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calpops · 4 years ago

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forever | c.h.

A visit from you during tour and a stop inside a jewelry store put images in Calum’s head that harbor questions and set him into motion—but the distance his plans entails makes everything mended start to feel like it’s breaking again. One question has the power to bring everything back together with the hope of forever.

4.2k words

dates with cal masterlist

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Sunrise on the other side of the world leaves you wide eyed in wonder; the soft pink glitters against water surrounding your hotel. Calum still sleeps, sheets dipped down to his waist as the warmth of a summer night settled into the room. The band is on tour and you flew out to surprise Calum for a visit; no longer wanting distance, the aches of being away from each other a reminder of a time you’d much rather forget. Ashton had helped coordinate the visit as a surprise and Calum welcomed you with shock and adoration in his eyes; arms wide and open for you to throw yourself into. It felt like coming home though you were far away from your house.

“Mornin, sweetheart,” Calum mumbles, morning voice raspy and low.

You turn back to him, abandon the sunrise in favor of him rising in bed, sheet pooled around his waist and sun kissed skin glowing in a morning glory. You smile, stalk over to the bed and settle back in at his side, head resting against his chest as his arms envelop and welcome you. You don’t want to waste a minute of time you have together; want to explore the city you’d never seen before, take in the sights and see a piece of Calum’s world created by music. But his hold is warm and his heartbeat is rhythmic and it doesn’t feel like wasted time to stay in his arms. Not after time without them.

“Do you have anything to do today?” You ask, bite your lip and hope he has time for you.

“Only showing you around, taking you out, showing you off,” he answers in a sly tone and sends shivers of excitement up your spine.

You had hidden your relationship with Calum from fans and media for as long as humanly possible. But a picture spoke words neither of you said and the world suddenly knew you and all that you are to him. Inhibitions and hiding ceased to exist. You could roam free now; show each other the world and show the world each other. You prop yourself up, hand melting into the mattress to maneuver so you can look into his eyes.

“Can we… go now?” You ask and Calum grins at the excitement you can’t hide or put away. He simply nods and it’s enough to get you to your feet and rushing around the hotel room. He’s a bit more leisurely in his pace, eyes watching you with admiration.

The day of exploring begins on the sidewalk just past the hotel. Breakfast is served outside, the sun shining and warm past a fall breeze, the food is delicious and filling. Your eyes scan the city you’d never been to before, take in the people and the sights of old stone buildings standing tall with ivy covering facades. Calum watches you instead of the world around you. He grins unknowingly when you point at things he’s seen before. He reaches for your hand when your eyes sparkle from the light of the sun and collides with the beauty of the day. When breakfast has come and gone you wander the streets, go into shops and stop to marvel at everything. An antique store brings wonders of time past and Calum keeps an arm around you as you stalk through the aisles. A park is a good resting place with benches by a fountain that sprays sparkling water, colorful autumn foliage donning the ground and falling from branches to swirl through the air.

“I wish we wouldn’t have to leave,” you admit as bliss hangs over you, Calum’s arm around your shoulders and his jacket wrapped around you as the day grows colder. “Except I already miss Duke.”

“Yeah?” Calum asks and feels it too. “And did you miss me before you got here?”

“As soon as you stepped out of the house,” you admit around a sigh and try to push down the ache that distance always seems to awaken.

Ever since your break it’s been harder to live with the uncertainties of Calum’s job. If he’ll be home at night or if the studio will tie him up until odd hours of the morning. If a weekend promo trip will turn into a week with added interviews. If your schedule will allow for a visit when he’s off touring the world without you. You’ve found ways to combat and jump those hurdles. Reading together at night. Cherishing every little moment you’re granted together; from making sure breakfast is together and not in a handheld rush out the door, to teasing him into getting in the bath fully clothed with you. But the start of the tour brought pangs of pain to your heart. Watching him walk out the door was reminiscent of watching him leave the house when it was all too much and your head and heart needed a break to find yourself.

“I missed you too,” Calum says and you hear the waver in his voice, the broken syllables punctuating the fractures that still exist and are on the mend. “Don’t think I’m gonna let you go back.”

His voice and the mood shifts as he teases you, holds you closer and tighter as if to make good on his words. You laugh and feel those aches start to ease as it feels a promise to stay in his arms. He doesn’t let go of you once you leave the park. Keeps you in his hold as you stroll the streets once more and duck into shops you haven’t yet seen. A jewelry store with stones and gold and silvers leaves you in awe. You scan necklaces and Calum finally looks past you, past the necklaces and bracelets and towards rings that lay under glass and spark thoughts and desires plainly through him.

He has pondered it before, has had dreams veiled with white and fences and a lifetime playing before his unconscious mind. He wants to drift over to the rings but stays with you, merely letting his gaze skirt to the display as you wander the shop and bypass symbols of commitment without a second glance. Diamonds dot the case, put promises in his mind, but leave something to be desired. They’re beautiful, finely cut, glimmering under the display lights and shining for all their price tags are worth. But they aren’t you. It's an opal inset to a silver, thin and looping band that truly takes his eye as you pass. He swallows down the thought and the words that seem to want to make an escape. It’s fleeting. Something to think on. And he will.

Rings and white veils and picket fences stay in his mind through your entire visit. He can’t see you without picturing one of the glimpses made of dreams. He can’t fathom a world of distance ever again—doesn’t want to say goodbye as your flight looms in the distance and the airport is packed with people departing their loved ones. He clings to you and you to him, a few more weeks of tour putting a wedge between you.

“Call me when you land?” Calum asks, needing to know you make it home safe. “And send pictures of you and Duke when you’re home?”

You smile and promise to do both. “I love you.”

He says it back in place of goodbye. Both of you unknowing of the others vow to keep goodbye off your lips. I love you was a much better last sentence to hear; a much better sentiment to hold onto during distance. Calum watches you walk away, watches your plane take off past sunset and knows you’ll be landing in time for another. Knows that he’ll get a voice memo of a chapter out of the book on the bedside table you read together at night when sleep isn’t happening for one or the other, sometimes both. He has his own copy with him, so he can send the same for you next time. Your departure leaves him with only his thoughts and time to sink into them. Rings flash before his eyes. A dream of the future lingers. Plans start forming in his mind and though they aren’t feasible in the moment and deserve more time and dedication to think over they stay with him until he’s back home to you.

His homecoming is all that you both could want. You and Duke and solace in the quiet and warm house. The moon accompanies him up the front steps and into your arms, the door flinging open the moment headlights light up the driveway. You had been waiting; wanted to pick him up at the airport but he insisted you stay safe at home and not have to brave the crowd of fans that might flock. You waited and waited on the edge of your seat, eyes out the window and Duke in your lap. As soon as his familiar hold settled around your waist and his cheek pressed to the top of your head you finally felt like you were home again, though you’d been back at the house for weeks.

A sense of normalcy and routine returns to you as you both settle back in post tour. Moments of bliss come back to you. The house feels like a home again. The break you both endured to find yourself feels long lost as days turn to weeks and everything feels right with each other. You wish it could stay like this forever; wish his homecoming was permanent and that tours and trips and time apart weren’t so demanding and often. You wish for something like forever.

Calum is consumed with images of rings that float through his mind as he comes back to you. He’s caught in a whirlwind of white and questions and future uncertainties. He knows all he has to do is ask, he knows that since the very first day he met you it was all building up to this. He needs to talk about it, to mention it and get the images in his mind into words and a plan. He can’t confide in you, needs it to be a surprise. He finds himself at Ashton’s, speaking his desires aloud for the first time since a dream woke him and prompted the words to fall from his tongue.

“You’re sure?” Ashton asks and it’s not said with doubt but with a need for certainty. “You’re really going to ask?”

Calum nods and in that moment it’s all solidified. “It’s been in my head for weeks. Maybe months. Is it stupid? Too soon after the break?”

Ashton shakes his head no quickly. “I’ve never seen you two so happy. As bad as that break was it was good for both of you, good for your relationship. You both know who you are now. Together and apart.”

Ashton grins and Calum shifts, still so caught up in his own mind. “How’re you gonna do it?”

“I have a plan. But I don’t have what I need yet,” Calum admits, the lack of a ring and reservation looming in his thoughts; disrupting the perfect picture he conjures up almost every time he looks at you.

“You know the answer will be yes. No matter how you do it,” Ashton reminds him and while Calum believes it he’s convinced you deserve a moment as special as you are.

His talk with Ashton sets him into motion. He goes in and out of jewelry stores, talks with consultants, makes reservations and finds his pocket empty. It’s the tenth store he’s gone into in half as many days when he decides he can’t do this on his own. He needs help, a woman’s taste and knowledge. He needs his sister and her wisdom. You stay oblivious to all that he’s done and stay happy to have him back, still reeling in reunion and all the moments made of bliss that they create.

It all gets rattled when Calum announces he needs to go to London—he squabbles to explain it to you, something about family and then the band and it’s convoluted and confusing—but you wait with hope and eager opportunity to be asked to go with him. When the words never fall from his mouth you shrink into silence and bid him a hasty goodbye. He leaves with Ashton, tells you he loves you and you watch him walk out the door without you. You can’t help but wonder why he didn’t ask you to go. If there was a need for distance settling into his mind and heart the way it once had yours. You agonize over it, let it keep you up at night and note the lack of his voice in your ear or through your phone speaker. The ritual of reading together crumbles and you remember a time when everything started to shatter.

Calum breezes through jewelry stores with Mali at his side; his sister commenting on his jovial steps and the grin that never seems to leave his face as rings flash before them. He tells her that he hasn’t been this happy in a long time and she assures him that she can tell. That she knows you’re the reason why. Ashton tags along a few times, makes comments about the things that catch Calum’s eye.

“That’s not a diamond,” he says when Calum gravitates towards another opal ring.

“No,” he agrees and peers down through the glass anyway. “But this has the colors of both our birthstones,” he notes and points at the swirls of garnet for January and the color of your birth month colliding across a smooth and white opal. The band is silver and thin but it loops into an infinity symbol, just like the one he saw that put the notion of marriage back into his mind. “What do you think, Mali?”

His sister scurries over from the other end of the counter and peers down at the ring. Ashton stays quiet—seemingly for once—as Mali inspects it.

She looks up at her brother and warms, brown eyes scrunching as she smiles and nods. “It’s perfect. It’d never be a no, but how could anyone say no to that?”

“Let’s hope,” Calum says under his breath though he agrees with Mali. He knows in his heart that this is the right one and you are the right person. He calls over an employee and leaves the store with your ring in a deep red velvet box, a secret until the perfect moment came along.

You turn pages of the novel Calum gave you on a rainy night and wonder where he is. Calls since he left for London a few days ago have been scarce and it leaves you worried. You had taken time away, needed to step back, the distance imposed thoughts that maybe Calum now needed that too. You gripe over it as you toss and turn through restless nights. His homecoming does little to put your mind at ease. He’s receptive to the welcome, his arms still feel like home and you hold onto hope that all will go back to normal now that he’s back. But the distance stays present. He works late nights at the studio; is too tired for reading or talking or anything by the time he crawls back into bed with you.

Mornings are quiet. What would usually be a breakfast filled with laughter and teasing, feeding each other and trying to spend every last second together before you headed out the door are now somber affairs. Calum doesn’t say much, has a nervous energy that fills the kitchen and sinks into your gut. It puts you on edge but you say nothing; too scared to know what’s going through his mind. You can’t gauge his reactions to anything anymore. He stays stoic yet hardwired and nervous. There’s fleeting but present worry and doubt invading your mind and heart as time ticks on and nothing changes—nothing goes back to the way it was—everything changes. You mention it to your friends and they try to calm your doubts and fears but it does little to quell all that is building broken walls around your heart.

Calum knows he’s acting strange; that the weight of your ring he carries in his pocket as you’d find it hidden anywhere in the house has started to wear him down. His thoughts are tangled and planning the proposal comes with late nights away from you. He doesn’t enjoy those nights, knows that when he finally gets home there’s a cut of disappointment in your words and heartache in your eyes when he says he’s too tired to read or talk or do much of anything. But he’s running thin; between the band, the proposal and life at large he comes home empty. He hopes, as he puts some finishing touches on his plan with Ashton, that it will all make up for it in the end.

He has an entire day and night planned. It starts inconspicuous, a small trip to the coast where he hopes you think you’ll be spending another day in the sand and waves as is usual for day trips. But there will be more, a venue with soft lighting and music, petals of your favorite flowers scattered on the floor, your favorite food, the ring and his knee meeting flowers as he keeps to tradition and hopes you’ll say yes. His plan gets stalled when he comes home and you’re silent—the first night since he’s been home that you don’t ask about his day, offer to read or even greet him with a hello. A lump forms in the back of his throat and his chest heats with uncertainty as he realizes you’re not happy.

“Sweetheart,” he says to try and catch your attention, to try to get you to look at him.

You’re sat on the edge of the couch and it brings back memories of the talk that led to fractures and a break. You don’t say anything in response to his term of endearment for you. You don’t smile and your eyes don’t shine with happiness at his voice the way they usually do. A taut frown pulls at your lips and your eyes glisten as you fight back tears. He goes to you but stops when you stiffen.

“What’s wrong?” Calum asks, again trying to get you to talk.

“Do you need a break? Do you not want to be with me anymore?” You finally spit out and it sends Calum into a wave of shock. His heart rate picks up but he can’t feel it beating against his chest. “You gave me time if you need it I’ll do that for you but please don’t just drift away from me. If you need space I’ll go—I have some bags packed already—you need to talk to me. We can work it out. Or… or if we can’t—if you don’t want me to come back; if you don’t want me”—Calum cuts you off with a shake of his head and that final step towards you.

You’re in tears by the time he reaches you. He doesn’t know why, he can’t stop it, but he laughs as he pulls you up from the couch and into his arms. Your explanation is a bittersweet relief to his ears; your tears and panic and explanation your own mind concocted for the distance tugs at his heart and hurts but your resilience and wanting to work things out keeps him going strong. His laughter dies down as you pull away from him and balk—a broken breath leaving you as you shake your head and your lip quivers.

“Are you seeing someone else? Is that it?” You ask, a new panic overriding the sadness that rips at you.

Calum laughs again and shakes his head ‘no’. He scrambles, trying to think on his feet and offer an explanation to smooth out all the damage that’s been done.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you plead and it breaks apart the hysteria that led to the laughter in the first place.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to laugh with you forever,” he says, hoping it would help to quell your newfound fears. He tries for subtlety, a notion of forever trying to ensure he’s not leaving, he doesn’t want you to leave—wants to stay with you for the rest of his life.

You squabble on, still caught up in anxiety and Calum tries to explain himself without revealing the ring still in his pocket or the plans he had hoped would be fulfilled by this time tomorrow. He talks in circles and none of it is convincing enough to calm you down.

“Sweetheart, please just trust me,” he begins after finally having gotten you back down on the couch.

“What am I to trust when you won’t tell me anything? You don’t even talk to me anymore…”

Calum feels a slice of guilt cut through him at your words. He knows it’s true. His silence has been heavy, his plans needing time, time needing silence. Every night he comes home he has to bite his tongue to make sure he doesn’t pop the question at eleven at night on the bedroom floor, every morning you wake he has to push down words so he doesn’t ask for forever in the kitchen. He knows you’d say yes in either scenario but a question with the waves and sunset and flowers spilled all around is more worthy. But he’s not sure you’ll make it to see the waves and sunset and heard his question tomorrow; he fears you’ll walk out the door under moonlight and distance will come back in broken shards of silence and miscommunication.

“Alright,” Calum says slowly, conceding to the fact his knee will hit the living room floor and the opal will shine under stars and not the sun. He can only hope that your answer will be the same with tears of frustration and sadness in your eyes rather than happiness and shock. “I have to ask you something. It was supposed to be so much more than this.”

He sees the confusion sweep through your eyes at his whispered words said in a timid voice. His hand reaches into his pants pocket and his fingers find velvet, the smooth feel he was now accustomed to helping to ease the nerves. He can’t count how many times he had reached into his pocket and felt the box, how many times he had to stop himself from bringing it out and asking you in the dead of the night. He does that now. Watches confusion turn to shock, sees the tears in your eyes spill over and drip down your cheeks as he slowly gets to one knee, a velvet box popped open and your eyes blown wide.

“I’ve been planning this out for weeks, ever since we went to that jewelry store and I couldn’t get the picture of you wearing a ring out of my head. It was like that dream but every moment I was awake. I flew off to London so Mali could help me pick a ring. I came back and avoided you so I could plan everything. This was supposed to happen with flowers and music and an ocean sunset behind us. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is your answer.”

Calum takes in a deep breath as he lets his gaze linger on you; commits your image in that moment to his memory as it dramatically and quickly shifts from breaking pieces to heart on your sleeve, in your eyes, in the way you reach for him and nod minutely without the question even being asked yet.

“Marry me? I want nothing more than to spend the rest of our lives together. I want you; forever.”

You fall to your knees, eyes not even looking at the ring but staying steady on Calum as you close all the distance that lingered since a shattering break. He wraps his arms around you, velvet box dropping to the couch in favor of holding you. He feels you nod against him, hears and feels the small whisper of yes against his skin and holds you closer when a small sob wracks your body. He pulls away, just enough to see your face and wipe the fallen tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry it happened like this,” Calum said but you shook your head and his fears away. “We can still go tomorrow. To make up for tonight.”

You nod and finally cut a gaze at the ring discarded on the couch cushions. Calum reaches for it but you don’t offer him your hand when he brings it back.

“I’m sorry I ruined your plan,” you say, voice hoarse and tired. Your hand envelops his hand that holds the ring. “We can save that for tomorrow, but know that my answer is yes today and tomorrow and forever.”

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If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know!

***

This one is all because of @outerspaceisbetterthannothing messages (put here at the end so as not to give any spoilers) 🖤

Okay, getting back to dates with cal. Let's move several months forward. Boys are on tour, final leg somewhere in europe and the reader flew out to finish it with them. So they with cal explore some city, she's excited practically about everything cause it's her first time in europe. Cal laughs at how she gets happy over grey buildings or pigeons or sth. And that moment the idea hits him unexpectedly. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He doesn't say, just thinks it through for now

Okay,getting back to dates with Cal. They’re back home after tour,some weeks pass and Cal is really wrapped up in this idea about asking his girl to marry him and even confides in Ashton,who’s beyond happy for his friend. He wants to go ring shopping,but in the very first shop he realises he can’t do that without Mali. So he packs and leaves for London with Ash under some ass stupid excuse,as she’s left home wondering what she did wrong that he left so abruptly and didn’t ask her to go with him

Cal’s having the softest time in UK with Mali, finds the perfect ring and gets home, where she feels him being distant. But he’s only distant because he’s afraid to spill the beans unintentionally. So it’s a lot of late night coming home and not talking because too tired, which makes her upset. They with Ash prepare the perfect proposal and Cal tells that they need to hurry as she obv feels sth’s up. Meanwhile she’s talking to her friends about him and works herself up over all of it.

So one night when Cal comes home late and tired, she calls him out with sth like ‘are you gonna break up with me?’ And Cal so shook he doesn’t answer straight away so she goes with how she’s tired to wait for him to pick up his courage and already packed, so he can just easily do it rn, it won’t take long for her to leave. Asks him if he’s seeing someone else. And Cal laughs nervously, cause he wants to spend the rest of his life with her, but she thinks he’s cheating on her.

But this snort of his only proves everything to her and she asks not to laugh at her at least. And Cal goes with ‘i’m gonna laugh at you for the rest of our lives’. And he tries to work his way out of this somehow, cause he doesn’t want to propose on his own kitchen floor. Tells she’s gonna regret that for the rest of her life. But she’s so persistent, so proposing on his kitchen floor is exactly what he’s eventually doing. ‘You’re my one and only, silly’

Tagged: @rosecolouredash @irwinkitten @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @wildflowergrae @empathycth @cuddlemecalx @malumsmermaid @babylon-corgis @outerspaceisbetterthannothing @mariellelovescupcakes @xhaileyreneex @goth5sos @gosh-im-short @feliznavidaddycal @loveroflrh @findingliam-o @flowerthug @g-l-pierce @talkfastromance4 @cashtonasfuck @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer @wastedheartcth @calumscalm @notinthesameguey @lukesfuckingbeard @myloverboyash @treatallwithkindness @haikucal @wiildflower-xxx @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood @drarryetcetera @another-lonely-heart @megz1985 @idk-harry @dinosaursandsocks @wildflower-cth @idontneedanyone @everyscarisahealingplace @myfavfanficsever @stormrider505 @karajaynetoday @333-xx @calumshpod @calumsphile @calumrose @justhereforcalum @grreatgoog @calumance @mantlereid @hemmingslftv

#calum hood #5sos #calum hood imagines #calum hood blurbs #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #calum hood fluff #calum hood angst #calum hood x you #calum hood x reader #5sos fluff #5sos angst #5sos x you #5sos x reader #cal!dates

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drummergirl231-2 · 4 years ago

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Is Webby... April?

Now hear me out:

Back in February when the finale was announced, we found out Noël Wells and Riki Lindhome will debut as June and May. There was no mention of Daisy’s other niece, April.

Then today, we got that promo with short finale clips!

Here we see Donald, Della, Dewey, Webby, and two young duck girls, about the other kids’ age. We can assume they are May and June. Still no mention of April, though.

BUT TODAY ON MY LUNCH BREAK I SAW AND READ THE THINGS YOU GUYS AND MY BRAIN EXPLODED.

The three-part finale has subtitles (not the caption kind), like how with the Season 1 finale “Shadow War!” there were also subtitles like “Night of DeSpell!” for part 1 and “Day of the Ducks!” for part 2.

The subtitle for part 1 of the series finale is “A Tale of Three Webby’s!” (Should it be Webbies? Meh, doesn’t matter).

The point is, May and June look a LOT like Webby in their facial features and head shape (their clothing styles match, too). If Webby is their sister, why was she separated from them? Was their mother involved with F.O.W.L.? How’d Beakley get Webby?

BUT THEN WE STARTED GETTING MORE DETAILED SYNOPSES. ABANDON THIS POST IF YOU DON’T WANT ANY MORE SPOILERS.

The synopsis of “A Tale of Two Webby’s!” is: “The family raids FOWL headquarters only to find mysterious clones that point to a larger FOWL plot against them.”

Mysterious clones, you say?!?!?!

Black Heron did steal that white feather back in “The Split Sword of Swanstantine!” The most obvious guess was that it was Scrooge’s since she fought him the most. But there was also that moment she knocked all the kids down. What if she’d plucked Webby’s feather in that one swift motion?

Regardless of whose feather it was at the end of that episode, they could have taken a hair or feather from Webby at some point and made two clones of her. Now the question is, are they recently made clones, or were they part of a F.O.W.L. cloning experiment from years ago? Are they the cartoony kind of clones that if you put a sample of a character’s DNA in a machine it’ll immediately spit out a same-age clone, or are the writers taking the realistic approach of having F.O.W.L. develop clones from scratch?

I imagine we’ll get a lot of answers in part 2, “The Lost Library of Isabella Finch!”

“The family attempts a rescue mission, splitting up for a final confrontation with F.O.W.L. High Command; Webby’s search for answers uncovers an earth-shattering secret.”

I have so many questions. Are April, May, and June even Daisy’s nieces in this version? Are Daisy and her sister Beakley’s long lost daughters? Is Pepper related to Daisy? Is she the girls’ mother (I’m hoping no XD)? Was she part of the cloning experiment at all? (Can’t imagine F.O.W.L. wanting to use her genes, but ya never know). What if Pepper isn’t really as dumb as she acts and she tries to foil F.O.W.L.’s plans by being bad at stuff on purpose? What if she’s a double agent? What if she IS Daisy?! Did F.O.W.L. engineer Webby from the DNA of the world’s finest operatives like @alliterativealbatross’ theory speculates? OOH what if Pepper was their first attempt to make a Webby and she didn’t turn out... quite... well, not like the superweapon they were trying to make? Are May and June Webby’s natural sisters, or clones? IS WEBBY APRIL YOU GUYS?!?!?

#spoilers #ducktales 2017 #ducktales the last adventure!#ducktales speculation #ducktales webby #ducktales series finale #ducktales season 3

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

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Mine

12. Skydiving with no parachute

Genre: Min Yoongi x oc

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.3k

“You’re all packed and ready to go, right?” Sebastian’s voice is loud and clear as I put him on speaker phone and place him on the nightstand.

“Just about,” I respond, folding another shirt and placing it in my suitcase. “I’m just wrapping it up right now. What time will you guys be here tomorrow?”

Bong-cha is out for a meeting at the Bighit building, she promised to come back as soon as possible so we could enjoy the evening together. I decided to make the most of my afternoon and pack everything up.

“Rhea said we’ll swing by at 6.”

Our flight leaves tomorrow morning at 9:30, sending us back over to Europe for another week of promos and then we’ll be off to the states. Home sweet home.

“Ok, sounds great.”

“See ya tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

For all that’s gone on over the past few weeks, today is too calm and quiet. I have the entire house to myself, nobody is blowing up my phone, and I have nowhere to really go today. Any other day, I would have been over the moon about my current situation...but I can’t help but feel a little restless.

Yoongi and I brainstormed yesterday for a long time, trying to figure out just how we were going to make this work. Living on opposite sides of the world and the both of us having busy schedules that just so happen to be in the spotlight isn’t exactly making this easy.

There was a point yesterday where Yoongi stopped mid-sentence and looked at me with bright red cheeks.

“Is this moving too fast? I mean, I know you said we’re on the same page, but I think we should try to make this as normal as possible, you know?”

That statement alone was enough to have me swooning over him all over again. “I’m with you on that. I think right now...should we just focus on the basics?”

To be honest, I still don’t even know what we are, but I’m just happy to know that we are something.

At least, that’s what I’m trying to entertain myself with now that I’m just sitting on the couch and staring at Bong-cha’s TV. I’m not even sure what I’m watching, the thoughts in my head are too loud to think around anyway.

There’s a lot that I end up doing within the confines of the apartment. I can safely say that I’ve completed 12 ½ squats, 3 pushups, and one thirty second wall sit.

I’ve also eaten approximately three meals in the past two hours, so yeah. Boredom can be a dangerous thing, can’t it?

The reality of the situation is this: I’ve completed everything I need to do for the day, and now I’m just trying to stop myself from marching back into my room and folding Yoongi’s black shirt for the fifth time.

Eventually I end up scrolling through the outlines my agent has sent me, mulling over each option. There’s one project that is especially calling my name, but from what I’ve heard there’s a couple of pretty big actresses going after it.

I’m in the middle of a very convincing monologue when Bong-cha walks in.

“Wow,” she chuckles at me while dropping her bag on the counter. “Looks like you’re having a great time.”

“Oh, yeah.” I shrug, putting my phone away. “I’m trying to memorize this monologue for an audition. It’s all about this forbidden love back in the 1700s, it sounds like it would be pretty intense. But people love that kind of crap, you know? Hey, how was your meeting?”

Bong-cha is slipping into her room to change into something more comfortable. “It was fine, pretty boring. Just wrapping up some final details. Jungkook said to tell you hello, by the way.”

We both know who I’m really itching to ask about, but I refrain from asking for the time being. “So what’s on the agenda for tonight? We can go out, eat at that one restaurant, you know the one by the park? That place never gets old. Or we can stay in, order takeout.” I quickly add once I notice the look of pure exhaustion on Bong-cha’s face.

Rolling her shoulders, she shoots me a tired smile. “Don’t you want to go out? I don’t want to be lame for your last night here.”

“No, I really don’t care. Sometimes it’s nice to just chill at home.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing before Bong-cha is on the phone and ordering up some food. We settle down in the front room, bickering over different movies and chatting about my promo schedule.

“So you’re going back to Europe? Why? Weren’t you just there?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, but we weren’t able to finish up everything that we wanted to because we came here. So we’ll be there for a week in Germany and Italy.”

“And then you’re heading home?”

“Yep.”

“When are you going to start bringing me souvenirs? I always-” Bong-cha is cut off by the sound of someone knocking on the door. “Oh, there’s the food. Anyways, like I was saying- oh!”

I jump up from my seat, heart pounding in my chest as I hope against hope that a certain dear friend of mine is at the door.

“Hi, I intercepted your delivery guy.”

Jimin holds up our food with a shy smile, giving me a little wave. Bong-cha takes a moment to recover, but when she does she invites him in and scolds him for doing the deliverer’s job.

“Are you packed now?” Jimin asks me from where he’s unloading our food on the counter. Bong-cha is moving about in a frenzy, pulling glasses from the cupboards and shooting me panicked expressions any chance she gets.

It’s all I can do to not burst out laughing at the situation. “Yeah, everything is ready to go. Actually, would you mind taking something back to Yoongi for me?” When Jimin nods I rush into my room and grab the black t-shirt from my bed.

“Wow, you stole his clothes? That’s pretty bold of you,” Jimin teases me before setting the shirt down where he’ll remember it. “Here’s your plate.”

I take the plate from him, making some lame excuse about needing something from the kitchen and sidling over to Bong-cha. “Invite him to stay for the movie,” I breathe out, hoping she hears me.

“Have you eaten?” Bong-cha asks as she stomps on my foot. I yelp, rushing out of the kitchen.

“No, not yet. I’ll eat later, though.”

“Well...Cara and I were just going to watch a movie tonight. You can stay if you want, we’ll order more food.”

Jimin’s smile could power New York City as he looks at Bong-cha. “Sure, that’d be nice.”

We fall into an easy conversation, the three of us lounging about and scarfing down our food. Jimin ends up ordering a ghastly amount of food and treats, so much that it looks like we’re hosting a party. I can tell that Bong-cha is one churro away from offering Jimin her hand in marriage as he laughs at a funny part in the movie.

7:06 ME: Soooo Jimin and Bong-cha?

It’s surprisingly easy to angle my phone away from their attention as the two of them are lost in their own little world. One watches the movie while the other watches the person, and then they switch.

7:09 MYG: What, the fact that he’s completely whipped for her?

“What are you over there giggling about?” Bong-cha asks me, wiggling her eyebrows. Jimin tries to do the same, looking like some evil experiment.

“What? The movie is really funny.”

“Cara.”

“Yeah?”

“The main character’s mother just died.”

“Oh.”

Jimin leans back, stretching a bit. “I bet she’s texting Yoongi. That’s all he’s ever doing these days, anyways.” My face burns which leads Jimin to give a triumphant shout.

“Has he confessed his undying love for you yet?” Bong-cha asks. Jimin jumps in next.

“He basically did yesterday, didn’t he?”

“No, Cara just said that they’re working through the basics. No ‘I love yous’ or anything yet.”

“Yeah,” Jimin rests his hands on his knees, angling himself toward Bong-cha. “But actions speak louder than words.”

Now Bong-cha leans forward as well, my own participation in this conversation long forgotten. “That’s true, but you can’t just rely on actions alone! Sometimes words are necessary.”

“So girls want actions and words?”

“Of course they do! Actions can be misleading, words at least offer a clear explanation!”

Jimin looks like he’s caught between telling Bong-cha he loves her or pulling her closer. “But words can be misleading as well! Why can’t people just connect the dots through someone’s actions?”

7:12 ME: Oh my gosh they’ve got it baaaad

7:12 ME: This is honestly the most fun I’ve had all day, just watching them. Are they always this oblivious?

“Because nobody should have to rely on that one thing alone! There should be a healthy balance between actions and words. Say what you intend, and follow up with your actions! It’s as simple as that!” Bong-cha is nearly panting, but there’s a hint of a smile curling around her lips.

Jimin scans her face for a moment longer, eyes lingering on the bridge of her nose and the way her hair falls into her face when she’s riled up.

“Huh. Interesting.” With that Jimin sits back, returning his attention to the screen. Bong-cha follows suit almost immediately.

“Idiots,” I mumble under my breath.

“What was that?” Bong-cha asks.

“Oh, nothing. Just reading out loud.”

🌙

12:17 MYG: Sorry, I just got out of a meeting. I didn’t mean to not respond. To answer your question, yes. They’re always like that.

I’m wide awake and staring up at the ceiling when Yoongi messages me. Snatching my phone from the bedside table, I scan the text.

12:18 ME: You just finished your meeting? Why was it so late?

12:20 MYG: I had to change some things with the mixtape, so there were a lot of things to go over.

Frowning, I hastily type out another question.

12:21 ME: What are you changing? I thought it was perfect the way it was before, but I’m sure whatever you changed will be good too.

12:25 MYG: It’s not as bad as it sounds. I just finally found a concept that I thought really fit. Now we’re just trying to make sure everything flows with the concept.

12:27 ME: What’s the new concept?

A while passes before Yoongi responds, and I try to trick myself into thinking that we’re done talking for the night so I can finally get some rest. Of course, once my phone lights up with a new message I’m just as awake as ever.

12:52 MYG: You’ll see when it drops in December 😌

12:55 ME: Rude.

12:57 MYG: Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping right now? What time are you leaving in the morning?

1:00 ME: Leaving here at 6, flight leaves at 9:30.

Sighing into the darkness I watch at those three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen. I can’t lie and say that I wasn’t disappointed that I didn’t even get to see Yoongi today, but it’s just now that I’m realizing I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

I’ve told myself a million times today that this is just how it’s going to be, and that I’ll just take what I can get. If it’s tired late night texts, then I’ll take it.

I think that scares me. It scares me, how little I want from him. How he has so much sway over my heart.

It’s a good scary, I think. Like the kind of scared you get before you jump out of a plane, your first time going skydiving. Right now I’m just hoping that my parachute isn’t riddled with holes, but as I stare at those three little dots, I’m wondering if I even remembered to put a parachute on in the first place.

1:02 MYG: You should go to sleep, Car. Let’s facetime tomorrow? Just shoot me a text when you land.

As my tired fingers text out a goodnight, I can’t help but feel like I’m an idiot for skydiving without a parachute, because the ground seems to be approaching too fast.

🌙

All I know is there’s an alarm going off, and I want to kill it.

“Whaaaat do you want from meeee,” I groan out as I fumble in the darkness for my phone. Once it’s silenced, I check the time.

5:15 am. I’m disgusted.

Stumbling around the room until I hit the lightswitch, I hiss as light fills the room. Through squinted eyes I can see my suitcase and the clothes I laid out for today. I’m ashamed to say that I nearly sustained a concussion while attempting to put my pants on, my tangled legs and the dresser being the main culprits.

I think it goes without saying that by the time I emerge from the room and finish brushing my teeth, I’m ready to go back to bed.

The sounds of Bong-cha using the toaster guide me, suitcase in tow. Now comes the hardest part: saying goodbye.

“Do you want jam as well or just butter?” A deep, tired sounding voice asks me.

Min Yoongi stands before the toaster, decked out in sweats and a sweatshirt. His hair is a mess, standing up on the ends. His eyes are still half-closed, his lips in a pout as he turns to face me.

I gape at him, taking in what I think might be his best choice of outfit ever. “Is this a dream?”

He shakes his head slowly. “It’s too cold outside to be a dream. Jam or just butter?”

Later I’ll cover for myself and claim that my tears were just a side effect of the early morning and the long day ahead of me, but right now I can’t think up any excuse as hot tears start falling down my cheeks.

“J-jam.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen as he notices my predicament, and he clears the kitchen in no time, leaving the toast abandoned. I think he must be tired as well, because he doesn’t even hesitate before pulling me into his arms and squeezing me tight.

My arms wrap around his back, hands getting lost in the fabric of his hoodie. He presses his lips to the top of my head, the action causing me to snuggle in even deeper and get his hoodie all wet with my tears.

“Y-you came...and made m-me toast?” The words are muffled, but it’s quiet enough in the house that he hears me.

“Should I not have?” Yoongi asks, and I pull away just enough to look up at him, scowling.

“No, I’m happy you d-did. It’s just…” I take a steadying breath, more tears flooding my eyes as Yoongi looks down at me with a soft expression I’ve never seen before.

“I know.” He pulls me back in, hands rubbing soothing circles on my back. “I know, Car.”

We stay like that for a long while, and it’s only when my sniffles have subsided that Yoongi gently takes my hands in his and leads me over to the kitchen island. I sit down, watching as he spreads butter and then jam onto my toast.

Setting the plate before me he reaches into the fridge for some orange juice and pours us both a glass.

“Sorry, it’s probably cold now.”

I shake my head, taking another bite. “Still tastes good. Thank you.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Yoongi gets up, one hand tracing over my shoulders and he walks over to the couch. “This is for you.”

He hands me a small package wrapped in brown wrapping paper, a black ribbon tied around the middle. I raise my eyebrows at him.

“A present? Can I open it?”

“Open it when you get to your hotel tonight.” Yoongi looks a bit embarrassed as he sits back down, and I realize that he might be feeling a little out of his element here. After all, when was the last time he ever had a relationship?

I get up and put the package away in my suitcase, groaning when I check the time. Everyone should be here in about 5 minutes.

“Times up?”

Looking up I see Yoongi wandering over to me, hands pushing his hair back in an effort to tame it. I nod solemnly.

We don’t speak a word as I meet him halfway, fingers entangling themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. He closes his eyes for a moment, and I take advantage of the situation, leaning up and pressing a peck to his jaw.

I can hear his sharp intake of breath, quickly followed by Bong-cha’s annoyed voice.

“Really? Get a room, losers.”

Blushing madly, I try to squirm out of Yoongi’s grasp but his gruff laugh has me stilling in his arms. “Turn around, Bong-cha.” Without waiting to see if she will, Yoongi leans down and presses a long, slow kiss to my lips.

It’s not nearly long enough as the sound of a car honking outside pulls us apart. Yoongi has a somber look in his eyes as he gives me an encouraging nod and a small peck to my forehead before stepping back.

Bong-cha skips forward, launching herself into my arms. “You two are gross, but I still love you.”

“Love you too,” I whisper, my tears threatening to make a reappearance. Bong-cha seems to pick up on it, shoving the handle of my suitcase into my hands and pushing me toward the door.

Yoongi beats me to it, swinging it open and clenching his jaw as a blast of cold air hits us. Without a word he takes my suitcase and heads out, leaving me with nothing to do but follow him and hope I have everything.

“Bong-cha?” I turn around to see my friend wrapping her arms around her middle.

“Yeah?”

“Keep me updated. Jimin...he really likes you.”

My friend doesn’t have it in her to roll her eyes, instead just nodding before waving me off. She’s never been one for goodbyes.

Yoongi is already at the car, handing my suitcase off to Ren who hoists it into the car. He looks like he’s freezing, but as he turns to wave me over I decide that freezing looks good on him.

“Be careful, call me, text me, have a safe flight-”

“You’ve got to stop worrying so much, Yoongs.”

Smiling down at me even as he shivers, Yoongi pulls me in for another embrace. There are so many words hanging between us, but I choose to sweep past them and opt to nuzzle my face deeper into Yoongi’s neck.

“See you soon.”

I sigh, hoping that I will. “Yeah, soon.”

🌙

The airport, flight, and car ride to the hotel pass in a blur of shapes and colors. I vaguely remember there being a mob at both the Seoul and Berlin airports, but I was stuffed so tightly between security that I could hardly see anything.

Now, sitting on the edge of my bed, I hold onto the little package from Yoongi. Holding my breath, I untie the ribbon and tear open the paper, chewing on my lip.

An audible gasp leaves my lips as I hold up Yoongi’s black t-shirt. As it unfolds, a small slip of paper flutters to the ground. Holding the shirt to my nose I grin as I realize Yoongi must have sprayed it with his cologne. I wonder who’s idea that was; my bet is on Jimin.

Grabbing the paper, I flip it over to see Yoongi’s handwriting.

It looks better on you.

Chuckling softly to myself, I hurry and slip the shirt over my head. It’s quiet in here, but soon the sound of my video call fills the room as I anxiously wait for Yoongi to pick up.

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grilledcheeseandguavajelly · 4 years ago

Text

“Somewhere Just Beyond My Reach, There’s Someone Reaching Back For Me” -- Wilhemina Venable x Mildred Ratched

Mildred Ratched already owns my heart. That’s just the sad truth. She shares the space with Venable now. Which means that I’m left thinking of the two of them together almost constantly. And eventually it got too loud and I had to write it.

Please bear with me, the show hasn’t even dropped a trailer yet so this is just me having fun with the little I know about Nurse Ratched (and the little I am hoping for gathered from promo pictures/teasers). Also, I wrote it in maybe two days, so I apologize in advance for any typos.

Words: ~13,500

Warnings: None? I’m hesitant to say none on a fic with ~these women~, but yeah I think that’s where we are right now. Just a bit of smut (shhhh)

~I really hope you all enjoy this one, it’s probably a bit different than everyone was expecting, but I couldn’t resist. Alright, LET’S DO THIS~

Wilhemina’s fingers twitched on her cane, thumb rubbing reflexively against the handle as she watched the line in front of her. Stagnant. And she had been waiting for almost twenty minutes.

She was just starting to lose her patience, especially with the man she was behind. Too tall, smelling of cigarettes. The future of her day pressed against her, the knowledge that she was going to be faced with hundreds of these men, large and consuming and throwing too much ego around.

This convention was entirely men, as far as she could see. And as she looked around, took in their shining shoes and their notebooks and their stares, she shifted, setting her posture on her cane and standing up a bit straighter.

Until heels clicked through the room, tapping steadily and coming to a halt just behind her.

And Wilhemina realized that they hadn’t been staring at her.

Soft muttering, a huff, and then Wilhemina turned, her curiosity peaked.

Her eyes landed on a woman, entirely too perfect for her own good, from the way her hat sat at an impeccable angle to the way her feet crossed smoothly, one in front of the other, as she dug through her purse.

A second later, her mouth pursed into a thin line as she pulled out a neatly folded stack of papers. And as she looked up, straightening, her eyes met Wilhemina’s.

A small smirk played over her lips, no doubt at the realization that Wilhemina had been staring at her. And all Wilhemina could think to do in the moment was pop her brow, quirking her head.

Composure. Self-preservation.

A long moment where Wilhemina let herself look her up and down, take in her quartered sleeves, peter-pan collar, the row of thick buttons that ran a perfect line down to a flared skirt. And black, velvet gloves to match.

And then she found her voice.

“I was under the impression that I would be the only woman speaking here today.”

And this woman, so impeccably dressed, so impeccably put together, had the nerve to pop her brow right back.

“Well,” she countered quickly, tipping her shoulders back. “One should never assume.”

And this time, Wilhemina couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at her lips. She offered her free hand, tapping her cane as she spoke. “Wilhemina Venable. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

And to her surprise, the woman took it, gloved hand warm in Wilhemina’s grip.

“Mildred Ratched,” she replied smoothly, eyes hot as a smile curved her lips.

Wilhemina couldn’t help but shift as she shook the woman’s hand, some sort of victory, of smugness, folding into her from the power radiating through this simple gesture. Her nose twitched and then Mildred’s hand was falling away, finding the strap of her small purse and rubbing at it absently as she pulled her composure back around her.

She watched Mildred’s eyes flick past her, and then immediately around the room. Watched the slight shake in her breath as she undoubtedly realized what Wilhemina had only moments before. It really was all men here, save the two of them.

“What are you lecturing on?” Wilhemina asked, pleased when Mildred’s eyes snapped back to her.

“Psychological advances made through study of post-trauma triggers and observances in the field of action.”

Wilhemina hummed, her fingers tightening on her cane as the implication of what the woman said settled around her. “You helped during the war?”

A smug look crossed Mildred’s face, but she morphed it into a passive smile. “Helped might be an understatement.”

There was a long moment as Wilhemina realized that Mildred was probably entirely capable of handling herself around so many men. Commanding so many men. And then the woman spoke again.

“And you?”

Wilhemina swallowed, tapping her cane as she set her shoulders against inevitable backlash that always came when she admitted to never helping with the war efforts.

“No.”

To her surprise, Mildred only chuckled. Shook her head. “I meant what are you lecturing on.”

She set her jaw, fingers twitching at her error. Her mistake. But Mildred hadn’t scolded her. Hadn’t judged. She was only curious. So polite. So focused.

“I’m simply posing the question of technology versus consciousness. And somehow, I have a feeling that these men will not like it.”

A small laugh from Mildred, and then something settled over her that looked almost uncomfortable, an uneasiness radiating off of her like a wave.

Wilhemina quirked a brow. “Perhaps you’re not fond of it either, Ms. Ratched?”

But Mildred shook her head. “Nurse,” she corrected. “And it’s not that. It’s simply...”

Her eyes pulled over the men surrounding them. Staring at them. Undoubtedly murmuring about them as they walked. Always together. Always in pairs.

Mildred fingered the strap of her purse, teeth scraping over her bottom lip for a fraction of a second before she schooled her features.

Wilhemina let her eyes run over her once more, top to bottom and back again. The language of her movements, scribbled down in books on how to cover yourself from the world. How to block everyone out and set yourself atop the pyramid of society.

“Well, Nurse Ratched,” Wilhemina tried, smirking as she tapped her cane once more. “Order on the outside does wonders to keep the chaos safely on the inside.”

And then those eyes, those brown, piercing eyes, viciously slicing through Wilhemina. She knew that look, that shock. She had seen right through her. Exposed her, clear as day. Mildred was vulnerable. Mildred was broken.

Mildred was just like her.

~~~

There was an expression on Wilhemina’s face that Mildred couldn’t read. And try as she might, eyes searching and picking apart the minuscule eyebrow quirks and eyes narrowing and lips twitching, she was completely lost.

And nothing set her more on edge.

Mildred had always been able to read everyone. It was her first priority. Get a feel for them, dig down into them. Find the thing that makes them tick and spin it on its head to stay on top.

But Wilhemina had some sort of wall around her. Something that fuzzed out Mildred’s mind and kept her pulled in tight. A magnet against a metal strip.

A soft, “I look forward to hearing you speak,” and then Wilhemina was turning away, stepping forward in line and giving her name to the man sat at the table just in front of them.

She watched as Wilhemina handed over her papers, shoulders askew and tapping her cane. Impatiently, Mildred realized. And she schooled her features as she recognized the difference between this tap and the way it had clicked when they were speaking. Absently, an extension of herself.

And then, with an irritated smile, Wilhemina was checked in and moving aside, fingers flexing on her cane as she sauntered past the table.

Mildred watched Wilhemina walk away, handing her papers to the man before her. And her eyes stayed locked on Wilhemina as she paused just before she fell out of sight, turning mid-step.

“Name?” the man asked, pulling Mildred’s attention from the smirk that sliced across her face.

She took a deep breath, voice perfectly even as she replied. And as he sifted through files and documentation, Mildred let herself look up again. Wilhemina was gone.

She shoved the pang of sadness aside, straightening out the hem of her glove and shifting her purse further up her arm. And only after clearing the woman from her mind and focusing back on the man before her, did she notice how careless he was being.

“Excuse me,” she tried, voice suddenly firm. Still impeccably soft. “You’re wrinkling the edge of my papers.” Mildred indicated to the corner of the page, where the man’s arm was pressing a nice crease into the side of her registration documents. Her fingers twitched on the strap of her purse as she composed herself.

“They’re just papers,” the man said, offering her a small smile as he finished scribbling.

“They’re just things, Mildred. You don’t need things.”

“Daddy, please. Not mommy’s necklace.”

“You don’t deserve it. You haven’t been a good girl.”

Mildred pressed her mouth into a thin line, taking a deep breath against her father’s voice in her head.

“They’re my papers,” she said firmly, pressing her hand into the table and leaning forward. “And good manners would indicate you having respect for others’ things. Would it not?”

The man’s smile fractured, and Mildred almost smirked as she watched him gulp. He straightened out the corner of her papers, handing them back to her.

“Apologies, Nurse Ratched. Your first lecture is in room 42 B, just down the hall on the right.”

“There’s a good boy,” she drawled, pulling the papers from his fingers and frowning at the line down the edge. “And you’re going to be more careful with everyone else’s belongings, yes?”

“Yes, Nurse Ratched.”

And then she was walking away, that nice little bubble of satisfaction wedging into her heart.

~~~

“Eyes up.”

Mildred’s voice rang out through the hall, and Wilhemina was shocked at how her heart leapt at the tone of it. So commanding. So dominating.

“Our boys sacrificed their lives on these battlefields for us. The absolute least we can do is pay attention and listen and learn, to further the pursuit of medicine that they gave their lives for. Is that not correct?”

“I don’t think they sacrificed their lives for medicine, Nurse Ratched.”

And Wilhemina smiled at the fire that licked over her eyes, watching the way her hands splayed out on her podium. The way she straightened out her neck as her eyes bored into the boy who had interrupted her.

“What is your name?” she asked calmly. Too calmly.

“Jimmy,” he replied smoothly, and Wilhemina’s fingers itched at the smug look on his face. She could barely see him, sitting impeccably still in her seat and tracking him with her eyes. But she knew that tone of voice. She knew that type of man.

“Well, James,” Mildred continued, stepping around her podium and crossing her legs as she folded her hands neatly in front of her. “They may not have gone to war with the intention of furthering medicine. But they did go to war with the intention of saving lives. And how we use these lessons that they have taught us, intentional or not, could change the course of humanity as we know it. So would we not be remiss to waste such a hefty sacrifice? Do we not owe it to our boys to take as much as we can from the lives they gave so freely?”

And the sound that followed as Mildred looked over the men, eyes tracking them sharply as her expression morphed from perfectly concerned to smooth and kind, made Wilhemina’s heart pound. Because you could hear a pin drop. And never in her life had she ever come across another woman who had the same affect that she did on a group of men. Another woman who was so commanding. And so impeccably composed.

~~~

Wilhemina’s cane tapped with her words, punctuating points and emphasizing the way her eyes would narrow at questions.

“So, are you saying that we could make robots, Ms. Venable? Like…from the movies?”

A few laughs threaded out through the room and Mildred shifted in her seat, nose twitching at the innate possessiveness that pooled in her chest.

But as she looked up at Wilhemina, vision blurring, just so, her cane slammed against the wood. Mildred had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the way the men jumped in their seats.

“If you were listening, Mr. Brannard, you would understand that not only is it a possibility, my colleagues and I have already accomplished it.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Mildred hated the way that even that small act of dominance made her heart pound.

Wilhemina pursed her lips, tilting her head and tutting softly. Condescendingly. “Or are you too naive to imagine that something this advanced could be achieved so soon? By a woman?”

The boy stuttered, looking to the man beside him for help. But he was head down in his papers, scratching out notes.

Mildred took a deep breath, eyes falling back to Ms. Venable as she stalked around the podium. Slow. Practiced. She was making them wait, and she knew they would.

And suddenly, just like that, in a moment — Mildred was addicted to her.

~~~

The door shut behind Wilhemina and she let herself sigh, leaning onto her cane as her eyes fell closed. There was something about being surrounded by men, constantly, their eyes on her as she spoke, that always made her feel dirty. And it was exhausting, having to keep her steel walls up when Mildred was sitting in the back of the room watching her with so much intensity that she should have caught fire.

It was sad when the only place that she could get a moment to breathe was the ladies’ room.

That moment ended quicker than she would have liked, the squeak of the door opening forcing her to stand straighter on her cane and busy herself in the mirror.

Strong. Unaffected.

Heels clicked as Wilhemina wiped at the corner of her mouth, flicking off the smallest speck of stray lipstick. She waited for the woman to lock herself in a stall so that she could make a clean exit. But to her surprise, the footsteps stopped just short of her. And when Wilhemina threw a hot look over her shoulder at the intrusion, she was almost impressed.

“Hello, dear.”

Wilhemina popped her brow, a small smirk making her lips twitch. “Ms. Ratched.”

“Nurse,” she corrected, tipping her chin up as her eyes lit from behind.

“Mildred.”

A pause, Mildred’s gaze falling down Wilhemina’s form. “What are you doing?”

“Well I was intending to use the restroom,” Wilhemina replied, smoothing a hand down her skirt as she turned to face the woman.

Mildred’s eyes were calculating, twitching almost imperceptibly at the corner. “Unacceptable.”

Wilhemina scoffed. “And why might that be?”

“You’re scheduled to speak again in ten minutes. You should be prepping your presentation in five.”

She gestured to the space around them, head tilting challengingly. “Hence why I’m using the restroom now.”

A beat. Mildred stared at her, fingers slipping on the strap of her purse. And Wilhemina had only spoken to this woman once, but she had watched her for almost three hours, and then another two during her own lecture. She knew why her fingers twitched. She could read her like a book.

So she took a step forward, tapping her cane out in front of her and leaning on it, just enough to get in Mildred’s space.

“Did you miss me, Millie?” Venable breathed, eyes flicking over Mildred’s face. And she didn’t miss the way the other woman’s breath hitched, body stiffening. “Were you hoping to get me all to yourself for a few minutes?”

Mildred cleared her throat, straightening. “And if I was?”

A smirk.

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

~~~

Mildred had had plans for dinner. Of course she had. Very rarely did her schedule slip away from her, especially so when she was in a strange city around strange people.

But somehow, for some reason, she had changed her plans. For a woman.

Slap. “Disgusting, stupid whore. Is this who you want to become? Disgrace. Pull yourself together.”

Pull yourself together.

Wilhemina set the plate down before her and Mildred shifted in her seat, smoothing her already impeccably placed napkin on her lap.

And only when she finally pulled her eyes off of Wilhemina, sitting down opposite her at the table and propping her cane against the wood, did she realize that this woman was an incredible chef.

The dish was colorful, sausage swimming in pasta and decorated with fresh herbs. She comforted herself in the knowledge that she was eating better here than she would have been at the restaurant where she had reserved a table.

A logical decision.

They ate in silence for a few moments, Mildred fighting the shaking of her hands and trying to come up with a halfway decent conversation starter. But Wilhemina beat her to it.

“Tell me about the war,” she said softly as she twisted her fork in the pasta, looking up at Mildred with such blatant curiosity and innocence that she couldn’t say no. Couldn’t bear to shove that wall up and bark at her and throw out her usual excuses.

Which is how she found herself, almost an hour later, plate nearly empty as she covered her mouth with her fingers, swallowing around a bite that was just a fraction too large.

“No no,” she corrected, taking a sip of water. “It wasn’t the bombs that were distracting. It wasn’t the gunfire. It was the screaming.”

Something flashed in Wilhemina’s eyes and Mildred stuttered, almost convinced she was about to smile. Almost convinced she was about to cry.

“It was constant,” she continued, fingers playing over her fork as the memories flooded back into her mind. The smell of it, the sound. “Poor boys, too young to be fighting. And they never stopped. They never stopped screaming. Eventually you learn to tune it out. You have to. If you focus on them, if you let yourself hear it, everything else breaks away. You have to block it out. Or you lose the order of your surgical tent.”

Wilhemina nodded, swallowing. “Seems impossible.”

But Mildred shook her head again, shocking herself at how forward she was being. At how the words were spilling from her lips. Like she had known this woman for hundreds of years.

She was almost certain that she had, the way Wilhemina’s eyes pierced straight through her every time their gazes met.

“Logic and responsibility. That’s the key.”

And to her surprise, Wilhemina laughed. A full, pretty sound that was too raspy for her own good.

Mildred flushed, taking a long sip of water as Wilhemina spoke.

“No, no. Rules. Clear lines and boundaries. A straight right and a firm wrong. It’s the only way to keep them all in line.”

“You’re wrong,” Mildred stated, matter of fact. And when Wilhemina rose from her seat, she almost flinched.

But she only stalked over, a smirk slicing across her face as she collected Mildred’s plate and walked it over to the sink.

Cool. Calculated. Every one of Wilhemina’s actions had an equal, opposite reaction. They stalked around each other in perfect circles, and halfway through the dance Mildred’s mind was absolutely spinning. This time, she didn’t have a justification. Didn’t have follow-up. She was losing her grip.

The silence was deafening, exacerbated by the tapping of Wilhemina’s heels and the clattering of tableware against porcelain.

And then, just like that, she was back, pulling out the chair directly next to Mildred and settling down into it.

“Most people don’t get the privilege of telling me I’m wrong.”

Her voice had lowered, dangerous and sharp, a snake bite. And Mildred couldn’t help but dig her teeth into her bottom lip. Because this woman was so perfect, and so beautiful, and so intelligent. Sitting before her like it was nothing. Like the heat in Mildred’s cheeks wasn’t creeping down into her fingers and making them itch.

Her eyes flicked down to Wilhemina’s lips before she could help herself, and her fingers dug into her skirt as she watched Wilhemina flick her tongue over them. Wetting them. So slick. So perfectly shaped.

And then Wilhemina’s hand covered hers, skin soft and smooth and tender against Mildred’s.

She looked back into Wilhemina’s eyes, suddenly dark, suddenly entirely too intense. She wasn’t prepared for this. She wasn’t ready. She wanted this more than anything she had ever wanted before in her life.

And she silently thanked whatever gods lay above her for getting her through the war and straight to this moment. Because her entire life would be worth living if Wilhemina would just—

Wilhemina leaned forward, and that was all it took. Just the slightest tilt of her chin. Mildred hadn’t realized how close they had gotten. But then Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, so firm and yet so, so delicate.

She let her eyes fall closed, let herself sigh into the feel of it. The feel of her. Turned her hand and threaded their fingers together and squeezed because this was all she had wanted. Since the moment that fire-red hair had turned and she had looked up into those deep, brown eyes.

Wilhemina pulled away before Mildred was ready to let go, and she couldn’t help the half-whine that lodged itself in her throat. That she tried so desperately to swallow down.

“Better?” Wilhemina teased, pressing their foreheads together.

She let out a shaky breath, thumbing at Wilhemina’s knuckles. “Infinitely.”

There was a long moment of silence, and Mildred was almost getting accustomed to these spaces, these gaps between their communication where they just let their feelings hang between them. Let their hearts speak without words getting in the way.

Mildred swallowed, licking her lips slowly as she looked up into Wilhemina’s eyes.

“What are the rules now, Ms. Venable?”

Wilhemina hummed, nudging their noses together as her eyes flicked down to Mildred’s lips again. “You relax and let me take care of you.”

A wobbling breath, and Mildred wet her lips again, hands trembling as she leaned into Wilhemina. So close to what she wanted. So close. “And if I say no?”

Wilhemina smirked, hand coming up to Mildred’s throat before moving to brush delicately over her cheek instead. And when she spoke again, her eyes were lidded and she breathed the words almost directly into Mildred’s mouth.

“Now where’s the logic in that, Nurse Ratched?”

~~~

Mildred toed off her shoes. Delicately. Carefully. And Wilhemina watched in awe of the woman before her. Perfectly pristine.

She always strove for perfection. Perfectly presented to the world, perfectly protected. Perfectly hidden. And she had thought she almost had it. But now, watching Mildred, she realized that perfection was far out of her grip. Not when it looked like this.

Wilhemina wasn’t perfectly presented, not compared to the way Mildred took care with every tiny pleat and line and cuff. Down to the perfectly straight earrings. Down to the parallel lines of her stockings that ran up the back of her calves. And Wilhemina certainly wasn’t perfectly protected when Mildred looked at her like that, eyes wide and lips pink as she slowly, purposefully started picking down the buttons on her shirt.

Wilhemina was only and solely perfectly exposed, her heart entirely too vulnerable around a woman that she knew would protect it. Around a part of her that she didn’t know had existed until it had tapped its way up behind her in line and pulled the zipper on the curtain over her heart.

She couldn’t stop watching Mildred. Not when she let her shirt fall to the floor. Not when she unbuttoned the top of her skirt and tugged at the zip, shimmying out of it and letting it pool around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but a thin, silk slip and black pantyhose.

And then she bunched up her slip and rolled them down, Venable’s eyes tracking the way that perfectly straight line up her calf crumpled as she went, bending and morphing as Mildred let her walls down. Let her in. Let Wilhemina see her for who she really was beneath all of that perfection and obsession and compulsivity.

Suddenly it was too much, and Wilhemina simply couldn’t sit on the edge of the bed watching anymore. She needed to touch. She needed all of Mildred pressed against all of her. Every inch. Every piece.

Wilhemina walked up behind her, wrapping her hands around her stomach and pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder before resting her chin there.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Mildred turned, a smile flickering over her lips. She had been so serious when she was undressing, her mouth pulled into a line, eyes flicking between Wilhemina behind her and the mirror before her, her hands pulling over herself to smooth everything down, make sure her hair was still curling down her back, making sure her pins were all in place. But now she looked lighter. Now she looked like she had at the table, open and soft and pliant.

“Show me,” Mildred whispered, and Wilhemina pressed another kiss to her shoulder before shifting her in front of the mirror. Her hands found the pins still holding her hair up, pulling them out slowly as she nipped and bit her way up Mildred’s neck, sucking just a bit to hard at the crook of her jaw.

And Wilhemina couldn’t help but smile as Mildred sighed, her hand reaching up behind her and twisting through Wilhemina’s hair.

Mildred knew when Wilhemina got the last pin out, shaking her hair out and fluffing it almost immediately. And then she turned in Wilhemina’s arms, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as she reached around and pulled the tie from her own hair.

It fell in heaps around her shoulders, and Mildred giggled softly.

Wilhemina’s brow popped, sarcasm pushing through as a weak attempt at self-preservation. “Is something the matter?”

But Mildred only laughed, shaking her head and running her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair.

“Cinnamon sugar,” she murmured, twisting her finger through a lock and admiring it. And Wilhemina felt herself flush against her will.

“I’m almost certain our hair is the same color,” she tried, fingers twitching on Mildred’s waist.

Frustrated. Exposed. Worshipped.

Mildred only shook her head, leaning forward. She hesitated for a brief moment before pressing a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s lips. And suddenly Wilhemina didn’t care if she was giggling or teasing or playing with her hair. As long as she was here. As long as she kept doing that.

“You’re awfully sweet for someone who is supposed to be so intimidating, Ms. Venable.”

Wilhemina scoffed, rolling her eyes before Mildred grabbed at her chin, raking her eyes over her and making a shiver run down her spine.

“Why don’t you take all of that purple off for me, cinnamon? Hm?”

And Wilhemina hated how deeply she flushed, the nickname getting under her skin like it shouldn’t have. But this was Mildred. And somehow, she knew exactly what Wilhemina wanted to hear before she realized it herself.

It only took a few moments, untying the top of her shirt, pulling it up over her head. Sliding out of her skirt, peeling her gloves off. And Mildred watched her the entire time, eyes hot as they followed her fingers.

She held out her hands as Wilhemina stepped out of her shoes, keeping her steady. Making sure she didn’t wobble.

And this time, for the first time, Wilhemina completely forgot to feel exposed. She forgot to feel embarrassed about her back. She forgot to warn Mildred.

But when Mildred kissed her again, this time a bit harder and a bit deeper, fingers wrapping up around Wilhemina’s neck and sliding down over her shoulders, over her spine, nothing happened.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil. She didn’t even gasp. She just kept kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, until Wilhemina’s thighs hit the mattress.

Mildred pulled back, breaking the kiss as her teeth dug into her lip, fingers rubbing together absently. Just like they had over her purse. Over her fork.

Wilhemina gave her a small nod, tentatively grabbing for her wrists and guiding them to her stomach.

She didn’t miss the way Mildred’s fingers flexed before she touched her, didn’t miss the glint in her eye as she hesitantly, delicately, grabbed Mina’s waist and pushed her down into the bed.

And the way she touched her, warm palms pressing against Wilhemina’s sides before pulling away almost immediately, and then replacing them in an instant. This time firm. This time sure. This time pushing Wilhemina onto her back and smoothing up her stomach so that nails were pricking at the very bottom of her bra.

Mildred crawled over her, pressing a singular, wet kiss just below Wilhemina’s jaw.

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, squirming under her.

“My name is Mildred,” she corrected, and Wilhemina let herself smirk, catching the way Mildred hardened and taking the opportunity to flip the switch yet again.

She hooked a leg over Mildred’s hip, pushing her and flipping them and bracing herself above her.

Mildred gasped, a soft whine pushing out of her as she was slammed back into the mattress. Wilhemina leaned down, nudging their noses together before flicking her tongue out and licking the tip of her nose.

“What are you afraid of, Millie?” Wilhemina breathed, hands sliding slowly up her sides before locking over her ribs and pinning her to the bed. “Is someone losing control?”

She couldn’t help but smirk at her own joke, amplified by the way Mildred’s eyes widened and hardened.

“No. It’s just—“

Wilhemina bit down on her collarbone, cutting her off as she squirmed beneath her. She hummed, pushing her further into the bed.

“Oh no? So you’re fine then, right?”

And after a second’s hesitation she nodded again, hands coming up to smooth out her hair as her eyes bored into Wilhemina’s.

The word “yes” left Mildred’s mouth, but Wilhemina had already seen it in her face. The screaming. The need to dominate. The need to be dominated. The want.

“Millie,” Wilhemina sing-songed, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. She wasn’t surprised it was warm, the flush already clouding her perfect, porcelain skin. She was surprised that it was scorched, Mildred’s teeth dug into her bottom lip as she watched Wilhemina carefully.

“Let go, darling,” she murmured, nails scraping lightly down Mildred’s sides. “Let me be in charge of you for once, yeah? Let those pretty little walls down. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

~~~

Wilhemina kept saying it. That stupid little nickname. Over and over. She wouldn’t stop, and Mildred couldn’t think. And it was making her furious in the absolute best way.

She was losing control. She had always been so careful. She had always tried her absolute best. But somehow, tonight, she could feel it slipping through her fingers with every kiss, with every gasp, with every moan.

And she was okay.

Her world wasn’t crumbling. Mildred was surviving. And to her surprise, the world seemed to actually sort itself in those small moments, the fractions of seconds where Wilhemina panted that little nickname and Mildred’s body responded of its own accord. Mildred was thriving, Mildred was being loved. Mildred was finally living.

And so she let go.

She twisted her fingers in the sheets, Wilhemina’s name falling off her tongue as she arched into her.

Wilhemina hummed, a nice, satisfied sound, and then she was kissing down her neck, fingers scratching up under her slip, up the inside of her thighs.

Mildred should have wanted to pull away. She should have wanted to clamp her thighs shut and pull her slip down and shove herself up against the headboard. But to her surprise her thighs fell open, and before she knew what she was doing she was lifting her hips off the mattress and reaching down, tugging her slip up over her thighs, up past her stomach.

Wilhemina pulled off of her, for a split second, and Mildred froze. But then she wrapped her hand around Mildred’s and pulled her forward, pulled her up, kissing her temple as she helped slide the slip up over her head. Threw it on the floor.

And then Mildred was completely exposed. Completely vulnerable. Her hands came up to cover herself instinctively, suddenly too cold and too naked without the heat of Wilhemina’s mouth on her neck.

But she was right there, threading their fingers together and pulling her hands back down into her lap.

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” she cooed, and something deflated inside of Mildred. She let out a long breath, squeezing Wilhemina’s hands as she swallowed. And then, in a desperate attempt to gain some kind of control back, no matter how futile, she tried something.

“Touch me, Mina.”

She watched the other woman gasp. Let pride fill her at the pure smile that made tears prick in Wilhemina’s eyes. Traced her thumb over the back of Wilhemina’s hand.

“Mina,” she tried again, suddenly feeling more comfortable with this intimacy. Because now they were both exposed. Equal. Again. Just like they should be.

Wilhemina lunged forward, mouth hot and hungry as she pushed Mildred back against the mattress. And her hands. Her hands. Everywhere, all at once. Like she was trying to memorize the shape of her. Like she needed to touch her or she would disappear. And Mildred understood. Because she had that same ache, the same need within her. If her fingers weren’t on Wilhemina, pulling her tighter to her, pulling her closer, she was absolutely certain that she would vibrate and explode into a billion atoms, right there in the middle of the room.

It suddenly turned so desperate, Mildred just about to beg for Wihemina’s fingers, for more when she felt them brush against her, cold against the heat burning between her thighs.

Wilhemina pulled back, just so, just enough to look her in the eyes. And Mildred pushed all of her emotion, all of her want through, nodding frantically.

“Please—“

But no sooner had she opened her mouth than Wilhemina’s fingers pushed inside of her, filling that space there perfectly and making Mildred finally feel like she was whole.

Wilhemina smirked, and Mildred let out a soft “oh” at the unfamiliarity of it all. The comfort. And then she was moving and Mildred was moving, hips rolling down against Wilhemina’s wrist as she curled her fingers and sped up.

And before she knew what was happening, that heat was building in her stomach, toes curling where her heel dug into Wilhemina’s back. She didn’t know how she had gotten like this, one leg thrown over her shoulder, a hand in Mina’s hair as she pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs while her fingers pumped slowly, gently, intently.

It seemed dirty. It seemed wrong. And Mildred couldn’t have cared less. All she could fathom was that little knot of control, holding onto it as it vibrated, threatened to explode. Gripping into it with her teeth if she had to, clinging to it until that exact moment, the perfect—

It snapped, Mildred scrambling to find purchase on something as she fell through the galaxy Wilhemina had built around her. She knew her mouth was moving. She knew she was probably whining for Wilhemina. But she couldn’t hear anything. Not over Mina’s voice against her skin.

“Yes. That’s it. Perfect. Let go. I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

It took too long for her body to come back to her, for her to regain her grip on reality and grab at some sort of control again.

But as she opened her eyes on Wilhemina between her thighs, brow pushed up as the most beautiful, genuine smile graced her mouth, her perfect mouth, Mildred decided that right now, just for this one moment, she didn’t want control back. She wanted to just be.

“Kiss me,” she breathed, and Wilhemina was right there, mouth pushing insistently against hers. And when Mildred tasted something tangy, something sharp and spicy and unfamiliar, she realized with a start that Mina must have put her mouth on her at some point.

She hadn’t even realized. Hadn’t registered.

She had given herself over completely into Mina’s mercy, and she had never felt so happy. So light. So utterly and completely protected.

A small shuffle, sheets being rucked down, and then Wilhemina was sitting up against the headboard, and Mildred was right there, curling into her side and pressing herself in as close as she could.

She smiled as Wilhemina’s arms wrapped around her waist. Almost possessively.

They laid like that for a moment, Mina’s fingers tracing over her side as silence fell down upon the room, all remnants of Mildred’s screams dissolving into air. And then she finally, finally got her feet back under her.

“I want to take care of you,” Mildred said softly, pressing a kiss just over Wilhemina’s heart. But to her surprise, Wilhemina only shook her head.

Lips against her temple, and then she spoke. “Not tonight, beautiful. We both need to be up early tomorrow.”

Mildred wanted to say that she didn’t care. She wanted to argue and protest and throw something until Mina listened and let her feel her. All of her.

But somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized that she would have to deal with those same men tomorrow, lecturing and commanding and spending too much of her energy trying to keep herself in control. So she nodded. Because they needed sleep if they were going to survive.

“Tomorrow,” she sighed, looking up at Mina with eager eyes. And Wilhemina smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple.

“Tomorrow.”

She curled further into Wilhemina, letting her hands wander just a bit further than they should have, suddenly feeling so entitled to this woman. She had permission to do whatever she liked to her. Just not quite yet.

Wilhemina hummed, pressing one last kiss to the top of Mildred’s head, and then time slowed and the air grew thick as she started to move.

Mildred felt her shift, turning just so and pulling an arm from around her waist as she reached for the lamp by the bed.

“Don’t turn off the light, please. Daddy, please.”

“Why, are you afraid of monsters?”

A nod.

“Oh honey, the only monster you have to be afraid of is standing right here.”

A sickening grin.

"You’re a big girl—“

“I’m not—“

“—you can handle this. Besides. Nothing is going to get you... As long as you don’t make a sound.”

Tears welled in Mildred’s eyes as she watched Wilhemina’s fingers inch closer. And how was she supposed to tell her about this? How was she supposed to explain that this one, tiny thing was her absolute weakness? She almost didn’t. Almost made it. But just as fingers brushed against the lamp, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she tasted something bitter, bristling.

Time sped up all at once then, Mildred clawing at Wilhemina’s hand and wrapping her fingers tight around her wrist to stop her.

“Wait—“ she tried, but it came out broken and wrinkled.

Wilhemina froze, looking down at her. “Is everything okay?”

And Mildred couldn’t help the tears then, sniffing as they blurred her vision and letting her fingers fall from Wilhemina’s arm.

“Please don’t turn it off just yet,” she tried, and she scolded herself for how weak she sounded.

Unacceptable. Pull yourself together.

Something crossed Wilhemina’s face that she couldn’t read, and her heart dug down deep in her chest as she braced herself.

But then Wilhemina softened, brows raising, just so, as she stroked her thumb over Mildred’s side. A smirk pulled at her lips and she quirked her head.

“My my, Nurse Ratched. Is someone afraid of the dark?”

And the way she said it, almost laughing, simultaneously made Mildred feel like a child being scolded and a woman being loved.

It was a blessing that she had used her title. It had given Mildred that shock to her system to jolt her out of her vulnerable state, building her walls back up as quickly as she could as she formed the searing negation on her tongue.

Of course not. You’re mistaken. Don’t be ridiculous.

But she couldn’t land on one that felt quite right. Because lying didn’t feel quite right. And Mildred told herself, assured herself, that it was only because she hadn’t thought of the perfect logical theorem to support her argument. She wasn’t prepared to have this conversation. Once she found one, she would be back in control and she could right her world back on its feet. And one time, maybe this time, they could turn the light off.

She hadn’t realized how long she had been silent until she felt Wilhemina press a kiss to her hair. Mildred was still staring her down, nose twitching as Wilhemina’s eyes searched her face.

A deep breath, a hard swallow. And then she nodded.

And there it was. That was it. The most open and vulnerable and exposed she had ever been with another person in her life.

And Wilhemina, her Mina, took it in stride, simply humming before threading fingers through Mildred’s curls and pulling her up closer so that she could pepper soft kisses across her face.

“Oh, Millie,” she whispered, and Mildred was shocked to find a gentle smile on her lips.

“It’s childish, I know.”

She shook her head, fingers playing over the edge of her face. “Not to me.”

“You can turn it off once I’m asleep. I just—“

“No. If you prefer it on, we leave it on.” Wilhemina hooked a finger under her chin, tipping it up. “That’s that.”

A sniff. A shaky breath. “Are you certain...?”

“Anything for you.”

And that night, when Mildred closed her eyes and steadied her breathing and melted into the warmth of her lover, she somehow, some way, felt like she had finally found her way home.

~~~

“That’s it, just like that.”

Wilhemina cooed, smirking as Mildred whined and rolled her hips down her thigh. A soft gasp, and Wilhemina tightened her hand in her hair, forcing her head back to expose more of her neck.

“Oh my, Ms. Ratched,” she tried softly, ignoring the way her mouth watered at the sight of her muscles pulling taunt. The way she swallowed.

“Millie,” Mildred gasped, letting out a small cry as Wilhemina latched her mouth to her neck.

She hummed as she nodded, relishing the taste of her when she was unraveling like this. Sticky, hot. So different from that sharp, sweet, clean taste when she was still dressed and still protected and still in charge.

“You’re learning.”

Mildred scoffed beneath her, and Wilhemina had a split second to brace herself before nails were raking up her thighs and up her lower back, Mildred’s hands splaying out and holding her close.

“And you’re going too slow.”

Wilhemina was flipped before she knew what was happening, gasping as Mildred grabbed her shoulders and shoved her down in to the mattress. Hard.

“Millie—“

But Mildred cut her off, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. And when she pulled back she was smiling. Sickly sweet.

“Besides, I thought we had an agreement that I could take care of you tonight, yes?”

Wilhemina’s brow furrowed, the need to top Mildred too intense for her to think of anything else. Until Mildred spoke again, her voice threading through the air, slicing through Wilhemina’s need like a knife.

“Unless you were planning on breaking the rules, Ms. Venable?”

And now it was Wilhemina’s turn to smile, laughing sarcastically as Mildred pinched at her sides until she squirmed.

“Mina,” she corrected over a giggle, biting down on her lip to keep from completely losing herself.

Mildred smirked, cocking her head as she repeated Wilhemina’s words back to her.

“You’re learning.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Mildred quirked a brow. “Language.”

But Wilhemina was too desperate, reaching for her hands and pushing them down over her hips.

“Now, Millie.”

And when Mildred smirked, nails pricking into Wilhemina’s tender skin there, something caught in Wilhemina’s chest.

Her eyes were razor sharp, lips twitching from a smirk to a smile, back and forth and back and forth. And just when Wilhemina was starting to think she looked almost sickening, she spoke, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. Just out of reach. Just a bit too far.

“Oh now now, cinnamon. You know better than to rush me. I’m in charge tonight. That was the agreement. And I decide when you get my fingers. Understood?”

And Mina found herself nodding.

She was rewarded with a delicate kiss to her lips. Not nearly deep enough and entirely too sweet.

“Just so long as we’re both on the same page.” A moment, a breath spent staring into those predatory eyes. “Now why don’t you spread those pretty legs for me, hm?”

~~~

Mildred combed her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair, laid out so beautifully across her, head in her lap, fingers tracing the bones of her ankles.

Intimacy entangled.

“What did they do..?” Mildred breathed, running her fingers delicately over the morphed skin. A fleeting touch.

Wilhemina drew a slow breath. Calculated. Shaking. “First it was the brace. Screwed in. Stretched.”

“And the appointments for the table?” Mildred asked, her own breath starting to tremble at the idea.

Wilhemina nodded. “Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven,” Wilhemina said softly, gasping as Mildred’s fingers tucked under a soft piece of her spine, bumping along the gaps in her vertebrae.

“And it hurt.”

It wasn’t a question. She knew it had hurt. Especially on someone so young. So pliant and vulnerable.

But Wilhemina didn’t answer, instead plowing ahead. “And then the surgery when I was thirteen.”

Mildred flinched, the images flashing through her mind. She had seen the slides. She knew what they did. Sliced tendons and ligaments. And there was rarely any progress.

“It didn’t work.”

Again, not a question. And this time, as Wilhemina shook her head no, Mildred found what she was looking for. The scars from the screws. Spaced evenly apart, marred by scars from the surgery. Exactly where they should be.

Wilhemina’s breaths stuttered as Mildred’s fingers slid over them, and she found her own breath speeding up at the thought of this woman on a table. So small. So scared. So cold.

“And the tethers?” Mildred asked, running through the typical steps in her head. Trying to remember what she had learned in her training.

But to her surprise, Wilhemina shook her head. She was panting now, and Mildred could feel her chest tightening in response as she trailed her fingers further down, where the spine corrected and compensated and bulged in the opposite direction.

“Electroshock therapy.”

Wilhemina had barely spoken, barely whispered. But Mildred heard her, completely and solely focused on this poor, fragile, broken thing beneath her. And she couldn’t help the way her heart lodged in her throat.

“W-Why?” she asked softly, her thumb brushing absently over a particularly bad scar.

Wilhemina took a deep breath, fingers flexing in the sheets. “There was a time where they thought it would help. A misalignment of the neurotransmitters firing. Especially with younger patients. I was already through puberty. It wouldn’t have made a difference. But I was broken. They were desperate. I was the shame—“

“—shame of your family,” Mildred finished for her. And she surprised herself when a tear fell onto her cheek. A quick swipe of her thumb and it was gone, and she leaned down and pressed a small kiss at the very top of Wilhemina’s spine. “You’re not the only one.”

Wilhemina shifted in her lap, fingers tracing Mildred’s knee as her breaths pulled long and shaky. As they slowed.

Mildred closed her eyes, centering herself. “Did they do the final surgery? With the pins and the staples?”

And she hated herself for how clinical it sounded when she asked. She wanted to be vulnerable. Wanted to be softer. For her.

For her.

But Wilhemina didn’t seem to mind, only shaking her head and sighing, her eyes fluttering closed. “I was pushed out of the house after the shock therapy didn’t work. And by the time I had earned enough of my own money to pay for the surgery, I was too old. It was too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Mildred tried, the motto ringing through her head.

“But it was,” Wilhemina replied, her voice low and raspy. “Even if it would have worked, I was already an adult. I was already... who I was. And I didn’t know who I was without my disability. Without my cane. Without my past and my pain and my perseverance. I’m not myself without this. And I can’t fully be myself with it.”

Mildred hummed, shaking her head softly. Because she knew. Of course she knew. The more she spoke to Wilhemina, the more she was convinced that they were the same person. The same soul, split between two bodies. With the same wants and needs and desires.

Her fingers skimmed down Wilhemina’s spine for what felt like the hundredth time, and suddenly she had this all-consuming need to memorize the exact shape of it. The exact way that it bulged and twisted and dipped. The exact way that this faulty thing kept this woman up and held her on her feet.

Another kiss. A sigh. And then, fingers shaking as they pulled through Wilhemina’s hair, brushing it back from her face.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Stay with me,” Wilhemina breathed, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Mildred’s thigh. And Mildred’s fingers stuttered in her hair as another tear fell, unbidden, onto her cheek.

Because she wanted to. She was pulled tight to this woman, an anomaly of existence, the very piece of her that she had always felt was missing, that she had always been searching for.

But she could never be so irresponsible to leave her home and leave her work and settle in with a woman that she had only known for two days.

“Stupid, idiotic girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Could she?

~~~

She had said no. And Wilhemina had broken right there, exposed and entirely too vulnerable, in her lap.

She had cried herself to sleep that night, curled against Mildred as she cooed and shushed her and stroked delicate fingers through her hair.

And when she woke in the morning, filled with the smell of Mildred and the feel of Mildred and the taste of Mildred still on her tongue, everything seemed a bit grey.

They made breakfast, speaking politely and laughing occasionally. Always broken, always half-formed. Got dressed and ready for the day, separately. Dolled themselves up in different types of armor—pantyhose, gloves, skirts, glasses.

And then Mildred left.

And then, she came back.

It was like the universe couldn’t fathom them being apart, a rip torn through their plane of existence when Mildred boarded her train and went back home, clear across the country.

Wilhemina hadn’t gone with her to the station, but she could feel when she left the city, when she left the state. It was a series of ties being broken, strings snapping in her chest as each one was pulled to breaking and eventually gave out.

Except the last one. The one that left a buzzing in Wilhemina’s ear, a ringing every time her cane tapped down that sounded so awfully close to the way Mildred sighed just as she was about to orgasm. The way she hummed, barely audible, when they kissed.

That tie remained. And one day, almost three months later, it got hotter.

Wilhemina had been making dinner, listening to the television drone on as she stirred her pasta in the pot, when her chest warmed. It was so sudden and so all-consuming that she almost dropped her tongs, Mildred’s name pounding through her head on a loop.

She had known what was coming before it did. She could sense her presence. Could practically see her smoothing down her skirt and running a finger over the brim of her hat as she walked up Wilhemina’s drive.

But the knock on the door — soft, three times — had still made Wilhemina jump, a lump of emotion lodging in her throat as she grabbed for her cane and walked slowly to the front door.

She knew it was her. Deep down, she knew it in her soul. They were tied together, whether Wilhemina liked it or not. But there was still that tiny, nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her not to get her hopes up. That wishing only led to disappointment.

Until she opened the door, heart pounding, and saw Mildred Ratched standing perfectly straight on her doorstep, a singular suitcase in hand.

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, like she needed confirmation. Like she was seeing a ghost.

Mildred swallowed, the smallest of smiles pushing at her lips.

“I was transferred to an institution not far from here,” she said softly, pointing absently behind her before ducking her head against her blush.

But Wilhemina caught it. She caught everything with this masterpiece.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of living in this city and...” She cleared her throat, fingers fidgeting with the handle of her suitcase. “And being apart from you.”

And just as Wilhemina glanced past her at the taxi sitting idle in the street, Mildred looked up, eyes glassy and almost vibrating with emotion.

“Does your offer still stand?”

Wilhemina had to physically bite the inside of her cheek to keep tears from her eyes, her fingers itching and playing on the top of her cane accordingly.

“Are the rest of your bags in the taxi?” Wilhemina asked, trying not to focus on the way Mildred’s chin was trembling. Trying not to hear the pounding in her head to kiss her.

Mildred nodded, and then Wilhemina was moving past her. A gloved hand skimmed over Wilhemina’s shoulder as she passed, just fleeting enough to be a tap.

“I haven’t paid the driver yet, I—“

But Wilhemina turned, and the angle was exactly like the first time she had walked past her in that stuffy university. But this time, the setting sun was glinting off of Mildred’s hair and there was a hope in her eyes, an intimacy that had Wilhemina’s hand tightening on her cane to keep her balance.

“You go inside,” she started, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. “Make yourself comfortable, set your things down. I’ll retrieve the rest of your bags and take care of the cab fare.”

It’s the least I can do, for him bringing you back to me.

Not even five minutes later, Mildred’s luggage was stacked in the foyer and the cab was driving away as Wilhemina stalked back up the short walk to her door.

She had expected Mildred to be sitting at the dining table, or putting her things in the bedroom. But to her surprise, when she closed the door, locked it safely behind her, and turned, Mildred was standing in the middle of her entryway, still holding tight to her suitcase and watching Wilhemina with sharp eyes.

Wilhemina tapped her cane, swallowing, and she didn’t miss the way Mildred’s eyes flicked to it.

And then, just like that, Mildred dropped her suitcase and practically ran to Wilhemina, gloved hands pulling her face down, pulling their mouths together.

Wilhemina let herself moan, tears instantly pricking her eyes at the memory of how good this felt. How right. And then Mildred’s hands were on her waist and she was pushing her back against the door. Hard.

“I missed you so much, Mina,” she breathed between kisses, peppering them over Wilhemina’s cheeks and down her jaw.

And then the tears did fall, because she had missed Mildred, too. So, incredibly much. More than she would have missed the air she breathed, the food she ate. More than she had ever missed anyone or anything in her entire life.

Her soul had been ripped from her, torn away and shipped off across the country. And now it was back, and with every kiss, they sewed themselves back together.

Stitch by stitch. Piece by piece.

~~~

She crowned herself with her nurse’s hat, pinning her hair back carefully around it and buttoning it up in the back. Wilhemina watched her. Watched the way she stood a bit straighter. Watched the way her feet came together and she shifted her weight, perfectly even. Perfectly level.

Wilhemina walked over, drawn to her like a magnet. And her cane clicked as she went, tapping down beside her and forcing a smirk to curl Mildred’s lips as she glanced at Wilhemina in the mirror.

She walked right up to her, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling Mildred back against her chest as her mouth found her ear.

“You look impeccable, darling.”

Mildred quirked a brow, eyes like daggers as they bored into Wilhemina from the mirror. She hummed.

“Almost good enough to eat.” Wilhemina pressed a kiss to her jaw, letting her eyes rake over Mildred’s perfect neck, the way it quivered as she swallowed, the shine of her hair pulled up in impeccable fashion just above her collar. She fingered the fabric there, letting her nails scrape over the soft skin just below her ear.

“Why don’t you take a bite, hm?” Mildred’s voice caught as Wilhemina’s nail pricked against her pulse point, and when she spoke again it was low, raspy. Dangerous. “See what happens.”

Wilhemina growled, leaning forward and tugging her earlobe between her teeth. She pulled Mildred flush against her, hand splaying out on her stomach. And Mildred gasped as her fingers found Wilhemina’s thigh, nails piercing the fabric. Wilhemina felt her swallow down a moan, tense, stutter. And then there was a long breath and a shaky sigh, and the nails in Wilhemina’s leg retracted as Mildred pulled away.

“I can’t be late for my first day of work, dear.”

She brushed down her dress, straightening out that perfectly pinned crown and putting the finishing touches on her hair.

And then, before Wilhemina could blink, Mildred wrapped her slender fingers around her tie and pulled her forward, dragging her out of the bedroom and through the house to the front door.

A disapproving tap of her cane, a small frown, and then Mildred had her purse and pressed a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s cheek, skirting out the door with a dark, “See you tonight, cinnamon.”

And she almost felt like it was a threat.

~~~

Wilhemina had never known love.

She had told Mildred flat out over dinner one night when traumas and pasts and fears were all laid bare on the table.

Mildred was different. She had known it and lost it. Seen people shattered beyond repair because of it. And she had put up those brick and mortar walls around her heart so that she couldn’t feel that kind of sadness ever again.

Yet somehow, every night that she came home to Wilhemina’s arms and her small smile and her absolute and complete honesty, she felt those walls start to fall. Little by little, brick by brick. And every morning when she awoke in her lover’s arms, after breakfasts shared and dressed zipped and buttoned, she had to rebuild it. Fortify herself for the world that lay just outside their door. The evil of it. The hurt.

It became all-consuming, this uneasy thought of love. It permeated every minute of her waking day, and haunted her dreams like some sort of cruel, intangible thing. But she always woke in Wilhemina’s arms. Safe and protected and entirely too vulnerable.

And one day, one tiny day that should have been absolutely nothing, Mildred was so consumed with the inkling of possibility of falling entirely too hard in love with Wilhemina, and what that meant for her future in this world, that she lost herself. Faltered, for a moment. Had to do up the buttons of her uniform twice before getting them to align. And forgot her lunch as she grabbed her purse and walked out the door.

~~~

It wasn’t unusual for Mildred to leave for work before Wilhemina did. It wasn’t unusual that she left for work before Wilhemina was even awake and out of bed.

At first it had scared Wilhemina, waking up alone and cold in a bed that had been so comforting and warm just hours before. Abandoned. Forgotten.

But Mildred had only been in the kitchen, cracking her eggs with such precision that Wilhemina had almost decided right then and there never to touch another egg again.

It just so happened that Mildred’s mornings got earlier just as Wilhemina’s nights got longer, the flex and pull of their schedules only crossing at certain points. A whirlwind of a double helix in flux.

Those days, Mildred would slip out of bed so quietly that Wilhemina wouldn’t even notice, usually awoken by the inevitable cold of an empty bed, rather than some sound from the bathroom or clattering from the kitchen.

Today had been no different. Today had been routine. Until Wilhemina opened the refrigerator almost three hours after Mildred had gone, only to find her lunch sitting packed and abandoned on the second shelf.

It wasn’t even a thought, the decision to take it to her. Just an action. The institution was on her way to work — well, almost on her way — and Wilhemina was already running early. It was nothing.

Until it wasn’t.

Wilhemina picked through the patients that crowded the common room, pursing her lips against the disgusted expression that was forming against her will. She stepped carefully, cane tapping lightly as she watched where she was going. The facility was impeccable, but this space, so unlike the hall, belonged to the patients. Not the nurses. Blankets were left forgotten on the ground, and shoes had been kicked off. And Wilhemina was just uncomfortable enough to worry about losing her footing.

She made it all the way to the other side of the room, coming up on a window like a sanctuary, before she realized that Mildred wasn’t here.

But just as the thought crossed her mind and she leaned forward to peer outside, Wilhemina heard her.

It was easy enough. The rooms were lavish, but mostly tile, and Mildred’s voice tended to carry, no matter how soft. But right now, it was hard. Harder than Wilhemina had ever heard it.

“I don’t care if he won’t take it, he needs it. If he doesn’t take his medicine, then not only will it put everyone else here at risk, but how soon can we expect them all to start refusing their medication? They need it, Betsy. They don’t know what is good for them. We know what is best.”

Wilhemina turned from the window, Mildred’s lunch clutched between gloved fingers. And Mildred must have noticed the movement, because she looked up. But just as Wilhemina let her guard down and offered a small smile, fingers twitching in a half wave, Mildred’s face melted, something like humiliation flushing through her perfect complexion as she marched straight to Wilhemina.

Shit.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing here?” Mildred whispered, gripping her fingers into Wilhemina’s elbow and pulling her back across the room to the nurse’s station.

“You forgot your lunch,” Wilhemina tried, keeping her voice down. Because somehow this was what wasn’t allowed. This was what was compromising.

A lunch.

Mildred’s humiliation shifted to horror, glancing for maybe the first time down at Wilhemina’s hands.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t understand what the issue is, Nurse Ratched.” Wilhemina made sure to drag out her title. Just a bit too loud. Because she couldn’t seriously be upset with her for trying to be kind. For trying to do the right thing. She couldn’t possibly—

Mildred’s eyes narrowed before she glanced behind her. And when she spoke, it was through gritted teeth.

“Go set that down over there.” She indicated to a desk in the corner of the room. “And then go back to work before you screw something else up.”

A flat laugh fell out of Wilhemina almost before she could help it, fingers tightening on the bagged lunch. And before she knew what she was doing, she had shoved it into Mildred’s hands, leaning in impossibly close as she growled.

“Go set it down yourself.” She tapped her cane, too hard. Too loud. A few of the patients covered their ears. “You can be certain that this is the last time I ever do you any favors. Do you understand?”

Mildred’s nostrils flared, and her fingers twitched over the bag. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

And then Wilhemina straightened, nose twitching as she quirked her brow. “And let’s hope you never need it again.”

And then she was gone, breezing past Mildred before she said something else and the tears sticking in Wilhemina’s throat pushed up and fell.

She heard the bag crunch as she hit her cane on the floor, propelling herself forward, one step after the other, closer and closer to the exit. And she hated the way she hoped for Mildred’s voice to ring out, to call her back.

She almost looked back over her shoulder, a moment of weakness that she couldn’t afford. So she ducked her head instead, plowing ahead and storming down the hallway. Out the doors. All the way down the stairs to the street.

She fumed in the taxi, fumed all the way to her desk. Fumed for the next nine and a half hours that she sat at work, fingers picking at her typewriter as she swiveled back and forth in her chair, digging and twisting her cane into the weak wood floors as she ran over arguments and words to spit at her Mildred. Her Mildred. Nurse Ratched.

They weren’t the same woman. But neither was she. How could she be?

By the time Jefferson came to get her, going over final plans for the next day and collecting her paperwork, she had dug a nice little dent into the floor.

Small, deep. A bullet hole kneaded slowly and steadily. Just like the one Mildred’s words had worn into her heart.

~~~

“You wouldn’t like it if I showed up at your place of work without warning, would you?” Mildred’s voice was steady, arms crossed over her chest.

“Don’t—“

“Would you?”

Wilhemina’s cane hit the ground. “Stop that. Don’t treat me like you treat them. Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what? I’m just asking a simple question. The answer is either yes, or no.”

“Mildred, stop shrinking me.”

“You think I’m trying to control you?”

“No,” Wilhemina growled, stalking over to her as the last of her patience wore through. “I know you’re trying to control me. And you know that that’s not how this relationship works.”

She bent over Mildred, practically panting, and Mildred was shocked when a pang of regret shot through her. But then something hardened, because no. Wilhemina didn’t get to win this one. She had come to her office out of the blue. Could have exposed them. Put them both in danger.

Because Mildred had been careless. Forgotten her lunch. All for being so consumed with the idea of—

Mildred tipped her chin up, eyes hard as they met Wilhemina’s fiery ones. She stood her ground.

“Apologize.”

Wilhemina set her jaw. “No.”

She leaned up on her toes, leveling their height. “Apologize.”

Wilhemina shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing as her nose twitched. As her jaw set.

And then there were hands on Mildred’s shoulders and Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, hard and fast and furious as she pushed her back, back, back, slamming her hard against the wall.

“Fuck,” Mildred hissed, and then Mina broke from her, mouth on her ear as she purred.

“Language.”

She scoffed, shoving at her, needing her off of her so that she could breathe. Think. Because when her hands were on her like this, and she was breathing like this, quick and ragged and right behind her ear, Mildred’s mind only comprehended one thing.

“Mina,” she tried, nails digging in as Wilhemina pulled her off the wall for a split second, only to throw her back against it again. She cried out, something hard knotting over her heart.

So this was how it was going to be? Fine.

Mildred lunged forward, kissing Wilhemina sloppily, desperately. Any way she could hold on to some semblance of control.

And she gasped, just as Mildred knew she would. So she took the opening, gripping hard into her waist and pushing her off, before her nails raked down Wilhemina’s arm and her fingers closed around her wrist.

Mildred pulled, yanking Wilhemina after her, across the living room, around the sofa. Down the short hallway, pulling harder every time Wilhemina tried to plant her feet. Until she threw her into the bedroom, Mina practically spinning around and pinning Mildred against the wall, the door jam digging into her spine.

She cried out, hands flying to Wilhemina’s shoulders. Clawing at her. Grappling for something to hold her down and hold her steady so she could get her advantage back.

“You’re so fucking infuriating,” Wilhemina growled, biting hard on Mildred’s neck. But no. She didn’t get to win.

So she pushed, hard, and sent Mina stumbling back. And Mildred was right there, stalking after her and shoving again, and this time, when Wilhemina stumbled, she landed hard on the bed.

Mildred was over her in seconds, panting as she crushed her mouth back against Wilhemina’s, tongues fighting as their teeth clashed. Her fingers found buttons and she yanked, the rip cutting through the room.

She didn’t even wait for Wilhemina to shrug the shirt off, fingers already dug into the waistband of her skirt and rucking it down, down, down.

She got it down around her ankles, but as she braced herself on Mina’s knees and pulled herself back up, Wilhemina’s hand found her chin, pulling her in for a bruising kiss and holding her firm as her free hand flicked open the buttons on her shirt, one by one, so fast it should have been impossible.

“Get your shirt off,” Mildred panted, hands scrambling to find purchase on Mina as she crawled up on the bed and straddled her.

But Mina pulled back, a smirk like death making her eyes go black.

“Ladies first.”

And that was the last straw. Mildred’s patience had already been tested from the ordeal this morning, amplified by the unexpectedness of Wilhemina showing up at her work. That stupid, thoughtful way she brought her the forgotten lunch. The tiny wave. Like she cared. Like she—

Mildred growled, practically a scream as she grabbed Wilhemina’s shoulders and shoved her down until she was swallowed by the mattress. Splayed a hand out over her chest to keep her pinned. Keep her down.

She could feel Mina’s heart hammering, could feel how fast she was panting. Gasping.

Nails clawed at her arm, dragging down as Mildred cried out. There would be blood soon. She knew that feeling.

But then Wilhemina pulled her hand from her chest, twining their fingers hard and pressing hot, wet, quick kisses down over the already reddening marks. Yanked her fingers back. Licked. Right over her palm.

Mildred moaned, the feeling going straight to her core, and then her hands were in Wilhemina’s hair and she was pulling her neck taunt to get better access. So she could bite and suck and mark her for everyone to see.

She sat up on her knees, gaining leverage. And Mina’s hands were on her ass in an instant, kneading. Hard.

“Logic would imply that I shouldn’t let you touch me until you apologize,” Mildred managed, back to base form as she leaned into Mina’s hands. As she moaned into her neck.

Her teeth dug into a particularly sensitive spot, pinching the already flushed skin. And just as Mina gasped, just as she thought she’d won, Mina’s hands fell to her thighs, the world spun, and she was on her back. And Mina’s hand was wrapped tight around her throat.

“No more talking,” she growled, her free hand scraping roughly down Mildred’s stomach, under the band of her skirt, and straight between her thighs.

“Fuck, Mina,” Mildred gasped, the words melting into a groan as her thumb slid over her underwear.

Wilhemina shoved her further into the bed, fingers tightening. And Mildred’s vision blurred at the edges as she gasped for breath.

Perfect. Delicious. Exactly what she wanted.

No talking. Only feeling. Only Wilhemina.

But then Mina spoke, voice hot by her ear.

“I said no talking. I don’t want another word out of you until you’re ready to apologize.”

She pushed her underwear aside on the last word, slipping two fingers easily inside. Mildred cried out, hands grabbing for the arm braced on her throat and holding on tight as her hips started rocking of their own accord.

“Apologize for what,” she panted, eyes screwing shut as Mina curled her fingers.

A flat laugh. A squeeze to her throat. Heat pooling between her thighs.

“For making an entire scene just because I brought you your lunch. Because I took time out of my day to make sure you were taken care of.”

Mildred was slammed back into the mattress again.

“What does your logic say about that, Nurse Ratched?”

There were tears pricking at Mildred’s eyes now, because she wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t. But Wilhemina’s fingers picked up their pace, and then her mouth was on hers, and Mildred knew exactly what was coming.

Mina bit down on her lip. Hard. Yanked at it, pulling until Mildred whimpered.

“Apologize,” she growled, fingers twisting and curling and nails pricking against Mildred’s throat.

Mildred barely had the competence to shake her head no, but she managed it. Because as loud as her body was screaming with a need for more, for so much more of this woman, her brain wouldn’t let her.

The rational part of Mildred’s brain kept the words stuck down in her throat, pounding that she didn’t need to say them. That this wasn’t her fault. That she had only been protecting herself. But the sentimental part kept pushing them back up again, harder and harder the longer Mildred stared at Wilhemina, eyes dark and predatory and so filled with hurt.

“I’m not letting you come until you apologize,” Wilhemina scolded, nails scratching over Mildred’s throat as her fingers moved faster, harder. Her thumb brushed over her clit.

Mildred sobbed, entire body vibrating with the beg for release.

It almost felt like she was choking, the way she was swallowing the words down, only for them to get stuck again. Suffocate her.

Wilhemina shook her head softly, holding Mildred’s eye contact like a lifeline as the smallest smile graced her lips. An angel above her. Salvation.

And that was it. Mildred broke for the millionth time with this woman, relinquishing control.

Letting go.

Her orgasm hit her without Mina’s permission, shaking through her body and sending lightning down her spine. And the words were pulled from her just before her vision went black, hands twisting on Mina’s arm and toes curling hard in the sheets.

“I lo-ove you.”

She didn’t realize that she hadn’t apologized, the wrong words coming out of her, until she blinked her vision back and saw Wilhemina’s wide eyes, clarity piercing through whatever hurt and determination had been there just moments before.

And then Mildred realized why the words had burned so hot in her throat. It wasn’t an apology. It was the truth. The reason. The explanation of why she had behaved the way she did and why she had lashed out. Why she had felt so scared and vulnerable that she couldn’t emotionally handle seeing Wilhemina somewhere she didn’t expect her.

She wanted to apologize then, wanted to take them back. Because she had let herself slip. Again. And all it seemed to be doing was causing more trouble. She wasn’t tampering anything down, she was spinning the world further and further out of control. Unthreading her reality and watching the picture unravel before her eyes.

“How do you always seem to mess everything up?”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Everything you touch turns to dust. How is that even possible? You should win some sort of prize for screwing this many things up. I swear.”

Wilhemina’s hand over hers brought her back, the air deathly still as Mildred’s voice rang off the walls. Over and over and over.

She met Wilhemina’s eyes, heart still hammering in her chest as she fought to regulate her breathing. To calm herself down. It had always been so easy. Why was it so difficult now?

“Does that scare you...?” Mina asked softly, shifting over her as her gaze burned through Mildred.

Before she knew what she was doing, she nodded. Because it did. She did.

And Wilhemina matched her, nodding in time. “It scares me, too.”

At that she did apologize, a soft “I’m sorry” falling from her lips in a last desperate attempt to calm the situation. To salvage the last piece of anything. To pull control back down over herself.

But Wilhemina only shook her head, a softness in her eyes that Mildred had never seen before.

“Don’t apologize.”

And then that heavy silence. So familiar. So comfortable. Give their souls space. Let them figure it out.

The words would come when they were ready.

Wilhemina sniffed, tracing her thumb over Mildred’s cheek. “Do you remember when I told you that I had never known love?”

And Mildred nodded again, finding herself unable to do anything else with the way Mina was staring at her. Eyes glittering. Galaxies.

“I’m not sure that’s true anymore,” she whispered, gaze falling to Mildred’s mouth. Across the ages and spaces and miles between them. It could only have been inches now. “I don’t think it’s been true for a while.”

Mildred let the words swim around her, furnishing her sanctuary here, pressed into a bed underneath Wilhemina. Locked in orbit, pulled in tight and unable to do anything but stare.

She startled as a tear fell onto her cheek, swiping at it quickly as she sniffed. Came back to the present. The room fell back into place.

And then her world, her life, her eternity, her Wilhemina kissed her.

“My beautiful Millie,” she murmured, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. Until the world swam again, this time for a completely different reason, happiness and joy threading through her and pouring like stardust in her veins.

“Yours.”

~~~

“Shall we?”

Mildred threaded her arm through Wilhemina’s, pushing her hair up and letting her fingers ghost over the rim of her hat.

“I’d love nothing more, Ms. Venable.”

And the way that they walked together, their steps perfectly in time, Wilhemina’s cane tapping as she moved forward steadily, one foot after the other, matched with Mildred’s calculated walk, the way her feet barely crossed and she was almost pigeon-toed, like she was strutting down a runway.

It should have been illegal, just after the war. It should have been frowned upon. But the power that flowed off of them when they were arm in arm like this, the way Mildred’s heart swelled and her chin tipped up and she managed to physically look down on everyone in her path, had people scattering like rats as their heels clicked along the tile.

And the entire night, everyone at Wilhemina’s office party steered more than clear of them. Hushed whispers behind their backs had Wilhemina’s hands skirting just a bit too far down Mildred’s hips as she took small sips of her champagne, setting her gloved fingers itching and her thighs pressing together under her perfectly asymmetrical skirt.

And Mildred made it a point to turn her head, just so, and whisper in Wilhemina’s ear whenever she was mid-conversation with her coworkers. Sometimes it was nothing. Sometimes it was filthy.

But either way, she knew just the breath on Wilhemina’s ear was enough to make her pulse run a bit quicker.

And sure enough, before dinner was even served, Wilhemina had made some sort of excuse and the two of them were running from the taxi, through the rain, and huddling together on the porch as Mina dug for her key.

That night was her favorite night.

Both of them soaked to the bone, sharing over-poured glasses of wine, half-dressed and drying out in front of the fireplace.

And when Wilhemina gave her that smile, that particularly fond smile where her cheeks pushed up and her eyes softened, Mildred pushed her tongue into her cheek, fighting her own grin.

They kissed until the fire burnt out, embers barely flickering in the black room. And just as the last of the light died, Mildred and Wilhemina sticky and naked and curled together on the floor, Wilhemina made to get up.

Mildred’s hand on her arm stopped her, and she snuggled further against her to keep her still.

“No light tonight,” she said softly. And she meant it.

She wasn’t frightened. Not now. Not anymore.

“Millie?”

And Mildred let herself smile as she nodded. Because she had never been more certain of anything than she was of loving Wilhemina in this moment, and of letting herself be loved in return. Letting herself go.

The world wasn’t logical. The world wasn’t ordered. Not when it came to her. Wilhemina had come in and spun her right out of control. And she kept doing it. Over and over again. Like it was a game.

Maybe it was.

And as Mildred leaned forward, capturing Mina’s lips in a languid kiss and humming contentedly, she realized that she was absolutely fine losing, if it meant that she got to have this.

Tag List: @shineestark @duchessfics @darling-dontforgetme @midnight-lestrange @nerdaroo @thatgirlintheleatherjacket

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sombreboy · 4 years ago

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Mused obsession (1)

Written by @sombreboy as Jungkook & @chimoona as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 7.4k ⇢Ch.warnings: (Does sexual tension count?) None.

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

Jimin shifts in his chair to find a comfortable position. He’s about half an hour into hair and makeup and already itching to get in front of the camera. It’s day one of promo shots for a clothing line he’s actually passionate about—his own. He’d come far in his career, gaining traction for his unique look and alluring personality. Now it was time to get the recognition he deserved, as a model and a visionary. He powered through a couple solid years of being a nobody, doing whatever gig got his foot in the right door. Today is the beginning of his new chapter, a rebranding milestone. He only hopes he has the right crew to make his vision a reality.

Jungkook is a famous photographer, widely known for his brand name ‘GJK’ within the industry. Having a photoshoot with him was rare to come by, not because he is difficult to reach, but because he is extremely picky with whom he works with. Only the best of the best gets his lens pointed at them, and it just so happens, Jungkook found Jimin among many possible clients to work with.

The fashion itself wasn’t exactly what Jungkook cared for, but he had to admit that it was eye catching, fresh, and modern. However, what truly caught JK’s eye was the man behind it all, Park Jimin. He looked deeper into who this man was, and was impressed with how he’d worked his way up from nothing to where he’s at now, Jungkook himself being a large stepping stone for the young man.

Kook could see himself in him in a way, having worked his way up by being dedicated to his hard work, and at his young age—being known as the highest profile photographer in the industry.

He’s busy, setting up the studio lighting, making sure his camera is in place before roaming the room, one hand held out as his staff brought him his banana milk. A guilty pleasure. He hates coffee—but loves overly sweet drinks.

‘‘Where’s Jimin? Shouldn’t he be here by now?’‘ JK glances at his staff, who bows in apology and makes their way to call for the model that it was time.

Jimin’s heart pounds in his chest at the shaky sound of his name being called by a spooked PA.

“Showtime, Sir,” she mutters. “Mr. Jeon doesn’t like to be left waiting.”

The makeup artist snaps to attention and gives a final spot-check for imperfections while the hairstylist fluffs his soft hair for a “just woke up” look.

“Who’s running the show here?” Jimin asks quietly, feeling a little cocky, but not enough to ever say it in front of the high-profile photographer. The man makes him nervous, he hates to admit. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around how he scored Jungkook for his promo shoot, but didn’t think to ask out of fear he would back out. Jimin admires Jungkook’s tenacity and work ethic, despite being the younger of the two. He had to make sure everything was perfect, knowing very well how he liked his subjects to be of visual perfection and grace. “Please tell him I’m on my way.”

Jungkook sighs when the PA comes back with the news, sipping his artificial drink with one hand firmly placed on his hip. His eyes roam the room, making sure everything is the way he wants it. Normally, the staff would do the work, but being picky as he is, he prefers to set everything up himself. That way, if something wasn’t up to par, it was all on him.

‘‘Alright everyone, when he arrives, you know the rules. I want utter privacy.’‘

Jimin steps into the studio, dressed in his first look—a clean form-fitted blazer and tight black jeans, paired with genuine leather ankle boots. He didn’t want gaudy accessories but couldn’t resist slipping slim silver rings over his delicate fingers to match his signature silver hoops. His public persona until this point has been very bubbly and light—the typical boy next door. Now he wants to flip the industry on its head and feature an aesthetic of dark neutrals with metallic accents.

He was too busy smoothing over his blazer as he approached Jungkook to realize it was just the two of them. When he looks up, he notices just one set of eyes staring back. No PAs, no stylists. Just the undivided attention of Jungkook as he sipped his sugary milk.

“Oh—uh...hello, Jeon. I appreciate you taking on this project at such short notice,” he nods politely, reaching out a hand to shake. “Is the staff off for lunch? Will they be returning?”

Jungkook glances down at Jimin’s delicate hands, observing the small rings adorning them. He was a man of detail, taking notice of every single piece the elder was wearing, the colours, even how every strand of his hair was placed. Letting his gaze dissect the man for a moment, still sipping his drink, he finally releases the straw with a pop as he reaches out to take the smaller hand in his. Call him rude, or maybe socially awkward, but instead of a normal handshake, he simply pulls the hand closer to his face to inspect the jewelry.

‘‘No, I asked them to leave.’‘ Jungkook simply states before releasing Jimin’s hand, ‘‘I prefer to work with my clients in privacy.’‘

Jimin swallows audibly, watching the photographer as he inspects his hand. He didn’t find it odd that he was engrossed in his appearance, however, a shiver ran down his spine at Jungkook’s reply. A new wave of anxiety washes over him at the revelation they were alone and would remain that way for the duration of the shoot.

“I, uh, I see,” he says, eyes roaming over the younger’s meticulous setup. “You never cease to amaze me, Jeon. You think you can handle this all on your own?”

With one eyebrow raised, Jungkook tilts his head as his eyes travel back up to meet Jimin’s.

‘‘Do I think I can handle this on my own?’‘ He repeats softly, a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. He brings the straw back into his mouth before motioning with his hand for Jimin to follow him onto the set, pointing towards the spot which he wants the elder to stand on. He turns around, waiting for Jimin to follow his silent instructions.

In the back of Jimin’s mind he couldn’t help worrying how it would all turn out. He has a lot riding on this, yet he knows Jungkook is a man of his word. His portfolio is anything but defamatory and unprofessional. He truly is an artist of taste. On top of that, Jungkook’s calm and nonchalant attitude was surprisingly alluring, easy to follow.

“I hired you for a reason,” Jimin replies, belated, “I trust your judgement.” After stepping on his marker, Jimin takes in the ironed backdrop and pristine lighting structure. Jungkook seems to be more than prepared without assistance, which puts him at ease.

Jimin falls into his role of model, standing in contrapposto with his shoulders held back proudly. “How would you like me?” he asks, staring into the photographer’s dark umber eyes. They caught him by surprise, how focused they were on his every movement.

Jungkook’s eyes never wavered from him, observing every single movement of his. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t entranced by the elegance that oozed off of the elder. His movements were so delicate, as if every step had purpose. It made him smile.

‘‘Just stay like that.’‘ Kook threw his finished drink to the side before getting behind the camera, able to properly focus on every detail through the lense as he adjusts his angle. The man in front of him is photogenic, that’s for sure. He’s gorgeous. Before Jimin was even ready for the shoot to begin, the sound of the camera going off a couple times echoed; JK withdrew a bit to check how the first series of photos turned out with a content expression.

This is one way that he likes to do it to warm up, to see how the model would react to his sudden actions. Would they be anxious? Would they get mad? Or something completely different?

Jimin pushes his hair back with his ring-clad hand, getting lost in the moment. It’s flattering to see just how eager Jungkook is to begin. Granted, his rapid test shots are more than he’s used to. He’s always ready to adapt to a new situation.

He runs through his series of standard poses, leaning into them harder because it seems to please the younger man. If he’s enthusiastic about the process, Jimin is positive it will shine through in the final product.

“How is it turning out?”

Jungkook removes the camera from the tripod stand he originally intended to use, staring down at the screen on his camera while flipping through the images,

‘‘It’s okay.’‘ He nods to confirm his own words, checking before bringing the camera back up in front of his face and snapping another photo of Jimin while he was speaking. He went back into his own world of checking his latest photograph, a nodding hum in thought as he stared at it.

‘‘The camera loves you.’‘

As Jungkook thought, this man truly was photogenic, and the fact that he knew how to be on camera only made the photos more beautiful. Even if he wasn’t prepared for his latest shot, it turned out to be his favourite photo of them all. His eyes fell back on the elder before he spoke.

‘‘Grab that chair and sit on it, please.’‘

The flash of Jungkook’s camera caught Jimin off guard while he was mid-speak, but it must have turned out well. It brought a smile to Jungkook’s face as he stared down at his display screen, endearing bunny teeth peeking out from his rosy lips. He must be going for a specific style, trying to capture the feel of his clothing in a candid moment.

God, he really is a genius.

At Jungkook’s command, Jimin pulls over a chair and sits on it, draping his arm over the back casually.

Jungkook approaches by a few steps, crouching on the floor as he points his camera towards Jimin. This time he gives him an opportunity to be ready for the photo. However, before snapping the photo, he whispers out a few words with his sweet voice.

‘’You’re a beauty,’’ –To trigger a reaction, whether it might be a smile, a face of shock, or a pair of furrowed eyebrows, he loves to spur expressions that weren’t simply a model’s pout. Of course, he would need a few photos like that, but this part of his session was his favourite. It was like a little game, and Jimin was fun to play with so far.

Jimin’s nerves skyrocket as Jungkook compliments him. He’s used to photographers giving praise, but this felt very intimate as the younger’s voice was sweet and seductive. Then again, he probably just read the gesture incorrectly. Jimin is beautiful and he knows it well. It shouldn’t feel odd to hear those words pass Jungkook’s lips. Jimin stares back at him wide-eyed, mouth parted, trying to calm his nerves.

Why is Jeon making him so nervous?

“Uh, t-thank you,” Jimin replies weakly. He looks around the room to read the crew’s expressions but is quickly reminded that he’s all alone, aside from the man on his knees, just a short distance away now. “That’s kind of you to say,” he confesses, cheeks warming. He swivels one of the silver rings around his finger until he can focus again. He’s probably reading too far into it.

Jungkook takes note of every little detail of Jimin’s expressions, movements, even the small stutter rolling off his plushy lips. It’s cute, he was definitely worth his time. He inches closer, getting a nice low angle of the beauty. The way the light bounces off the apples of the elders cheeks truly come into view, along with his small hoop earrings shining.

‘‘I bet there’s not a single angle you can’t pull off, Jimin.” He uses the model’s name casually, as he normally would any other client. But this time it felt a little more intimate, the way ‘Jimin’ felt on his tongue as he worded it out. He never wanted to stop saying it. However, there’s a job that needs to be done, whether he wants to play or not, so he continues to find various angles before standing back up. ‘‘Good job, now, let’s move on to the next look. Your stylists are waiting.”

Jimin hurriedly walks to the back room to change, a sigh of relief escaping his chest to see that the next outfit was laid out and ready. On his lean frame, it looked devastating. Head-to-toe worn black leather with silver trim and sparkling crystal accents, pulled together by a thin raw leather choker. “I almost want to steal it off your body,” the makeup artist comments, “it’s not fair you look this good!”

Jimin smiles back, fluffing his hair. “Maybe after the shoot. We need to get it on camera first.”

The artist dabs a pretty red stain on his plushy lips and gives it a little gloss to shine under the lights. “He’s perfect,” the lead stylist confirms, waving off the others. She prompts him to enter the studio alone, which he does with confidence.

His boots click on the hard floor, announcing his presence. He found himself expectant of how Jungkook would react.

Jungkook changed up the lighting a bit, dimming it ever so slightly to get a darker effect, knowing Jimin’s next theme would be something a little sexier. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was just how well Jimin would pull off the look. But then again, he really should’ve been.

Kook’s eyes widen momentarily as he sees the elder stride in; the echoing sound of his boots giving his aura an amplified effect of power. It’s such a contrast to the previous outfit.

“Wooow,” Jungkook can’t help but let his jaw fall open with a smile, not hiding how impressed he is with the look, clapping his hands together in a childish manner, “I like it, I like it!..” His hands remain clasped, approaching Jimin to circle around him, inspecting everything from the diamonds to the small choker on his neck. Without hesitation, he reaches out to brush his fingers against the material.

Jimin hadn’t put much thought towards the banana milk, but the animated way Jungkook clapped at his arrival just added to the photographer’s rare childlike mannerisms. It counterbalances his stern professional side and warms Jimin to see.

“My photographer approves?” Seems so, especially by the way the younger’s long fingers graze his choker, tickling his neck with goosebumps. “I’m pleased I could deliver.” His eyes scan the dim room to find his mark. “Where would you like me for this portion?”

Jungkook’s eyes subtly fall on Jimin’s lips—the glossy red looks really, really pretty on him. He was pretty sure Jimin could be a doll, prettier than every single male and female he’s ever worked with. A joy for his camera lens.

Withdrawing his hand from the choker, he delicately grasps onto Jimin’s wrist with one hand and his camera in the other before he guides him towards the second area of the studio, prepared for the darker theme. It was prepared by a large window ledge, painted in black like the walls around that specific area to give it a gothic vibe. This was also the very reason he’d chosen for the shoot to be done late in the evening, as he did not want any sun from the outside while doing this certain photo. Call him meticulous, but he just wanted things to be done his way.

“Sit on the ledge.”

Jimin allows Jungkook to guide him by the wrist, gradually becoming comfortable with the tactile way he likes to work. Jimin does as he’s told and sits, crossing his legs to rest an elbow to his knee.

“This really goes beyond what I expected, Jeon,” he says, neck craning to take in the entire scene. “Do you put this much detail into all your projects or am I just a special case?” He smiles at the younger, trying to lighten the mood before he transitions to his dark persona.

Jungkook brushes his dark locks away from his eyes, bringing the camera up to check the scene through his lens.

“If you’ve seen any of my work, you’d know.” He says with a low voice, aiming to keep the elder on his toes with his comments. Kook knows he’s of a higher profile, and sometimes that makes people act cautiously around him—he finds it hilarious.

He snaps a few shots of Jimin, satisfied with how effortless his beauty is. These photos are almost erotic, and that was just by looking at his face.

“Slide the leather jacket down your shoulders and keep it that way,” Jungkook instructs once more. He had simple requests, but they changed the entire photo.

Jimin smirks at Jungkook’s comment.

Cocky, isn’t he?

Of course he’s familiar with his work—he’d be living under a rock if he wasn’t aware of Jungkook’s tastes. His change in attitude catches Jimin’s interest and pushes him to deliver facial expressions and casual poses he’s recognized as the photographer’s preference, using his knowledge to his advantage. When he’s asked to bare his shoulders, he does it seamlessly, letting the fragrant material rest against his biceps.

There’s something about this outfit that brings out his confidence tenfold. He hasn’t even seen the photos but he can already hear the positive reviews from competing fashion critics. In this setting he feels now more than ever that it’s his time to shine.

“Is this edgy enough?” He asks, knowing Jungkook would be the right one to judge. With affirmation shining in his eyes, Jimin is ready to show the world what he’s capable of.

“Bite your lip.” He instructs again, a smile on his lips as he manages to get some really, really, gorgeous shots.

This guy is ethereal.

As the elder did as instructed, it sort of did give Kook a sense of…power. He’d never actually admit it though, it would be unprofessional… But, he likes this. He hasn’t enjoyed a photoshoot as much as he’s enjoyed this one—probably ever. He really doesn’t want the session to end.

But like any other, it was bound to happen.

It’s late. So, Jungkook finishes off his last closeup of the choker part of his outfit before letting his camera fall, caught by the band attached around his neck. His eyes are glued to Jimin, a content sigh pushing through his lips,

“That’s a wrap. We’re done for today.”

~~~

Back in the dressing room, Jimin peels himself out of his clothing, reflecting on the day. He’s positively elated by the way everything turned out, desperate to get on to the next set and see what Jungkook prepared for him. After experiencing the younger’s 5-star treatment, he knows he made the right decision in hiring him. A seasoned photographer like Jungkook was exactly what his team needed. He only hopes the feeling is mutual, and gets a sense that perhaps it was.

“You’re a beauty”— Jungkook’s own words repeat in his mind over and over, making his heart throb at the memory. The praise meant a lot coming from his lips, not only because of his prestige but because he too was incredibly beautiful. It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to think of his photographer, but he couldn’t help noticing. Tonight, he doesn’t think he’ll get much sleep, too excited for the next round.

The feeling is indeed mutual, Jungkook feels so satisfied with how his photos turned out, unable to contain the way his body almost vibrated with excitement while he was seated in the studio.

The staff slowly came back, breaking his previous privacy to ask how the photoshoot went. All Kook gives them is a wide grin, which definitely serves as more than enough of a response—considering the way he’s always been quite the odd guy.

Everyone slowly starts to wrap up and go home for the night, however Jungkook remains at the studio, already preparing for the morning by taking down the current setup. Everything is done with Jimin in mind. He won’t be able to sleep anyway, rarely does—if the dark circles adorning his eyes are anything to go by.

Some would say it suits his look.

~~~

The next morning, Jimin started his day like any other, but with more urgency. He took a brisk shower and awakened his smooth skin with a coffee mask and soothing cream. There really was no room for error, and Jimin felt the pressure mounting, knowing that the studio was already set and waiting for his arrival. It didn’t help that his morning copy of Fashion Times magazine had the largest photo of Industry Genius Jeon Jungkook staring deadpan into the lens as if to say “My time is money. I’m waiting.”

~~~

Having a session during the evening and continuing the following morning could be seen as hectic, but to Jungkook, it’s perfect. He can’t imagine having to wait longer than necessary to work with Jimin again.

Slowly, staff came early to help with the rest of the preparations—not that it needed much, Kook had done it all by himself during the night.

He starts his routine with a drink—the sugary mixture—his favourite way to start off the morning as the PA places it in his hand.

“Jeon, did you even get any sleep? Your eyes…” The PA hesitantly asks, worried for his health more than anything.

“I’m great,” Jungkook ignores the question, a content smile on his face as he brings the straw to his mouth. He gives a thumbs up towards the PA, “Thank you for the drink… Also, when is Jimin coming?” He glances down at the expensive clock adorning his wrist. He was getting impatient, even if Jimin technically had time left to get ready.

Jimin appeared at the makeup artist’s station fresh-faced with an iced Americano and fluffy hair. He sat and let her work her magic as he caffeine reinvigorated his muscles.

His first look was going to be on the soft yet sultry side—eyes framed with a slightly smudged layer of eyeliner and wisps of peachy pink eyeshadow. It would compliment the lighter spectrum of his collection, with touches of stark white juxtaposing the reoccurring dark neutrals and metallics.

In his mind it represents his old self and the self he hopes to be. The patterns and shades don’t clash—they create depth to his character. He can hear the wardrobe stylists fawn over his first outfit as they steam the fabric to perfection, giving him the boost of confidence he needs to approach Jungkook’s set. If yesterday was any indication of the photographer’s commitment to the project, Jimin was in for a shock.

Jungkook is on his second drink by now; the sugar is very much needed after all the hard work he spent figuring out the set for the first outfit. To start, he wanted to keep it plain and simple, a metallic background to put the focus on Jimin entirely. But– no, it wasn’t good enough. Now, the idea he went for wasn’t revolutionary per se, but the way he set it up could be. He prepared a separate, smaller room by decorating every single inch with mirrors in different angles. Ceiling? Mirrors. Walls? Mirrors. Floor? You got the jist of it. Mirrors.

Kook had an additional idea, but he wasn’t sure whether or not to go for it yet. He wanted Jimin to shatter the glass– but he wouldn’t make the elder do it if it was deemed too much.

The younger was excited, anxious to see how Jimin would pull off his next look. It was almost unhealthy, the way the JK already felt like there was nothing else he could think of than Park Jimin and his beauty.

‘‘Noona!’‘ Jungkook whined as he strolled out of his mirrored room to find the staff, ‘‘Time?’‘

The way he whines is almost childish, however, the PA used to it. She knows this means his patience is running low, but merely out of excitement. His dark circles indicate hard work, and he wants to finish what he started.

“He’s on his way, Jeon.”

Just then, Jimin’s familiar footfalls echo off the studio walls.

“Just this way,” another PA instructs him, bringing him into Jungkook’s view. “Follow him into the mirrored room. That’s where you’ll begin.” Jimin nods and follows him into the small room, intrigued by her words. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but it really was a mirrored room—top to bottom, mirrored fragments, deliberately placed.

“Oh my—“ It was all he could muster, overcome with wonderment, seeing every angle of himself in the blink of an eye. “H-how did you—“ He turns to face his photographer and instantly notices his sleep-deprived state. His shining doe eyes narrow under dark lids, still alert despite his lack of rest, but visibly affected. Did he sleep for even a minute last night?

“Jeon, I’m breath-taken, honestly. This is just absolutely stunning.” He can’t stop looking at Jungkook as he inspects the room and can’t decide whether to comment on his appearance or carry on. He decides the latter, respecting his process.

Jungkook’s smile widens at the praise, his bunny-like front teeth on full display, nose scrunched up, “Thank you.”

He moves to shut the door behind Jimin before placing his hand on the small of his back, guiding him towards the wall. Kook’s eyes wander over the puzzled pieces of glass, doe eyes sparkling at the sight. He turns his attention towards Jimin, his smile falling back into a more neutral expression.

“This is a very special shoot, Jimin. This will be the breakthrough concept. But you have to trust me…” Kook pauses to sip the last of his drink, shaking it lightly to confirm that it was indeed empty. “Do you trust me?”

Jimin nods. The words ‘breakthrough concept’ is exactly what he wanted to hear. He’s dying to know what the visionary has in mind, and almost thinks to order a banana milk for himself to keep up with his pace.

“I trust you,” he confirms. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

Jungkook’s hand reaches to brush a stray hair away from Jimin’s forehead, putting it properly in place before grabbing the camera that was hanging around his neck.

“Okay. First, I need you to look at the ceiling, at yourself, with sadness and frustration.” He takes a few steps back, angling the camera to his liking. “Then, you can improvise if you’d like… A few of these shots are needed. When we’re done, we will move on to the climax of the concept.” He peeks over his camera to make sure Jimin is keeping up with his instructions—a smile on his lips growing when, of course, Jimin kept up. He was made for this and followed Kook’s orders perfectly.

There’s not a moment of hesitance from Jimin as he falls into a rhythm. It was odd at first, looking at himself, seeing his own expressions as they formed on his face. Sadness, frustration, shock, anger—it was all for the climax he patiently awaited.

He caught Jungkook’s pleased smile in his peripheral and knew his plan was falling into place. As odd as the photographer seemed, he exuded a sense of comfort and understanding that Jimin hadn’t felt in any of his other partnerships.

He discovered exactly what Jimin wanted with very little direction, almost expounding upon a base concept and unfurling it like a flower. Jimin got on his knees, arched his back, contorted his body to discover disjointed versions of himself that made the clothing pop. When he was finished, he looked up at Jungkook with tiny droplets of sweat gliding down his bare neck.

“How did I do?”

Jungkook almost had a dumb look on his face. He was in such deep focus, observing the small droplets of sweat glistening on Jimin’s flawless skin. His grip tightened around his camera without realizing, veins popping underneath his tattooed skin.

“Beyond expectations,” He finally replies. His tone might’ve seemed too neutral, but he meant it. Slowly, he starts walking towards the door to leave the room, but before he does so, he glances over his shoulder at the elder.

“Short breather. I’m gonna grab what we need for the next part. ...Want something to drink?”

Now was his chance—“Banana milk,” he replies, breathlessly. He had never tried the stuff. Never had the desire. However, the way the younger sucked it down made him more than curious to try. “I’m parched.”

Jungkook nods, a little surprised that Jimin would want banana milk. It’s a very sweet drink, and every single one of his staff often questioned how he could drink such ‘pure artificial sugary crap’—of course, not to his face.

He left the room, leaving Jimin by himself for a few minutes as he approached the mini fridge placed in the middle of the mess of his things, filled with his favourite beverage. He grabs two, whistling casually while grabbing the prop he needed for the next step in his photoshoot...A sledgehammer.

This was going to be the best part of it all.

Jimin stands to his feet and walks over to one of the mirrored walls. He dabs at his glistening sweat, readying himself for the grand finale. He almost stepped away to ask for a touch up from the makeup artist but heard Jungkook approach the doorway. A chill of excitement cooled his burning blood at the sound of a metallic clang.

Jungkook waltzes in with a smile, the two beverages in his hand and a sledgehammer in the other. His muscles strain, veins popping on his lower arm as the muscles flex. He carefully places the tool on the floor, letting it lean against the wall before approaching Jimin, handing him the banana milk.

“I’m surprised you asked for this drink, anybody else would simply ask for an iced americano.” But he was pleasantly surprised, nonetheless, curious as to what the elder would think of his favourite thirst quencher. He didn’t pay attention to how it probably looked when he walked in with a...hammer, but he surely will be anticipating the response when he finally asks him what to do with it.

Jimin swallows his first sip and shivers when the artificial flavour hits his taste buds.

“It’s great,” he lies, “love this stuff.”

He took another sip and let the creamy liquid pool in his mouth, beginning to savour the sweetness. It would take some getting used to, but he was already beginning to feel the effects. Just like the photographer, it grew on him.

He’d become so engrossed in the beverage that he didn’t even process the sledgehammer Jungkook heaved into the room. In fact, he was a little too distracted by the younger’s strength to notice what he was carrying. The way his muscles flexed did not go unnoticed by the model. Not at all.

“Wha—,” He chokes, swallowing another mouthful. “What’s the hammer for?”

Jungkook was emptying his drink at an inhuman speed, the slurpy noise of him sucking the straw until every last drop is gone serving as a childish reply until he puts it to the side with a lopsided smile,

“That depends if you’re willing to do it,” He counters, keeping the mystery for a mere moment. He’s intrigued, excited to see what Jimin would do about it. He seems strong enough to handle it, but just in case he’d picked a slightly less heavy version of the tool. Kook approaches the hammer once more, picking it up with one hand before bringing it over to the elder,

“I want you to hold it up, like this,” He grabs the hammer with both hands, demonstrating the motions of swinging the tool, ‘‘And shatter the mirrors!’‘

He turns back to Jimin, offering the sledgehammer for him to take.

“It will be extraordinary. What do you say?’’

Jimin takes the tool into his hands, feels the weight of it, turns it over and inspects it closely. His upper body strength isn’t matched to Jungkook’s but the hammer is light enough to swing, even for him. It seems a little dangerous, but what kind of impact would this project have if it didn’t involve a bit of danger? Jimin took a couple practice swings to make sure he was capable. Once he’s comfortable with the motion, he smiles at the photographer for confirmation—“Get ready, Jeon.”

He’s almost vibrating with sugar-fueled energy, harnessing it to throw the first blow. He jumps back and watches the mirrored shards fly across the room. It’s…liberating. He starts to feel weightless, drunk on power as he swings the hammer, posing between blows. Down to the floor, against the wall and back down to the floor. He demolishes the room until he’s completely exhausted, on his knees, sweat gleaming off his angelic face.

Jungkook didn’t utter a single word throughout, merely fixated on the moment, snapping image after image of the scene unfolding in front of him. He was in complete awe, as if in a trance. Jimin was absolutely perfect for this, and it went beyond his expectations, above anything he could’ve ever imagined. The glass flying as it shattered, surrounding Jimin like glitter—sparkling due to the flash of Kook’s camera.

As Jimin sank down to the floor, this was the absolute perfect ending to the collection, the elder shining in sweat, cheeks glistening with his eyes closed, a complete divine angel captured on camera. Jungkook had to put his camera down when he was finished and adore the scenery with his bare eyes, roaming the room with his gaze until they fell back on Jimin with a lopsided smile.

“Felt good, didn’t it?”

It felt...he feels... Jimin can’t put it into words. His hands shake from the adrenaline coursing through his veins; heart beating in his ears. He wants to feel like this every day—high on endorphins, full of courage. He nods in agreement, eyes still closed.

“You’re a fucking genius, Jeon Jungkook.” That’s how he felt. Every bit of effort the younger put into this project only made Jimin more drawn to him.

When he pushed him out of his comfort zone, it only solidified an inseparable bond Jimin began to feel forming. He opens his eyes and looks up at the photographer, matching his smile with a dazzling one of his own.

“May I see the photos?” If they turned out as well as he imagined they would, there’s no way he’s letting him go.

Jungkook smirks at the praise, approaching the elder as he towers above him, eyes still just as fixated on the blonde. From this angle…Jimin is almost delicious…no, he definitely is. Shrugging his thoughts away, he offers a hand to help the man below him to get back up on his feet.

“Follow me then, we can sit outside of this room, because—well, glass.” He smiles, guiding Jimin with him with one hand, camera in the other to guide them towards the couch that had served as a prop. He slouches down on the soft cushion without second thought and pulls the camera up, flipping all the way back to the very beginning where Jimin had just walked into the room—photos that weren’t part of the shoot. Just, the look of wonder and awe in the elders' eyes was too good not to capture. “Come sit.”

Stick tacky with sweat, Jimin pulls off his jacket and slings it over the couch arm. He takes a seat next to Jungkook and leans in close to see the screen. His heart rate maintains a strong pace as he’s a little distracted by their proximity. He focuses his attention as the younger begins flipping through the camera and gasps, gawking at the shots of him walking onto the set.

“I didn’t even think of doing a behind-the-scenes!” Even off-set, the photo composition is pure art—light illuminating his face and clothing stunningly. He leans in closer to see the fine details, balancing his hand on the younger’s firm thigh.

Jungkook presses his lips together tightly—Jimin wasn’t supposed to see those photos. Honestly, they were more for him than the actual shoot. He just really likes the way Jimin looks when he’s not aware of the camera...

“Yeah,” He breathes out, pretending that they were indeed for the shoot, relieved that the elder did see them as behind-the-scenes.

Once Jimin got closer, feeling his petite ring-clad hand on his muscular thigh, Jungkook’s breath stopped. He let Jimin look through the photos, mindlessly flipping through them for him. Kook’s focus was somewhere else entirely—fixated on how beautiful Jimin was this up close.

Jungkook inhaled deeply through his nose, catching the scent of the elder; sweet, with a hint of the musk of a tiring session. It was stirring something inside of the younger that he knew was already there, an interest...A very intense interest.

“Jeon?” Jimin grips his thigh to get his attention, pressing his rings into the taut muscle. “Hey,” he laughs, eyes narrowing to focus on the screen, “Slow down, yeah?”

Jungkook was cycling through the photos a little too quick for him to keep up. All Jimin could see was the first flash of his garment or a close-up of his face before they were onto the next set.

Jimin looks up at Jungkook and notices he’s barely even looking at the screen. His eyes keep wandering to Jimin, looking him up and down. Jimin’s eyes flick to his, then down to his lips which are bitten raw and parted. Jimin wets his lips at the sight, becoming all too aware of how close he is and how hot he feels under the photographer’s gaze.

“Jungkook…what’s wrong?”

Jungkook’s dark eyes quiver as they meet Jimin’s, blinking hard once, then twice until he’s brought back down to reality.

How is it that he is so enchanted by this man? It’s ridiculous.

Kook bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the blonde’s rings digging into his thigh did nothing but feed into his growing infatuation with the man. Because that’s what this is, right? Infatuation? It must be.

“N-nothing, nothing’s wrong…” He stutters out his words, gripping onto his camera as he skips to the last scene, trying to avert the question any further. The images are of the mirrors surrounding the angelic model just moments before he shattered them. Kook leans in closer to Jimin to show him properly, his own smile growing at the perfect visuals. “What do you think of these?”

Even in their raw format, Jimin falls in love with the photos. The multi-dimensional element that the mirrors provided made it look as if he was appearing and disappearing at the same time. It wasn’t until he began smashing the mirrors that Jimin came into focus as one complete person, surrounded by fallen shards.

“They’re absolutely perfect,” he breathes, catching a glimpse of Jungkook’s shimmering eyes. His lithe body presses against Jungkook as he studies the final shot. He feels him inhale sharply at the contact, tensing even more.

Based on how intimately the photographer captured him in those last moments of their set and how he stuttered earlier, Jimin gets the sense he may be teasing the kid. It wasn’t his intention; he can’t help the way he looks. He also can’t help the way Jungkook looks—childlike innocence, masked by deep lust.

“Do I make you nervous?” Jimin asks, plump lips curling to a timid smile.

The grasp around his camera tightens, and he’s sure that if the material wasn’t of such quality, it would burst like an apple in his hands. A short breath pushes through his lips; a breath he wasn’t even aware of holding until Jimin’s smile forced it out of him,

“No…” Jungkook isn’t nervous, but he won’t easily admit his growing attraction to the elder. Flustered, perhaps? Or, something like it...

To continue to avoid the question, he turns off the camera and shuffles away a bit, giving himself the much needed space between their bodies. It’s too much, he isn’t used to feeling this gravitation towards somebody else.

“Good,” Jimin replies, smiling wider and straightening his damp white shirt. “You’ll need to have nerves of steel if you’re going to accompany me to my mini fashion show tomorrow.” He nips his bottom lip at how cute the photographer is being, shying away so quickly after his question. “I do hope you’ll come, it wouldn’t be the same without the infamous Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook straightens his posture, head turning to look at Jimin with raised eyebrows. Oh, right—he was informed about this, but he had almost forgotten. But only because he was informed about this before even meeting the angelic man next to him. Now, he definitely wouldn’t miss the chance of seeing this show,

“I’ll be there,” He simply confirms with a small smile. Before he’s able to say anything else, his PA approaches, telling the two of them that it’s time to wrap up.

It was done, their partnership was done. Now, it was fine for the real work, Jungkook had to perfect the photos before sending them in. Even if, in his own opinion, they could be used in their raw state, he knows there are pieces that need to be polished into his perfection.

He turns to Jimin once more as he stands. “You did great...It was a pleasure working with you.”

And he hopes—no, he knows he has to do it again.

~~~

Later that evening, Jimin fusses over prep for the following day, moisturizing his flawless skin and pressing his suit for perfectly clean lines. It was going to be a short show, but the turnout was predicted to be A-class. The industry’s most trusted brand ambassadors secured seats to the event, not to mention a handful of fellow celebrities. He had to be fully prepared to present his line with passion and charisma—practicing in front of the mirror until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

When his body couldn’t keep up with his mind, he flopped onto his bed half-clothed, drifting to sleep. Running the promo shoot and fashion show back-to-back was a tiring and somewhat unrealistic undertaking, but so was the rest of it.

He wonders as he drifts to sleep, if perhaps the photographer would like to finish what they started. Maybe then he’d get to know the man behind the lens.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was finally able to go home for the first time in days. It’s just the way he is, completely indulged and tunnel-visioned on work until it was finished. There’s nothing else that can possibly exist in his world until he feels satisfied. Now that this part of the job is over, he feels...empty, in a way.

He wants to work with Park Jimin again. Just the thought of any other client seemed dull in comparison.

After a long, well needed shower, he lays down in his grand bed and stretches his body out like a starfish with a content groan.

The next morning he stood by his closet, humming in thought. He was definitely not going to miss out on Jimin’s fashion show, especially not when he was a big part of the upcoming collection. Not to mention, Jungkook knew that his presence would draw attention, and he wanted that. He wanted Jimin to get more recognition, and what better way to support this by simply showing up?

Jungkook figured he wanted to bring his camera. He surely could get some fantastic shots of Jimin—and the show! He took a long time of considering what to wear, almost texting his PA for help, but opting to simply do it himself. He ended up with...well, the obvious if Jungkook were the one picking his own outfit: Black dress shirt, black dress pants, black shoes—topped with a black suit jacket, embroidered with patterns of sparkling threads to give it a little dazzle.

He nodded, satisfied with what he saw, ruffling his mess of a hairstyle—dark curls flowing freely as he received the call that his car had arrived.

He couldn’t wait to see Jimin...

...and Jimin couldn’t wait to see him either.

#fic: mused obsession #yandere jungkook #jungkook x jimin #jikook #yandere bts #bts mxm #boymeetsmxm #chimoona #sombreboy

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