plays. You easily got into your own head, you worked yourself up. Even though you knew all those feelings would disappear as the game started, you couldn't shake the feelings. This time, it was especially bad, the words of your coach running through your mind. You couldn't let her down, you had promised you’d have your act together, and you did, you thought. Practice yesterday was a little rocky but you were back to playing closer to yourself, it felt comfortable again. 

You heard the noise of boots against the concrete and you saw Sinc walk up, leading the rest of her team to line up next to yours. You watched the back of the first three players walk by following in line before you recognized the back of Jessie’s head. She ends up stopping only slightly in front of you. Keeping your head forward, you let your eyes wander over to her, not wanting to make it obvious you were looking over at her to the players behind you. Looking up and down you take in her frame for the first time since in San Diego. As if she can feel your eyes burning a hole through the back of her head you see her begin to turn in your direction. Not wanting her to see that you had been watching her, you snap your head down, looking at the floor and pretending to shake out your ankle again. 

You pick your head back up but keep your eyes glued to the back of Nikki’s head. You can see in your peripheral that Jessie’s head is still turned toward you. Giving in, you turn slightly instantly making eye contact with her. The eye contact only lasts a moment as she spins back to face forward and you do the same.

Both captains begin walking forward, you follow in line through the tunnel before splitting off to each side of the pitch. You line up, stand through the national anthem, take your starting XI photo and then stand around as the captains meet with the officials.

“Are you and Jess friends again?” Jordyn asked as you both stood watching the officials talk with Sinclair and Fishlock. 

“I don’t know, we've talked a bit recently, but friends I don't know.” Yes you wanted to sit here and tell Jordyn that you were friends but you didn't know how Jessie felt about calling you friends again so you weren't going to assume you were. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason, she mentioned you talked with her after the gold cup game and then just saw you two doing weird staring in the tunnel.”

“I wasn't staring.” You try to defend yourself but Jordyn begins heading to her pitch location, you follow running to the far side of the pitch. You look across the pitch to the other side, seeing Jessie standing across from you, you should not be surprised but it just kicked in that you'd be marking her most of the game, again.

The first half of the game goes about as smooth as you could hope, you feel like yourself again playing. That isn't to say the game itself is easy, Jessie was keeping you on your toes, most of the time you were able to keep up with her, only once letting her get a perfect long pass, leading to a goal. The score was 1-0 in favor of Portland as you headed into the locker room. 

The mood of your teammates varied, some of them frustrated, some annoyed, others showing little to no emotion as you entered the locker room. You couldn't help but feel a bit out of place, you were feeling satisfied, dare you say a little proud of your performance, Portland is a good team, you were keeping up for the most part. Specifically you had been playing like you knew you could. Your teammates were spread across the locker room stretching, snacking, talking to each other, you took the break to sit down off to the side, sipping from a gatorade. Your coach came walking over, stopping in front of your cubby.

“Are you doing alright today?” She kept her voice low, out of ear shot of any of your fellow players.

“Yeah, I feel like myself again.” You're hoping she noticed as well and that she wasn't about to break the news that you'd be subbed out for the second half, a small pit of nerves starting to grow in your stomach.

“It looks like it, you're doing well, I know Fleming can be hard to mark, not much you could do on the long ball. I just still wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“I’m good.” She doesn’t say anything else to you, turning away to go talk with the other coaches. You continue to keep to yourself, waiting for the rest of halftime to be over.

You head out on the pitch and the game starts back up again. In the same fashion that Jessie had, a couple minutes in you're able to get the ball away from her and enough clearance to send it long toward the goal, bouncing off the head of Jordyn and into the goal. You run, celebrating in the arms of Jordyn and Alana. 

The game continues on, not much excitement, no goal scoring chances being made by either team. The ball goes out off the foot of your teammate. The ball is thrown in, bouncing up off a Portland player sending it high in the air in your direction. In an attempt to knock it to a teammate you jump, Jessie having the same idea, also jumps. Her body crashes into yours, her head coming into contact with your face as you both come down.  Upon your feet coming back to the ground you drop to your knees, hand covering your nose as the pain makes your eyes begin to water. The ball no longer in your section of the field Jessie doesn't move far from you. She places her hand on your back and sends a shout to the official to get them to pause play.

“I’m so sorry.” You hear her say, you don't see her as your eyes are clamped shut in an attempt to ease the pain coming from your nose. 

You hear the whistle and before you know it the training team is kneeling next to you, trying to pull your hand off of your face. You only open your eyes when they start talking to you, asking if you're okay. You glance at your hand, seeing the trails of blood running down your palm and dripping into the grass. You’re handed a water bottle and told to take a sip, you do before spitting it out, the flavor tasting like metal. You get handed a wipe to clean up your hands, nose, lips, and chin where the blood had covered.

The training staff make you sit back on your butt as they continue to look at you. One member of the staff feels up and down your nose, he comments that it doesn't feel broken which you are grateful for, you didn't want to deal with a crooked nose or needing surgery. Rolls of gauze are shoved into your nose and an ice pack is being pushed onto your face causing more pain as they have you hold your head back but you're not going to complain. Now standing over you is Quinn, the rest of the team gathered by the bench chatting. You catch a glimpse of Jessie in the Portland huddle, her head still turned back toward you watching you be tended to. 

“Are you good to stand up?” The trainer to your right asks, she holds out more gauze to you, you take it, placing the bloodied gause from your nose into her gloved hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just some pain.” You stand up with the assistance of Quinn and the trainers. They hold on to you, pulling you off to the side of the pitch.

“You can’t go back in while you're actively bleeding.” 

“I know.” You roll your eyes, hating that rule right now. The pain was bad but it’s not like it was your legs or something essential to playing. You stay standing as you wait, swapping out your gauze once more, less and less blood coming out of your nose. Your team returns onto the pitch, the game resuming. It’s hard having to stand and watch, especially as your team is down a player, tied with only a few minutes to go.

Being down a player does not go in your team's favor as Portland is able to move the ball up the field, slotting it past your keeper and into the goal, taking the lead.

You watch for another two minutes before you take out the gauze in your nose, not replacing it this time as the bleeding has stopped. You turn to the trainer, letting him look at your nose one last time.

“You’re good, no more blood. You're probably going to have two black eyes when you wake up tomorrow though.” The trainer informs you as he takes the ice pack and gauze from you.

You thank him quickly before running and getting the attention of the official to confirm you could re-enter the game. She nods you on and you take off across the pitch. The game only had a few minutes left in regular play. Those minutes end and you now have 8 minutes of stoppage to play through, probably 5 of those being due to your nose. Your team tries to tie it up, having a few shots on goal but to no success as the final whistle blows. 

Instead of immediately going to tell the other team ‘good game’, you head over to the bench, grabbing another ice pack to hold to your face, your nose still throbbing. Ice pack in hand and pressed to your face you start making your way over to some of the Portland players, first seeing your fellow US teammates, then making your way to the other players, most of them asking how your nose is. You tell everyone its fine, adding that it's hopefully not broken.

Once you've talked with the majority of Portland and had your own teammates check in on you, you see Jessie standing with her fellow Canadians from both her team and yours. You haven't yet gotten to talk with Jessie, congratulate her on the assist and the well played game. Not wanting to interrupt her conversation with Quinn, Jordyn, Sinc, and Janine you just stand off to the side, trying not to make it obvious that you are waiting for her.

Jessie notices you standing alone, she excuses herself from her national teammates, stating she needs to go apologize.

“Hey.” Jessie approaches you, a sympathetic smile on her face. “How’s the nose?” She gestures to the ice pack you're holding.

“It hurts.” You state the obvious looking back at her. “They don't think it's broken though so that's good.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She apologizes for the second time today.

“It's fine Jessie, seriously don't worry about it, we both went for the ball.” You know she wouldn't intentionally have hit you, even if you were no longer friends, she wasn't like that. “Now if it was broken, I’d feel different.” You joke at her.

“You’ll probably have a nice black eye or two tomorrow eh?”

“That's what I’ve been told.” You hoped that everyone's statements wouldn't be true but you knew you were likely to wake up with a shiner, feeling the under of your eyes already a bit swollen. You both stand there, letting silence creep up, not knowing what to say next. You take the ice pack off your face, holding it in your hand as it is losing its temperature. Jessie takes a sip from her water bottle, just looking at you.

“Hey are we getting a UCLA alumni jersey swap?” The silence between you is broken and you both turn to see the Thorns social media manager standing in front of you, a large camera around his neck. You look down at your jersey, checking if any blood had gotten on it earlier in the game, thankfully there isn't any. Not knowing what to say you turn back to look at Jessie.

“I mean we can, if you want?” Shrugging her shoulders as she says it, it appears she doesn’t care either way. Part of you wishes she did care, you want her to want to swap jerseys with you. 

“Why not?” Agreeing, you move one hand to the collar of your shirt, the other to your back pulling it up and over your head. Jessie does the same only she pulls hers from the bottom causing it to turn inside out. She goes to hand it to you and realizes it’s inside out, quickly taking it back as she twists it to be right.

You watch her carefully as she manipulates the fabric, you couldn’t help it. Her toned stomach and shoulders on display without her shirt, the way her forearm muscle popped out as she worked to fix the shirt. You hear the click of the camera and realize it’s going to be obvious you were staring in the photo. You glance away not needing any more evidence of your crush.

Jessie reaches out, this time with her jersey the right way and you pass her yours. You both grab the tops of them, holding them out in front of you to display each other's name and number. Once the photographer takes a few photos you turn back toward Jessie, bunching up the shirt before putting it over your head and your arms in. She does the same with your shirt. You’re hit with the smell of Jessie. Sure it was mixed with the smell of her sweat but it still smelled just like her. It reminded you of being in college, even the sweat part, you had spent plenty of time together you both drenched in sweat that it brought fond memories to the surface.

Memories of laying on the field after practice just enjoying the sun, driving together to and from practice, windows down in the car, nights spent studying in hotel room floors on away trips, all of the memories of you and her, all attached to that smell.

“Thanks girls.” The camera man turns away walking over to where Jessie's teammates were starting to make their way around and into the locker room.

“I should probably go.” Jessie turns to see her teammates heading in. 

“Yeah of course.” You debate telling her you'll see her later for your dinner plans but decide against it, not wanting to bring it up on the spot. 

You turn to head to your own locker room. You sit through a quick team meeting, which consists of a quick recap of the game, where everyone did well and where there needs to be improvement. Your coach informs you that she’s canceling practice for the following morning, wanting everyone to have the day to recover and take a break. A few of the players begin to make arrangements to travel home that night no longer having an obligation to stay in Portland for an extra day. Your roommate was one to decide to leave, meaning you'd have a quiet hotel room to come back to at the end of the night. The meeting ends and everyone scatters, some girls going to get showers, some packing up, some going to begin their recovery.

You head to the physio room, they look over your nose again, confirming that they don't believe it's broken. You get handed some pain meds, told to keep icing it on and off, and to meet back with the trainers tomorrow before you head home. You hop off the table, and grab another ice pack on your way back to the changing room.

Returning to your cubby, you start grabbing your towel and clothes to shower and change. You curse yourself earlier for wearing jeans as your pregame outfit. As you grab your clothes out of your bag you see your phone light up. Grabbing it you begin reading the texts. 

Jessie (USA): Any chance I could get a raincheck on going out?

The text from Jessie stared back at you. The excitement drains from your body, your heart feeling heavy as you read it over and over. 

Jessie (USA): Sorry to cancel our plans, just not feeling going out after the game, would much rather throw on sweats and sit on the couch.

You understood, of course you did, having just ran around with her the whole 90, you can see why she’s tired. Your legs are starting to feel tight, you always run more than usual when you’re marking Jessie who seems to easily cover 95% of the field. The weather probably didn’t help either, no one wants to get dressed up to go out after running around in the cold all afternoon. You couldn’t lie, sweatpants sounded perfect right about now. 

Jessie (USA): Can we do takeout at my place or something instead?

Relief washes over your body as you realize she still wants to see you.

Jessie (USA): Sorry for all the texts.

“Yo Fleming get your head out of your phone, I’m talking to you.” Your head snaps up at the mention of Jessie’s name. You see Jess Fishlock staring at you. You look at her confused.

“What?” You’re more responding to the fact that she just referred to you as Fleming and less asking for her to repeat what she had said to you previously. She grabs her own jersey top, giving it a tug before pointing at your chest, you connect the dots seeing why she called you what she did, you’re still wearing Jessie’s shirt.

“We’re going out, we lost but we still want to enjoy the trip, are you in?” She repeats her question to you, a couple other members of the team now watching you awaiting your response.

“No, I actually have plans.” A collection of  ‘ooo’ and a couple whistles come from your teammates around you.

“Must be a hot date with whoever she’s been texting so damn much.” Jess’ wife, Tziarra, teases.

“She was texting someone on the bus ride too, smiling at her phone and everything.” You shoot a glare at Alana who shouts out from across the dressing room. Your face is now starting to blend in to match the red thorns jersey.

“It’s not a date, I’m just catching up with Jessie.” 

“Hard to argue that it's not a date when you're wearing her jersey. Just saying.” Tziarra comments, her eyebrows raising with a hinting look. 

Not responding, you take the collar of the Thorns jersey and rip it over your head, throwing it with some force into your locker.

“Not a date, we’re not even really friends.” You emphasize throwing your hands out in display that you no longer had her shirt on. 

You grab your towel and phone, opening it to respond to Jessie.

You: Yeah that's fine, I wouldn’t want to be having to ask our server for a bag of ice every 20 minutes anyway.

You put your phone back into your cubby and head to the shower. You take a quick shower, rushing a bit, wanting to get out of the stadium and back to the hotel so you could put on sweats that you had waiting for you. You hop out, wrapping yourself in a towel and head to get changed. 

Jessie (USA): Do you still like Thai food? I know a pretty good place.

You:  Yeah that's great. We're headed back to the hotel in the next few and then I can head your way.

You put your phone back and let your towel fall, change into your clothes and then sit down waiting for the rest of your team to be ready to leave. 

It only takes a few minutes until everyone is walking out to the bus. Thinking you'll have a seat alone again you prop your legs up again. Your lounging state only lasts a minute before Fishlock is picking up your legs, throwing herself down in the seat next to you.

“Not friends and not a date huh?”

“I told you earlier no, She and I just got back into contact.” Trying your best to stop the teasing that you fear will never end from your team.

“Where are you going to dinner? Is she taking you somewhere romantic?”

“We’re not going out anywhere, we're doing takeout.” Jess lets out a laugh at your response, quickly covering her own mouth.

“So not a date, you're just going over to her place? Whatever you say.” You see her eyes roll. She leans over and whispers. “Hope you packed some cute underwear.” You hear the comment but it doesn't comprehend what she was implying. 

“She has a girlfriend.” The only words you think to respond, not having anything else to defend yourself with. You prop your legs back up on her since she was the one to move them, if she wanted to sit there she'd have to deal with it. You grab your phone seeing Jessie had sent you her address and a message to just let her know when you had arrived. You feel nerves begin to rise in your stomach, you're not sure why though, like you said, she has a girlfriend, it's not a date.

[hystixia]

OXYTOCIN.

SUMMARY 、YOU’RE THE LAST PERSON DR. WILSON COULD TURN TO IN HOPES OF GETTING JEFF TO TALK, BUT YOU WERE NEVER QUITE PREPARED FOR THE MONSTER THAT IS JEFFREY MASON.

FEATURING 、JEFF MASON X F!READER

WARNINGS 、MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF KILLING, GORE, DEATH, NONCON, THREATS, MANHANDLING, HAIR PULLING, DEGRADATION, SPANKING, PUSSY SLAPPING, DACRYPHILIA, CHOKING, FORCED ORGASM, CREAMPIE, PERV!JEFF

NOTES 、his chuckles during the sessions >>>

The sight of Clarence’s exhausted face tugs at your heartstrings as you approach him and he sighs tiredly. “Is there anything I can do to help you, Dr. Wilson?” You ask quietly, you knew how taxing this job can be on the mind.

He hums, surprised for a moment before turning and looking at you and his face instantly softens as his eyes crinkle in a small smile. “Please, no need to be so formal with me.” You seem to relax a bit at that before he continues, “I’m having trouble getting one of our patients to talk. I’ve tried everything I could possibly think of, he’s just… not very cooperative.”

“Is it the same one?” You ask with curiosity and Dr. Wilson nods with a small hum, glancing at the folder in his hand.

“Yes, he’s proving to be difficult for even me to handle, I will admit.” He gives you a small look as if he’s contemplating on something before finally speaking up in a rather hesitant tone, “Pardon me for asking you such a thing but, you wouldn’t oppose trying to take a crack at him would you?”

You blink a few times, surprised he was actually asking you to take a shot at getting the patient to open up. Your lips curl up in a smile as your eyes sparkle. “Do you really mean it?”

He shrugs, returning your smile with a tired one of his own. “I don’t see why not. You’re exceptionally well at your job and I don’t doubt you could get at least something from him.” He opens the file but stops halfway and looks back at you again. “I should warn you though, he’s awfully crude and violent. During my sessions with him I learned early on that he enjoys trying to get under your skin.” You nod at his words, listening carefully and remembering each thing he said before he opened the file and placed it on the desk, showing you the profile of the patient and your eyes widen a bit at the two photos clipped to the paper that held information and details on the man.

Jeffrey Mason. The name instilled fear in a large majority of people in Forest Lawn, especially those that lost loved ones the night he took so many innocent lives. It pained you, the grief they had to bear after receiving terrible news that following morning and you consider yourself lucky you nor your friends and family were ever in his harmful way. You’re relieved to know he’s here, where he can’t hurt anyone and is restrained all the time.

The two photos, one of him before the accident and one after when he had been arrested. Despite him being held here for two years now, you’d never known anything about him besides what terrible things he had done. He looked rather normal in the before photo, but there was a dark look in his eye that made you think otherwise. The second photo was a horrific sight of its own. His burned face, the carved smile that nearly reached his ears and that animalistic look in his eyes that made your skin crawl. He looked much more like a monster in that photo and you consider he thinks he is one himself.

You give Dr. Wilson a glance as you straighten your posture. “When is the next session, Dr. Wilson?”

He chuckles quietly. “I’ve been spending less and less time on him since I have other patients to attend to, but you can start as early as next week I’d suppose.”

You give him a determined look and puff out your chest a little as you grab your things and prepare to leave for the day much like he was himself. “I will get words out of him, Doctor. I can promise you that.”

He laughs a bit at your determination as he grabs his own things and prepares to leave soon. “I have no doubt that you will.”

The next week comes surprisingly quick but maybe that’s because you were itching to try and attempt to get something out of the patient. If Dr. Wilson was struggling that surely meant you’d have a lot of trial and error yourself but you have the patience to handle any patient that’s been given to you. Surely it wouldn’t be that hard right?

“You can bring him in now.” You call out and soon after the large door squeaks and groans as it’s opened and the sound of chains jingling and clinking meets your ears as the noise bounces off the walls of the small room.

Your head turns immediately at the sudden sounds as a guard brings the patient in and Jesus he was so much scarier in person. You swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat and as hard as you tried to listen to Dr. Wilson’s words, the guy definitely intimidated you by just his presence alone.

His heavy breathing leaves uncomfortable goosebumps along your skin as you watch him practically be dragged into the room and sat in the chair. The guard clicks something on the cuffs around his hands and you realize he’s locked him to the table. At least he isn’t able to move around thankfully. His feet are chained together, leaving him very little room to move one foot in front of the other and you try to keep your gaze off him as he stares at you with those sickening eyes of his.

You clear your throat and look up at the guard, straightening your posture to appear more confident. “You can go, it’s fine.” You say and he nods before eyeing the patient chained up who’s carved smile seems to widen as he stares over and back up at the man before he’s walking out of the room and closing the loud door behind himself.

You look down at the file before you and then glance at the record player currently spinning as it records. You sigh through your nose and slowly lift your eyes up to look at his face only to see him staring back with an animalistic hunger.

“Jeffrey Mas—“ “It’s just. Jeff.” He emphasizes with a hint of aggression to his voice. You’d never heard him speak before, and you certainly hadn’t expected his voice to sound so raspy and deep.

You correct yourself, ignoring the way your heart jumped up in your throat for a moment. “Right. Jeff, we’re going to talk about you for a little while.” You sit up straight again and look down at the file to distract yourself from his eerie stare.

He breathes out a chuckle, “Heh, what do you want to know about me then?” He’s mocking you and his heavy breaths like some wild animal are starting to get to you. Now you’re realizing why Dr. Wilson had such difficulties with this guy.

You rest your forearms on the table, leaning in a bit as you stare at him and try to get over your nerves. You needed to be professional, why was it proving so difficult to do suddenly? “What were you like growing up?” You’ll start off simple, ask basic questions any other doctor or therapist would ask.

He scoffs and you swear you saw his tongue peak out the side of his carved cheek. “Angry. Really fuckin’ angry.” His eyes are casted downward no longer looking at your face and you frown a bit, you tap your finger against the table to get his attention and his eyes immediately flick up to yours.

“I need you to focus, Jeff. This is serious.” “Is that why your tits are on display?” You’re stunned, blinking a few times to process his words before staring down at your shirt. It’s merely one button that hasn’t been buttoned up with the rest, you can barely even see the line of your cleavage and he had the nerve to say such an inappropriate thing to you?!

“That is highly inappropriate, Jeff.” You suddenly snap, becoming defensive but all he does is laugh, the sound reaching your ears and reverberating off the walls.

“Oh, c’mon, doctor.” He mocks. “They were beggin’ for some attention.” He speaks in a low voice that sends shivers down your spine, his tone is sinister before he breaks out in another manic laugh, giggling to himself.

“I need you to cooperate with me.” You sigh, sitting back in your chair and he rolls his eyes as he huffs. The chains jingle as he leans in over the table.

“What if I don’t want to cooperate with you?” He spats out, suddenly hostile and it’s like a game of hot potato for you only you never know when he’s going to switch up on you.

“I’m here to help you, Jeff.” You say in a calm and soft tone, trying to not let his refusal at cooperating get under your skin.

He scoffs, an airy chuckle ringing out. “Heh, you can help me out by undoing these cuffs.” He cackles, throwing his head back as he tugs on the handcuffs circled around his wrists and attached to the restraints keeping him in the chair.

You press your lips in a thin line before responding curtly, “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Oh, well that’s too bad isn’t it, doll?” He tilts his head, that crazed look in his eyes that makes you feel small and naked under his stare. It makes your skin crawl but you’re determined to help him, if there’s any chance he’s even salvageable.

You hum quietly to yourself, looking over at the recorder before sighing through your nose and attempting again. “Jeff, I need you to be open with me and answer my questions, please.”

He chuckles again. “Beg me again and maybe I will.” God if you could punch him in his disgusting face you would right now. You don’t dwell on it for too long, you know he’s just trying to get reactions from you.

“Will you please cooperate with me?” It’s silent save for his breathing. You try again, “Please, Jeff?”

“Ooh, I like it with you beg.” He grins, breathing out creepily as he watches you. He moves a bit in his seat and the restraints clink loudly with his movements. “You wanna know something fun?”

“I’m not quite sure I know what your definition of fun is.” You watch him carefully, looking for any signs he might try something but he seems relaxed for the most part as he leans back against the chair.

“I’ve pictured all the ways I’m going to rip you limb from limb, and then watch you bleed out.” He smiles, mangled scars twisted up as he does so. “It’ll be a sight to behold, seein’ you lying in a pool of your own blood.”

You try to not let it affect it. You clear your throat and give him an uninterested look. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere, Jeff Mason.” He continues to laugh like a crazed man, eventually coming down as he sighs. “When did the ringing and visions start?”

“What visions?” He nearly spats out, leaning back in the chair as the restraints jingled loudly again.

“You’ve mentioned in previous sessions with Dr. Wilson that you, saw what’s coming. When did this start?” You ask, noting his behavior on the clipboard momentarily as you gave him time to think of an answer.

He sighs dramatically. “What do you think?” He snarls and you give him an unbothered look back.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Jeff.” You reply in a soft voice like before, he seemed to be more keen to a certain extent when you talked gently but maybe you were just desperate to get this over with now and were trying everything multiple times.

“Well, aren’t you just a doll, huh?” He grins, eyes glued to your face and the way he’s looking at you makes you want to gag.

“Jeff,” You have to get him back on track whether he wants to or not. You sigh deeply through your nose and look down at the clipboard where you’re written various notes. “We aren’t getting anywhere unless you cooperate with me.”

“Oh, but we are.” He chuckles, tilting his head as he leans over the table but there’s suddenly something different about him this time and you tense up as if he’s got you at knife point. He breathes out forcefully through his nose like he’s calming himself from falling into a fit of rage. “You wanna know somethin’ else, doctor?”

You’re hesitant, giving him an unsure look as you shrink back in your chair just the slightest. “And what’s that, Jeff?”

He lets his head turn down as he laughs, turning into a full blown manic cackle as his shoulders shake like he heard the best joke ever. He raises his head again but this time the room is heavy with an unknown aura as his eyes lock onto yours. “That guard, is real lousy about checkin’ the restraints.” His smile widens, an evil glint in his eyes as a loud metal shriek rings out and you hear something clink against the ground. He’s already reached you before you can react and you try to scream out but his hand slaps over your mouth to muffle your noises as his breath is hot against the shell of your ear and he tugs you out of the chair roughly.

“Screamin’ like an animal caught in a trap, heh.” He slams you into the metal table and it feels like you’re spinning. Pain blooms in your head, throbbing your entire skull until he lifts your head up by your hair and slams your face back into a table a few more forceful times. You cough out and wheeze a breath, wincing in pain as it clouds your entire system and you’re unable to truly focus your eyes on anything.

“S-stop—“ You gasp out, hands gripping into the edge of the table as tears flood your vision and you fight back a sniffle.

He hums happily from behind you, grabbing your waist tight as he gets a feel of you before letting his hands slide down to the curve of your ass and he groans.

“Y’know,” He starts, hooking his fingers in your belt loops but you’re in too much of a daze to comprehend his actions as he starts to pull your pants down. “I think you might just be mine now, doll.”

You whine in protest, unable to form words properly and you try to push yourself up off the table but he shoves you into it with his arm against your back making you grimace in discomfort.

“Fuck, what a nice ass.” He groans with a hissed breath, already having pulled your pants down to bunch up at your knees that are practically limp as he forces his way between them. He rubs a hand over your ass before slapping it hard, the sound reverberating off the walls as you cry out in shock and pain. He chuckles behind you and does it again and again, and again.

“Stop i-it!” You cry out, biting your lip hard to distract from the raw pain tingling in your rear as you lie pathetically on the table.

“Why should I?” He jabs a finger against your clothed cunt, it’s uncomfortable as hell and clumsily pushed against your heat. “You’re fuckin’ wet from this? Dirty bitch.” He grins before giving your pussy a loud slap that sends a bolt of electricity through your body that made you squeak.

“Oh you like that, huh? Just a filthy bitch waitin’ to get her cunt fucked?” He mocks with a sneer, tugging your panties to the side and groaning at the shiny slick your pussy drools. “You are gettin’ off to this, doctor. Isn’t that unprofessional?” You wanted to scream at him, to kick him off you so you could run to the door before he ever did anything more vile to your body but it’s as if your limbs have gone numb and you’re no longer able to move them. You’re trapped and as the realization nestles itself into your heart and mind, you feel hopeless in the moment as tears start to fall and you cry silently against the table.

He spreads your pussy, forcing your legs to move further apart so he could get a good look before he’s fumbling with the orange slacks he wore and tugging his aching cock from its confinements. He groans as he pumps it a few times, mushroom tip leaking beads of precum before he’s nudging it against your cunt and pushing in without warning. You nearly shriek but he wraps a hand around your throat cutting off your airway completely as he forces his thick girth into you with a low groan.

“So fuckin’ tight, relax will ya?” He grunts out, jaw clenched tight as he bottoms out and your pussy pulses and constricts around his intruding length. It burned achingly so, and it felt like you were being ripped apart. It was agonizing and you cry as he loosens his hold on your neck and you finally get an intake of air, inhaling like a greedy and starved woman as you pant against the table.

He pulls you up and back by your hair and your arms instinctively push on the table to keep yourself upright and to dull the pain in your scalp from his tugging. He doesn’t release the grip he has on your hair though as he pulls back and then slams forward into you brutally and knocking the air from your lungs. You nearly fall forward, arms shaky and your feet barely reaching the ground as he uses you.

“Shit, are you cryin’?” He tugs your head to the side and you unfortunately get a glimpse of his face as he groans at the tears falling down your face before making you look forward again. “Fuckk, keep crying like that, you fuckin’ slut.”

You sob but not because he wants you to, no you wish you could stop the hiccuping breaths and warm tears but the pain in your entire body is too much to handle and along with the rough thrusts he’s doing, you feel like your head is gonna pop any second.

His hips snap loudly into your ass and he tugs your underwear down enough to see the handprints he left behind on the swell of your ass as he smiles and tugs on your hair again to hear a pained whimper fall from your lips.

“What a slutty fuckin’ cunt, huh? Sucking me in, you wanted this.” He grunts, your soft walls squeezing him so perfectly were starting to get to him and he could feel his cock twitch inside of you. He lets go of your hair and grabs you by your neck once again and squeezes it, feeling your pulse thump at a fast rate against his digits.

“Filthy whore, ‘m gonna dump my load into ya. Heh, you’re gonna take it like a good bitch aren’t ya?” He chuckles, voice strained as he digs his fingers into your neck and his other hand that was gripping your hip slides down your stomach and rubbing at your clit. Your hands instantly go to stop him and he holds you up by your neck and you’re forced to take short and shallow breaths as your hands try to pry his hand away from your sensitive bundle of nerves but the warmth and addictive pleasure that twists and churns in your gut makes your eyes roll back.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just give in, let me— ngh, fuckin’ use you, you dumb rapeslut.” His face tenses up as your walls flutter around him and he laughs. “Gonna cum from rape? Try to stop it then, c’mon. You can do it, doll.” He mocks with a grin but your body betrays you and your walls contract around him as you cream around his cock but he keeps thrusting, unrelenting and unstoppable as he groans at the feeling and chases his high.

“Good fuckin’ rapedoll, huh?” He’s just humiliating you even more now and you sob out as you beg and babble.

“S-stop it, Jeff!— haah, d-don’t do it, please!” You cry pathetically, trying to pull away from him but you’re pinned and it’s useless to try and stop him. He was a fucking monster. “Pull o-out, ngh— oooh!”

He snarls, squeezing your throat so tight you can’t breathe again as he ruts into you like an animal, each brutal thrust bumping your cervix painfully. “I’m cum where I fuckin’ want to, bitch.” He spats, slapping your ass hard but you can’t gasp for breath, you couldn’t fucking breathe.

You open your mouth pathetically as your hands grab at his wrist to pry off his hold on your throat but it’s pointless. He groans behind you and shortly after his thrusts grow sloppy and warmth floods your cunt. Your eyes widen in fear and you try to scream out but no sound leaves you as tears flood your vision, blurring it once more. He laughs like a maniac behind you as he stills his hips and grinds purposefully into your sensitive walls before pulling out and letting your panties keep his cum from spilling out and making a mess.

He pulls away from you, lets you gasp like a fish out of water for a few moments and with what little dignity you had left you manage to tug your pants back up right before he forces that door open and lunges at the guard with a crazed chuckle.

You don’t remember much of what happened after that. You remember seeing him bash the guard’s head into the wall and then violently punching another one to death. Your eyes grow heavy and your body lies weakly against the table as you watch him disappear down a hall, covered in blood before your consciousness slipped away.

[thethirdromana]

As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the last Pop.

Brace yourselves, I'm about to provide way too much detail on literally one word of this entry.

A "Pop" was a popular classical music concert; specifically, part of a series held at St James's Hall. I suppose the word "Pop" might have been used by other places? But the concert series at St James's Hall was very well known and well established, so I think it's fair to assume that's what Lucy is referring to.

St James's Hall was located between Regent St and Piccadilly where the Dilly Hotel now stands. It opened in 1858 and was demolished in 1905.

The first two images are sketches of the hall when it opened in 1858; the final image is a photo from 1885. You'll notice that it's next door to the Aerated Bread Company; here's their menu.

Apparently the interior is in the style of the Alhambra, but it's a bit hard to tell.

Pops were chamber concerts, held on Monday evenings and Saturday afternoons. Tickets started at a shilling each (source, p139), which was affordable for anyone on a middle-class salary (it's about a week's coal bill for a poor family). I'd assume Lucy and Arthur paid more for better seats.

At the Pop reviewed by Werner's magazine in 1893, the programme was:

Schubert, String Quartet in A minor, op. 29

Brahms... I have no idea what the convention is when there are slurs in the titles of classical music? Let's call them Brahms' folk songs, op. 103

Beethoven, Sonata in C minor, op 111

Schumann, Quartet in F flat, op. 47

Henschel, Five Quarters, op. 51

A less detailed review in the Athenaeum (here, p477) suggests that this was a reasonably typical programme.

I had assumed that a Pop would be all crowd-pleasers, given the name and pricing, but I asked a musician friend for his thoughts (since I'm not qualified to judge) and he says it's not; the programme above is highbrow and relatively abstruse, and it was performed by notable musicians.

I don't know how much this actually tells us about Lucy and Arthur's taste in music. But since we don't have much else to go on, I'm going to headcanon it as a genuine enthusiasm that they share.

[alwaysurvalentine]

he's gone - st drabble

Written for Day 12 of @steddieangstyaugust - prompt: Terrible Things by Mayday Parade - wc: 848 (kept this one shorter) - cw: major character death

enjoy! 💛

“I wish I hadn’t fallen in love with you.” Eddie knows the words are a lie as soon as he says them, but it doesn’t stop him from continuing. “Things would’ve been so much easier if I hadn’t. Then I wouldn’t have to remember that yellow sweater you loved so much. That silly apron you wore just because the kids decorated it.”

He can see it in his mind, a plain white apron the kid’s got from some craft store, paint markers used to decorate the front. It wasn’t written in a straight line but El had put Hawkins Best Babysitter smack in the center; all the kids had written their names beside it – even Mike, which had surprised Steve when he noticed the tiny lettering near the bottom. 

“You and your stupid -” Eddie hiccups, a sob trying to escape him as he talks. “Stevie...how am I supposed to do this without you?”

Silence is his only answer, the picture in his hands offering a frozen frame of Steve grinning with his arms around Eddie and Robin’s shoulders. Jonathan took it when they all came to see Eddie’s first performance after the Upside Down. The Eddie in the picture is sweaty but smiling, eyes focused on the man next to him. Robin’s grinning in the photo, eyes almost closed from how big. He and Steve finally put an end to their dancing around each other that night. 

“I should have walked away when I had the chance.” Tears are rolling down Eddie’s cheeks now but there’s no point in wiping his face when he knows they’re not going to stop any time soon. Steve’s gone now – Eddie can’t imagine not crying every time he has remember that. 

“But you were so different from how I imagined. I thought you only cared about yourself, jut went along with whatever your friends said...Seeing and getting to know you up close? It’s like finding the perfect patch of sunlight to lay in – being under the shade of a tree is nice, but nothing compares to soaking up the sun with your friends. You were the sun.” 

A few months after the Upside Down, Steve had suggested a pool party at his house. Something to celebrate Max and Eddie finally out of the hospital and working through their recoveries. All the kids had jumped at the chance and Steve spent the next week planning the day out in detail. Eddie got to see Steve’s nervousness up close: a chicken scratch grocery list added to every time he thought of another snack, his pacing of the aisles at Family Video to rent movies they’d all enjoy, him cleaning the pool early that morning, and even his busy-ness as a host – running this way and that so no one had to want for something. At one point, the kids had started a chicken tournament with Nancy playing referee. Steve had laid back on one of the pool chairs with dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, and Eddie had been pulled like a magnet to sit next to the other boy. He hopes he never forgets the smile Steve gifted him with when he sat down. 

“Eddie? You in here?” Wayne’s voice traveled through the apartment, boots stomping until he found Eddie in the living room. 

“Wayne..” His voice cracked and a new flood of tears escaped. This time he did try to brush them away, palms swiping angrily at his cheeks. Eddie knew he looked a mess, could imagine the red puffiness around his eyes and his hair wild from where he’d tugged at it earlier. Wayne closed the distance between them, sitting on the couch next to Eddie only for a moment before tugging his boy to lean on his shoulder. Eddie wasn’t a little kid anymore but he took the comfort and curled as small as he could.

“He’s gone, Wayne.” He’s sobbing so hard he chokes, coughing before continuing. “He’s gone.” That’s all he can get out, mind a mess as he cries into Wayne’s shirt. He can feel his Uncle shaking with his own silent tears, Steve was like a son to him. 

His uncle sounds choked when he speaks again. “C’mon, breathe for me, boy.” Eddie doesn’t want to and briefly wonders if he can hold his breath long enough to pass out. He won’t do it, chest already heaving with the effort it takes to inhale. 

He just wants Steve to be here with them. Not gone where he can’t follow, not stuck in the hospital with different machines keeping him alive, not anywhere but here. 

Here in the trailer he called home the past year. 

Here with Wayne on the couch watching some sports game Eddie can’t follow. 

Here sipping on a mug of hot chocolate when it’s cold outside. 

Here talking on the phone with Robin with the cord curled around his hand.

But Steve will never be here again. Not physically anyway – no, Steve will only exist in Eddie’s memory and Eddie will have to exist with a Steve Harrington shaped hole in his heart.

[bts-multi-stan]

Jeon Jungkook- Soulmates

AN: Not me literally posting in 2021 and then disappearing, LOL. I hope you guys like this one! xoxo

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

“Y/N how are you feeling? Only 5 minutes until you get your soulmate tattoo!” I glanced over at my friend Soo-ah, who was sitting up on her knees while staring at me excitedly. It was the night before my 21st birthday, and we were staying up until midnight so I could see my soulmate tattoo for the first time, right when the clock hit 12. The tattoo appears somewhere on your body, and it’s supposed to help you find your soulmate, the person that the universe fated you to be with. Some tattoos were a direct match of each other, but they could also be two different tattoos that compliment each other. Take my parents, for example. My mother had a bumblebee on her ankle and my father had a sunflower on his ankle. When two soulmates touch for the first time, their tattoo starts to tingle, and then glow, indicating the match.

“I would say I’m nervous, but I’ve been so nervous all day that now I’m just tired and want to get it over with and go to bed. I had a horrible night's sleep last night in anticipation. I’m exhausted” Soo-ah nods sympathetically. She had a similar experience the day before she received her soulmate tattoo. Except, unlike tonight, she ended up falling asleep right before midnight and didn’t see her tattoo until the next morning. So this time, she was determined to stay up with me, “to live vicariously through you,” she said earlier in the day. “I’m just gonna take a 5 minute power nap to rest my eyes, let me know when it’s midnight.” I shut my eyes and we sit in silence for the next few minutes. As Soo-ah’s alarm rings, I start to feel a tingling sensation on my right shoulder blade.

“Y/N it’s midnight!!!! Oh my god what’s your tattoo?! Where is it?!” I winced while opening my eyes while sitting up in her bed.

“It’s on my shoulder, help me up to your mirror please?” I reach both my arms out, and Soo-ah pulls me out of bed and towards her floor length mirror. Shrugging off my sweatshirt and turning around, I gasp. The tattoo is fairly small, but incredibly detailed. It’s a line of the planets in the solar system, in striking black ink. But what stood out was the sun and the planet Venus. Instead of the black ink, the two were outlined in purple, and had a slight shimmer to it. Reaching awkwardly around my back, I traced over the tattoo with my finger.

“It’s so beautiful, far more exciting than the jar of peanut butter on my wrist” Soo-ah said, causing me to laugh. “Here, let me get a photo of it,” I nodded and moved my hair to the side, while Soo-ah snapped a photo, and texted it to me. “Are you planning on posting it on any of the tattoo forums?”

“Probably not, but I’ll definitely join some to see if anyone has posted a photo that seems to match or compliment mine” I sat back down on the bed, forwarding the photo to my parents, who had already sent me happy birthday messages. I would’ve spent the night with them, but they were both in Europe for some work trip, hence why I was with Soo-ah. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Happy 21st birthday Y/N!! And happy soulmark day! Let me see” Soo-ah’s mother entered the room, holding two pink velvet cupcakes and handed them to Soo-ah and me. Soo-ah’s mother was like my second mother, always stepping up to be there for me when my parents were away on business, which was often. When we were little, I would stay at their house, sometimes for weeks at a time. She worked as a producer at the HYBE Corporation, helping write and produce songs for BTS, Seventeen, and several other kpop groups and idols. Although, no amount of begging from me and Soo-ah would convince her to let us go to work with her.

“Thank you Mrs. Lee” I took the cupcake from her and turned around so she could get a good look at the tattoo, while I devoured the cupcake in a few bites.

“Hmm, this tattoo looks familiar to me” Her mom said, while whipping out her phone to snap a photo of it. I swear, I’ve seen it before” Soo-ah and I’s heads whipped around to look at her, while she typed on her phone.

“Really mom? Do you think it was from one of your friend’s kids, or maybe from someone from church?” Soo-ah asked. Her mom shook her head.

“I texted it to one of my colleagues. I think it’s from somewhere at work” My eyes widened, and Soo-ah and I shared a look with each other. My soulmate could potentially work at Hybe? Could it maybe be a trainee, or an idol? Soo-ah’s mom continued to observe my tattoo for a few minutes, when suddenly her phone rang. Who could be calling at this hour? She answered, surprisingly, “Hello? Ahh really? And it’s confirmed that it matches his tattoo? All right, I’ll let her know, thanks, see you tomorrow. Bye.” Soo-ah and I had moved towards each other, clutching each other in stress and anticipation.

“What was that all about? Did you find my soulmate that quickly?” I asked her. Her mom shook her head in disbelief.

“I just got off the phone with that colleague I told you about. He said that your tattoo is a 100% match for Jeon Jungkook’s tattoo. HR and their manager have already confirmed it.” Soo-ah and I’s mouths drops and I stare at her. I stare at her for so long that she starts waving her hands in front of our faces to snap us out of our trance.

“No. Way. So what happens next?” Soo-ah asks, while grabbing one of her plushes and pulling it close to her. She also throws her panda plush to me, which I am grateful for. I need something to squeeze in stress.

“Well, if you’re comfortable with it, HR wants to set up a meeting with you to talk about the situation. My guess is they’ll probably pull in some of BTS’ management team, PR, and some other professionals. Jungkook is currently in Japan promoting their comeback, but I’m sure he’ll be notified in the morning, alongside the rest of the guys. They’re thinking of having the meeting tomorrow. Are you okay to go in?” I nodded silently, still trying to process the whole situation. “Soo-ah, you can come too, since you’re now in on the secret. Y/N, hold off on telling your parents for now. I’m sure you’ll get all your questions answered tomorrow. And I’ll be with you the whole time” Soo-ah’s mom took my hand and squeezed it gently. “Try and get some sleep. I know how tired you are. In the morning we can write a list of all your questions over breakfast. And don’t forget, it is your birthday. We won’t forget to celebrate.” Throwing the panda plush aside, I wrapped my arms around her in a big hug.

“Thanks so much Mrs. Lee. You and Soo-ah’s support means everything to me.” She hugged back, and then got up to retire for the night.

“Good night girls. If you need help falling asleep, don’t forget there are melatonin gummies in the bathroom cabinet.” The door shut behind her, and Soo-ah and I stared at each other for a few moments. Then, she spoke.

“I think we’re going to need those melatonin gummies.

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

The next morning, Soo-ah’s mom woke us up from our deep slumber for breakfast. As we sat down to eat, she let us know that the meeting was set for a few hours later in the day, and what to expect. We also brainstormed some general questions for them, mostly regarding privacy concerns, and other stuff. She also told us that Jungkook and the rest of the boys had been notified of the situation, and that he had already asked to send along a message for me.

Happy 21st birthday, my soulmate. I’ll see you soon, my love.

How is this man so damn perfect?

“I must’ve saved the country in a past life for the universe to reward me so generously” I said, while applying my makeup. Soo-ah snorted.

“Not just save the country. You must’ve saved the world. I’m so jealous of you. But I'm happy. I’m so happy for you. You have a heart of gold, and Jungkook is a lucky guy to be your soulmate.”

“Ahh, don’t make me cry! I just put on my eyeliner!”

“Oops, sorry about that. I’ll stop with the sappy talk now. Are you ready to go? We still have to drive to the building, so we should probably head out soon.” I nodded, standing up and adjusting my jeans. “Allright, lets go!”

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

“Is this what Soo-ah’s mom does everyday? This is a horribly redundant meeting” I thought, while sitting in the conference room. For the past 2 hours, Soo-ah and I sat listening to employee after employee discuss their department’s plan for when the members started to find their soulmates, and how to move forward. I’ve already signed what feels like 100 non-disclosure agreements, and provided all my personal information so the company could have it on file. This was the first time a member had connected with their soulmate, so I guess I’m the guinea pig for the company response. Hopefully it gets less painful for the rest of the soulmates when they’re found. Finally we finished everything on the agenda and were allowed to leave. I was quickly brought down to HR, where my photo was taken and my ID badge was printed, giving me all access to the building. Then Soo-ah’s mother gave us a quick tour of the building before heading to her studio for the day to work on some music. Soo-ah and I headed back to her house to chill out and process the events of the past 24 hours. As we lay sprawled on her bed, she turned to look at me.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day y/n?” Soo-ah asked me. I bit my lip while contemplating how I wanted to let off some steam. I was definitely tense from all the information that had been thrown at me.

“How about some fried chicken, beer, and karaoke?”

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

One week later, I sat patiently in the private airport terminal, awaiting the arrival of BTS’ private plane. A few hours after the meeting at the HYBE building, I had gotten a text message from Jungkook, who had gotten my number from his managers. After the initial nervousness wore off, along with being starstruck, we quickly became quite comfortable texting and calling each other. We talked almost every night, getting to know each other, and catching up on years of information. I had already received a package from him, a beautiful bracelet with two small charms of Venus and the Sun, a reference to our shared tattoo. I also received another package full of BT21 Cooky plushies and decorations. Jungkook had found out during our first phone call that I was a big Chimmy lover, to his disdain and Jimin’s delight.

“I will not let my soulmate love Chimmy over Cooky. I will convince you Cooky is far superior” I remember him saying. I thought he was joking, but I guess he took it as a challenge. I’m quickly starting to realize how he got the reputation of being the most competitive in the group. Before I fade off into deep thought, footsteps pull me out of my thoughts. I look up to see Jungkook full-on sprinting towards me, with the rest of the members and staff not far behind him.

“Y/N! You’re so beautiful, how did I get so lucky?!” He grabbed me by my waist and picked me up and spun me around while laughing. It was truly a fairytale moment. He set me down, but didn’t let me go, continuing to hold me in a tight hug, while everyone else caught up to him. I felt the tingling of our tattoos connecting for the first time, but all I could think about was Jungkook holding me tight. As I pulled away slightly, he looked down at me and giggled, placing a soft kiss on my forehead, and then my cheek. Before he could capture my lips, I turned my head away shyly, my face getting hot, and feeling an intense blush creep up my cheeks.

“Jungkook, there are people watching us.” I hid my face in his chest, while he softly stroked my hair, pushing it out of my face. Taking my chin and tilting my head up to meet his face, he softly said to me,

“My love, I’ve waited my whole life to hold you in my arms, and now that you’re here, I have no intention of ever letting go,” and bent down to press his lips against mine in a soft kiss.