#and the record player is to keep me off my phone lol

[emailgremlin]

it’d discography saturday!!! putting on an artists whole discog on the record player and cleaning until it’s over

[yoongleboonglepie]

Pechsträhne Chapter 14

BTS x Reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter playlist-Youtube music

Chapter Playlists-Spotify

Word Count Approx: 20k

A/n: Sorry that this is late y'all. I can tell I'm tipping out of manic and into depressive, plus I found out this week I might have to talk to my mom for the first time since I cut her off, my cat had a health scare, and then I had a health scare LOL. It's been a week. This chapter isn't my best work, and was definitely a challenge for me, so I'm sorry if it's not up to y'all's expectations. Depending on how things go, I might have to change my posting schedule-but I will let you guys know.

So many answers, but o many more questions.

Love, Delyn

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Recap

The doors to Jimin’s office burst open, Namjoon stood bracing it against the wall to keep it from closing in on them with the force that Jungkook had shoved it open with. Both of their chests were heaving with their efforts to catch their breath, having clearly run through the building to get here. Jungkook’s jaw was clenched so hard she could see the muscles of his face twitching, and Namjoon’s eyes blazed with a fierceness she hadn’t seen since he had first found out about Hadwin. 

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Jungkook demanded sharply, stepping further into the room, his eyes trained on the smoldering bowl. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear it go off–but everything's fine! I'm safe!” Y/n jumped from her spot on the couch with a spirited grin, pulling Jimin up with her. “Guys, Jimin can–”

Namjoon cut her off, his tone uncharacteristically short. 

“Yoongi is missing.”

Jimin couldn’t focus. He had the rest of a thesis to write that his entire future and career depended on–and if he didn’t want to end up guiding middle-aged dads, loud disinterested children, and young bickering couples around the grounds and answer the same three questions every day for eternity–he needed to focus. His fingers that were suspended on the keys of his laptop must not have gotten the memo about that, because they refused to move.

“Get it together, Jimin…” He muttered sourly towards himself while shaking out his shoulders, his eyes scanning the screen from left to right while rereading his last few lines to get his mind back on track. 

“I had a brother, can you find him?” 

“We are going to kill you, just you wait!” 

“괜찮아, 지민아?”

“My mother was sick can you tell me if-” 

“I felt her windpipe bend beneath my fingers–Does that mean nothing to you?” 

“Do you do anything that is useful? What is that glowing tablet? Do you like stories? May I tell you a story?” 

A loud clambering rang out, Jimin’s chair toppled over with how abruptly he rose to his feet. He was at his record player in a flash, cranking up the volume to a deafening level to tune out the white noise of voices that climbed over one other in a clawing chase to try and reach his ears first. The barrage of strings and wind instruments muffled the voices, as if putting up a thin wall of plaster and poles between them. He sighed out, his breath unfurling itself with relief. They were still there–seething, whispering, begging, screaming, lilting, hissing, singing–you name it; except now they were not nearly as suffocating. They rolled off of his back and onto deaf ears, a skill he had learned as a child: to be a master of ignoring. 

He moved to walk back to the table, gingerly lifting the lopsided chair for him to sit on again. Taking a long, satisfying sip from the half empty can of soda he had grabbed from the lobby vending machine on his way in, the fizz combed through his racing mind and gave his senses a distraction–he would need to run to the convenience store and buy an entire box if he hoped to get any sort of work done at this rate. 

His saving grace–the blasting music emanating from the speakers that kept the voices at a distance–scratched to a stop in a horrible shriek of metal against vinyl. Jimin’s head snapped up to look at it with wide eyes, the air thick with anticipation–swirling around his chest and squeezing with a twinge of fear when no reason could be found for the interruption. The vinyl continued to spin, emitting only a steady crackling sound peppered by the occasional squeak of the turntable. 

Without warning, an agitating beeping sound began a new assault on his ears through the speakers of his record player. His hands clamped over his ears to save himself from a splitting headache, though the pulses were still audible through the barrier of flesh and bone. The pattern is just the same as that morning–and the day before for that matter. It had been two days of this absolute mind wrecking noise and he couldn’t take it–especially not when it was at this caliber. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jimin lurched, all but running towards the player with no actual plan on how to stop it. He couldn’t unplug it, he found had discovered this morning that that was a useless effort. “You’re going to get me in trouble–I have coworkers here!” 

The pattern didn’t stop, marching forward with an ascending volume. Jimin felt his blood pressure rising parallel to the dial that turned before his eyes under the influence of no visible hand, the noise unbearably louder. 

“Enough! I’ll figure it out! Just stop–for heaven’s sake!” 

On command the sound ceased, rescuing him from the clutches of insanity. He plucked the spindle off the side and placed it back onto the record with a huff, the sound reigniting through the space and slathering his auditory system with the mirage of control it offered him. Jimin veered back to his seat (for the last time he hoped), and plopped down onto it.

“It’s not like I was busy or anything…” He muttered to himself, cringing internally while he minimized the tabs of his school assignment and opened a new one to type his new question into the search bar: How to decipher Morse code. 

Jimin lost track of time–stuck trying to study the rhythmic patterns and how to dictate them by listening, and comparing the lame attempts he had scoured onto notebook paper that morning to endless charts and pamphlets. He took up his pen, and started scratching new lines below it until he had to force himself to give up.

Beneath them, he did his best translating the three separate lines he had tried. 

C_ _  _OU _EAR _E_  _ _ AR

He ran a hand through his hair and checked his watch—it was nearing four o’clock and he was due to return to the dining room soon for a few games before dinner. But he knew that if he put down his pen and walked out the door to his office for the night that he would only be delaying the next burst–and he really just wanted to get a good night’s sleep tonight. 

There was only one option then, he groaned internally, the thought just as much a nuisance as the irking morse code messages. Rising to face the inevitable, he dragged his feet over to the record player to lift the arm off the turntable and place it to the side, letting the soft crackling sound take over and the sea of voices flood back in unchecked.  He was going to regret this–he knew that with certainty. That notion circled his head like a hawk with talons stretched and eyes latched on its shivering prey below, berating him for his irresponsibility for letting him get into his current predicament. To have to cross one of his own boundaries felt impermissible to himself–but he had no choice if he wished to be left alone.  How ironic, that doing what was doomed to only make his life a living hell of endless interruptions, badgering, and pestering, for the unforeseeable future would be his only way out.

He was going to have to speak to them, something he had told himself he wouldn’t do anymore. 

“If you are still in here,” Jimin cleared an invisible ball from his throat that threatened to stifle his voice, walking back towards his chair as he spoke, “I’m giving you permission to do it again. If possible, please go slower. I am only an amateur.” He felt like an idiot talking out loud to his spinning record player, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

The moment he felt the chair beneath him again, the beeping started, grating on all of his nerves and forcing him to take controlled deep breaths to keep it from getting under his skin (he had asked for it after all). He honed his ears onto the pattern, and found his mouth repeating the blips like a song–scribbling a series of dots and dashes on his paper and hoping his afternoon crash course had been sufficient enough. 

“That’s enough–thank you.” 

Thankfully, the spirit listened to his direction and went quiet once more. Though something in the way the energy felt electric told him they were still there–waiting. 

CAN YOU HEAR ME? BW AR

Jimin read it allowed, as if expecting some sort of confirmation verbally–though none came.

“BW…” Jimin rubbed at his bottom lip with his fingers pensively, squinting at the message. “Well yes, I can hear you. Though I could hear you infinitely better if you spoke to me normally. Is BW your name?” 

Silence. 

“BW AR…” Jimin repeated to himself like a mantra.  He clicked back onto his laptop cycling through the half a dozen morse code tabs that he still had open and skimming each one until he found what he was looking for. 

AR: abbreviation used for End of Message. 

Jimin sat back in his chair, tongue between his teeth and finger tapping quickly against his thick wooden table. BW. The answer was obvious to him–Morse code already gave pieces of it away. The only option in his mind would be Bear Worner. 

It only made sense–his extensive experience in military intelligence in both WWII and the Korean War–hell, his assignment in WWII was to try and intercept and translate German codes. The thing Jimin didn’t understand was why he wouldn’t just talk to him like everyone else if whatever he wanted to say was so important–there would be no need  to disrupt his work and sleep schedules and it’d be more time efficient. Was it because Jimin had learned to tune them out so well? Had he tried and he hadn’t heard? 

“Bear?” Jimin hesitantly called out to the air, eyes flickering from one side of the room to the other. There was no words spoken back, but the air felt sharper–like lightning was getting ready to strike down upon the room. The energy hummed beneath his skin, rattling his teeth and coating his tongue with a metallic taste. A silent confirmation. 

Jimin wouldn’t be able to concentrate on many games now, not when his curiosity had awoken and willed him to try and find answers. That was his job after all, searching and archiving, noting and curating–he was hooked. He was notorious for letting his boundaries…bend when it came to his work. He wouldn’t outright ask them things or address them directly–but he wouldn’t shut them out if their ramblings had caught his interest either. 

One would say it was to be considered cheating with his line of work, but he just considered it being thorough and checking off all boxes and sources. After all, what better way to document someone's life or history than directly from their mouth, or by listening to how they putz around their day to day in the afterlife? 

Except the one person he wanted to hear from the most was nowhere to be found–the one person that he would break all of his rules for without hesitation. And perhaps Bear might be able to help him with that. 

“Say Bear, have you heard from Adelaide?” 

The energy that had been simmering vanished, fizzling out like the powering down of an old TV and leaving the space empty hollow, as if the lightning had been pulled elsewhere by the winds of a storm. 

He was gone. 

“So much for that…” Jimin sighed, closing his laptop with a gentle ‘click’, and sliding it off the table and into his bag that laid tucked away at his feet. 

“Jimin! My mother!” 

“Leave it be, bastard. Don’t go digging into business that doesn’t concern you.” 

“Gone! Gone! Gone!” 

“I’m not afraid to tell on you–because I will!” 

“Bruder, I heard you~ Shall we play a game? Can you help me find him?” 

The last voice put a pep in Jimin’s step, his hands rushing to zip his bag closed and sling it over his shoulder. He had heard ths spirit’s scratching hisses distantly before, and had no interest in humoring him–not today and not ever. 

He had never sounded the kindest. 

Using two fingers, he flicked the lights to his office off and started down the seemingly never ending hall. He would no doubt have to work on his assignment late into the night, and he had only himself (and Bear) to blame. The distant echoes of heavy soled shoes followed after him, and the muted whispers of the cacophony of souls had him keeping his eyes down and head low. One ghost felt brave (or maybe they are incredibly naive), their tone carrying over all of the rest.

“I can help you if you help me. Please.” 

The voice that spoke this time was masculine, cracked at the edges with youth and wobbly with nerves. It’s soft desperation almost had Jimin willing to turn his head at the sound, but he knew better than to test his luck by communing with more than one spirit in a day, lest he wished not to sleep that night–or any night this week for that matter. His supervisor had just left her office and was padding behind him on his way to the front door, giving the perfect excuse not to.

“Good evening Jimin! How is your thesis coming along, hm?” his supervisor: a woman–short, stout and always donned in some kind of patriotic themed t-shirt chuckled up from his rear. 

Jimin flashed her a polite smile, keeping his voice coated with niceties. “Good evening Mindy–Almost all finished.” 

“Good, good.” Mindy breathed out, speeding up her pace to waddle through the door he held open for her with quiet gratitude.  

Their discussions never dove past anything surface level as of late, sticking to varied version of the short interaction they just had. Unfortunately, she was someone he only got along with out of necessity. While he didn’t have any particular reason to be rude, he never appreciated her choices when it came to the displays or her views on history. Don’t get him wrong: she was good at her job and earned her way to hold her position in theory–though he couldn’t help but wonder how she had gone through to earn a master’s degree to dissect people, events and objects with little interest in doing anything…meaningful with it. Like she had read through it with blinders and rose colored glasses.

Her work always felt too…manicured. Too much like they glorified ideals and visions of what was comfortable, and less of what was truly interesting. 

Like she was being told exactly what to do, and followed blindly without question. She was a safe choice for the Wörners. 

After waving farewell to her car as it drove past,  he took his time climbing the dirt path towards the estate, his hands tucked into his dress pants pockets and his jacket left draped on his arm. Thoughts of Mindy’s work left more to be desired in his opinion, his mind coming up with hundreds of different avenues on the spot of what she could have done. However he knew better than to let himself linger on those thoughts. Jimin already knew what their responses would be–for he had already experienced it himself when he had submitted initial exhibition mockup that he had prepared for approval, memories of Mariah Wörner’s words from the exchange ringing within his head loud and clear. 

“This is too risky. We want to show the best of them, not the parts that are guaranteed to stir up questions and trouble.” Mariah scolded with a firm shake of her head. She took a finger and pressed it firmly against a framed photo of Lisolette Wörner: a wide brimmed cowboy hat perched on the crown of her head and a long rifle posed over her knee, her eyes callous and deadly as they stared at the viewer.

“Risky? Ma’am, with all due respect, it’s history. History in its nature always stirs up trouble–it’s good for the mind and to get people interested.” Jimin had countered, forcing his tone to remain respectful. 

“And this is considered good for the mind?” Mariah stopped, giving a once over to a broad printed picture of Adelaide and her two brothers. The photo depicted her with hair cropped short in an act of defiance, posing in a pair of men’s trousers and riding boots on the back porch of the estate. Her head tilted down to fix the camera with a challenging smirk while unfurling a pillow case, torn and painted with only the word ‘Fuck!’ in elegant, swooping, inky, letters and strokes.  Both of her brothers stood alongside her, Ernst with a wild grin and Freidrich’s eyes drifted uncomfortably off to the side at her display. Everything about the photo was about rebellion. From her hair that was considered unladylike, to her choice of language–a deliberate choice to strike discomfort into the viewer. A message to her parents that she wouldn’t back down and do as she was told. 

“It’s part of their story, it builds character and connection between them and the viewer. It leaves room for questions–good questions that mean something. ‘What led her to do something like this, and what does it say about the time they lived in? What happened after? What was she hoping to achieve?’ All of these open the doors to curious minds. There’s a story behind these photos and the unfairness Adelaide experienced–and I think more stories deserve to be shown than just-”

“Than just what, Mr. Park?” 

Than your lies. 

Is what Jimin would have said if he wasn't worried about losing his job and livelihood. Instead he had rolled over and let her take control, removing nearly everything from the room and requesting Mindy help him organize something new–and fast.  

Jimin sucked his teeth to reign in his festering irritation. How can one talk of history and insist on blanketing most of what makes it human? What means the most? For what–so they can show the same few men on rotation indefinitely? To hide what they considered shameful? 

“Please Jimin, I can help you I swear.” 

The young male voice called from over his shoulder again, louder and closer in proximity than the last. 

His declaration pulled a scoff from Jimin’s throat before he could stop it, his response tumbling out with a sigh. “Yeah? You’re going to have to try harder than that–I’ve heard that one before.”

Jimin hadn’t gotten home until late as was becoming his normal (Taehyung had taking way too much time perusing the fabrics and linens section of the thrift store he had dragged them both too), only getting back to his room by the time his alarm clock read just after eleven. The house was bustling with noise only his ears seemed to hear–their screams and howls more unbearable than usual. He was only able to tolerate a few minutes of it before he started to dig around his room for his headphones, to tune out the voices huddled outside his door.

“She’s going to kill that boy one of these days. I’m sure of it. Did you see the state of him tonight?” The first one was scratchy and hollow, like one who had smoked one too many cigarettes in their lifetime.

“I didn’t get to. I was too busy hiding between the linens.” The second voice was younger, the melodic sound a stark contrast to the first.  

The two women giggled, and Jimin heard the slosh of a metal bucket and the creak of an old wooden cleaning cart’s wheels begin a slow push along the rug. Though he knew by the fuzzed edges of the sound and the way no shadows passed along the edge of his door that they too were not of this world, and rapidly lost interest in their presence. Quick-footed steps approached from the direction of the landing, and a much younger woman joined in on the discussion–probably no older than a teenager with a bright and lively voice to match. 

“Haven’t you heard–she was here! I saw her with my own eyes!” 

The second voice chastised the child, a muffled ‘thwack’ heard through the wall. “Don’t be so airheaded. Of course she’s here, she lives here now.” 

Jimin rolled his eyes, not interested in listening to the gossip of the passed on staff while he worked. He wrenched open the next drawer and stuck his hand into it to continue his search for anything to tune out their chatter, his tongue clicking in irritation when he came up empty handed. He could’ve sworn he had left them in that drawer…

“No you bumbling brutes. She was here, with us–on our side.” the child raved, and Jimin could almost hear the excited bounce in her step. “The reaper and the medium let her in. I even saw lady Margaret!” 

Jimin froze, his hand stuck lodged into his other drawer and his ears perked up to listen in on the rest of their discussion. 

“Oh that’s no good.” the older voice carried through with a ‘tsk’. “Well if that really is true then her fate looks no better than the boy–as good as dead they will be.” 

“Don’t say such things Catherine! Maybe they will save us!” The child cried out, defiant and shrill.

The older voice–Catherine–laughed humorlessly. “Don’t get your hopes up anytime soon. Nothing ever changes around here–Misses makes sure of that. Now if you want to keep your eyes, I suggest you get back to work.” 

_________________________________________

The sound of boots followed him back to the historical building bright and early, though for once it didn’t bother him–he was too lost in thought. 

Cameras were being installed that morning and movers were bumbling about the foyer and halls making it feel not worth the effort to try and weasel one's way into the kitchen to scour for something to eat. Especially not when Mariah Wörner was stomping through the halls like a bull in a china shop, frantically directing boxes and the men doing the installation around with a firm voice and tired eyes. 

Jimin dug into his pocket for his key to the historical building and shoved it into the lock, twisting it sharply just as the footsteps approached from behind. 

“I can help with the others.” 

Jimin remained unbothered, letting the heavy door swing open to welcome him into the dark exhibits. He watched the sun glinting from the ticket booth glass from the sun beaming in behind him, and the golden streaks of light that lit up the main room in stripes from the windows two stories above. He licked his lips, and found himself pondering their offer. 

Something must’ve been in the water (or soda he guessed), because he felt his mouth opening to respond. His eyes were fixed in front of him in a distant stare, too afraid what it would mean if he addressed him fully–afraid of how many others would try the same stunt. 

“And what would you get out of it?” Jimin sighed, taking his hand dragging it along his face with exhaustion. 

“We just want something small in return.” 

There it was. The same old request he had heard a hundred times before. 

Jimin pushed through the entrance, shutting the door behind him. The physical barrier doing nothing to stop the heavy steps that followed him in. “I don’t take requests. Try someone else.” 

“No!” The steps hurried after Jimin. “It’s not a grand request.” 

“You aren’t helping your case by pestering me.” Jimin pushed forward, his brow twitching with irritation. “Leave me alone.” 

“I can help you get the answers you want.” 

Now that was something that had Jimin faltering at his door, his sharp eyes narrowing in the direction of the young man’s voice.

“Prove it.” The words hung heavy in the air between them, falling sharply from his lips like the fall of a sword. He heard the intake of breath, and then a scuffle of shoes along the tile. 

“Yes sir.” 

There was the sound of running, clumsy and squeaking on the tile before disappearing around the bend into the main room. Jimin shook his head, unable to believe he was even humoring the idea of working with one of them. All of the rules he had created for himself, tossed in the trash like day old food left on the counter within the past 24 hours. 

He shouldered into his office, dropping his bag and soda onto the table with little grace. The day started off terribly, and the universe seemed to want to rub salt in the wound–for the moment his door clicked shut behind him, his record player flourished to life with another raucous torrent of beeps. 

“Oh my god–enough already!” Jimin sprinted over to the play, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He gripped the edges with white knuckles, eyes burning into the spinning plate with vengeance. “I already deciphered your message. Is this a new one or what? I can hear you Goddamnit.” 

It still continued onwards, and Jimin’s only saving grace was that he was the first one to show up at the historical society that morning, so at least he wouldn’t have to do damage control with his coworkers. 

“What do you want from me? I don’t understand!” 

“Use the code.” The young man’s voice piped up from over his shoulder, and Jimin jolted back, startled from the sudden sound. His return must have been blocked out by the ear-splitting noise coming from the speakers. 

“I can’t–I don’t know morse code,” Jimin turned to glare at the record player, “I already told him that.” 

“Let me.” 

The sound abruptly stopped, a quiet peaceful atmosphere taking over the room like it hadn’t been comparable to a tripped alarm system seconds before. Jimin heard the distinct sound of fingers tapping out a rhythmic pattern along the velvet lined box of the upright phonograph, gentle yet precise, understanding that the spirit that insisted on trailing after him that morning was the one doing it. After roughly twenty seconds, the voice spoke again, spry and prideful.

“I told him that you can hear him, and are awaiting further instruction.” 

“Thank you.” Jimin huffed, bringing a finger up to point at the empty space next to him. “But don’t get any ideas in your head–I’m not helping you just yet.” 

“Even if I have these?” The voice sang almost teasingly. 

Jimin watched as a massive, rusted, old key ring clattered out of thin air onto the thick center table. The very keys that belonged to his manager–the older lady whose job he was set to take, and who had unrestricted access to anything she wanted. 

With delicate fingers, Jimin lifted the key ring into his palm, feeling the metal in his hands that now felt heavier with the added weight of temptation. Temptation to do something very worthy of getting himself fired. 

“How did you–” 

“I–We–can go anywhere with enough energy.” 

“Who is we?” Jimin prodded, his eyes never leaving the keys. 

The man spoke clearly, as if following an order from an officer. “There are three of us, we were one of the same squad. We died not too far from here during the battle of Gettysburg.” 

Jimin pursed his lips, accusatory eyes peering up into the empty space. “What side?” 

“Union, sir.” The young man answered proudly. 

“Good answer.” Jimin pocketed the key ring for later use, still having not decided if he was going to do anything with them just yet. “What is it that you want from me?” 

“Well…” Jimin heard the young man swallow. “We don’t remember our names, sir. And we’d like to.” 

“Your names?” Jimin scoffed. “You want to offer me your help for just your name?”

“Yes.” The voice became nervous, clearly not knowing how to respond. 

“Well perhaps-”

“Yes, sir!” The voice interrupted him, rushing to make up for his lack of formality and growing sheepish with his next addition. “Sorry for interrupting, sir.” 

Jimin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Clearly this soldier was young, his behavior making him feel almost childlike with his responses. “It’s fine.” He opened his eyes to the empty space of his office to stare into where he thought he was. “I’ll help you. But only if you promise to help me with whatever this is.” Jimin gesticulated about the room wildly.

The voice turned giddy, words coming out rushed with glee. “Of course, whatever you need, sir!” 

“Drop the sir thing with me, you don’t need to address me like that.” Jimin rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile that cracked onto his face. 

“Understood, sir!” 

Jimin didn’t get much of his school work done that morning either–which was what he had specifically called off from touring today to do. Instead he found himself too sucked into an online store, browsing morse code transmitters and looking into where he could try and request death records from any Gettysburg museums or archival libraries. His work was long forgotten, textbooks off to the side and stacks of ‘approved’ photos and boxes given to him by Mindy to dig through for the still empty exhibit discarded all over the room. He felt tensions rise in his mind at the overwhelming sea of things he needed to do, and humored the idea of grabbing another soda from the staff fridge where he had tucked them away.

Those thoughts of a fizzy sweet treat were cut short by a  different voice–this one much older and gruff–calling to him over the constant loud music, bending to his ear. 

“You have a visitor, sir. She is coming down the hill, Y/n Wörner.” 

_________________________________________

Blink. Nod. Hum. Nod again. Blink. 

Jimin had to remind himself to function normally, hands on his hips and face so full of boredom he was sure Eli–the new young tour guide–could see it and just chose not to acknowledge it. His alone time had been interrupted for questions so trivial that he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. 

“So Lisolette left in 1918?” Eli looked left streaks of blue ink on the side of his hand, looking back up at Jimin for confirmation.

“Yes.” Jimin responded curtly, leaning one hand up against the shiny walls of the lobby. “If you go back to the main office and review the–”

“How many kids did she have again?” Eli’s pen was held at the ready, eyes blinking and void of any shame that he really should have. 

Jimin looked him up and down in outraged disbelief. He would know these answers if he had completed his mandatory training period, making this an unnecessary reason to interrupt his time with Y/n. The itch to leave him hanging and return back to his and Y/n’s shared table and revel in her company was undeniable. His patience was wearing thin. 

“Two.” Jimin could have choked with how tight the words felt leaving his mouth.

Eli hummed, staining his palm with more ink. “And what were–” 

“In the main office. Training materials. Now.” Jimin cut him off, his finger held up to point at the front door of the hotel with finality. “If you continue to display this level of incompetence I will not hesitate to report you to the head of the historical department–and as you know that will be me come June–so I’d work on refreshing your memory until then if I were you.” 

Eli audibly swallowed, and tucked his ballpoint pen back into his cargo short pockets. “O-okay.” 

“Good.” Jimin let a sweet smile pull his eyes into crescents. “Have a good rest of your day, Eli.” 

He didn’t bother staying to hear his response, turning on his heel and starting back into the cafe only to find their table empty–Y/n had already left. 

“She’s across the lobby sir, talking to one of your friends–she called him Yoongi.” The young soldier whispered to his left. 

“Thank you.” Jimin kept his voice low, and steered himself reluctantly towards the front doors, knowing he shouldn’t feel as dejected as he did for losing out on his time with her. “I’ll just let her be then.”

A few more beats of quiet passed through them, weighed down by the nervous energy of the solider trailing after him. 

“Sir, they were making plans.” The soldier left the end of his sentence hanging, an unspoken offer sliding out beneath them. 

Jimin knew he shouldn’t–knew he shouldn’t be as interested as he was, or as willing to invade their privacy like he wanted to. 

“What kind of plans?” 

“One moment.” The soldier retreated back through the lobby, and out of earshot once more.

Jimin parked himself on one of the benches out on the front lawn of the hotel while he waited for his ghostly ally to return. He lost himself in the bending of sprouting tree branches and early spring flowers, the gentle kisses of cool spring air tickling his cheeks and tousling his hair. It blanketed him with a sense of calm, his mind slipping into a meditative state while the minutes ticked by.

“They are making plans to meet up, sir. With others.” 

“Did they say who else?” Jimin kept his head down to keep his mouth out of sight from people passing by. 

“Members of the house named Jungkook and Namjoon. They shared that the lady’s mother had set up cameras to stop them from completing a task, and I gathered that there is some sort of threat against her safety that warrants constant supervision.” 

Jimin jolted up to look at where the sound came from. “What does that mean?” 

“Would you like me to try and find out, sir?” 

He hesitated, his mouth open to respond–but he wasn’t sure what the right answer was. “Maybe. I feel weird invading their privacy.” 

“I’ll see what I can discover within reason, sir.”  With that, he heard the boots make their leave, giving Jimin no more excuses than to go back to working on his studies. 

The cameras, Jimin theorized on his walk back to his office, must mean something more than just keeping an eye on the safety of the home. Whatever Yoongi must be asking them all to do must be something more than just dabbling in the occult–it must mean that they must be fighting back somehow. Surveillance was a brash step–one that didn’t feel too unfamiliar, and led his thoughts tumbling down roads that only led to disaster zones piled high with thoughts of treason and rage. It left him questioning his resilience and morals. 

Jimin had always told himself that in the face of adversity, he would never back down. That he wouldn’t have ever let things happen under his nose the way they had in times past; that he wouldn’ve been smart enough to call them out, and self-assured enough to stand up against it.  But with a sinking stomach, he understood exactly where he had stood at the moment: Aside with his head low, protecting his safety and himself. 

When word had first broken about the Wörner’s passing on the rights to Roland instead of Y/n, he had known something was terribly wrong. And then the same feeling of uncertainty struck when Mariah had made blanket statements about Yoongi, calling him dangerous and unsafe, and requesting Jimin’s assistance in ‘keeping their home intact’– whatever that meant–which while he had denied to involve himself, he didn’t speak up. 

It was only when she had tried again, the next time drawing up Jungkook as her next villain that Jimin started to ask questions. And while she didn’t outright yell at him when he had questioned her motives, he had noticed following their altercation that the spirits around him started to…hover more. He’d get oddly specific suggestions from Mariah about what not to include in displays that were uncannily similar to something he had thrown together just the day before, and hadn’t shown anyone yet. He would ask his supervisor questions that had missing answers, and then be bombarded by hissing growls that told him to leave it alone when he would leave her office dejected. Then like clockwork the artifact boxes and photos he had been requesting to see on the topic would have been pulled by “management” later that afternoon for ‘quality checks’ only to never come back. 

Thus surveillance, Jimin had concluded, had become his new normal. Something he had adapted to with little hope of ever escaping, or without ever finding a reason to escape it. He had disappointed himself. He had chosen to be complacent when he should have known better. He should have never turned Yoongi down those couple of years ago because of fear of what Mariah would do–he should’ve helped him. 

Something in him must’ve known that was the right path to take in hindsight since he had directed Y/n to him so easily–he didn’t want her making the same mistakes he had. He didn’t know if Yoongi would be willing to accept him to help now after having stood by while he faced unfair hardships. 

Jimin decided then and there, on the side of the winding property road, that he would try and help them. Even if he was past the point of forgiveness, or if his spiritual ailment made him a threat to their plans, then he would do his best to do what he could from afar. Which included delegating his men to protect Y/n from whatever it was that threatened her safety when outside of the estate when possible, and using his strengths to continue to push back against the regime that had settled over them: maybe if he caused a big enough stir,  he could take some of the eyes off of them.

And he knew just the route to take to stir up trouble. 

Thankfully, he had succeeded in completing a bit more of his thesis while he waited for his allies to return with more tips on how to proceed, music loud and his mind guarded. He enjoyed it–a good distraction for the world of uncertainty he had found himself on the precipice of jumping into. He might even be able to call this day a good one by the end of it!

“Sir. I have some unfortunate news to share with you.” The older voice bellowed out upon his entrance. 

Well there goes his positive attitude. “What is it?” Jimin tipped the lid of his laptop closed to give him his undivided attention. 

“We have heard from others that there are threats of extreme violence against Y/n Wörner from other spirits on the property. There are whispers of dark entities sharing bloodlust. Staff members have shared that the current proprietor is out of sorts–dangerous even–and his wife is rumored to have something to do with it. She is smiting all attempts to help and keeping herself very private. We even witnessed and aggravated interaction between a deceased staff member and a passed on member of the house.”

Jimin was rendered speechless. He knew that some of the spirits were angry–but he thought most of the spiritual hubbub was just a by-product of whatever was going on between families that was being covered up so precariously. He had never potentially humored the the thought that they were a major part of the problem.

“If I may continue.” The level voice of the man brought him back to reality. “Her companions have been trying to walk among us. They are searching for information regarding family members of the Wörner lineage. I am unsure of what though, exactly. 

Jimin had an inkling as to what. He had pretty much tied a carrot to a line and led you there–something regarding the similarities between the stolen destiny’s of Adelaide and Y/n that both bore a striking resemblance to each other was probably the probable answer. 

“I have a few ideas.” Jimin turned to stare off out of his office window, mind moving a mile a second. Processing and maneuvering pieces to a growing puzzle that's finished image was a mystery yet to be discovered. “But they are all just that: ideas. We should keep ourselves away from whatever it is they are doing and focus on our own goals. I don’t want to jeopardize them if something were to be overheard.” 

Jimin scanned his office, gears turning through thoughts of what to do next–probably something that had to do with the stolen key burning a hole through his pocket. “We should start here. I’m going to be setting up a family tree for Y/n–perhaps if the four of us work together we can compile information to make their job easier.” He leapt from his seat, grabbing for his own family tree copy and starting to unravel it. “Would it be too much of you to ask to watch over the other house members? I don’t want anyone else getting injured if I can do anything about it.” 

“Sir, there is something else we discovered that I think should be important to know first. It is regarding one of your friends.” 

Jimin lifted his head to stare wearily at the voice, unease washing over him at the ominous proclamation. “What is it?” 

_________________________________________

“I see you heard–The traitor!” 

“He lured her away while they stole the child! She is completely torn up, she is!” 

“Sinners! The lot of them! Do not let them get close for they are marked–keep your distance!” 

“Turn away now, bastard child–your wandering hand might get trapped for being too curious. I have severed many from my enemies before, and I have no fear in doing it again.” 

Jimin was as cold and coiled as a snake, the hisses of the dead coming upon him like a torrential downpour from all sides–indoor and outdoor.  Who would have thought that listening to one ghost would open the floodgates of others grappling for any sort of foothold (surely not the reason he kept himself so distant or anything). While most of their musings and cries were nonsensical, this was not one of those cases. These snippets of gossip were proven by the soldiers he had found himself trusting.

And man, was he livid.

He learned two very damning things about one of his friends. 

That Hoseok Jung had been seen leaving late at night with Mariah, and that Hoseok Jung was a traitor. 

An informative rat. 

All of those times he had struck up conversation with Jimin about his time at work or his schooling wasn’t because he cared, but because he was passing information along to higher ups. Had he done the same to Y/n? Did he have something to do with their choice to rescind her apprenticeship? As this has been some twisted end goal all long: help Mariah and Anselm with whatever it is they were hiding in return for something greater?

He didn’t think as he barreled in through the front door and into the dining room to take his seat, startling both Jungkook and Namjoon, both of whom were already seated near each other at the table. Thankfully for Hoseok’s sake, he wouldn’t have to be alone with Jimin for lunch–a fact that probably just saved his life.   

“How’s your day been, Jimin?” It was Namjoon that spoke first, a warm smile pulling his lips up and his dimples popping out in greeting. 

“Fine.” Jimin grunted through his teeth, leaning his weight on his elbows that slid to rest on the table. Taut and tense–like a steam engine that was ready to blow. 

Namjoon whistled under his breath, his smile falling and his face dipping to hide behind his book. “Sorry I asked.” 

Taking in the way Jungkook subtly shifted in his seat to create distance between them, and the way Namjoon kept sending him stern looks from over his book had Jimin almost feeling bad for letting his emotions sour the energy of the room. He was far from angry with them. Nonetheless, the guilt died quickly, cut down by boisterous bursts of laughter from Hoseok who had just made his entrance. 

He waltzed in, blithe and without any cares–like he was living a life of ease and not betraying everyone he knew. Jimin couldn’t stand his presence. He found it both nauseating and invigorating, like seeing how little his deceit affected him drove Jimin’s own will to spite whatever plans he was a part of tenfold.

Seokjin trailed in after him, an exasperated sigh falling from his lips at Hoseok cracked another joke Jimin didn’t care to pay attention to. He couldn’t find anything he said funny anymore.

“Full house today I see?” Hoseok chirped, who just so happened to take his seat next to Jimin. He either had to be blind, or hopelessly oblivious to sit next to Jimin. He practically radiated waves of vitriolic heat from his seat that even Jin seemed to catch on to, his gaze nervously sizing him up as he took the seat furthest away from him. 

Jungkook’s brows furrowed, his eyes passively scanning Hoseok as he nudged Namjoon lightly under the table. Namjoon brought his head up from his book to scan the seats, landing on Hoseok’s casually reclined form. 

Namjoon gave him a quizzical look “Where’s Y/n? I thought she was with you?” 

“She got tired and wanted to go catch a few z’s.” Hoseok shifted in his seat, his smile flickering just enough for Jimin to catch.

Jimin ran his tongue along his cheek to keep himself from speaking out, gripping the lunch menu in his hand with little interest–he wasn't here to eat. He’d have to keep himself together until he could get Hoseok alone.

Idle chatter filtered about the table, mostly from Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin discussing their days at work so far. They tried to get Jimin to join in on their jovial discussion, but he couldn’t bring himself to give much of an answer to any of their questions. Not when he could feel fire threatening to burst from his veins every time Hoseok breathed too loud, or laughed too hard at any one person's joke. 

His resolve was shattered, when in an unconscious act, Hoseok's arm brushed against Jimin’s as he went to take a bite of his meal. Hoseok’s nonchalant apology was ripped from his mouth, all mirth leaving the surface of his eyes for a fragment of a second as he saw Jimin’s damning stare. They were locked in a wordless stand off–Jimin restraining himself from tearing into him then and there, and Hoseok now finally appearing to comprehend Jimin’s brooding mood. 

A voice out from the hall howled out from the foyer, warbled and distant like a warped cry bent through space and time. It was as if on a different radio frequency than Jimin that just happened to bleed into his–but he still managed to hear it. 

“They call me the Devil.” 

“Keep your hands to yourself.” Jimin spat, wrenching distance between the two of them and scooting his chair abruptly to the side. 

Hoseok’s brows furrowed, his friendly expression dropping with his indigent defense. “Who pissed in your coffee this morning? How about you keep your hands to yourself.” 

“My coffee was great this morning-if anything I had quite the enlightening time drinking it with a very high energy Y/n.” Jimin spun in his seat, giving Hoseok a pseudo face of extreme interest. “Found my mind opened to a lot of things I think you might be interested in. Care to come visit me at my office to talk over some of my concerns with my supervisor? Since you are so cozy with yours I figured you’d have the best advice.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hoseok’s expression crumpled in on itself behind a mask of disgust. 

“Don’t play dumb. Was losing your job to a newbie that devastating that you had to turn to extremes?” Jimin knew it was a low blow, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care–rising from his seat to glower down at Hoseok. “Had to go around and fuck up everyone else’s lives and jobs because yours didn’t work out the way you wanted it to? I hope whatever job they offered you for doing this is worth losing everyone else in your life.” 

Hoseok’s gaze turned dark, sharper than a whip yet just as fast with his words. “You don’t know shit.” He rose to his feet, bringing his face closer to Jimin’s. “Messing with people’s jobs? That’s rich coming from you. How about you keep your mouth shut and keep your nose in your own business like you’re told. Or do you need your ears checked?” 

 “I think you need a reality check–” 

“That’s ENOUGH.”

Jin’s hands slammed down onto the wooden table as he stood, a rare display of displeasure crossing his features and knitting his brows together. “Pull yourselves together. Shut up and eat your lunch like adults–and if you feel the need to say anything else,” He held one finger up, pointing sternly at the two, “don’t.” 

Hoseok and Jimin immediately fell back into their seats, their heads lowered and fists clenched. Jin barely ever raised his voice, but they all knew when he did: You listened.

No one dared speak, the only sound being the clinking of silverware and the occasional glass scraping against the table. Their tension then shaken by the approaching sound of Y/n, her voice carrying from the landing entrenched in some discussion of strawberries and desserts with a much deeper one. 

Hoseok fisted his utensil in his hand so hard it shook, unable to stop the way his eyes immediately glared in the direction of Taehyung’s voice–the wound had been freshly scraped open after all. He swallowed, forcing his anger down by focusing on the sound of Y/n’s voice, and released the utensil to clatter onto the table by the time they came into view.

Y/n’s giggles got stuck in her through, she appeared to be clearly shaken by the mood in the room by the way her eyes skirted about each face–not doing a good job at concealing her concern.

“You alright?” Y/n asked Hoseok, pulling out the chair next to him and sinking into its cushion. 

Hoseok nodded, clearing his throat as he did so. “Yeah I’m fine.” He turned to regard her over his shoulder, his smile strained and his knee shaking where he promptly pressed it against her leg. “Are you feeling more rested?” 

Jimin had to hold back a roll of his eyes with a sip of his drink, tuning out their discussion to keep himself in check. Y/n didn’t deserve to feel the effects of their fight, and it would be disrespectful to force them onto her, and potentially put her in an even more dangerous situation. 

He kept his cool for the remainder of lunch, but took his leave without notice. He couldn't bear to see Hoseok's face any longer. For what it was worth at this moment, he was dead to him.

_________________________________________

“A slut! How vile of a young woman to be parading herself through their rooms in the evening.” 

“And she isn’t even married!” 

“Answer me! I will claw your eyes out in your sleep if you keep ignoring me!” 

“I need something to drink. Get me something to drink.”

“내 손자를 도와주세요.” 

Jimin ate his breakfast in solitude. The dining room all but empty with breakfast not to be served for another half hour, leaving him only surrounded by disembodied voices wandering hither and thither through the rooms: whirlwinds of running, pacing, sizzling pans, haunting hums, the groaning of phantom cleaning carts, running water–sounds to prove the dead still lived. 

One voice caught his attention more so than the rest. A man–his voice a hurricane of contradictions: Wheezing yet clear; poetic yet vile; metered yet crazed with madness. Jimin let his slice of toast hang from his mouth while he listened to the recognizable snippet of Shakespeare, letting his eyes close with a hum. 

“I’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round,

Through a bog, through bush, through brake, through brier.

Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound,

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire,

And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,

Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.”

The spirit’s voice bounced from stair to foyer, their footsteps trailing around the room in pointless circles while they recited it with practiced ease. Jimin has heard them before–reciting lines from plays or old poets wherever they went. When he wasn’t lost in a role, he was miming a turn of phrase or unimportant thoughts said within his vicinity, stopping his recitation to test the sound on his tongue and imitate the way a cook, a housemate, or a friend spoke when passing by. 

The measured words of a Midsummer Night’s Dream abruptly stopped–either the spirit had left or was moving to switch his focus. Jimin assumed the latter. 

“Morning.” Yoongi grunted around a yawn.

Jimin let his eyes flutter open, finding Yoongi entering the dining room with his arms stretched over his head, eyes sagged and twinged purple with fatigue. He ambled around the table towards the kitchen slowly, his heavy boots scuffing across the carpet

Jimin rushed to pull the dangling piece of toast from his mouth as he nodded his head in greeting. “Good morning.”

“You’re up early.” Yoongi stated, pushing through the swinging door and disappearing into the kitchen. 

“You’re up early.”  The spirit sounded from the edge of the dining room, copying Yoongi’s words over and over again under his breath. 

Jimin stood from his seat and followed after the man, scraping the rest of his food into the trash. “Haven’t been sleeping very well.” 

“You’re up early. Up early.” 

“I can relate to that.” The end of Yoongi’s mouth curved upwards into a half smile, his hands busy pouring coffee from the machine into a paper to-go cup. 

“I can relate to that. I can relate to that. Relate.” Again like clockwork, the spirit (having followed them into the kitchen) chimed in with the same words Yoongi had just spoken, this time gaining more confidence in portraying the same tone. 

Jimin and Yoongi danced around one another while they finished their respective tasks: Jimin washing and drying his plate and Yoongi preparing his desired drink. All the while, the sound of trailing steps followed them. For each grunt Yoongi made, the spirit made the same. For every weary sigh or languid step, the spirit mimicked it with otherworldly accuracy. 

It was unsettling to say the least, Jimin had never heard him take it this far before. It left a rotten taste in his mouth when words from his discussions with one of the soldiers came back to haunt him. 

There are whispers of dark entities sharing bloodlust.

“Have a safe day at work today.” Jimin cleared his throat, ignoring the strange look Yoongi sent his way and beelining out of the kitchen and into the dining room to grab his bag and hoist it over his shoulder. 

When out in the dining room by himself, he thought of what he could do to break Clarence from his focus on Yoongi, his gut telling him the interaction meant more than just a warm up for his next entryway monologue.

He took out his mental folder of everything he could recall about Clarence and his life. The writings or live retellings, or any of his documented elective interviews. 

A performer at heart and lover of all branches of the arts: theater, poetry, and music especially. From what they could tell, his marriage was strictly business so nothing regarding his wife would grab his attention. Jimin willed his brain to think, to dig through the flashing images of pictures and handwritten slips until he landed on the image of one: one of his own pocketbook entries of his favorite artists.

 “I’ll put something on out here for you, Clarence–if you’d like that.” 

He sidestepped over to the victrola, lifting the lid and skimming through the stack on the right hand side for the one he was looking for: The tattered sleeve of a Mills Brother’s record. 

Pinching the disk out and cranking the lever, he turned the volume dial down to the minimum level so as to not disturb anyone else within the house. The slow bouncing start of Paper Doll crooning out with mild distortion from age, calling out to where Clarence had stayed behind with Yoongi in the kitchen. 

As soon as the first few measures had warped past, Jimin heard quick steps exit the kitchen and stop next to him. 

“Turn it up.” His scratchy voice wheezed out from his side, sounding if only a hair kinder than he had in the hall. 

So Jimin did, turning it up just enough to be heard throughout the room but not any farther. He didn’t hear Clarence copy Yoongi’s mumbled goodbyes, nor did he hear his pacing. Clarence was too mesmerized by the music floating from the record player to pay attention to anything else anymore.

It had been days since he had shown his face at another group meal–or really anywhere for that matter that wasn’t his room, the historical society, or the Adelaide. It wasn’t entirely to do with Hoseok–he did still technically have only a week and a half to finish his conclusion and pass his last final–but he knew that if he spent too much time around Y/n that he would risk breaking into pieces and spilling everything he knew–getting him in more potential trouble than he could already be in. 

He fell into a routine of waking up before everyone else, eating alone with a soldier by his side to keep whatever was going on at the estate at arm's length, and dropping in a record to see what stole Clarence away from his Shakespearean mutterings and into a standstill in the dining room. It was a win-win situation: Jimin didn’t have to listen to Midsummer for the hundredth time, and Clarence got to choose a song. 

There were four things Jimin had learned during his time away. 

One: Having his three new ghostly companions has been a life saver. They couldn’t keep everyone away and nor could they silence everyone, but they could at least intimidate the everyday spirits enough to give him some space–meaning Jimin had become more selective about what he was able to listen to and what he wasn’t.  This coupled with burning through whatever Namjoon had given him had changed his life.

Two: The family tree that Y/n had left behind, marked with X’s and vague musings had become a wonderful tool for him to go off of. He had been able to quickly piece together through witness testimonies that there was a plague of sorts infecting spirits on the property–turning them dark and malevolent. There wasn’t much word yet on how this plague affected ghosts who weren’t family members, though there were whispers of a few passed on staff, hotel guests, and member’s of the Kim and Jung family that had succumbed; however nothing was confirmed. 

He was also piecing together things about Y/n and her group as the days went by, but didn’t let himself dig too deep: he didn’t want anything to accidentally slip from his mouth into enemy ears. So he forcibly turned a blind eye to any rumors that uttered anything about them. 

Three: Whatever this was, went back far longer than any one of the living. He had started to really take note of where the gaps in information were, for sometimes an empty space told just as much as a full file. The women all had lackluster recordings, an unfortunate reality when it comes to historical documentation. Nevertheless there were a few that had significantly less than the rest–most notably being Adelaide, Candida, Patti, Lisolette; and in some strange whirlwind of unexpected events: Bear. These four women in particular had almost no historical documentation, and had been almost all but wiped from but only a few photos, records, and writings that weren’t family tree outlines. The only thing left of Bear besides the few images plastered on the wall near Duane’s exposition for Jimin to find was just a few military photos, and his uniforms. Everything else was gone. 

Four: Bear was looking for Y/n. his most recent message as of this Sunday making that abundantly clear: CQYL. CQYM. Please. BW AR. 

The soldiers had aided him in understanding more about morse code, the youngest of the trio having been taught during his time serving by the eldest, and jumped at any chance he could to practice. They were able to put their heads together (with the help of the internet which was an entire ordeal to explain to them) and decipher that Bear was using commonly used abbreviations: CQ a call to response, and YL and YM meaning ‘Young Lady’ and ‘Young Man’ respectively–which was the name Jimin suspected Bear had taken to addressing him as.

When not working on cracking morse codes, Jimin found himself elbow deep in journals, notebooks, paper scraps, clipped photos, and bent newspaper clippings in search of any information he could devour with just as much enthusiasm as the growing pile of empty soda cans he had shamelessly lugged into his office late that previous night. The only thing that had managed to pull him from his search efforts, was the delivery of Y/n’s family tree, which he promptly sent her a text for her to come collect that afternoon with all intents to have his office tidied and organized–though fate had other plans for him. 

It was close to midday on Wednesday, and Jimin was seated where he had been for the past hour–leg tossed over one arm of his cushioned chair with his nose tucked into a hand sewn photo book created by what he could only guess was one of the original Kim daughter’s. He could stop scouring her blocky mix of Korean and English writing, or the few photos she had stuck onto the pages with tape (which meant unfortunately, there would be no removing any of them to check for any written titles without potentially damaging the integrity of the photos). 

There was one in particular he wished more than anything that he could remove, his eyes never failing to return to the grainy black and white image of three children standing in a small alcove near the hotel stairs: knees and skirts dusted with dirt from the yard and hands clasped behind their backs or gripping at handmade dolls. Two of them he recognized as the two Kim children, estimated around the ages of five and eight years old–one son and one daughter. 

The third child, however, he had never seen before in any of his searches or documents he had access to. She was young–not older than four or five–with long lightly colored curls and dark eyes. One of her hands was clasped with the Kim daughter’s, with a small imperceivable smile lifting up the corners of her mouth. At first he suspected that perhaps it was a friend that had been photographed with them during a playdate–but that was before he registered the dress she was wearing. 

Light in hue with little capped sleeves that ended hardly above the edge of her shoulder, and the skirt embroidered with tiny dotted patterns in white string. Regardless of the photo being in black and white, Jimin knew for a fact that the dress was yellow: because he had seen both Matilda and Y/n wear it on separate occasions. A Wörner hand-me-down from decades prior. 

He hummed to himself, inspecting the photo and churning his mind to come forth with any sort of idea or memory as to who this child could be–like if he were to stare long enough she would leap from the pages and give him a personal monologue of her life. A thought struck him, digging its talons into his mind and swarming him with temptation yet again. 

He had yet to use the stolen keys. When asked about their whereabouts by his supervisor, Jimin put on his best act of ignorance, reassuring her he’d be sure to keep his eyes out for it. Perhaps with the right discovery, this mystery child could leap from the page and give him a personal monologue of her life. 

He just needed a name. 

The music that had been embracing the room with lavish and grand orchestral swells suddenly cut off, the tell tale sound of the needle hitting the velvet liner of the box the only warning he had for what was to come. 

“No, no, no!” Jimin was on his feet the moment the beeping started, running to grab a small pocketbook he had been using for only morse code messages now after having received a second one Sunday. “Why right now? Y/n will be here soon.” 

That only seemed to spur the rhythmic pulsing to speed up, saying the same thing over and over again in one simple message that Jimin didn’t need his soldiers to translate for him: 

SOS SOS SOS SOS 

Jimin held his breath–a message with a completely different format–a completely different theme than the other two previous transmissions. This one struck fear within him, and had the syrupy sweetness of all of the soda he had drunk swirling about his insides with whispered threats of coming back up to greet him. 

“Bear if this is you, I need you to just talk to me. If there is something wrong I can’t–” Jimin never got the chance to finish, for someone else spoke for him.

“Bear isn’t here right now. But I will take a message for you if you can tell me where to find him.”

A voice so wretched, like it was calling up from hell itself rasped from his table side, curling into his ears and scraping through his senses like nails on a chalkboard. Jimin turned on instinct knowing he’d see nothing, and he was correct–there was nothing his eyes could see. Yet his ears still picked up on a shuddering intake of breath that scratched through the creature’s lungs with each inhale like the crackling of flames. 

“Not so brave now that I’m speaking to you directly, are you?” 

Footsteps thumped across the tile, dragging and heavy, with a sound akin to crumbling stone, but he could still see nothing–no sign of what or who he was speaking to–and he didn’t dare ask. They wandered towards the chair he had just been seated at, stilling beside the cushioned arm. With a sharp exhale that radiated heat waves from its mouth, Jimin could see the temperature clashing with the cool air of his office, warbling into the air approximately seven feet from the ground; a height that was all the more striking.

“Oh no,” The voice growled with a disapproving click of his tongue. “This won’t do. I apologize if this…ruins anything of value to you.” 

Smoke curled up from the open page of the book Jimin had rested on his chair; a black smoldering hole growing in size over the mystery girl’s face and eating any remnants of who she was and spitting her out in coughs of ash that glowed orange with the lingering heat of the spirit’s touch. 

“Shame, it was a good photo too.” The voice lamented, the waves of heat wiggling the air in front of its unseen mouth. 

The steps started up again, closing in on where Jimin stood frozen in terror, his record player pressing into his back from where he had backed into it to escape this obscured predator. He could feel him before he heard him again, for he was but a fever on legs–billows of hot air taking over every sense and leaving its victim ill with its wrath. A wall of smothering heat wafted off of the soul that stood scarcely inches away, and bathed him in it. A thin sheen of sweat glistening upon the surface of his skin being beckoned by the unbending warmth.

Sudden searing hot pain bloomed across Jimin’s side, and he cried out in agony. It dug deeper into his ribs to erode his flesh with its fire. The fingers–if that's what they were–retracted from his skin, leaving him unsupported and weightless. He fell onto his knees in a fit of ragged breaths and afflicted grunts, his hands already scrambling to lift his button down to check for whatever damage awaited his discovery. 

“Consider this a warning,” the spirit snarled, departing towards the door with heavy steps. “Keep your nose out of our business, and you won’t be seeing me again. Shall you decide to keep pushing your luck and I might have to…remove you from the story entirely. And then I’ll find your friend too–the pretty one that likes to cause trouble.”  

He waited, frozen in place with only the sound of his heartbeat pummeling his eardrums to save him from the sound of popping rock and flame until the steps disappeared entirely. 

Jimin trembled, biting his lip so hard it started to draw blood as he peeled his now singed shirt from his torso where it had stuck into the melted edges of flesh of his wound. A burn–angry and red–found its home on his side, situated in the shape of three long lines as if someone had run their fingers over his ribs towards his stomach. 

“Sir! We couldn’t get in, are you okay?” 

“Do  I look like I’m okay?” Jimin panted, struggling to find his breath and removing his shirt completely to free the welts from any friction. “Are you able to grab me one of my spare shirts from my bag? Or do you not have the energy for that right now?” 

The soldier didn’t answer, but Jimin could hear his boots rushing about the office, and the consequential grunts of frustration as the young man couldn’t gather enough energy to lift the shirt from the confines of his bag. Jimin listened to his attempts for a few more minutes, using the sounds as an anchor to steady his breathing and prepare himself for the way his nerves were going to scream at him when he’d have to get up and get him himself.

“I can get it. Just–” Jimin gasped as he bent forward to press his sweat-slicked forehead to the cool tile, the movement pulling on the fresh wounds, “ –just give me one moment please. And let me know if you hear them come back.” 

It took Jimin another 20 minutes and a lot of deep breathing exercises so he wouldn’t alert his coworkers to do his best attempts at dressing his wounds with his first aid kit. Luckily they didn’t look nearly as bad as they felt, the actual burn itself no larger than an two inches in diameter–but the drag of whatever it was’ fingers left irritated scratches along the surrounding skin, the abrased areas making the gauze sting whenever he tightened or applied any pressure to it. With his burns dressed and a new shirt tugged on, he was able to move with a bit more freedom to approach his desk, his ears constantly peeled for the fiery ghost’s return.

Jimin tore open his desk drawer, snatching up a lighter and a stick of incense from its packaging and not even bothering to place it on its stand when he lit it–he just wanted some sort of protection against that devilish fiend. 

Jimin let his eyes close, the aroma of frankincense leaving room for no other smells or sensations as it overtook him–a welcomed temporary distraction. 

“Sir, Y/n is approaching with a friend.” A soldier spoke hurriedly, his nervous hovering felt without having to be seen.

Jimin sighed, snuffing out the stick and stifling the earthy smelling smoke and shoving the half burnt stick back into his drawer. “Thanks for the heads up.” 

Now Jimin just had to figure out how he was going to pretend he wasn’t just attacked by a ghost and given a festering wound while working on uncovering coveted family secrets that threatened the balance of everything they knew. He could put on a convincing act, right? 

_________________________________________

Well that had been a disaster. A complete and utter disaster, he thought to himself, his hand still pressed firmly to the door to keep Y/n from coming back in incase she tried. His burn was crying up at him from having to move around the room with superficial composure–the only silver lining being that he had secured a dinner with Y/n at the Adelaide, and successfully passed along her copy of the family tree.

“Stupid. Why did I act like that?” Jimin scolded himself for what could be the worst performance of nonchalance he had ever given. “I literally couldn’t have done a worse job if my life depended on it.”

“It wasn’t that terrible, sir.” The soldier that was comforting him was different from the last, this one a bit older than the youthful spry voice he had grown accustomed to–the voice Jimin had requested guard Y/n on her walk back to the estate in case whoever had tug his talons into his side decided to spring upon her unexpectedly.

“I appreciate your input…” Jimin trailed off, unsure what to refer to him as. 

“You can call me Arrow if you would like to call me something. It’s not my real name, but it is a nickname some of the other members of my squad had given me.” This voice was steadier, less sporadic and not as prone to voice cracks as the other. 

“Well then I appreciate your input Arrow, but I think I may have just scared her away from me eternally.” Jimin grumbled, sitting down onto his chair in an attempt to actually get some of his schoolwork done. 

The voice grew closer, taking on a more curious lilt. “You like this lady, yes? She’s pretty bricky–so I can see why.” 

Jimin shot ramrod straight, his side aching in protest at the abrupt action. “That isn’t important. What is important is that she trusts me so when I start…figuring out next steps we can join forces. Nothing more to it than that at the moment.” Jimin started to turn back to his screen, but did a double take in his direction. “What does bricky mean? I better not be something disrespectful…”

“At the moment?” Arrow hid a chuckle from his words, and Jimin shot a glare in his direction, so to appease him, Arrow tacked on a teasing “It means brave, sir.”

“Yes at the moment.” Jimin cleared his throat, willing his mind to think of anything else but ghosts and Y/n for the time being. “We just need to focus on the task at hand and then maybe I can humor something else.” 

“Whatever you say, sir~” Jimin could hear the smirk on Arrow’s face without having to see it, and had to force his face to stay its natural color instead of flushed. 

Picking up the burnt photo, he grimaced at the damage that had been done to something irreplaceable. For all he knew, that could’ve been the only copy left. “I told you all to stop calling me sir.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

Jimin was jumpy the rest of the afternoon, his music so loud that his supervisor had to ask him twice to turn it down (not that he ever listened–he didn’t feel like dying today, and the music seemed to keep them at arm's length for the most part). He wasn’t keen on digging any further into the unknown either–his paranormal encounter having shaken him to his core–they had never been physical with him, and he wasn't interested in testing how far their boundaries could go so soon after.

He was good at compartmentalizing, he concurred. With that skill alone, he managed to get through the rest of the week by the skin of his teeth, pretending what had happened simply hadn’t; throwing himself into his studies with foolish words of comfort that he was doing the right thing leaving it be for the moment, and that he would get back to it later–and it had nothing to do with fear of what would happen to him. Or worse, Y/n. Those were things he told himself to mute the guilt of being intimidated so quickly. 

On the bright side of things, he had discovered that if he gave offerings or gifts of sorts to Arrow, and the other soldiers (the young one had jokingly named himself Tree after his recount of meeting Y/n; and the third, an older gentlemen who spoke sparingly to Jimin settled on being referred to as Sergeant), that they would get boosts of strength to carry out tasks for Jimin. 

The discovery had been made by accident when Jimin had jokingly offered him a can of soda from his vast collection. After having taken it, he had been able to move objects around the room, and had an easier job removing unwanted visitors from his office. Of course, word spread to the rest of them, and it became a new habit to give them something when they would spend the day with him.

For example, it had taken an entire plate of chicken tenders from the Adelaide as an offering to Tree for him to be able to deliver a gift bag to Y/n’s room the previous Friday upon Jimin’s request. The bigger the offering, the more energy.  This led to them each developing requests and preferences for what Jimin would offer–and whether or not them getting to choose what they got affected the outcome, or if it was just them sneakily trying stuff from the modern world–Jimin wouldn’t know.

Arrow would request to listen to specific songs on the record player, and Sergeant liked when Jimin would leave books open for him on the table, turning the page upon request as Jimin worked or eventually on his own as he gained strength. When Jimin needed to focus, he taught him how to touch his phone screen and select an audio book to listen to while Jimin worked.

The first time Jimin had seen one of them manifest was after Tree had tried a snickers bar from the vending machine for the first time. 

It had been Saturday morning, and Jimin was finishing up the last of his thesis in time to enjoy the night out with everyone at the Adelaide. He wanted any additional stressors out of the way to help keep his feet grounded when he had to play friends and fake niceties with Hoseok for Y/n’s sake–she wanted Hoseok there, and Jimin wasn’t going to deny her that. 

Tree was seated on his bed, a shallow indent on his comforter where his body would be, and the snickers bar was placed on a simple ceramic plate on Jimin’s desk for him to partake in. Jimin wasn’t sure exactly how they were eating food and drink when he would leave it out, but he took their word that they were–even if the plate in front of him never physically changed. Most of the time he would have to end up eating it himself or offer it to coworkers (and Taehyung, when he’d see him around). 

“These are incredible!” Tree exclaimed with a slight crack in his voice. 

The interruption and the accompanying crinkle of plastic caught Jimin by surprise, his eyes fluttering to the fully intact and wrapped bar to his right. He did what he always does: look in the direction of their voices and noises when he is going to address them–it was just that this time, there was someone seated on his bed. 

It was a completely dark figure, their limbs stretched and lanky–the build of a boy who couldn’t be a day over eighteen–and that was a generous guess only influenced by the height Tree had on him. His shoulders were narrow and slim, and all of his features shrouded by shadow. It looked like a scene out of cheesy 80s horror film: a fuzzy black outline of a man, an exact replica of the snickers bar next to him now half eaten and pinched between his fingers growing increasingly smaller with each invisible bite.

“You’re so…tall.” Jimin commented, his mouth slack with shock and his eyes frantically scanning him from head to toe multiple times, waiting for the figure to vanish at any given moment. 

“Huh?” The outline of Tree’s head lifted, tilting to the side ever so slightly. “Can you see me?” 

“How old are you? I’m realizing I never asked.” Jimin inquired, not registering he had even been asked a question for he was still in a state of awe. 

Tree brought a hand up to wipe at where his mouth would be. “I think I was sixteen. Maybe seventeen.” 

“That snickers must really be something special…” Jimin forced himself to tear his eyes away from Tree and back to his laptop screen. “I’ve never been able to see you before.” 

“It is very special, sir. I think it’s my favorite thing I’ve gotten to try from your time thus far.” Tree’s words were tilted by the sound of a smile, followed by another shuffle of plastic as he took another bite.

“Do you think that’s how you all become visible?” Jimin turned his chair back around, unable to stop his inquisitive mind from turning threads of answers. 

“Candy?” 

“No.” Jimin gave a curt shake of his head. “Gifts.” 

Tree shifted in his seat, lowering the hand that held the chocolate to rest over his knee. “I don’t know. Some of the others just do it. I think they need to have saved up enough energy or have some sort of push.” His hand brought the last of the chocolate to disappear into the abyss of his face. “Sometimes Sergeant gets seen by civilians if he’s feeling scared or stressed. Usually around the summer we can get a bit…lost as that was around the time of the battle. Muddies our minds and makes us more scattered.” 

Jimin hummed, drinking in his words and letting them pool in the crevices of his mind. “So emotional triggers or specific times can make you stronger?” 

“I believe as much.” Tree shrugged, tossing the wrapper into the trashcan across the room where it dissipated. “I personally theorize that’s why the angry ones are so powerful. They are still stuck on something that plagues their minds from when they were alive, and it has bled over into this life. It’s just odd, for they weren’t always at this level when I would see them outside before you let us in.” 

A light flickered within Jimin’s mind, the wheels turning even faster with Tree’s shared observation. If they hadn’t always been that way, then dates and random triggers should be temporary–like a shared Snickers bar that brings them joy, or reliving the circumstances of their death to make them depressed or stressed–not never-ending. Not the way they have been described or sounded as of late. 

“Or maybe …” Jimin took a finger and brushed it across his bottom lip while the loose threads started to create a new image. “Maybe someone has learned to weaponize the things that affect them so strongly. Someone who would need someone else to do their dirty work for them.” 

“That’s a possibility. But Who would do that?” Tree asked. “Bottom fact is that they’ve been angry for some time, but I hadn’t ever seen them attempt attacks against the living until recently.” 

Jimin sucked in a breath. He already had an idea of someone of suspicion–someone so desperate to hoard and hide information from everyone else’s eyes. Someone who had taken to forcing everyone into silent submission through force and intimidation: blocking Y/n after she had left, bribing his supervisor to display what she approved of, taking over most of Anslem’s tasks behind closed doors, demonizing some members of the house yet recruiting others for who knows what; and the list goes on. 

There was only one person that fit the bill.

Mariah Wörner. 

Mariah Wörner was potentially building an army of volatile and damned souls as servants to do her dirty work–and if Jimin knew anything about history, the end goal would most likely be one thing: Power. Unchecked power. 

“Tree?” Jimin called, swiveling his chair around. “Do you think you can try and tap a message to Bear? Tell him that we will all be at the Adelaide tonight, but I will be buying a morse code transmitter so we can send him messages.” 

Tree had obliged, though they couldn’t be certain that their message had been received. Not until later that evening. 

One moment he was dancing with Y/n in the thralls of loud music and colorful lights, and the next he was escaping to the bathroom to listen to a voice message left by an unknown caller; the message being entirely in morse code.

Tree had been able to put together his response quickly once he had called him in.

FB. CU. 0333. 88. BW AR; which Jimin had been able to translate into common speech to mean 

“Excellent. See you. 3:33am. Love and kisses. BW, End of Transmission.” 

_________________________________________

“He is going to kill her!” One voice hissed, banging against his door with desperate fists.

“He is here–The Devil!” Another cried, shaking the door handle. “Let me in–I must hide!” 

“Stay away. Let fate run its course you filthy meddling child.” 

“Grab a medical kit, sir! She’s in the kitchen!” 

Jimin couldn’t breathe–he couldn’t think. 

He scrambled about his room in search of his medical kit bag at the advice of Tree, finding it hanging from a velvet hanger within his closet and yanking it free. His feet blurred down the long hall, drifting onto the landing and scurrying down the stairs in a blur of speed. 

A colorless and urgent Hoseok appeared from around the corner that led down the hall with the sound of his thundering feet, his expression daring to show a dash of relief at the sight of Jimin. 

“Hey do you have a-” 

“First aid kit? Yes, it's in my hand.” Jimin cut him off, starting towards the kitchen when one of Hoseok’s hands stopped him. 

“Before you go in–”

“Now’s not the time for your excuses, Hoseok. Whatever you did we can talk about it after.” Jimin bit back in a whisper so Y/n wouldn’t hear, wrenching his forearm from his grasp and fixing him with an intense stare. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Hoseok defended, his volume also lowered–but the nervous shake in his eyes and the quiver of his voice led Jimin to think otherwise. “We need to talk about-”

“I don’t want to talk to you about anything–I don’t fraternize with traitors. Just stay away from her. If she wants you in there than fine, but don’t get too close. I’ll be watching you.” With that, Jimin ran into the kitchen, not able to take another second without knowing whether or not Y/n was okay. 

Y/n was all Jimin could focus on–the way she shook, the blood trickling down her temple, the glazed look in her eyes–the eyes he didn’t miss constantly looking over Namjoon’s shoulder like she was searching for something, waiting for something to be there with each glance in that vague direction.

The same direction Jimin could hear phantom howls and rattling breath–whispered words of violence and self-depreciation warbling through the veil between them. 

“A devil! What a devil I am! Look what I have done! Pity my soul…” 

Hoseok, at the bare minimum, had the wherewithal to listen to Jimin’s commands, appeasing him by keeping space between himself and Y/n; all the while looking like a kicked puppy whenever she wasn’t looking. Jimin could almost feel bad for him with the way he appeared to be punishing himself more than Jimin ever could–just for what he couldn’t even let himself ponder without making a scene. And Y/n didn’t need that right now–she needed help not more tension. 

After leaving her with Namjoon to get herself situated, Jimin traced Hoseok’s steps back to the kitchen where he had excused himself to prepare Y/n’s food, steering himself through the door with little hesitation. 

“You have a lot of nerve still being here.” Jimin seethed at where Hoseok stood slumped over a partially boiling pot of water. 

“Mmhmm.” Hoseok grunted, void of any emotion and empty. 

Jimin scoffed. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? After whatever you just did?” 

“Mmhmm.” Hoseok repeated again in an identically disconnected manner, not even bothering to look up at Jimin from where he had hunched his shoulders inwards. 

Jimin stomped over to the stove, grabbing a hold of Hoseok’s shoulder and yanking him to face him. “Look at me you–” 

The rest of the words never left Jimin’s mouth, for suddenly he was engulfed in flame. The room was no longer the kitchen, but a burning blaze of wood and smoke–ember and destruction. 

The room he had found himself in was smaller than the kitchen, barely half its size in length and even narrower in width. Its walls were entirely made of columns of old wooden beams that were being dissolved by blazing licks to crumble into the open mouth of the fire that spread below it. A few of them cracked and splintered, tipping to the side with a groan and thundering to the ground in an eruption of ash and orange embers.

He heard screaming. A child’s shattering cries for help swallowed by the roar of flames that enclosed around him. Jimin brought one hand up to cover his mouth from the chokehold the smoke kept trying to put him in, burrowing into his nose–his eyes, his mouth his ears–every orifice was a target.  

Water pooled along the rims of his eyes that searched through the plumes for the calls of the wailing child, finding only a small lump that stirred with movement on the other end of it–blocked by a flickering barrier of fire. Only the tips of a small hand reaching up from the breaks in flame visible as its pale fingers reached to him. 

“Help me! Please!” 

Jimin started towards the child, his hands outstretched to reach for them–fingertips scarcely brushing each other. 

“Please!” The child sobbed as their hands barely missed each other for the second time.

He grit his teeth and teetered even further forwards into the starving heat, their hands coming in to close around one another–

With just as much (or as little) notice, Jimin was back in the kitchen, his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder as if no time had passed. 

Hoseok was glaring at him, imploring him to speak with expectant eyes. 

“You still here with me? I asked what the fuck you wanted?” Hoseok’s voice was hot, just like the flames Jimin had been thrust into. 

“I–” Jimin swallowed, frantic eyes looking at the room around him–the stove, the fridge, the counter, the saucepot of now boiling water. The child was gone. “I don’t-”

“Yell at me if you want–but I’m not gonna argue.” It was then that Jimin noticed the red swollen edges of Hosoek’s brown eyes, and the partially wiped tear stains that tracked down his cheeks. “So if that’s all you wanna do, leave.” 

“Hoseok…” Jimin started again, his experience wiping all of his anger from his system and leaving him in a state of disorientation. 

A crack of thunder tore Jimin from his stupor, pulling his hand from Hoseok’s shoulder to drop down to his side, letting Hoseok turn back to the pot with a huff. He staggered away from him and whatever spell he had put him under, quickly turning on his heels without another word to dash out into the dining room.

He couldn’t breathe again. Images of the child’s hand and the sound of their screams ripped through him like a knife over and over again. It had felt so real he didn’t know if he was hallucinating, or if it had been real. His shoulders heaved in ways that made each scab along his burns itch, the skin of his ribs stretching taut and releasing with his breath. He didn’t know how long he had stood there trying to regain some semblance of himself–it could’ve been seconds or hours. The only thing he did know was that the sound of the front door slamming closed told him he was no longer alone, and he had run out of time to recover in private. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook’s flat voice called to him from the foyer, his eyes dark as they scrutinized the way Jimin hung onto the table's edge like a lifeline. 

“Yes–I’m fine. Go shower, you’re so sweaty.” Jimin did his best attempt at a teasing tone, but it only managed to come out sounding strained and out of breath. 

Jungkook hesitated, his eyes flickering between Jimin and the stairs. “Are you sure?” 

“Very sure.” Jimin tried to prove his lie by standing straight, and giving him a feigned teasing smile. “It was just that I could smell you from the other side of the door. It almost wiped me out I fear.” 

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but Jimin saw the smallest of smiles quirk at the edge of his lips. “Whatever.” 

Jungkook ascended the stairs, and Jimin stood still, waiting until he was out of sight to let himself crash into one of the dining room chairs with his head in his hands. 

“Are you alright, sir?” Arrow asked hesitantly from over Jimin’s shoulder. 

Jimin was immune for the most part to startling voices, so he remained unbothered by the intrusion. “I’ve been better.” He whispered, afraid if he spoke too loudly that Hoseok would hear. 

Arrow hummed, sensing Jimin’s reluctance to speak and settling for hovering over his shoulder. When Jimin had found himself ready to return to his room, he could still hear Arrow’s boots treading the carpet behind him–a sound that now brings comfort to Jimin instead of irritation.

A few days had passed since the incident in the kitchen, though he couldn’t seem to forget the experience as much as he wanted to. It plagued his dreams and thoughts, torturing him with smokey nightmares and ringing ears. He lost himself in his thoughts of the child–his brain wondering if it had anything to do with the mystery child or the malevolent energy that had attacked him at the historical building. But every times his thoughts wandered that direction, he tugged them back in fear of their return. 

Jimin found a new welcomed distraction, now sitting hunched over his desk with a new morse code transmitter carefully placed at the center of his desk still smelling of fresh plastic and metal. He prayed that this would work–that Bear would be able to hear it if he wired it to his radio with the volume low enough to not disturb his room neighbors. 

No one had said anything about not contacting Bear–just not to dig through the historical documents–so technically he wasn’t doing anything he wasn’t supposed to. 

He couldn’t simply wait around and twiddle his thumbs after what had happened–and with his assignments finished and submitted and his graduation date approaching, he had nothing else to do but mull over everything that had occurred over the past few weeks.

Tree stood hovered over his shoulder, invisible this time, guiding Jimin to choose his first message carefully. 

“I think if you keep it concise, it should be fine. Use abbreviations where you can.” 

Jimin nodded, his pen hovering over the paper while he willed his mind to come up with what to say. He pulled up a website to help him condense whatever he could into abbreviations so as to not make the message too tiresome for Tree to tap out. He settled on one, his eyes rereading it a few more times just to be sure. 

I HR U, II, TALK TO ME NORMALLY PSE. YM AR.

“How is this?” Jimin slid the paper over to the edge of his desk, waiting a few moments for Tree to read it and leave his comments. 

“Acceptable.” Tree’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat to cover up the sound. “Shall I start then?” 

“Have at it.” Jimin fell back into his chair with a sigh, and gestured to the machine. When nothing happened Jimin turned to stare at the empty space where Tree should be. “Is everything alright?” 

“I need energy to press the buttons, sir.” 

“Oh.” Jimin got to his feet, striding over to his bed to rummage through his messenger back for something. “Try this.” 

Jimin tossed a bent granola bar onto the desk, watching it come to a skidding halt on the empty plate he now kept in his room. He heard the telltale sound of a crinkling wrapper, and stared expectantly at the place where he was sure he stood. After a few moments of waiting Jimin spoke up. 

“Is that enough?” 

Tree hummed thoughtfully before deciding on his answer. “It’s no Snickers candy–but it will do.” 

Jimin sat down on the edge of his bed with his arms crossed, boring holes into the machine with fervent impatience. 

The buttons started to dip, bouncing up and down in a meticulous pattern by–what it looked like to him–their own volition. There were no hands and no fingerprints left behind with each touch to the metal, only the faint beeping coming through his radio with each dip of a button. After what felt like forever to Jimin and his intolerance for the sound, Tree stopped. 

“I sent the message through three times before ending transmission, sir. If he responds I’ll be sure to let you know. You can go to sleep.” 

Jimin dragged his hands down his face, huffing out another sigh. “I guess I should.” 

“Yes. For your outing with your lady tomorrow.” Tree sang from his spot by the desk, taking on the tone that wasn’t far from that of an obnoxious younger brother. 

“Oh shut up.” Jimin whined with a roll of his eyes. 

“Don’t be such a noodle.” Tree pestered. “Are you going to kiss her tomorrow?” 

“What I’m going to do is go to sleep.” Jimin turned on his heel, escaping into his bathroom to change his clothes for some semblance of privacy. He could still hear Tree’s boyish giggles carrying through the wall as he turned the sink on to wash his face of all of that day's stressors. 

_________________________________________

Jimin stormed into his room, tossing his keys onto his desk with an exaggerated groan ripping from his chest.

“I’ll take it you didn’t kiss her?” Tree asked smartly from the corner of his room. 

“Don’t press him.” Arrow chastised, following in through the door. “He did his best and that’s what counts.” 

“Yeah, well my best made her look at me like I was a monster. She probably thinks I’m one of them now.” Jimin flopped onto his bed, grabbing one of his pillows and yelling his frustrations into it. 

“I doubt she thinks that way. If it matters it looked like you two were snug as a bug for most of it.” Arrow reassured him, coming to stand close to the edge of his bed. “Just keep your chin up. I’m sure we will be able to figure things out soon.” 

Jimin bolted upright, tossing the pillow to the side and skittering over to his desk. He turned on his radio and scribbled out a new message, his pencil gripped so tightly between his fingers he felt the wood splintering from within.

“Send this to Bear.” Jimin dropped the pencil and shot to his feet with his hands fisting into his hair, beginning a pace back and forth in front of the desk. 

“Are you sure? This message seems a bit…risky?” Tree’s voice was timid–nervous. 

Jimin stopped, giving himself one more moment to question his choices–but the answer remained clear to him. There was no other option, there was only being complicit. 

“Send it.” 

The clicks and tones rang through the room, and Jimin closed his eyes, taking deep satisfying breaths with each pesky beep. 

Tell me what I need to do. YM AR. 

Tree sent the message out multiple times in hourly increments. Jimin would wait for each one, sitting at his desk with his eyes set on the radio, willing it to come to life with any sort of response with his stare. 

Unfortunately, between the mumbled banter of his friends and the clicking of the buttons, he must of nodded off into a restless and dreamless sleep that was haunted by his least favorite lullaby of morse code. The only benefit of the sound was that it kept the nightmares of fire away. 

Jimin awoke with a start, his forehead hitting the surface of his desk as he jostled himself upright. He blinked blearily up at his clock that read just before five in the morning, and wondered just what could’ve woken him up at such an ungodly hour. 

Another bout of firm knocks shook his door, answering his unspoken questions with their persistence. Jimin stood, stumbling through his dark room to open his door, fully ready to tell off whoever it was that insisted on bothering him so early.

“Howdy Jimin, are you ready to head out?” Anselm Wörner stood outside his door, smiling brightly and already dressed in one of his red work suits. 

Jimin blinked at him, eyeing the travel bag tucked under his arm and his smile that left Jimin feeling more so unsettled than enlivened. “Pardon?” He finally choked out, knitting his brows together. 

“I’m here to grab your bags for our trip to Maryland for your graduation! Don’t tell me you forgot?” Anselm made a move to step into his room, but stopped–jerking backwards as if the doorknob had shocked him. 

“I mean no disrespect sir,” Jimin started, surveying the way Anselm's face took no time to bounce back to its preppy demeanor. “However I was told that Hana and Yeongjin would be taking me this afternoon. I’m afraid I haven’t finished packing yet.” 

Anselm’s smile dropped, and his head tilted sharply to the side much too swiftly for comfort. His eyes took on a clouded expression, falling into a daze like he had just…disappeared from his mind. 

“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Wörner?” Jimin reached an apprehensive hand out to lay over Anselm’s–the skin cold beneath his touch. The contact reanimated the man in front of him, and Anselm seemed to fall right back into his body with a smile that would put any working clown out of business.

“Of course I am! They must’ve slipped and told you the wrong time. I’ll wait for you on the landing to finish packing.” He turned stiffly, and with movements similar to a marionette, traipsed down the hall and out of sight for Jimin to stare off after in bewilderment.

His room was a whirlwind–clothes flying from his closet and into his bag; a black garment bag with his cap and gown tossed over his bed; and his computer bag bulging with his laptop, cords and books shoved carelessly into empty spaces. All of these things are a physical representation of his mind: Frantic and disorganized. 

None of this had been the plan, and Jimin had a sinking pit in his stomach that said it might have something to do with his choices the day prior–whether it was his split-second decision to write a note for Y/n, or his choice to reach back out to Bear with a more forward request.  Either way, he didn’t want to push his luck, and rushed to carry his overly stuffed bags down the hall towards the landing, stumbling over his own feet with drooping eyes. 

“Let me help you with that.” Jin piped up from behind him, the sound of his door clicking shut making Jimin turn his head to see him. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Jimin yawned out, handing Jin the bag over his shoulder and relieving his aching side of the added weight, still healing from his burns of his encounter. “Did I wake you?”

Jin shook his head, shrugging the bag onto his shoulder. “No. I planned to be up early to say goodbye to my parents.” 

Neither of them spoke during the rest of their moseyed path down the long hall to the landing, both of them much too exhausted to offer anything of interest to a discussion. They made it to the foyer when Jin excused himself to the kitchen, bidding Jimin hushed farewells as he went to find his own breakfast. 

Jimin took a second to steady his nerves, shaking out his shoulders and steeling his mind for whatever this trip was going to look like. He heard the clamor of parents out near the front steps through a cracked window, and with a sharp intake of breath, shouldered open the door to join them. 

Within the first two steps, his bags were removed from his hands by the staff that was helping them load their vehicles, leaving him with no other excuse for keeping his distance from the four adults that huddled on the gravel. Hana’s friendly brown eyes lit up with delight at the sight of Jimin, a smile on her lips that mirrored Jin’s glowing up at him.

“Come here Jimin, we were just discussing you–let’s get a picture before we go!” Hana waved a dainty hand to him over Mariah’s shoulder, beckoning him to join the huddle of parents that had congregated out front of the estate. She passed her phone to one of the staff that was currently loading the trunk, their gloved hands holding the device at the ready.

“Alright.” Jimin swallowed hard, his eyes still heavy from the sleep he had been dragged from and nerves firing on high alert. 

 Jimin kept his face neutral, forcing his breathing to remain a natural cadence as he approached their chattering group. His control was nearly blasted to smithereens when Anselm grabbed his arm and lugged him against his side, clamping his other arm over Jimin’s back and digging his fingers into the meat of his arm in an effort to guide him to stand in the center.

“Yes, a photo! We must commemorate this trip.” Anselm gave everyone a wide grin as they all stepped in. Hana sidled up to Jimin’s other side, a proud smile blessing her face and her hand slipped comfortably into her husband's who stood at her side. 

“Smile.” Anselm's voice tipped into something more as the phone flashed with light–something volcanic and corroded at the edges. A shift only Jimin seemed to catch, because none of the other parents seemed to stiffen like Jimin had. 

“You alright Jiminie?” Hana looked up at him, having sensed the tensing of his arm against her side. 

Jimin nodded, plastering on a sweet smile. “Just tired.” 

Hana’s smile returned, and she waved a hand to the wait staff again. “Can you take a few more without the flash as well please?” 

They held their position for them to snap a few more photos, and Jimin had to count out his breaths in his head to keep himself from panicking with the proximity of Y/n’s parents. There was no way for them to know any of what he had done already, he lathered his mind with ignorant thoughts, this must just truly be a misunderstanding. 

“Alright everyone–let’s load up. We don’t want to be late!” Mariah fretted, walking towards the car with Hana close to her side, the two of them dabbing at the edges of their eyes and sharing watery giggles. 

“Heavens. I figured we’d at least make it to Maryland before the two of them started crying.” Yeongjin tutted with a chuckle, giving Anselm a gentle nudge with his elbow. 

Anselm shared in his jest, the two sharing a knowing look. “I give it five minutes on the road before they are inconsolable.” 

“I give it two.” Yeongjin laughed again before jogging after the two women to open the car door for them. Jimin was now left alone with Anselm, his arm still pressed down into his shoulder steering the two of them after the others at a much slower pace. 

“You know, Jimin,” Anselm started, his casual tone a stark contrast to the way he gripped Jimin like he was going to bolt at any second. “I always knew you’d do great things. You’ve always been a smart kid.” 

“Thank you.” Jimin nodded politely, his smile appearing more as a grimace from the crushing pressure of his arm. 

“Of course. Now there’s nothing stopping you from taking over as head of the historical department.” Anselm’s grin stretched wider–almost too wide–and his arm slid down to pull Jimin into a suffocating hug. “That is, unless something were to come up.” 

The hand around Jimin’s middle pressed into the half healed burn on Jimin’s side, an involuntary grunt escaping Jimin’s lips at the sting so strong that it stole the breath from his lungs. As quick as he had pulled him in, he was gone–hand retracted from the burn and lumbering off to the car to follow after Yeongjin. 

He started forward, the gravel crunching under his feet with each reluctant step after him. One of his hands instinctively came up to hold at his side, shielding the wound from any other prodding or squeezing from unseen forces. This was going to be a long weekend.

A gentle tinkling sound lilted through the air, something small and shiny skittering across the gravel and stopping against the toe of Jimin’s shoe. He bent down low, his thumb and forefinger poised to pinch the small orb beneath his fingers. 

“What the hell…” He muttered under his breath, lifting what seemed to be a small rotund bell–like one of the ones they would dangle on branches of their holiday trees each year. He rotated it within his hands, the faint blue hint of sun approaching the horizon glinting back a reflection of his own face up at him. 

“You’ll find yourself making good use of this, young man. Use it if they give you any trouble.” 

Jimin’s head shot up in the direction of the front door, which was a few inches ajar and spilling yellow light across the tops of his shoes and shins. The voice belonged to a woman–its rich tone both firm and taunting. 

A voice he had only heard once before in the corners of the historical building when he was a child, urging him through the exhibit aisles and expanding his mind to the love and joy of history. 

The voice of Adelaide Wörner. 

Jimin dared not speak. He dared not respond. He couldn’t believe his ears, turning the bell over in his fingers with a new found reverence. 

“Sir, I don’t know if I will be able to accompany you the entire time. You will be traveling far.” Arrow murmured apologetically as he approached. 

Jimin pocketed the bell, and shook his head with new found confidence. “Don’t worry about it. Keep an eye on Y/n for me.” 

_________________________________________

It was late on Sunday evening. His hotel room shrouded in shadow, warping the sharp edges of furniture and hanging paintings into mysterious shapes that elevated his heart rate every time they crept into the edge of his vision. He couldn’t sleep. Something felt wrong–like he needed to be awake for something. But exactly what it was, he wasn’t sure. 

Jimin had done a good job at keeping his head low, Hana and Yeongjin had been the perfect buffer between himself and the Wörners. The only risk he had taken was finally gaining enough courage to add something to Y/n’s family tree, hoping she wouldn’t hate him for it. He really just wanted to call her. He wanted her to be there with him, to have been there to cheer for him as he walked across the stage to shake some educator’s hand and pose for a photo.  To come running down the steps and fall into each other's embrace like they used to, perhaps even get to–

Light erupted into his room from his phone screen, a new phone call from an unknown number blazing across his screen. His stomach dropped. His instincts told him that this was what he had been waiting for. 

It took everything in him to let the call go to voicemail, waiting with baited breath and twitching fingers until the call ended just to pounce on it like an animal the moment a new voicemail notification appeared, his fingers fumbling to open it and press it to his ear. 

The tonal message started–and boy was it long. Without Tree or Sergeant around to help him, he had no other choice but to mess around with downloading the audio file and inputting it into an online website. He wouldn’t be able to wait until morning to ask them–he would surely explode–he just prayed that this would be just as accurate.

Letters and numbers loaded into view, his eyes devouring them one by one as they appeared. 

It is only me left. If this is my last msg, stick together. 73 88 CL, BW AR. 

He couldn’t lose Bear. Not when he held the key to so many answers.

In what he decided was a better way to spend his time than lying unconscious for a few more hours, he took to the internet in search of ideas–if Bear wanted them to stick together, and for him to talk to Y/n–he would find a way. His search brought a conclusion with a few common themes: Smoke. Plants. Incense. Sound. 

All things he had access to. He just needed more–and he knew just the way to get it. 

Because Bear was right: they needed to stick together–whatever happened in the past be damned. If there was one thing Bear had been sure to drill in all of their heads, it was to never back down. That giving in did most of the work for your enemies. 

And Jimin refused to give in any longer. 

With his new contract already signed during a celebratory dinner the night before–Jimin was locked into his position for at least a handful of years. Thus he didn't hesitate to meet Mariah and Anselm’s gazes at breakfast a few hours later, silently challenging them to say something–to do something in front of witnesses. He met each threatening side eye and brush of hand with just as much push back. A silent act of defiance. 

He couldn’t help himself when the Kim’s had left the table to take their key cards back to the front desk, to tear a napkin into a rectangular shred with a miniscule smirk. He wanted to send them a message just as they had sent him many–to return the threat back to the sender if you will. And he had the perfect way to do so, a declaration of rebellion that only they would understand.

“You seem…full of energy this morning Jimin. Did you have a good night’s rest?” Mariah schooled her voice, but kept her eyes cold and calculating. 

Jimin shined up at them with a cloying grin, letting his eyes glow with nauseating sweetness. “I had an amazing night’s rest.”

Anselm’s eyes followed Jimin’s hand as it swiped one of the pens from the table, twirling it in his fingers. “That’s great to hear.” In spite of his words, Anselm's tone fell flat and modulated. Jimin’s lack of fear was getting to him already, and Jimin relished in the feeling. 

Jimin hummed sweetly, coloring in thick, swooping letters across his napkin. “It is great.” 

“Jimin.” Mariah scolded, all attempts at masking her displeasure ruptured. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” 

“Oh I won’t regret anything.” Once satisfied with his little note, he tossed the pen back onto the table and stretched with an overly animated yawn. “I’m just having a bit of fun, reminiscing on a few things from the past.” He slid the napkin across the table as he stood, giving it a firm tap with his finger. “Some things to exercise your mind, if you will. I will see you after work, maybe.”

Mariah gasped in outrage, jerking her head to sow her rage onto Jimin only to find the space he had occupied empty. Jimin had to miss their reaction in order to afford himself the privilege of an escape, but what he wouldn’t do to have seen it. He was already halfway to the car he was to share with Hana and Yeongjin by the time she had looked up–leaving her with no victim to spew her punishment onto.

The edge of the table groaned, cracking into splinters that drew the outline of Anselm’s hands from the inhuman force he gripped it with and dug into his skip like little needles. Mariah couldn’t believe what she was seeing–she was besides herself. The coffee stains spread out in bleeding lines, the message small yet concise. An act of rebellion to share that he didn’t intend to back down. 

‘Fuck! 

You’ll Burn Next.’

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

“괜찮아, 지민아?” : Are you okay, Jimin?

“내 손자를 도와주세요.” : Please help my grandson

Next chapter

Previous Chapter

Taglist: @kokoandkookie @rkive-joonie

[darkwitch1999]

Wait, what if Violette made Marc play “Can Your Pet?”.

Noelle: (tapping her fingers together with an evil grin on her face) What a delightfully malicious idea....I could use your assistance on this one.

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Anciel Residance: Marc’s Bedroom

(Marc and Violette were sitting alone in Marc’s room as Violette watched her friend download an app onto his tablet. Violette suddenly gets a text notification on her phone which prompts her to pick up her phone and read the message.)

🎃😈Horror-Ween Maniac🎃😈: Did you do it yet?

(Violette rolls her eyes at the message and starts texting them back.)

🔪😈HazbinBossFanatic😈🔪: Yes Noe, you strange psychopath! Marc is downloading “Can Your Pet?” app right now and I will start recording his reaction when he gets to the “best part”. Everything is going according to plan.

🎃😈Horror-Ween Maniac🎃😈: Excellent! I can’t wait to see the look of sheer traumatizing horror on his face when he gets to the end of the game!!!!! MWA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! 😈😈😈😈😈😈

🔪😈HazbinBossFanatic😈🔪: ….Noe, have you ever considered seeing a therapist? Hypothetically speaking of course.

🎃😈Horror-Ween Maniac🎃😈: My old guidance counselor said the same thing…..weird, but nah, I’m good. 😁

🔪😈HazbinBossFanatic😈🔪: Riiiigggghhhhhtttt…..anyway, remind me again why you couldn’t do this yourself? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to get in on the joke….especially if you keep up your end of the bargain, but why do you need my help?

🎃😈Horror-Ween Maniac🎃😈: Well, I wanted to reuse the “Let’s Play A Game” line with Marc like I have done with previous victims, but I think people are starting to catch on to be wary of when someone sends you that message.

🔪😈HazbinBossFanatic😈🔪: Yeah, I think they definitely knew that something was up after that prank you did on Marinette, which by the was brutal so you can hardly blame them.

🎃😈Horror-Ween Maniac🎃😈: LOL! I know, right? You should’ve seen the look on her face when she opened her locker! It was priceless! That look of absolute horror was definitely worth all the time and effort I put into that prank!

🔪😈HazbinBossFanatic😈🔪: How did you manage to pull all that off anyway? I feel like some of the things you did are worth further explanation.

🎃😈Horror-Ween Maniac🎃😈: It’s a very long story. I’ll tell you later. Right now, just be sure you’re ready to record Marc’s reaction and I’ll keep up my end by keeping you off of my “Horror-Ween Scare List”…..this year at least.

🔪😈HazbinBossFanatic😈🔪: Yeah, I got it. Don’t worry. You’ll get to revel in the sheer terror of your victims.

🎃😈Horror-Ween Maniac🎃😈: Excellent! You’re the best, Vi!

Marc: Okay, the game just finished downloading.

Violette: (puts down her phone and scoots closer to Marc to look at the screen) Alright, let’s fire this game up! Trust me, you are going to love it!

(Unbeknownst to his friend’s ulterior motives, the writer started the game on his tablet, immediately awing at the adorableness of the baby chick on the “START” screen. After pressing start, the screen transitioned to the beginning of the game where players name their baby chicks before they hatch.)

Violette: So what are you going to name your little chick? Might I recommend the name "Fat Nuggets"?

Marc: Fat Nuggets is a pig.

Violette: True, but it also works both ways. You know, "Nuggets" like chicken nuggets?

Marc: (thinks for a moment) Tempting suggestion, but I'm going to pass. (starts typing in a name) Besides, I already have a name in mind. I'm going to name him "Lil' Bold".

Violette: Aww, that's a cute name! What made you come up with it?

Marc: (eyes shift nervously) U-Uh...nothing really...it just came to me...t-that's all...

(Looking for a way to change the subject without drawing suspicion towards himself from Violette, Marc looked at the game and was in awe as Lil' Bold hatched from his egg onscreen.)

Marc: Awwww, look at him! He's so cute!!!! (notices the ribbon icon light up on his screen) Wait, I can dress him up?! Oh hell yes!!

(Violette giggled at her friend's enthusiasm towards the game as Marc immediately clicked the dress-up icon and started dressing up Lil' Bold. Lil' Bold now had emo bangs, half-lidded eyes, a white scarf, and glasses.)

Violette: With emo bangs like those, you should have gone with the name "Nath Jr".

(Marc's face immediately flushed red with embarrassment from Violette's comment. He immediately punched her arm in retaliation while the Scottish girl started laughing her ass off. Afterward, Violette watched as the writer explored the other features of the game as he unlocked them such as feeding, cleaning, and playing with Lil' Bold.)

Marc: (eyes light up with excitement when Lil' Bold starts playing with the soccer ball) No way! He can play soccer, too?! This is the best virtual pet game ever!

(Violette started to feel guilt rise up within her as she watched Marc spend five minutes playing soccer with his virtual baby chicken. She began to have second thoughts about letting the writer go through with the game's ending, but she also knew it was already too late. Telling Marc that his virtual baby was destined to meet a horrific fate may not be as upsetting as witnessing it unfold, but Violette knew that such news would crush Marc nonetheless. Besides, Violette remembers the sheer terror and horror on the faces of Noelle's "Horror-Ween" victims from their pranks well and the Scottish girl preferred to not be on the receiving end of those pranks.)

Marc: (notices a new icon appears on the screen) Is this a bike? You can ride bikes with these chicks?! That's so cool! I got to see what this looks like!

Violette: (nervously pulls out her phone, getting ready to record) Y-Yeah...go for it....

(Violette starts recording Marc as he presses the bicycle icon. The background music suddenly stopped and half of the screen turned black, which greatly confused the writer as Lil' Bold started to fall down the black screen. The screen then transitioned to a pitch-black background with the bicycle icon in the middle. Marc became even more confused and a little concerned as the bicycle icon flipped upside down. The writer then let out a horrified scream as the upside-down bicycle wheels turned into buzzsaws and Lil' Bold was shredded into many bloodied pieces. The end credits soundtrack was the only sound present in the room as both Violette and Marc remained silent. Violette dared not to speak as she was preoccupied with being crushed by the weight of guilt she felt from traumatizing her friend. She noticed the color was completely drained from Marc's face, his eyes were wide open with shock, his mouth was hung open, and his body was trembling in horror. As guilty as she felt, the Scottish girl knew that the deed was already done so she stopped the recording and sent it to Noelle.)

Marc: (slowly turns to face Violette, his voice breaking with horror as he spoke) W-W....Why Vi?

Violette: (looks down in shame) I'm sorry, Marc! They made me do it!

Marc: W-Who....?

(Marc suddenly gets a text message notification on his phone from a blocked number. The writer unlocks his phone and reads the message, becoming even more horrified as he reads the message.)

Unknown Message: HAPPY HORROR-WEEN, Marc Anciel! THANK YOU FOR BEING SUCH A GREAT SPORT! Want to go out for some chicken later? LOL

Marc: (slaps a hand over his mouth as he suddenly begins to feel nauseous) I"M NEVER EATING CHICKEN AGAIN!!!!!

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Thanks for the great idea, @miraculousfan1232! I had a lot of fun writing this! Sorry to everyone that I haven't been posting "Horror-Ween" posts for a while. Real life has been very busy. Hope you all enjoy Marc getting scarred for life. As always please share your opinions on this post and I am still accepting "Horror-Ween" ideas even though October is almost over. If you have a character that you want Noelle to scare the life out of, send me an ask!

@artzychic27 @andromeda612 @thetwistedarchives @msweebyness @imsparky2002 @username8746489 @lady0lunamoon @miraculousfan1232 @eternalstarlitwonderland @nerd-chocolate

[white-weasel]

Ideal Hypothetical Saw Film Reroll episode(s)

(This is something I’ve been thinking about as I’ve watched through the movies and @afoxnamedmulder also formally asked about it so I took that as full permission from him to just start spewing my every thought about these two things together. This post is hyper niche and for literally like 3 people but idec lets gooooo)

So the first thought is if the Film Reroll crew were to ever reroll Saw it would obviously be the first one. It’s the most culturally relevant one and the one that most fits with what I can see the show doing. In the case of rerolling Saw I, ideally the players would not have seen the movie. Like I said, since this is the most culturally significant one this might be hard but I’m gonna go off of both vibes and play style for this one and just hope that it works

For the GM it’s gonna be Paulo. I just feel he could do the cramped space of the bathroom justice and bring in new “challenges”/obstacles to keep things moving.

Playing Lawrence Gordon, and this is gonna sound crazy please bear with me, I think we get Carolyn Faye Kramer. My reasoning for this is that the Lawrence of Saw I is someone who, despite his task being to kill Adam and cut off his foot, does not actually have the ability to do it until the very end when his family is threatened. If we put Jon or Scott here, Gordon is shooting Adam within the first 15 minutes of the movie. Carolyn I feel can play someone very conflicted about the choice and also won’t immediately jump to trusting whatever Jigsaw is saying on the tape. She’s willing to cooperate with her fellow player and only if she’s pushed to take things into her own hands will she start trying to make moves, which I feel is fitting. (Also she’s the only cast member I feel like we can say 100% has never seen these movies lmao lest we forget the infamous Friday the 13th “I know who the killer is” fiasco” happening because she doesn’t like scary movies)

My first choice playing Adam Faulkner-Stanheight would be none other than Joz Vammer themself! I think they could really get the tone of the character down full stop. The mixture of outbursts and jokes, but then also throwing things at the wall to see what sticks in getting them out of there. I feel like Joz also would not accept the zero sum game presented by Jigsaw and would work to find a way for both Adam and Lawrence to get out together, which is really what you need for this movie. In my heart I feel like Joz has seen the movie, but for this scenario I would hope not because…

The twist in this reroll would be there has been a 3rd PC the whole time: Zep Hindle. I would LOVE for Tim to play Zep. He could 100% play this quiet, envious guy given instructions to carry out his part of the game. My imagining for this would be he and Paulo had a session before the main game that was all about how Zep handled the set up stuff with Alison and Diana.

And then I’m envisioning the bathroom game sessions are happening on a Zoom call or the like, and Tim is sitting with Paulo in his apartment, letting him know what Zep is doing if/when phone calls to the outside world are happening and stuff. Also Paulo could totally call for “breaks” in recording where he’s actually conferring and rolling with Tim on what Zep is doing. The knowledge Zep gets is basically the equivalent of him getting to know stuff because of the camera set up in the movie. This would probably be a logistical nightmare to actually record, but I like to think that the payoff would be awesome. Like it gets revealed there was a secret third player in the episode, Joz and Carolyn are shocked, and then the edit goes back in time to show key tidbits of Tim’s turns and such. They could even release the full audio of it then on Patreon lol

The reveal at Zep being a PC rather than an NPC also kinda parallels/coincides with him not actually being Jigsaw from the original movie too. He’s not the one actually making things happen, he’s all a pawn in the game as well

HOWEVER I also had the thought - if the crew does Saw they don’t HAVE to do the first one. They didn’t do the first Friday the 13th and hell, their first episode is literally Back to the Future 2, not the first movie. If the crew just wanted to do a Saw episode to focus on the trap aspect when they’re playing, I think they could play as the Fatal 5 from Saw V (blatant Saw V bias showing here, don’t look at me, but also I genuinely think this is the group game most conducive to being rerolled). It’s also very likely that none of them have seen Saw V, so the “twist” with the traps being all survivable wouldn’t be known to them

It was between Saw V and Saw II because those are the two group games where all of the participants are free to work together and it’s not reliant on one person. I like Saw V better because I feel it can be self contained more than II. With II you have to deal with the fact Amanda is in on all of it and idk I feel like that just doesn’t work as well for a ttrpg setting. Casting for this one is a lot more vibes based and I have less concrete answers, so I’m open to suggestions

GM - Paulo once again. King of making this all work

Ashley Kazon - Carolyn (don’t know too much about Ashley but I want Carolyn in this movie and feel she could work this)

Charles Salomon - Scott (he could do it. He could bring the smarmy vibes and even though he wouldn’t know the line “I’m an Investigative Journalist for 👆The Herald👆” he would know it in spirit)

Luba Gibbs - Jon (first of all, we don’t get Jon to play women enough on this show. I love him playing Annabelle in Jumanji. Secondly, I think he can play Luba’s cut throat nature well. However I also wouldn’t mind Lisa in this role. I think she could play it well also)

Mallick Scott - Andy (he might be a bit too sedate for this, but also he’s the one I trust the most to play into the inevitable guilt complex that would be put on his sheet so)

Brit Stevenson - Kara (she could 100% do corporate woman who cares only for her own survival until she realizes that she doesn’t HAVE to care only for her own survival. I believe in her)

No twist in how the gameplay happens here, the only fun thing would be to see if the cast would be able to figure out Jigsaw’s message in that they can all actually work together to get through the traps.

FINALLY the most self indulgent thing and the thing they would never actually do because it technically wouldn’t be the movie itself is they would give us an apprentice campaign with the mainline apprentices working together before the start of Saw III/Saw IV, each of them with their own specific, secret objectives they’re hoping to achieve:

GM/John Kramer would be Paulo

Amanda would be Joz (Fairly self explanatory I feel. They have the range to play her. They would GET her)

Lawrence would be Andy (I feel Andy could pull off apprentice Lawrence. Lawrence strikes me as someone in the shadows during his apprentice work, biding his time, and I can see Andy bringing that sort of thing to Lawrence. At the same time there’s some room to develop apprentice Lawrence’s motivations and character so I would be interested in seeing what he’d do for him)

Hoffman would be Scott (Hoffman was the hardest for me to pin down in this line up but I think I like Scott as my pick for now. Open to more thoughts about this one though.)

In every scenario there would be will rolls up the wazoo. I feel like will stats in this would be fairly normal, it would just be the penalties that would make the rolls hard. So I like to imagine that cutting your own foot off is probably a -5 penalty or something, but if you’re in immediate, imminent danger or you have credible reason to think your family is in danger you’d get some bonuses back to make it a less tricky roll. Also numerous fright checks would also be on the table I’m sure, as well as senses of duty or different traits people will have to resist. I think building the character sheets for this would be fun, though it would be interesting to see how it would get balanced out by Paulo when actually playing

[nelliesnellie]

I had one goal going into my first Tetris tournament (yes those exist, and whats more they exist for the GameBoy version). That goal was to not embarrass myself. And while I didn't win, I figure I succeeded in my objective.

I mean, I got swept in the first match. Totally knocked off my feet. I think played well! I was just against quite a high level player. But I put up a decent fight and hit level 20, the top level in this version.

This is the moment where I lost. See that misdrop? If the longbar there was one space to the right, I would've been able to drop that J in next to it, clearing the line and allowing me to dig back down. But alas! I fucked up the landing.

Honestly what really got me were the nerves. For part of the game I managed to just chill out and play (courtesy in part to The Cocteau Twins on my speaker). But the nerves just got to me, I was sweating and overthinking and struggling to keep my hands steady. If I was that focused and playing relaxed, I could have finished the chasedown and at least not been swept lol.

Shout out to Toni though - a phenomenal player and a gracious opponent!

You may notice that I don't have the device to record video off of the GameBoy. I just put my phone in webcam mode and point it at the screen. Which I kind of like because there's a kind of immersion or nostalgia or something looking at the screen. And I can show off the "GameGirl" customization. But it would also be nice to have good clean video, that matches everyone else's. Maybe by next time I'll be able to cough the 70 bucks or whatever it costs to get an Interceptor. We'll see.

Anyway. I had. So much fucking fun today. And I look forward to playing the next one in November!

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

Dance Lessons (Obey Me!) fic

summary: MC needs help with learning how to dance. So Satan and Asmodeus drag Leviathan along to practice.

characters: Marzena OC/MC, Satan, Asmodeus, Leviathan.

content: casual talk, fluff, dancing lessons, grumpy Levi (lol)

I was all but glaring at my D.D.D. The message stating the annual formal Devildom ball would be in a few weeks. Lucifer stating that I needed to get dancing lessons to prepare for the ball. To which Satan had made it clear he would be the one to teach me so Lucifer might focus on the preparations. With Asmodeus saying that he'd be sure to have Leviathan join us for some practice. Leviathan had been more than vocal on how he didn't need practice. But Lucifer made it clear that Leviathan had no choice.

So I was standing in the music room of the House of Lamentation. Satan looking to Asmodeus as the Avatar of Lust set the vinyl record onto the record player. While Leviathan openly huffed and grumbled next to me. But I soon gave Leviathan a nudge with my elbow for him to yelp. his gaze finding mine as I frowned at him. "Stop whining. The noble demon buttwads will be looking to pick our bones clean if any of us mess up. So we need to get our game faces on for this long ass raid event. You get me?"

Leviathan blinked a few times to then heave out a huge huff of air. Nodding to rub a hand to the back of his neck as the music started. "Yeah. I get you. We already had several of those noble demon families throw their red tape all over Lord Diavolo on even having the ball in the first place. So we need to knuckle down on our raid prep. But I already know how to waltz and stuff. The whole order to practice feels insulting." Asmodeus hums to just give Leviathan a pat on the shoulder. "Now now. Mammon is already getting a lecture later for skipping out on the student council meeting. So we should be on our best behavior to lessen the stress around the house. So let's do our part."

Satan rolled his eyes before he held his hand out to me. Making me blush slightly as I took it. Which had Satan gently pull me forwards so as to sweep me into the proper position. His smile warm and full of contentment as he instructed me on where my feet should be at the start. His hands moving to place my own hands where they needed to rest on his frame. Not leaving me time to linger on the touch to then begin moving his feet. The steps were simple enough at the start of the lesson. But we did get to much harder dances after ten minutes. Meaning I had to give all of my attention to where my feet went and how I moved in time to the music. Asmodeus and Leviathan already dancing in perfect time for me to try and keep up.

The lesson took almost three hours long. Satan being a strict but kind instructor as he guided me around the music room. Until Asmodeus heard the alarm on his phone go off to let Leviathan go and take the needle off the vinyl record. "Okay. That's time. Well done all." Leviathan just cursed to then drop himself onto the floor and lay there like a dead body. "I feel so out of shape after all that... You both are evil sadists... Making us dance for so long... My legs are gonna fall off... Forget going to school tomorrow... I refuse to move for the next two days..."

I agreed completely to feel like my whole body had been turned to lead. Satan taking notice to sweep me off my feet and sit me right next to Leviathan. His sigh one of patient approval to shake his head. "I don't blame you for being mad. But the ball will last for at least six hours. Half of which will need to be spent on the dance floor. If only to keep to formalities and see to all the required dances for posterity sake. I don't like that part much either. Yet it is part of the deal." Asmodeus nodded to sit beside Leviathan on his other side and just kick off his shoes for some relief. The sigh that escaped Asmodeus sounding tired. "Do at least remember we have the option of sitting down between songs. I get we're doing a crash course regiment for Marzena. But I for one would like to make sure I don't fall over dead the second the ball is over with."

I nodded to kick my own shoes off my feet. My groan one of pure agony as Satan sat down to join us. Yet he decided to spoil me by picking up my right foot to start kneading his fingers into the sole of my foot. Having me moan out at the pampering as Satan chuckled. My words weary yet warm. "That feels so good. I vote that when the ball is over, we light our shoes on fire." My comment has Asmodeus openly gasp to exclaim out, "Absolutely not! My shoes are far too nice to do that kind of thing!" Leviathan snickers to suggest, "Then make some shoes for us to wear to the ball. maybe we ask Solomon to charm them so our feet don't hurt as much." Satan thinks on that to then smirk. "Without telling him to charm the shoes for Lucifer." I roll my eyes as I just huff. "Wicked. You are truly a devious scoundrel, love."

[xx-d3m0n-k33p3r-d4rk-xx]

This is going to be a loooonnnnnggggg story so I'm having to put it under a keep reading line lol

For those curious - this is a recent experience I had at a metallica weekend concert which waz the best weekend of my life

My dad had gotten me metallica tickets for my birthday in April for night one w/pantera and mammoth WVH because I had never thought I would ever see pantera in my life (Due to Dimebags tragic incident) and I had already seen 5FDP last year when Megadeth opened up for them. A few days ago before the concert I found out that we had accidentally gotten both day tickets. I was stoked because I had been thinking how cool it would be to see 5FDP again along with metallica twice in one weekend. We carefully planned out our weekend because I was not going to let my dad waste those tickets let alone we had 2 more- One for his girlfriend and originally one of his buddies who backed out. I pulled along my boyfriend since 1) hes never been to a concert and 2) metallica is also his favorite band so if he saw them as his first band I thought- well shit- if I was in his position I wouldve been fucking stoked (best part he said the weekend was his best weekend ever)

Friday morning we skipped school and work and shot immediately down to LA to avoid traffic (if you live in California or have at least driven through LA at least once you know what i mean) and had to find somewhere to stay the night and get ready for the first night.

We get to the stadium and find our seats and hear Mammoth WVH first and ive never heard any of their music and it was very good (highly recommend listening to them) and I was slowly getting more hyped. Pantera came up and- Phil Anselmo gets out there on stage in fucking board shorts and no damn shoes on his feet and hella made the entire stadium straight up go fucking crazy. So well fucking performed that night. We had about an hour wait before metallica and when they came up playing Creeping Death- like holy fuck??? Just straight up slapped in the face by this godly fucking music ive only heard in the car- on my headphones through either phone or cd player- through my record player- and now I get to hear it for real...right there...and oh my god, I felt like i was in a dream all day that day, and this wasnt even the best part of this weekend- and I felt so fucking amazed. The next 2 were Harvester Of Sorrow and Leper Messiah and it sounded so fucking good...2 very good songs I wasnt expecting them to play but holy shit- it was worth it. On came The Memory Remains- the entire stadium was singing- you could hear your own voice align with everyone elses... And then it was Lux Æterna- and then it was Too Far Gone?... It was great- it was amazing. Rob and Kirk had a little bit of a "doodle"... And they looked like they were having fucking fun. Next they played Fade To Black, and I started getting emotional...then they played Shadows Follow which is my favorite off the new album which brought my emotions back up- Just to get myself lost into listening to Orion...and Nothing Else Matters really kicked me in the feels...

Sad But True played and my bf got really hyped since it was one of his favorites off the black album, and once again i got hit in the feels with The Day That Never Comes....

And once again Hardwired brought my energy and emotions up and when Fuel hit my dad and I went full on screaming the song to each other and watching the pyro and flames go off.

Metallica all paused for a second and went...

"We have time for a couple more songs...how do you all feel about...SEEK?"

I didnt hear the first "seek", but fucking hell...my bf lit up like a light bulb...

And then fucking Master Of Puppets to finish off put that cherry on top.

And all i could think off was...

I get to see them.

Again.

In two

Fucking

Days.

NIGHT 2

Hyped as shit.

I get to see 5FDP Again.

I get to see fucking Metallica Again.

My phone dies...

So I think welp I'm fucked if I want to take photos and videos for myself but eh I get to enjoy it in person, I dont really need my phone and I cant complain about just seeing it and everyone else could record it and take photos so we could all look at it later together or something and have fun with it

It was hotter this night compared to the first, so before we ran to our seats we got drinks and I ended up cutting my hand open on a water bottle but I didn't let it bother me much

We went to our seats and started getting settled and this guy came up with what looks to be a VIP ticket slung around his neck and an envelope in his hand and goes

"Hey how are you guys tonight?"

My dad with his audacity goes

"Well my daughter got a cut on her hand from a water bottle a bit ago but this is her late birthday present and shes not letting that bring her down so I think were doing great!"

"Fucking sick!" This guy replies and says, "Hey you know what?" He puts his hand into the envelope...

4.

Fucking.

Snake Pit Wristbands.

He hands them to us along with guitar picks that my bf took so fucking many of and walks away saying

"You guys will be down there, have fun"

I start balling my eyes out.

I couldnt believe all of this was happening, we were trying to find our way down and I'm just crying while everyone was taking turns guiding me down and I stand there in this field and I look around really questioning if I'm asleep and I'm just tripping on drugs or if I'm literally in the middle of the snake pit and imagining how fucking cool James Hetfield is going to look standing there in front of me where I was standing against the wall.

I must've lost it for another 15 minutes before I came to my senses and actually started getting hyped for all this because everyone would be right there in front of me.

A few minutes later Ice Nine Kills performs and I also havent heard much of their music but they were badass, all dressed up and acting like they were killing people on stage and it looked so cool yet if you were where I was it also looked so fake at the same time but it was fucking great.

They ended and 5FDP was up next and the first time I saw them it was another situation where I was at the top of the stadium and i just saw them from a distance but now I could actually see them right in front of me.

And then they came up.

Holy shit.

I was so excited to see them again and right there that I couldn't stop jumping (literally) and I had more energy then everyone else in the pit for them to the point I had Ivan Moody, Zoltan Bathory, AND Chris Kael point at me at least once.

They started wrapping things up when Zoltan Came over, points at me, and throws a pick directly at me, and I had everyone around me trying to catch it before I did but I got it directly thrown at me and caught it and I got so happy I shook my bf, dad, and his girlfriend.

Next thing to you they played The Bleeding and Chris comes over and points at me while playing his bass guitar and we looked at each other and both lip sang to the song and I got more excited over that then getting the pick.

When they started leaving the stage he came back and gave me his sweatband that has his last name imprinted on it and I couldnt fucking take it.

It was so fucking cool and badass and I didnt stop wearing it till a couple hours ago when I could finally put it somewhere safe.

Everyone started crowding in for metallica and we all started getting crowded in, and once AC/DC's A Long Way To The Top started playing everyone got really excited and hyped and crowding in more.

Everyone also started looking at Jason Mamoa amd taking photos of him in the snake pit with us before metallica came out.

After Metallicas long cutscene/intro finished they came out and played Whiplash...

If I had just reached as far as I could I could've touched Hetfields foot thats how fucking close I was to him.

At that point I couldnt even explain song by song how amazing it was, I was just rocking out and I couldnt stop, it was so fucking cool and amazing and I couldnt stop jumping again and throwing up the devil horns it was great.

End of the show they were doing theyre out to and throwing everything out and my bf got one of their picks and I started having that verge of tears again because I still couldnt believe what I just witnessed.

Not only did I get rare collectables from 5FDP, but Metallicas crew gave us pit tickets to make everything possible and that proves how fucking amazing they are.

Best weekend of my life, I couldnt be anymore grateful.

[supergravez]

11:49pm

Supernatural season 1 👻 episode 4 ✈️🕶️

Phantom traveler (contains spoilers)

An island?? Nope. New York Kennedy international airport ✅ somebody’s dad is drinking water from the bathroom sink. Nervous flyer? Mmhmm. And than this other guy starts saying “what are the odds of dying? 20,000 to 1?😒” wowsoreassuringthanks. Damn black smoke spirit thing from the vents like the hoe balls from spirited away. on the plane. Black eyed fuckin demon. Um???? Stewardess is trying her best. How long have been been in the air????? Excuse me lemme stretch my legs 🦵 WTH ARE U DOING????? THIS DEMON OPENS IP THE DAMN EMERGENCY EXIT DOOR. Plane down. Lawd. Everybody’s getting oxygen masks shit is CRASHING. GOODMORNING SUNSHINE!!!!!!!!!!! Dean wakes up at 5 am, his first time waking up in the morning ever lol. Sam is having nightmares abt Jess. Phone call. Pennsylvania poltergeist guy is calling. Sums up: sums down. Sums an airplane. Sam and Dean are in New York talking w a guy abt a poltergeist n ghosts at the airport. They’re listening to a recording of the crash. It’s weird. Only 7 ppl survived the plane crash and the pilots one, he’s traumatized. Where’s the wreckage? An evidence locker. Now Sam and Dean are impersonating homeland security agents lmao. EVP on voice recorder. NoosUUURRRrvivorrrrrzzzz. They’re talking to a guy named jaffy in a psych ward. He thought he was delusional seeing the black eyed man opening the emergency exit. It would take an impossible level of strength to open that door, a human couldn’t, but maybe a demon. The bathroom dad died on the plane, his name is George and when Sam and Dean talk to his wife and decide to sneak into the warehouse. Sam and Dean looking at the wreckage. They’re using an EVP made of a busted Walkman cd player lol. They find the demon gunk on the emergency door handle!!! Sam and Dean are running from homeland security lmao. The pilot from the crash is scared to fly again. DEMON AIR GUNK SPIRITED AWAY HOE BALLS GETTIN IN HIS BUSSY. the gunk is sulfer. Yikes lmao. The demon takes over and the pilot crashes another plane. Sam and Dean are like wtf is up w this airplane demon…THE PLANE CRASHED IN FUCKING NAZARETH. More sulfer!!!!!! 40 keeps repeating. Sam and Dean drove there and tell the stewardess flight attendant her sister died to get info lol. They’re at the airport gonna sneak on the plane. Dean is so scared of flying he’s humming Metallica to calm down. They’re tryna see if Amanda the stewardess is possessed by saying CRISTO to see if she flinches. Amanda is not possessed. Sam and Dean are gonna perform a ritual to exercise the demon out and send it to hell. They get Amanda to understand and help and she remembers the man a the black eyes, she brings the pilot to the back of the plane. Sam and Dean duck tape the pilots mouth shut and the holy water BURNS him. Sam is reading Latin from a book while Dean holds down the angry demonic pilot who’s taunting Sam abt Jess. KEEP READING LATIN!!!!!!!!!! demon gunk air puke. Now the planes crashing. Sam is searching for his book w the exorcism and praying on the crashing plane before it kills everyone lol. THE DAY IS SAVED!!!!!!!!! Jerry the guy who called for help got deans number from Sam and deans dad’s voicemail. This is why we don’t use broken airplane parts to make new ones lmao. The bois ride off.

[buffa-z]

ep 12

tsumuri vlogging even under conditions like these. you gave to respect the professionalism

punkjack makes the same observation that everyone else has: buffa is the only one who can defeat geats

HE SMACKS HIS HAND AWAY LOL

tsumuri really does care about michinaga to some extent. i mean hes crucial to her plans but also refuses to do anything unfair so hes kind of a perfect player. but also i think she can see thru his anger. after all, she was watching the night tohru died.

punkjack: dont blame me if you get stuck down here. just bc i fucked the puzzle up on purpose. and wont help anyone unless geats dies.

punkjack really does not try very hard to kill geats. like ever.

ace: lemme recap the puzzle for the new viewers

neon learning from ace to use the environmental props to fight

YAY KEIWA REMEMBERED SOMETHING IMPORTANT

ace: you have to touch my belt to regain your memories

game master: hey dont do that

ace: if the game really is about saving the world, then you have no reason to refuse 👁️👁️

crowd control combo Beat and Monster

fuck buffa is good

LOLLLLL no zombie ninja today buffa, someone luckier than you needs it. wait where did you even get that in the first place?

holy shit TYCOON transform directly into tactical slash

the applause?!? theyre not even hiding it anymore

nice of tycoon to hand over the magnum bucke

mobility combo: Magnum and Ninja

i love how the jamavines explode when shot

geats firing into tycoons finisher is kind of fucking so badass. talk about trust and aim tho like not a single shot hit her

ace: hello child trapped in a labyrinth. dont worry about your sister. focus on the puzzle.

apparently its canon that this pocket dimension has been used before which is really cool. but also makes you wonder why they cant use pocket dimensions always instead of endangering everyone in the world

the ancient armed water buckle

thank god somebody left a resident evil clue in the middle of the table

even ace knows punkjack wasnt into tsumuri. you didnt sell any of this at all man you are so obvious

punkjack: so you figured it out. im a plant. now i guess i have to kill you

the voices of dead riders playing in the background from the voice recorder is crazy

tsumuri: you may Not fight each other

when im in a symbolism contest and the Spotlight Siblings are there

are nago and tycoon still just fighting off all the jamato while geats wanders around?

punkjack trying so hard not to crack bc he fucked with the letters

punkjack: WAIT HOW DID YOU FIGURE IT OUT?????? i even switched the blocks

see how at this point, the level of ace's ability to resolve challenges makes sense? we as the viewer can see how he reached that solution. instead of just him knowing shit randomly and choosing to win

aw the kid taking a picture too like neon did. whose job is it to delete that off his phone when this is over?

i actually do really like ace's monolgue at this part

i love when buffa kicks the buckle boxes open. king of efficiency and control. can we get this guy some cleats and a team

punkjack using tycoons buckleeee put this in the keiwin compilation

BEAT ZOMBIE

aww nago you were so excited for propeller last game. but i guess a manor is not exactly the best spot to have that

keep gambling!!

FUCK YES FEVER FORMS TIME FUCK YES

HERES THE HIGHLIGHT

the geats suit is so hot sorry for having a guns and power armor fetish it will happen again. and i love dual wielding too

two chaninsaw attack fuck your shit foreverrr

co finisher golden fever victory Fuck Your Shit FOREVERRRRR

MY FAVORITE NAGO FINISHER

takagatling finisher?? its been so long

gests just picking up the kid lol

oh they filmed this part on a different day

ace: [pulls blood soaked parchment out of jacket] this is our clues. here you go small child.

i really wanna know how that door portal works.

this is the first time we see someone "give up" on their wish. it only was permitted as a Transfer not a voluntary retirement tho.

michinaga's turn to get information. but hes not willing to give up on his morals to get it

keiwas new wish is not good. you cant do that. its not safe to do that. even before what happens happens that still was a bad idea.

now lets go look at the scary jamagarden again yayyyyy

[martine-the-demon]

Used @futuremrsreid Smut prompt for this but no smut. Lol but it’s highly suggestive so mdni! It’s been so long since I’ve written anything so apologies if it is rough around the edges. Please comment if you like :)

Marc is very possessive in this and the other moon boys are mentioned. Y/n is black ! 

89. “You’re not going out in that outfit.”

You were dressed and ready to go out dancing with your friends. Your braids went down your back and ended at your waist and you had a fresh set of lashes. And your outfit was stellar. You had on a tiny black tube dress that just ended at your butt and hugged every curve. You turned to the side and admired the way your butt filled out the dress.

“Marc—babe I’m heading out now.” You called out bending down to lace up your hot pink string heels

“What time are you gonna be back?” He asked in response. He was lounging in the living room. He had Fleetwood Mac spinning on the record player while he nursed a beer.

You came click clacking out in your pink heels, tiny dress and long braids and leaned down to give Marc a kiss on the cheek. “Around 3AM ish—I gotta run though my Uber is 5 minutes away.” In the rushed nature of the kiss you gave Marc in addition to you fumbling around in your purse to ensure you had everything a night out with the girls required you missed Marc’s jaw on the floor.

His eyes trailed up from your feet clad in heels, to your thick thighs up to your behind which was barely covered by the tiny piece of cotton you were attempting to pass as a dress. From your butt he admired the way your waist curved inward and flared out to your wide hips,further up he found himself licking his lips at how your breasts spilled slightly over the neckline of your dress.

Then his jaw tensed. You and the girls were going clubbing. There were bound to be countless guys out who would be checking for a girl as sexy as you. The outfit did nothing but excentuate your sex appeal. Men would come to you like sailors drawn to a siren. Right before you said your final goodbye Marc cut you off

“Wait—no. You are not going out in that outfit.”

“Marc—what do you mean? My Uber is—“

“Listen, I don’t care about the Uber you are not going out dressed like that. Especially not without me.” He said more firmly.

“You’re not invited. It’s girls night” you said. “Babe I really don’t have time—“

Marc then got up and stalked over to you. You both were now chest to chest and he towered over you. You looked up. The glitter eye shadow you had caught the low lights of the living room. Marc ran his fingers up your bare thighs and then grabbed a handful of your ass pulling you in the process so you were flush against him. He took a deep inhale of your YSL perfume and relished in the feeling of your breasts pressing against him.

“You look too good…I don’t want any other men looking at you.” He murmured into your neck breathing you in.

You found yourself beginning to rock against him. Your mutual attraction had you to pulling even closer together like highly charged magnets. You rubbed your lips together and closed your eyes tightly. You pushed your Freshly manicure hands on his chest and pushed away.

“Baby-the girls are expecting me. And this is perfectly acceptable clubbing attire.” You did a spin so he could get a 360 of your dress. “I’m fine as I am.”

“Your braids are longer than your dress.” Your eyes narrowed.

“Marc—“

“And it’s acceptable attire if your going out to look for guys to hook up with. Last time I checked you have a 3-in-1 package deal going on.” He said reminding you of his alters. You smiled thinking of your other boys. Steven and Jake did keep you busy. Marc walked back up to you and trailed his nose up from your shoulder to your jaw. “And you smell to sweet to be going anywhere without me…” You felt your body involuntary tremble at the feeling of this stuble. Then your phone vibrated notifying you that your driver was less than 2 minutes away.

“Marc-“ you began. But he slipped his hand into your purse and tossed your phone onto the couch.

“Like I said fuck the Uber. Stay home so I can take you out of this dress or change into something else.” He ran his tounge along your jaw. At that your heart rate jump started. “Jake and Steven think the same. You look to good to go anywhere without us…stay home and maybe if your lucky we’ll all take care of you tonight.”

“The three of you?” You breathlessly asked. The boys have worked out a system so they can have full days in the body. Only occasionally will the switch back and forth or will someone ‘take’ the body on. Even more rarely will they do it when you sleep with them. But every time they did it while you were intimate it left something to fondly remember.

“Mmmh.” Marc affirmed kissing your jaw. He then pulled your leg up and hoisted it on his hip. You leaned against the wall for further support. He ran his leg up your thigh. Then gave it a slight slap. “Look at this fucking leg—“ Marc groaned aloud “I could bite it.”

You caught each other’s eyes. With his other hand he cradled your face. You leaned forward and kissed him. Deeply. You licked his lower lip and he worked his tounge into your mouth in response. The kiss became filthy. All saliva, tounge, lip gloss and groans. But he suddenly pulled away.

“Stay home.” He said firmly.

“O-okay.” You eagerly agreed. The two of you continue your kiss and moved into the bedroom. In the back of your mind you were glad that you charged the now missed Uber to his card rather than your own.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

SAVE YOUR TEARS- P.B PARKER

PART 1:  TOUCH ME, NOT FEEL ME  PART 2 : IN MY FEELINGS PART 3: RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

Pairing: Fuckboy! Peter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8 k

Summary: after brushing peter off for weeks upon weeks, he arrives at the very place you never wanted to see him in again- the fire escape that leads to your dorm.  having no choice but to let him in, you let him talk. let him make it up to you, won’t you?

Warnings: SMUT, oral (fem receiving), tit play, praise kink, petnames, angst, arguments (obviously), swearing, eventual fluff, adultery? ( ik reader and peter weren't together, but i don’t know what else to call it lol), booze mentioned, puking mentioned

Note: this is the last part to touch me, not feel me. i wanted to thank you all so much for the love and support on this beautiful journey. it means so much to me, truly. i’m not very good at endings, so i hope this was okay. kisses.

-claire bear

spotify playlist for reader and fuckboy peter here !!

Your name rolled off his tongue like a prayer. 

Sweet. Eager. 

Like honey oozing from a bee's hive. But it was anything but. 

Sin scorched and blistered your hand as you picked up that phone, hitting accept. You should have never done it. Now his voice haunted you, wherever you went. 

Y/N? Y/N? It echoed off each corner of the room, bounced off the shower tiles and the glass mirror behind you. Y/N? 

“Y/N fuck!” the man who pounded into you groaned, slamming your head back against the glass. You didn't even know his name. Didn't bother to ask. Didn't care. 

He rutted you into you as you sat perched upon the bathroom sink, legs parted, back arched. He didn't need to know you were faking it. 

“Y/N oh godddd-” he chanted, and you fought the urge to smash your hand across his lips to shut him up. Even being drunk out of your mind, his voice wouldn't leave. Pack up your bags and take a one way ticket, you wanted to scream, drowning in the weight of him. 

The door burst from its hinges as he came with a grunt, the bang causing you to whip your head over to whoever stood in the doorway. You wish you hadn't. 

Peter stood frozen, a deer in headlights as he took in the scene before him, mouth agape. Anger, sadness, and nausea churned in your gut like a tidal wave, the small room suddenly becoming too stuffy. 

Pushing the stranger off you with a shove, you slid from the counter, storming to where he stood. “Fuck. You.” you hissed, words slurring as you shoved past him, stumbling out to the hallway. “Y/N wai-” 

There it was again. Your name on his beautiful, stupid lips. Lips that had lied.

 Not caring your hair was a mess, lipgloss smudged, you staggered down the staircase. Shoving past the clumps of bodies, you managed to escape the thudding from the speakers from under your heels. Storming outside, your vision beginning to cloud over, you screamed at the moon that was reflecting its rays down at you. 

The thumping music drowned out your cries, and as you stumbled, your vomit coated the grass beneath your feet.

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It had been a few weeks since you harassed Peter. 

Even longer since the phone call. If it could even be considered a phone call, that is. 

As soon as he said your name, a broken sob had escaped your throat that you so desperately had wanted to keep down. Not a word was spoken from your end. Mainly words consisting of please let me explain, and, I need to see you kitty. You hung up on him after the third sentence that left his mouth, spending the rest of your night silently crying into your pillow, staring at the stars that twinkled outside. 

He deserved your silence. He deserved so much more than that. 

Yet, you still felt bad. Like you had done something wrong, like he was the one that had been tossed around like a rag doll. 

You bit your lip, gnawing at it as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling as a record spun from the player. Your thoughts were jumbled these past few weeks, always circling back to the man you wished you could forget. But did you really want to forget him? 

No. You didn't. 

As awful as that sounded, you knew deep down, it was the truth. You hated the truth, sometimes.

 The record dimmed to crackles as the light from the hallway seeped into your room. The near-silent click of the door shutting caused you to stir from under the sheets, murmuring something incoherent. “Luna?”

 “Shhh go back to bed.” she whispered, her boots sliding off with a thump as she used the wall for balance. “Can't sleep ‘gain.” you sighed, shuffling up on your elbows to look at her. The dim fairy lights you had left on made her shadows bounce around the room as she frowned, wasting no time sliding into your bed. You let her in with open arms as she wrapped her arms around you from under the blankets, stroking your arm soothingly. 

“Him again?” You nodded. A disappointed sigh left her lips, and you nuzzled into her embrace. “It’s always him. I hate that I still miss him.” 

There was a silent rule that his name wasn't allowed to be mentioned in your room. For good reason.

 “It’s understandable, as much as I wished it wasn't. He made you happy Y/N. The happiest I’ve ever seen you.” You shut your eyes, realising she was right. “What if I heard him out? Just once?” you murmured, your only reply being the gentle patter of rain against the window. 

The question hung in the air for a few minutes, her grip on your arm tightening. “Once. If it's a good reason, maybe.” 

“What if he loved me?” you asked. Luna snorted, the sheets rumpling as she sat up, slinging her body over yours. Her party dress was slipping off her shoulder, her makeup smeared. “Then that’d be a damn good reason. But Parker doesn't love, Y/N. You’re a smart girl. You know this.” she scolded you, a look of pity in her eye at your false sense of hope. 

You snuggled deeper under the sheets, watching her as she turned and entered the washroom, shutting the door softly behind her. 

God, you were tired. So fucking tired. 

Tired of the pity, tired of the sorrow, tired of the longing you felt, the ache deep in your bones. Yet sleep wouldn't come. Not as Luna slid into her bed, freshly showered, pjs adorning her frame, thinking you were fast asleep as your back turned to her. The city hummed around your building, the rain continuing to fall as you lay awake.

 You were tired, but not physically. You were tired of missing him, you realised.

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October 19th, 2022. It’s dreary again. Everything seems rather dim these days, as you know. Does heartbreak feel like this for everyone? Is this even heartbreak? We never dated, not truly… but I loved him. Does that make me a bad person? For not telling him, letting him think I was okay with the quick fucks, the quick aftercare and the shoo out the door? I guess it does. 

Your pen continued to scribble in your journal, ink beginning to seep through the page as you gripped it past the point of comfort. You sat in your bed, as you always did, back against the wall. The position wasn't comfortable, yet you continued to write, fighting back crocodile tears. 

A quick, gentle tap broke you from your trance, making your head snap up. 

Tap! Tap! 

The fire exit was no longer empty, its space occupied by someone you never thought you’d ever see there again. His eyes were pleading, his hair plastered to his forehead as the rain fell. His clothes were drenched, soaked clean through. 

You were frozen in place, watching him with frantic eyes. 

What if I heard him out? Just once? Once. If it's a good reason, maybe. 

Maybe it was the sight of him at the spot you knew all too well. Maybe it was the hunger in your veins, the sadness in your blood cells that pumped through your heart with each quickening beat, filling you to the brim. Maybe your brain had short circuited. But something got your aching body to slide off the bed, padding over to the window, to that cracking white paint. 

You slid it open, stepping back as Peter jumped inside.

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You stared. He stared. The sound of the water pattering off his jacket was all that could be heard as he peered down at you, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. As if he didn’t know how to start. “I-” 

“You're cold.” you noted, watching him shiver as the rain slid down his cheek. “I- um, yes.” he faltered, clearly not expecting those words to leave your mouth. “I’ll get you some clothes. You can change in the washroom.” you said, turning your back to him. 

He remained frozen to the spot as you opened your dresser, grabbing one of his sweaters he had given you, and a pair of pants you had stole from your dad before you left for college. They didn't fit you of course, but you liked having a piece of him around. The photo of the two of you taped to your mirror wasn't enough. You handed him the clothes without a word, swallowing back a lump in your throat. 

“Thank you.” he breathed, tilting his head at you in reassurance. As if he was waiting for an answer. 

You shrugged, biting your lip as you trudged over to your kettle. “I’ll make tea.” was your only response, implying he should change, before you changed your mind. As soon as the door shut behind him, you let out a shaky sob. 

God, what were you doing? This was wrong. But you needed to hear him out, just once. You had refused to for so long, declining his calls, shrugging him off whenever he got too close. You were left with no option, really. What else were you supposed to do, let him stand in the downpour and watch his figure freeze through the raindrops on the window? 

Yes. Luna's voice was clear as day in your brain, echoing through your ears as you let the water heat. The sound of the kettle whistling broke your train of thought, and you began to pour the steaming water into the mugs as Peter clicked open the door.

 The grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, a tease of his boxers showing from beneath. His abs that you adored so much lay within a hands reach as he slipped the black sweater over his head, running his hand through his damp hair. 

You cursed yourself. That was the sweater he had given you the first time you guys had hooked up. After the party, when he had taken you back to his place. The memories washed over you like a wave, causing you to grip the mug tighter in your hands as you gave it to him, steam curling up like a curtain. 

“Earl gray. My favourite, thank you.” he hummed, taking a sip, then instantly regretting it, the scalding water burning his tongue. You fought back a laugh as you turned your back to him, gently pouring milk into your cup. “Why are you here, Peter?” you asked, voice filled with sorrow as you brushed past him, curling up onto your bed. 

“What, no Parker?” he teased, a little smirk on his face as he sat beside you, cup placed on the table. “You don't deserve that. You don't deserve a lot of things, you know.” 

He sighed, hand coming up to fiddle with the string of his sweater. “I know.” 

You sipped your tea, the liquid scorching your throat all the way down as he peered over at you, sadness in his eyes. “Can I talk? And you just listen? That’s all I ask. Nothing else.” he murmured, voice low and gravely as he stared at you. 

You felt your body felt under his gaze, heat rushing to your cheeks as you nodded slowly. Keeping your composure was becoming harder the longer he stayed in your presence, his aura intoxicating. 

“ I know you don't want to hear excuses. And the truth is, I don't have excuses to give you. I’m telling you the truth, and if you take it with a grain of salt, then you do. You can scream at me, kick me, never talk to me again. I just need you to know this is the honest truth.” 

You stilled. You had never seen Peter like this. Peter, so carefree and frivolous. Peter, burring his true emotions, so yours would bounce off him like a glass bubble. It made you anxious in a way, his vulnerability. But it was something you cherished, and you only truly saw it once, that night under the moon in his bed. 

Head in his hands, he rubbed his eyes, exhaling a breath he was holding. “I was scared Y/N. I was so scared. I was terrified of you in a way because I think-” Peter seemed to choke on his words. As if they were a ball of bubblegum in his mouth. “I don't think, I know. I’m in love with you Y/N. And I ran because I’ve never felt the way I do about you with anyone, ever. It scared me, the way I felt. The way I feel. It was wrong, and I regret everything. I regret not telling you upfront, and I know it's not fair, I’m not expecting the same from you. I’m sorry.”

 It was quiet after that. After his grand finale. 

His words hung in the air, floating in the small space between the two of you. Tension was so sharp you could cut it with a butter knife. You didn’t know what to think, what to say. You understood him, in a way. It hurt, yes, but you knew why he did it. I’m in love with you Y/N. Those words were permanently etched in your head, like your own personal brand. 

You set your tea down, placing your hands in your lap. The words threatened to spill out of you. You fought so hard to keep them down, to keep them in check. But you had done that your whole life, and quite frankly, you were sick of it.

 “So you're telling me, you fucked up, you did all that terrible, stupid shit that destroyed my heart into a million pieces because you love me. BECAUSE YOU LOVE ME?!” You were screaming at this point, hands waving frantically as hot tears threatened to fall. 

“All this fucking time Peter, all this fucking time you loved me. And I loved you. I still love you, and I don't think I’ll ever in a million years be able to get over you. It's sick and twisted but-” 

A breath was taken, and you shut your eyes to get the image of him gaping at you out of your field of vision. 

“But I do understand, in some way why you ran. I get what it feels like to be scared. I’m scared too. And it's going to take some time to fully forgive you, because you broke me Peter. I don't think you understand how bad you broke me.” you whispered, voice cracking as tears began to fall. “ I don't want you out of my life. And if you love me, like you say you do, and I love you, then let's love together. Let's be scared together. It doesn't have to be scary, these feelings. We can understand them, and cherish them, and share them. It will take time, and adjusting, but I do forgive you.” 

Peter's eyes, his beautiful brown eyes that you had got lost in countless times were glassy with tears, his cheeks tinted a shade of pink as you spilled your heart out to him. His hand reached out to brush a tear, to cup your face, as he always had. You let him. “You love me?” he whispered. 

“ I have always loved you, Parker. Always.” 

“Always.” he repeated, almost as if couldn't believe what he was hearing. “I know you said it's going to take time for forgiveness and I accept that. It's valid sweetheart but please-” 

His hand was still warm from the tea as he stroked your cheek, thumb coming up to brush your lips. “Please let me try and make it up to you. I know it will take so much more than this, but please let me try. So I can make it up to you again and again.” he whispered, his confession rewarded with a kiss as you slid your hands up to capture his jaw, holding him close. 

The taste of salty tears was on his sweet lips, yours and his blending together as one as he deepened the kiss, taking full control as his tongue slid home. Hands were woven through hair, tugging and pulling as Peter laid you down on the bed, his arms supporting him up as you moaned into his mouth. 

“Please…” you pleaded, eyes wide and vulnerable as he smiled down at you, watching the way your thighs rubbed together with each gentle kiss, each touch of his hand. His hand slid down, slipping between your thighs, a hiss escaping your lips as he spread them. “Don't hide from me kitty. Never hide from me.” he cooed, watching your head loll to the side, breaths coming in heavy pants as he walked his fingers up your leg, teasing. 

Goosebumps formed as his warm hands found the band of your shorts, sliding your soaking panties off in one fluid motion. Eager, your brain already turning to a puddle, you raised your arms expectantly, earning a chuckle from him as your shirt met the pile of clothes on the floor. 

“S’needy for me kitty. Always so needy.” he whispered, tracing each freckle, each stretch mark with his fingers. Like he was studying you, every curve, every ridge. Looking down at you like you were a piece of living, breathing art.

“So beautiful. You're the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” he murmured, onto your skin, planting light, soft kisses to the curve of your shoulder, working his way down until he kissed your aching breasts. 

You’re beautiful.

He had whispered those words that day, almost as if he was scared you'd hear. He didn't now, words ringing as clear as day. Your back arched into his touch, whimpers leaving your lips as he licked and sucked, teasing you by nipping every so often with his tongue.

 “S’good to me Peter. So, so good.” Your little praise edged him on, his moan reverberating around your breast. He teased and toyed with his fingers, pinching and twisting whatever breast his mouth wasn't wrapped around, sucking. A string of spit was still connected to your nipple as he pulled away, smirking at the love bites he had littered across your delicate, soft skin, an artist admiring his work. 

“Mine.” he bellowed, kissing down to your navel, licking your skin as his fingers gripped your inner thighs tightly. You shifted up onto your elbows, peering down at him as he kneeled. 

Like he did that one day, before he left you. But he wasn't leaving now. 

Not now, not ever. 

“Off. Please.” you nudged at his sweater with your leg, making him laugh. He slung the sweater over his head, ruffling his hair as it met the pile. “Mine. Only mine, always mine.” you smiled, sitting up so you could run your fingers down his cheek, running your hands along the blades of his shoulders, tapping the little freckle that lay there. 

“I’m only yours kitty. No one else's. Gonna show you, gonna have you full of me for days sweetheart.” 

You moaned as he gently pushed you back to lie down, smiling at your obedience. Peter wasted no time, licking clean up your center. You keened, back arching as your gripped his hair, pushing away from him as his tongue explored your cunt. Your core was molten lava, heating with each stroke, each little touch and taste. 

“Shhhh, none of that. You’re not running away from me this time.” he cooed, hand pressed on your stomach to keep you in place. “Peter oh goddd-” you wailed, legs beginning to shake as your orgasm neared.

 A rhythm was put in place, fingers rubbing your clit as his tongue tasted you from the inside, then switching to his fingers gently plunging into you, pumping and stretching you as his tongue wrapped around your bud, sucking on it. All the kitten licks and slow drags caused the tingles to explode in your core, your grip tightening on his roots as your orgasm approached at a rapid speed.

 “I know you're close honey, cmon now. Make a mess for me.” he begged, eyes pleading as you erupted. With a cry of his name, you soaked his fingers, cum trickling out of your abused hole. “Atta girl. My beautiful kitty, so perfect for me.” he praised, kissing your thighs tenderly, standing above you to slide the sweatpants off. 

“More-” you begged, hands reaching blindly for him, your vision blurry. “M’right here sweetheart. Never leaving you ever again, gonna worship this beautiful body everyday, gonna show this perfect pussy how much I love her. Cause she's mine.” he whispered, hovering over your parted lips, smiling at your dazed out state. 

Your scream was silenced by his lips as he slid in slowly, your walls clenching madly around him. Peter slid in with ease, your juices coating his dick as he inched in, allowing you to stretch around him. 

“You're doing so well sweetheart. So, so well, I’m so proud of you.” 

You weren't sure if it was the endless praises spilling from his lips that you had desperately been seeking all your life, or how good you felt right now with his cock filling you until a bulge formed in your belly, but tears began to spill from your eyes. 

“Such pretty tears.” he uttered, kissing your tears away as he hit home. You gripped his shoulders tightly as he began to rock back and forth, his hips beginning to snap into you slowly. “I love you Peter.” you moaned, eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

“Hey, eyes on me.” he demanded, brushing his forehead against yours. “Say it again.” 

You did, proudly. You screamed it for the heavens to hear, for every star in the universe. To the moon and the sun, the clouds that covered the sky and each drop of rain that pattered down your window. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” you chanted, a prayer on your tongue. It rolled off your tongue like silk as he brushed your g-spot with each thrust, playing your body like a violin, the sweetest melodies emerging.

 It was too much, the pure look of pleasure contorted on his face as he pounded into you, the way he was making you feel. You came around him, squeezing him tightly as you milked his cock. 

“Oh god-” he moaned, head thrown back as his movements stilled, cumming in you as you gripped his bicep tightly, nails digging into his skin as he creamed your walls. 

“I love you. Love, love, love you.” he whispered, head falling back down to meet your lips, kissing you sweetly. It was tender, filled with love and compassion. 

And it was that moment, you knew, that you both had needed a little healing. It had seemed the two of you had healed each other, in some way. 

So as he kissed your lips, your cheeks, your nose, anything he could reach, you smiled. You let yourself accept his love, accepting his love and his comfort. You accepted his healing.

 With open arms, and an open heart, now slowly being pieced back together again.

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peter parker tag list ( (let me know if you want to be removed and or added, or if i forgot to add you!): @phildunphyisadilf , @sonnydevils , @reyathens @ph1na @lassmich1 @myrapottah @s0upisgood @ayleehweasleyobrien @littlepeanut03 @moo-b1tch @gaiaparker @zaddygrinch8756 @lilostif16 @withahintofpestoaioli @froggyy06 @fangirling-galore @lup1nsl0v4 @fearlessritz29 @xbamboowishesx @thegladeslut @mugi-chwan95 @andrewgarfieldsloml​ @payupgirl 

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well im a mess after that. peace and love! 

[likeastarstar]

A Mutual Agreement Pt. 3

Summary: You and your boyfriend make a sex tape. lol.

(A/N: you don't need to read Part 1 or Part 2 to understand but you can if you want!)

masterlist.

You stared down at your boyfriend, hair throughly messed up from having your hands pull on it, lips cherry red and plump from kissing you, eyes slightly dazed. Yeah, this was your favorite version of Hoseok. The one without any inhibitions, the one who was yours. He stared at you with an intensity that had a shiver running down your back, a small smirk growing on his face when he noticed the reaction he had on you. You swallowed harshly and nodded to yourself, laying down on the bed you shared.

"Get the camera."

"Remind me again why we couldn't just do this on my phone?" He asked, frowning down at the handycam you bought off eBay last month.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, reaching a hand out for the camera, "Phones get hacked. Tapes can't."

"How am I even supposed to watch it? I won't have a VHS player on tour, you know." He laughed softly, shoulders freezing for a second when he noticed the crestfallen look on your face at the mention of him going on tour soon.

Nothing was planned for sure, but he was already starting to travel more. The pandemic had sucked, royally, but it had given you unlimited access to Hoseok in a way you were selfishly reluctant to let go of. It's the only reason you agreed to this in the first place- you wanted something for when you couldn't have him the way you wanted to.

You felt a light touch on your knee and looked at Hoseok, a soft look on his face. You shook your head, "Boner killer." You joked, "Give it to me."

He handed you the camera wordlessly, watching with raised eyebrows as you pointed it towards him and pressed record. You peeked through the viewfinder- a grainy, nostalgic version of Hoseok stared into the camera with the same intensity he looked at you with, your knees parted on either side of his figure where you laid on the bed. He pulled his shirt off in one motion, tossing it off to the side before scanning your body. You had lost your clothes ages ago, laying in your underwear before him.

You admired the strength of his brow through the camera lens, the sharp angle of his jaw, the way his abs flexed and relaxed as he walked towards you. Nothing really compared to your boyfriend's beauty in real life, but the camera you were currently holding was giving its best shot. You nudged his hip with your knee, gesturing for him to loose the pants as well. He did so silently, neither one of you wanting to speak for a moment. Hoseok studied you face for a moment and smiled, scanning your body with his eyes.

"Don't be nervous," He mumbled, a comforting hand on your knee, "We've done this before."

You laughed softly and he took the camera from you, turning it around so it was panned down on you, hair fanned out around you, gaze pointed past the camera and stuck on Hoseok, "I really fucking love you, you know that?" He said softly, setting the camera down on the side table you had strategically tested the point of view from two nights ago.

You smiled at him and reached a hand out towards him, pulling him on top of you. Part of you is hyperaware that there was a camera recording your every movement, a small red light signaling that yeah- you guys are definitely about to make a sex tape. The larger part is just really obsessed with Hoseok and the way he feels on top of you hands warming your skin with small massaging circles pressed into your figure. He kissed you urgently, desperately, like he had been holding back until now. You feel his body melt into yours, pressing down on you until all of the anxiety in your body about the situation withered away.

"Fucking gorgeous," Hoseok mumbled. You knew it was loud enough for the camera to pick up but he said it for just for you- you could tell by the way his eyes didn't leave yours. You kissed him again and slid your tongue against his, gliding a hand through his hair and pulling the roots of it sharply. Hoseok's movements turned carnal, biting down on your bottom lip as his hands slipped under your ass and pushed upwards, shoving your center against his hardening cock. You felt him strain against the fabric of his boxers, cock twitching, and suddenly you didn't give a shit about the camera. You wanted more of Hoseok and the small breathy grunts he was letting out, harmonizing with your own light pants of want. You felt Hoseok's hand push past the waistband of your underwear, long fingers dragging through your folds. He rubbed neat circles into your clit with enough pressure that you forgot all about the glowing red dot in the corner. He pinched your most sensitive spot, making you jump slightly before he slid two fingers into your pussy, a loud moan escaping you. He curved his fingers and stretched them out again, pressing down on your walls because he knew you could take it. You steadied your breathing to the best of your ability, his warm fingers rocking and sliding back and forth with a rhythm you couldn't quite keep up with. You didn't realize you were biting down on your lip until he kissed you, taking your bottom lip between both of his and sucking lightly.

"No more of this," He grumbled against your skin, "You're gonna split your lip open and I wanna hear you, I need to be able to hear the noises I fuck out of you when I'm jacking off to this in a couple months in a hotel room."

You moaned at the thought, kissing him messily as he continued thrusting his fingers into you. The pad of his thumb pressed and rubbed against your clit, pressing down further as his fingers thrust quickly into you in a bursting motion, pulling out almost entirely just to press in again. Your hips angled up towards his hand, wanting him to stay in one place, wanting to keep him near you. He ignored you, touch staying steady despite your squirming. It wasn't long before you came, pushing your face into the crook of his neck as electricity ran through your body. The two of you moved like waves, rocking against each other with a visceral need until you placed two hands on his shoulders and shoved him over, flipping the two of you so you were straddling him. You flipped your hair over to one side so it wasn't blocking the camera's view of Hoseok's face, moving down the length of his body until your face was in front of his cock.

You kissed his lower stomach lightly, pushing the waistband down and off of him quickly. He lifted his hips to help and you flickered your gaze up to him for a second, smiling at him. "Want you so bad," You mumbled, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking it twice before sinking your lips down on him.

You loved giving Hoseok head- the noises he made, the way he looked, the salty rich taste. Everything about it was perfect. His hands instinctively buried themselves in your hair, guiding your head up and down on his cock. You kept up with him, bobbing up and down eagerly. You felt your lips stretch and ignored it, relishing in the noises Hoseok was making at the moment. He said you name like it was a prayer in a whiny tone reserved for you. Hoseok tightened his grip on your hair and held you still, snapping his hips up to your mouth, using you as he'd like. You gagged slightly but took it, wanting him to use you.

He released you quickly, lifting your mouth off of his cock and tightening his grasp instead at the nape of your neck, "Come up here," He ordered, motioning towards you with a jut of his chin. You did as he said, climbing up so that you were hovering above him, legs of either side of his torso. You grabbed his jaw in one hand and turned it up towards you, craning his head up to lock him in a fervent kiss, pulling away when you felt him start to lean forwards helplessly.

"So needy," You smiled cockily, running a hand through his hair and down to cup his cheek. You slapped his cheek lightly, laughing softly when he jumped in surprise. You brushed your thumb over his bottom lip, letting out a shallow breath when he closed his lips around the pad of your thumb. He sucked lightly, tongue snaking across the tip of your finger before nibbling on it.

Things feel different, like everything in the world is moving at a different pace than the two of you. Too fast and too slow at the same time, you had tension radiating off of your body and permeating into the air around you. You were long past coherent thoughts, only able to think about how hot you felt.

"You look so vulnerable right now," Hoseok noted, "I could do anything I wanted to you."

You nodded silently, feeling your cheeks heat up. Hoseok stared up at you with heavy intention in his eyes, wrapping a hands around the smallest part of your waist and another around his cock, lining it up to your pussy, and pulling you down on his lap in one smooth thrust.

You gasped in surprise, moaning out as you feel his length setting in you. Neither one of you moved for a moment, feeling overwhelmed for a moment. Hoseok's brows furrowed, a look of total concentration painted on his features. He tugged you down towards him, kissing down the length of your neck as if to give him something to do in the moment, arms wrapped around your back. Your hands tightened around the sheets in fists, feelings his grip tighten as he pulled off of your neck to stare at you again. You rocked against him slowly, matching his eye contact with your own. He winced when you clenched around him and went faster, beginning to lift yourself off of him.

"You feel so big like this," You moaned, letting him grip your waist to help you set a faster pace on top of him. He fucked into you from beneath, meeting the rise and fall of your hips," Shit- I feel so full."

"I'm always big, what the hell?" Hoseok laughed, dragging your hips back and forth against his.

You laughed, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. He grinned back at you and soon you were both slamming into one another. You matched his pace, fucking each other as fast as you could as he whispered things so dirty you almost hoped the camera didn't pick up on it.

"I'm gonna cum," You said, tapping his shoulder rapidly. He nodded and grasped your hip, pulling you off of him abruptly. You whined in protest, shutting up as soon as he slapped his palm against your hip, roughly positioning you on your back. He reached over you to grab the camera, a devilish smirk on his lips.

"Smile for the camera, baby." He prompted as he slid back into you. You moaned, fucking you even faster with the camera pointed down towards your face.

His free hand began rubbing your clit, keeping pace with his hips until it tipped you over, shaking underneath him. Your back arched and you wrapped your legs around him. He wasted no time fucking you into the bed, his rough fucking milking your orgasm. You clenched around him, feeling overstimulated until he slowed to a deep roll of his hips and came inside of you. He groaned sharply, throwing the camera to the side and leaning down to kiss you. Hoseok's tongue slid against yours in a wet, hot kiss, cock still buried deep inside of you.

You kissed him back, hugging him close to you until the two of you had come down from your highs completely.

"That was hot," You sighed contently as Hoseok laid his head on your chest between your breasts. You carded your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, admiring the silvery locks in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

"We should've done this forever ago. You look really sexy when you cum," Hoseok smiled against your skin, hugging you tightly. "Something that gorgeous deserves to be immortalized on film."

You frowned looking at the ceiling pensively, "I've never seen myself cum, I don't know whether you're right about that or not."

Hoseok picked his head up instantly, a slightly depraved smile on his face, "Wanna find out?"

[littlemisslipbalm]

“harry’s stylist, right?” part II

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this gif bc i couldn’t fine the fit i wanted to showcase, but that night him and y/n get closer than they had gotten before :))

and we’re back :) - this is the last part of this i may do some little blurbs and stuff about these two if people want it (maybe) i hope you all enjoy this part, it’s not proofread so sorry about that lol. Feedback and reblogs are so very very appreciated, also feel free to message me about you’re feelings about this

Word Count: just over 10k | Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, implication of smut, i think that’s it

part 1

-

After the call with Jeff, which wasn’t really a conversation at all, moreso a berating from him, she was in the worst mood. She shrugged off the Bode jacket and hung it up in her entryway closet. She wasn’t planning on wearing it ever again. Without the jacket on, her shirt that seemed to be exactly on the nose with it’s “we’re in the shit” graphic was clear and she untucked it from her light mint pants. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Instead of picking her phone up again, she decided she could do without communication for a while. Her feet padded to her bedroom, after removing her nikes and socks. In her bedroom she opened up her record player, wanting music, but not wanting to be bothered with her laptop since it had a connection to the internet. 

She grabbed her Electric Warrior by T. Rex and slipped out the first record from its sheath. As she set up the music, she couldn’t remember where she’d even gotten the record but for some reason it had called to. She skipped over Mambo Sun, the first track, though, and had it play Cosmic Dancer first. It was calming to her, she swayed a bit to the soothing beat and then climbed into her bed. Staring at the ceiling, she wondered about when her life had gotten so complicated. The rhythm in the music and the exhausting thought material lulled her to sleep as the afternoon sun washed her room a perfect golden from behind her shade.

When she woke up again, it was midnight and she was starving. The record had stopped spinning hours ago, she hadn’t even gotten through side A. It was forgotten as she made her way to her kitchen, groggily.

After settling on cereal and an alcoholic seltzer for dinner, she was really in the mood to treat herself, she made her way back to her living space. On the couch, she tucked her legs beneath herself and spooned the sugary food into her mouth. She had only soy milk in the place because she didn’t like cow’s milk and it didn’t keep when she was gone for extended periods of time. Then as she sipped from the black cherry White Claw, she dug her hand into the cushion next to her. Her hand reemerged with her discarded phone from earlier. She decided it was reasonable to go on it now.

More messages from various people in her life and hundreds of social media notifications. She was going to ignore social media for as long as she possibly could. Four missed calls. 2 voicemails. Styles Harry. Why she kept contacts backwards in her phone was unimportant, it’s just what she did.  

She sighed and took a bigger sip of the barely alcoholic drink. Then clicked the voicemail notifications and pressed the first one on speaker as she began to read his texts as well. Then the next voicemail. She checked the time in California, it was still a reasonable part of the day there so instead of texting back she rang him.

“Hello?”

“Har- H. Hi.”

“Y/N! Are you alright?” The concern apparent in his tone. She was taken aback. He hadn’t necessarily sounded angry in his texts or voicemails, but she just assumed he was being courteous since it was a live conversation.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No! Why would I be?”

“Because I just had my ass handed to me by Jeff earlier.” She slightly mumbled and shrugged, still upset with how she had been spoken to by Jeff.

“Oh gosh, I told him not to be harsh. It’s honestly not a big deal. I thought it was fine, you texted me too!”

“Yeah, well apparently wearing your clothes means we’re dating and that’s not cool in the world’s eyes,” you scoff.

“I know how much you like that coat...I thought you looked great in it, too.” He finishes in a slight whisper, not wanting to be overheard.

“Harry…” you can’t keep the smile off your face. It was a cute compliment even if the situation wasn’t ideal. “Why do your fans have to be so smart and know there’s only two of those coats in the world and I don’t own the other one.”

He laughs, blushing at how you said his name. This time not using his nickname didn’t bother him, it felt even more intimate somehow.

He rubs a hand through his hair, “I know, pesky little devils, gotta love’em, though”

She hums, not sure if she can agree about loving them right now since they’re probably eating her alive all over social media.

“So you’re alright, darling?” He asks again.

“Mhmm,” she pauses at the pet name, it was soothing right now. All she wanted was to curl into his chest, but he was half a world away, quite literally. His words would have to do in his absence. “I’m really glad you’re not mad at me, H. That would’ve made this a hundred times worse.”

He huffs, wishing he could be with her to comfort her. He hated this part of his life. A friend couldn’t borrow a piece of his clothing without everyone assuming that they were seeing each other. It was disgusting and it made him dislike tabloids and social media even more than he already did.

“Trust me. I’d never be mad at you, pet. And I’d definitely never be mad at you for looking good as fuck in my clothes.”

“Shut up!” She squeals, his tone turning from earnest to teasing in one breath. He cackles on the other end of the line because despite her mean words, he could hear the smile on her lips.

“When are you flying back to London?” Her voice grows quiet again after she takes another sip of her drink.

“Thursday,” he almost whispers back, having contained his mirth again.

“We have some work to do on your Graham Norton and Jingle Bell Ball outfits. The listening party ones are all picked up -”

“Y/N,” Harry cuts her off, “It’s late for you, go to bed. Try not to stress out too much, we’ll talk when I’m back about work. For now, take a few days off to not think about my clothes.”

She sighs, “Thanks, H. You’re right. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Goodnight, m’love.”

She ends the phone call and chalks the almost ‘my’ sounding syllable that she heard before love was just her tired mind and Harry’s mumbling voice. It most certainly wasn’t.

-

After a restful few days of doing absolutely nothing, something rare for Y/N, she was extremely well rested. So much so that she was peacefully asleep when Harry let himself into her flat since they had agreed to meet at her place when he got back to London. As much as he wanted her to take time off and not over work herself, his schedule was a busy one and now that he was back, they had work to do.

Inside her flat, he was greeted with silence. He made his way to her bedroom at the back of the flat. He’d been here a handful of times. She always told him she preferred to spread out when she worked and Harry’s was the place for that. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar and he pushed it open slowly with his ring clad hand. His black nails are freshly painted and shiny, no chips. Still in her bed, Y/N shifted around softly. He smiled to himself, taking in how the room smelled over lavender and how she had pink floral sheets. He walked to the window and raised the shade, hoping to have her wake up without and coaxing from him.

“H,” her voice mumbles into her pillow and he thinks she’s woken up. His face turns to look at her, but her eyes are still closed and she looks completely asleep. He wonders if she’s trying to trick him, but then she mumbles again.

“Mhhh, tha’ tickles,” and she giggles. He kind of grimaces, feeling like he shouldn’t be hearing this. He hadn’t known she spoke in her sleep, it was sweet, but with the context right now, he thought him having this knowledge might not sit well with her.

“Y/N,” he says loudly, before clearing his throat. Her eyes shoot wide and she sits up, dropping the sheet she had been snuggling.

“Harry! Oh my god!”

“Meeting, remember?”

“Oh my god,” she glances around her surroundings, Harry still standing at her window. “What time is it?”

“1 pm. We said 1 right?”

“We did, I just...I don’t know what happened. Sorry, give me a second. I’m out of it.”

When she emerged from her room, dressed and ready for the day, Harry had brewed a pot of coffee with her machine that she really only had for guests.

“Sorry again,” she sits at her countertop, searching for her notebook in her bag.

“No worries,” then he leans across the countertop, “Seemed like you were in the middle of a nice dream.”

His brows are raised as she avoids his gaze. She flushes easily, “I- it was...just one of those usual dreams.”

“You have dreams about me often?”

“I didn’t say that!” Her eyes shoot up to meet his and he grins. He takes a sip of his coffee before speaking again.

“I heard you say ‘H’.”

She rolls her eyes, “That proves nothing.”

They both stare at each other for a minute, not talking or moving. Harry is simply grinning at her as she twitches her hand with her pen in it now. Her eyes are trying to figure out what Harry’s getting at, searching his expression for how he feels about knowing she dreams of him. She certainly wasn’t going to get into it with him, even if he did continue prodding.

“Alright,” she begins when he doesn’t seem to want to press it further. “Oh!” She jumps up, dropping her pen and forgetting about whatever else she was going to say. “Your jacket! And shirt! I cleaned the shirt and the jacket…” She runs out of the room to go to her front closet where she had hung up both the jacket and the shirt.

Returning, she holds them out to Harry and he rounds the countertop to look at them.

“Perfect shape,” he admires the spotless shirt and his beloved jacket. He puts them on the back of the chair that was next to them. “Won’t forget my jacket again.”

She smiles sheepishly, thinking back to Jeff’s conversation with her. Harry notices her change in demeanor and takes one of her hands. Her eyes flash up to his face and her body tenses, he feels it even in her hand.

“Have you gone on any social media since you’ve been home?” His eyes are wide as he runs his thumb over the back of her hand.

She softens slightly, “Oh yeah, after the first day I decided to check. Most were funny and sweet, their nasty comments didn't get to me.”

Her eyes are big on her face and Harry watches as her worries and concerns all wash through the swirling colors in them. He wants to take all of that pain away and just stare into her abyss forever.

“What did Jeff say exactly?” He knows that’s what she’s alluding to. Harry loved his manager, but when he had called him about the jacket incident he had been pretty short with Harry and hadn’t given much information on his chat with Y/N. The way she looked right now bothered him because ultimately Harry was in charge of Y/N in his employment of her and if Jeff had acted like her superior in a way that was harmful he’d be downright upset.

Her eyes grow glassy immediately and Harry’s anger begins to bubble in the pit of his stomach. She tries to blink anything away, but fails.

“I don’t know why I’m crying, it wasn’t terrible. It’s just, all my life, I’ve had to work to be taken seriously because of who I am and I hate when I get talked down to by a man. Especially over a stupid fucking publicity thing for you. Like I’m sorry, but I don’t see you as a public figure where I have to worry about every goddamn thing I do messing up your image.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, realizing she’d gotten really worked up as she spoke. The tears running down her face more in anger than sadness. Harry watches on, letting her work through her thought process. “He was just so mean… for what?” She whispers finally.

“Oh god…darling,” Harry grips her hand more firmly. He wants to take her in his arms, but he’s not sure if that’s what’s best for her right now, so he just keeps holding her hand. She stares up at him, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. Her eyes now tinted a light red.

“I’m sorry he spoke to you in that way. That isn’t his job at all, I’ll definitely talk to him since I didn’t have the full story before. He gets very worried about the media perception thing, especially right now with the album.”  

She bites the inside of her cheek, blinking up at Harry. “I know your image is important, too, otherwise why the fuck would I be here? Right? I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal I borrowed the jacket.”

“In a perfect world my image wouldn’t matter at all,” Harry sighed, “Fame is a stupid, fickle thing musicians like me get stuck with.”

“Please, you love the attention,” she teases, poking at his chest. The sweatshirt he wore wrinkling under her touch.

“‘M serious,” he insists, “I’m saying it shouldn’t matter that you borrowed my jacket, but sadly it comes across to the rest of the world like I’m dating you.” He pokes her sternum in return.

“And that would be the end of the world?” she smiles, her tone still teasing, but that worry is back and swimming in her eyes again.

This time, though, Harry must not see it because he laughs and lets go of her hand. “For a lot of people, I think it might be.”

She bites at her lip and tries to contain the laugh that bubbles in her. He was right and as he wandered back into the kitchen for more coffee, she shook her head trying to rid herself of those pesky feelings that had been hoping for a different answer.

-

The next few weeks go off without a hitch. Harry’s outfits look incredible for the listening parties. Then for the Graham Norton Show, the Jingle Bell Ball, and the One Night Only at the Forum. Every single outfit is received with praise and everything seems to be coming up Harry Styles. Y/N has been traveling to most of his appearances, making sure everything is in order before he goes out. She’s always by his side before he walks out into the public eye. Taking his picture and saving it in the lookbook that keeps growing, smoothing over his lapels, either unbuttoning or buttoning a middle button when she thought he had too many or not enough undone for the look. Whatever it was, she was there for him.

Then, after his appearances, they would debrief. Debriefs really were just time that Harry carved out in his schedule to just be alone with Y/N. Sure, they talked about clothes, that’s how they had first connected, but it always turned to other ideas. They’d talk about his songs and she’d ask about the meanings that he wouldn’t share with the rest of the world. He’d happily tell her about it and they enjoyed that time together. There were stolen glances and lingering touches, but at the end of the day they were professionals who were friends. It wasn’t maybe what either of them wanted, but they weren’t unhappy.

Harry just got back from Los Angeles after filming for his Ellen show appearance and he was set to play the Bowery Ballroom tomorrow in London. After this there was going to be a lot of downtime on Harry’s schedule because of the holidays. He had marked out almost a whole month of time off, at least from appearances. They still had to start planning tour outfits and finalize the outfits for the events after the break. Right now, all she was focused on was getting Harry into the beautiful yellow Gucci suit that was a twin of the Watermelon Sugar suit he had worn on Saturday Night Live. Harry said he wanted to check the suit before tomorrow for some reason, so Y/N had made her way over.

She finished buttoning the sleeves of the jacket and stepped back to admire Harry once again. No matter what he wore he always looked marvelous in her eyes. She’d argue anyone could say that about Harry though. He could pull anything off and make it his own with barely any effort.

Today, his hair was disheveled and mused from his plane ride back into London. The flight from California to England was a rough one, even when you traveled in the type of luxury Harry did. Despite his tired body and eyes, the suit looked stunning on him. He wore it without shoes and she giggled when she saw his feet. His feet tattoos never failed to make her laugh and she had no explanation for why.

While Harry looked good in everything, there actually was something a little off with the suit right now. Normally, it hugged him just right to make him look perfectly muscled and defined, but it seemed to be hanging a little looser in some areas.

She tapped a finger to her lip, looking him over, unsure of what was off.

“Did you lose weight, H?”

“Huh?” He looks down at himself and somewhat notices the looser fit, but wasn’t quite sure if he had lost weight. “Don’t think so.”

She hums and steps closer to him, dropping her hands to tug at various parts of the suit, trying to figure out whether she should take anything in or leave it be.

“It’s probably all the travel I’ve been doin’. Can be draining me more than I realize.” He ponders as she continues to work silently over the suit.

Her hands travel beneath the suit and encircle his waist, almost as if she’s hugging him, but not really. His stomach flexes at the contact, her chest pressed softly against his. She grips a bit of the shirt from the back and then unfolds herself from him to look at the mirror. The shirt is now taut against his sternum and pectorals under the coat. She tilts her head, silently asking him his opinion.

“I think it’s fine the way it is, honestly.”

“Okay,” she nods and releases her hold on the shirt, hand slithering out from beneath his coat. He exhales deeply through his nose. “Make sure you eat properly tonight.” She says before beginning to pack up her things, done for the day. Harry begins to undress himself.

She turns back to face him as he hands her the jacket and shirt, her eyes run over the length of his torso, both for the sake of checking on his health and for other purely selfish reasons. All the tattoos still remained where they always were when she saw him like this. It never got old, his beautiful body. He didn’t even need clothes to look good. She blinks back to reality when the fabric comes in contact with her hand.

“Make sure you treat yourself this holiday season, you deserve it, H. And it seems like any weight you ever gain is muscle anyways, so you don’t exactly have to worry around the sweets table.”

Harry laughs heartily as he slips on his long sleeve shirt he was wearing. Then he starts on the pants as she turns away again to hang up the top parts of the suit.

Finally, she adds when he hands her the suit pants, “Just don’t want you overworking yourself, seriously, H.”

He looks at her as he buttons up his baggy blue jeans. The outfit he wore was just the first clean things he had grabbed when he had gotten home. His green eyes turn serious after the mirthfilled last few moments.

He crosses to her side as she puts away the clothes in the garment bag. His hand lands softly on her shoulder and she turns to him at his touch. “I know. You’re so good to me, darling. Always making sure I’m taking care of myself…”

It’s quiet. The soft breeze in the London air outside barely whispers around the house. Harry’s voice was laced with love, even if it wasn’t his intention. His ‘thank you’ was piercing into her heart and his touch wasn’t helping her stay focused. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt Harry take a step closer to her, his head ducking slightly down to her level. Then, right on the edge of her left temple and her hairline, his soft lips pressed against her skin. They brushed against her for just a moment, lingering for the respectful amount of time. But all she wanted was anything but respectful. She wanted his lips pressed against hers, she wanted his hands in her hair, yanking her deeply into him. She wanted to scream when he pulled away, but she didn’t. She smiled warmly up at Harry and her eyelashes fluttered on their own accord like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Thank you,” he whispers again.

“What would you do without me?” She pushes at him playfully, shaking off her giddiness. Then she turns back to her work, scooping up all the items of hers on the table.

“Probably have to walk around naked, huh?”

“Oh my god!” She laughs and starts for the door, Harry follows behind to walk to her out to her car. “Maybe I should quit! People would love it.” She continues laughing as she hangs the garment in the passenger's seat side.

“No thank you, please,” Harry hurriedly says.

She turns to him as she closes the door and leans against the car. This was their routine right before she left, a final chat against the car before she drove off for the night.

“Tomorrow’s going to be amazing, H. It’s gonna be electric!” She scrunches her nose slightly at the pun about the venue as she smiles up at him.

He sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek, holding back a laugh. His eyes narrow at her, slyly. “Very funny.”

She only winks at him before pushing herself off of her car and walks to the driver’s side of the car.

He waves as she begins to pull out of the driveway and she flashes him a peace sign and a mouthed ‘Bye’ when she turns onto the street.

-

After the Bowery Ballroom show, Y/N barely sees Harry at the after party. She doesn’t worry about it too much. His management was going to have a holiday party next week before the little break began for the team. So, she knew she’d see him before she flew back to see her family for the holidays. She was going home for two weeks and then would be back for New Year’s and then would get back to work after that.

She saw Harry exactly twice after the show. First, she saw Harry right after the show and he was all sweaty and exhilarated. He tackled her in a bear hug with such strength she would have fallen back if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. When he pulled away, he placed two extremely slobbery kisses on her cheeks and she laughed, tipping her head back in pure bliss. Then he was pulled away by Jeff to change and get ready for the after party.

Jeff had apologized over text about the tone he had taken over the whole jacket thing, but only Harry had told him to. It was fine with Y/N, she told him that too, but she just never felt like being around him for very long if she could help it after that. That’s why she liked that most of her job entailed dealing with Harry directly. If she had to go through Jeff for everything she’d likely pull her hair out. He was still short with her at whole team meetings and not necessarily courteous when they were around each other casually. Like she said, it was fine, she just didn’t make it her business to be around Jeff.

The second time she saw Harry was around half past one am. She was pretty sure it was time for her to uber home and she wanted to say goodbye to Harry. Her well-liquored body stumbled around the big room. Deciding to take shots with the band had gotten her to where she was now and she wasn’t complaining she was happy. She was in a celebratory mood and wanted to see Harry right now. Tell him how much fun she had and how proud she was of him. How much she loved him… Hopefully she kept that part to herself.

“Harry!” She finally exclaims, coming upon a group of people surrounding the star himself. She ignored the rest of the people, likely stars too, but she really couldn’t care less. One of them tried to straighten up as if he was going to block her from Harry, feeling like she maybe wasn’t someone Harry wanted to see since they didn’t know her. No one seemed to ever recognize Y/N as Harry’s stylist when it mattered. Harry waved them off, a little drunk as well, but obviously recognizing Y/N.

“Darling!” He exclaims and raises his arms out to her. She grips onto him quickly and snuggles into him happily. With her still in his arms, he turns them from the prying eyes of the group he had been with.

She raises her head from his warm chest so that her lips are near his ear, “Congratulations, Mr. Styles.”

“Thanks, baby,” he purrs into her ear, his voice coarse and low, carrying over the music. She giggles at the nickname, her entire plan going out the metaphorical window.

Her fingers smooth up over the fabric on his chest, a nice short sleeve silk button down that was tucked into dark high waisted trousers - they’d picked it out last week. One of her fingers begins to trace around his collarbone after she reaches the opening of the shirt. His eyes flutter shut at the contact. They were so needy for each other. Each touch would coarse heat through them every time.

“I’m going…” She says after a moment of silence between them. The party was raging around them, most not paying any mind to the two of them off in their own world.

“Don’t go,” Harry practically begs. A hand flies up to pet over the top of her hair and she smiles even wider.

“It’s late and I’m tired,” she makes a face in response to Harry’s pout, “You have lots of people to entertain, Mr. Styles.” Her teeth capture her bottom lip as she stares at him intently.

He groans and pulls her closer. This time his lips brush right against her ear and she wants to shiver, but he keeps her in place. “If you keep calling me that, you’re gonna drive me insane.”

Her eyes widen but her hazy mind isn’t processing all of what is going on. She barely takes inventory of ‘baby’, for him to say she’s turning him on without actually saying it. Tomorrow Y/N would have to deal with that one.

She pulls back from him, creating space between their chests, but he still holds her waist close to him. She leans up and places a kiss on the corner of his lips. It’s technically supposed to be a kiss on the cheek but if she had moved her lips a millimeter to the right they would have been on Harry’s. This gesture has his grip tightening on her, but she pulls away.

“Goodnight!” She sings as she bounces out of sight, wiggling her fingers in a wave before completely being gone.

Harry sighs and runs a hand over his face, kind of in shock of the last five minutes. He had liked it. He just hadn’t expected it. When he turns his attention back to the group that was behind him, it’s not the same as it was before. Jeff looks at him with narrowed eyes and Harry’s eyes go wide and his grin widens as well.

-

Tonight is the management holiday party for Harry’s team. Y/N and Harry had seen each other two days after the Electric Ballroom to debrief, but mostly to get brunch. They didn’t talk about the little teases they shared at the after party. Both of them just assumed that the other probably didn’t remember and didn’t want to go through the trouble and embarrassment of recounting it. Alcohol has that effect of making you a little bolder than you actually are.

Brunch with Harry solidified Y/N’s thoughts on fame. Celebrity could be so strange, because there was the one day when she got photographed with just Harry’s jacket on and there was speculation of dating, but then she could go out to brunch with him and not be bothered at all. It made absolutely no sense.

Anyway, tonight there were no gifts, but Y/N had gotten Harry something even though he said he never needs anything. She hoped she’d be able to give it to him after they were walking back to their transportation since she wanted it to be a surprise and not have everyone know she gave him a gift. It wasn’t a big deal - or maybe it was - it was just an item she knew Harry had been fawning over. It was so him and she knew he’d probably end up buying it for himself eventually, but it felt nice to be able to give him something for once. Price didn’t matter. Still, she was a little nervous and tucked and re-tucked it several times in the back seat of her car before heading inside.

It was a restaurant his management had rented out for their party. She gave her name and headed inside. The lighting was overly dimmed and it smelled like expensive alcohol and delicious food. It was everything an A-list singer deserved as a celebration. She never could fully grasp that the Harry she had gotten to know as her friend was also the same Harry that the entire world was infatuated with, for good reason. He was charming in the best way, terribly sincere, insanely talented, and all around a good human being. She knew that, it just surprised her that everyone else knew it too. There was just that disconnect for her that she shared him with the rest of the world.

Her high heeled heels brought her to the backroom of the restaurant. They managed to shimmer even in the dim light. She had gone for winter chic with a sequin and mesh white dress, that looked like fresh snow with a cream and blue swirling design on the under layer so that her undergarments weren’t showing through. It was like a modern ice princess look that was finished with her heels that had sparkles on the entire back of them. Her hair was down and her makeup a little more done up than usual. She used a light blue eyeshadow to imitate ice and added some rhinestones on the inner parts of her eyes. She may have watched a Euphoria-inspired makeup look tutorial on youtube and she wasn’t afraid to admit that.

The scene she came upon was what she expected. Lots of men in suits and a good amount of women in power suits too. The people in any interesting clothes were Harry and his band. Some of the business people’s partners were dressed up more but it all wasn’t too exciting. Plus, Harry’s famous friends group hadn’t shown up yet. Y/N hid her disappointment easily, not surprised about the lack of flavor she saw in the style. She just repeated the mantra her mother had always told her: “You can never be overdressed, only underdressed.” It stuck with her always and made her go for those bolder styles when she needed to.

Harry was there, sipping on a glass of water. She figured he might not want to get started on drinking so early in the evening. Tonight didn’t feel like a drinking night for her either. After the last big party, she had woken up with a massive hangover and a few memories that she wished she hadn’t made. She wasn’t planning on repeating that series of events.

As she goes to grab a glass of water on the large table, she gets a tap on her shoulder. She spins.

“Happy Holidays, darling!”

Her eyes widen and her smile immediately grows. Harry grins back at her, his mouth open in the perfect winning smile of his and his eyes twinkling with happiness.

“Happy Holidays to you too, Mr.-” She stops herself, remembering back to the last party, “H.” She finishes firmly after clearing her throat. Harry’s grin turns to a wicked knowing smirk.

“I’m happy you came! I know you’re not super connected to all of the groups here, Harry Lambert is around somewhere though and I know he’s been wanting to talk with you about clothes.”

Harry watches as her eyes shine even brighter when he mentions the other stylist. It was true, Y/N didn’t really mesh with any of the groups that worked around Harry. The stylist kind of stood alone in regards to where she fit into his life, not the business part, not the band part, not the crew, and not the other celebrities. Harry Lambert and other fashion people didn’t always come to these events so it was seldom that Y/N had her own people to talk to. Not that mingling was hard for her, he just knew she didn’t like to do that as much so whenever another stylist or designer was there he always made sure to introduce them - if they weren’t already acquainted.

“That’s amazing! I haven’t seen him in ages… I’ll have to get his opinion on how I’ve been doing.”

Harry licks his lips as he laughs a little at her comment. She looked beautiful tonight and he wanted to tell her.

“Harry. What the hell are you wearing?” Her eyes flash as she takes in his appearance.

He looks down at himself and then back at her confused. They hadn’t picked the outfit out, but he thought it looked nice.

“Obviously not the suit! On your head?”

“Oh. It’s a gift from Mitch and Sarah.” He pauses to reach up to play with the headband sat on top of his curls. “It’s mistletoe and it seems like you’re standing beneath it. You know what that means,” he toys with it as he wiggles his eyebrows.

She scoffs sarcastically, looking to the side for a means of escape, “No way.”

“C’mon! It’s tradition!” He steps forward playfully and she places a hand on his chest.

“You can kiss my cheek.” She says finally and Harry looks at her disapprovingly.

He wags a finger at her with his free hand, “You’re the one under the mistletoe, you have to kiss me.”

“Okay that’s definitely not how this works! Now you don’t get any kiss at all, you cheeky bastard.”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’re the one with coal in your stocking.”

“Haha.” Her eyes once again roll to the side as she pushes him back and he steps back like she actually had a strong push. Then they both actually laugh and she gives him a quick side hug with a whispered, “there”. Harry smiles down at her, but it falters slightly when she’s already pulling away. He wanted her at his side the entire night, but sadly that wasn’t reality.

She drags him around the restaurant in search of Harry Lambert since the party had started to grow and she needed his height to get her where she wanted to go. Maybe. Or maybe she just liked the way he held her hand to lead her through the crowd that was most definitely not dense enough for her to have to hold on to him to stay with him at all.

She sees more of Harry at this party. They have some good conversations about plans for the holidays and snickering about who was already too drunk even though it wasn’t even midnight. She can’t believe he keeps on the stupid headband all night, giving and receiving various types of kisses from every person he talks to. Some are kisses on the cheek, others are friendly smooches on the mouth. Thankfully all of them are those cute little pecks that friends always tend to share, otherwise Y/N might have had to excuse herself and leave early. Jealous little thing.

As the night dragged on, she began to question herself on that front. Why was she growing jealous when friends would kiss Harry. She could've kissed Harry. She practically did the other week. But now, after refusing him a mistletoe kiss and seeing everyone else do what she didn’t have the courage to do, she felt childish. Well, childish or not, she knew why she couldn’t kiss him. Kissing Harry wouldn’t be just a friend thing for her. It would mean a lot more and if it was just a friend thing for him she wouldn’t be sure if she could handle going on with their working relationship after. Her job was the most important thing in her life. Being a stylist, loving clothes, and working on personal designs for the future was her life. Giving up this prestigious of a job was out of the question. Maybe the idea of being with Harry had crossed her mind, but she didn’t know how it could ever be realistic. If they got together could she keep her job? Would she have to quit? And find a new one? There were too many unknowns for her to ever actually entertain it. That’s why they went to the edge so often, she always would back away and she was sure that if she didn’t, Harry would for her.

He knew her. He knew her passion, he watches it firsthand everyday they work together. Even when they’re not working he can see her mind forming different ideas just based off of the things she sees people wear on the streets. He watches her fingers fiddle over her phone, typing out notes for design ideas and screenshotting inspiration. So every time they went to the edge of changing their relationship, he knew he couldn’t push it because he never wanted to hurt her or her dreams in some way. She was too important to him to simply mess that up.  Even if it hurt him.

So when Harry slides in the back of her car that night at 2 am because Y/N says she has something important to show him, he’s fully ready to stop their flirting from going any further. And when she tells him she needs to show him something, she has the most pure intentions when she pulls out the nicely wrapped box, its wrapping paper a swirling lavender pattern that’s really not festive at all, but she prefers it.

He looks between her and the box that she’s now placed in his lap. His green eyes flickering even in the darkness of the car, the city lights illuminating the backseat enough for them.

“You know I don’t need anything…” He fiddles with the skinny mesh ribbon neatly tied around the box.

She makes a little gesture, pushing him to open the present, “I know, but I also know you’ve been wanting this and you deserve it.”

He unwraps the paper to reveal a Gucci box and he rolls his eyes at her, but smiles genuinely as he lifts the top of the box off. It reveals a 1955 Horsebit Shoulder Bag in beautiful shiny black leather. It’s gorgeous.

“I can’t...I don’t know what to say,” Harry’s eyes are huge as his delicate hands ghost over the bag's details. He had been wanting it and he hadn’t gotten the courage to buy it yet. He liked purses, but sometimes he even had his doubts about what he could pull off.

His eyes go back to her and she smiles widely at him, all her teeth on display because she’s just that happy. “This is a really expensive bag, Y/N.”

“If it makes you feel better I can charge it as a wardrobe expense, but then it’s not really a gift from me,” She sighs at his unrelenting gaze.

“Thank you.” He touches at the bag again and then does a dance in his spot. “And don’t worry, I will always remember this as a gift from you. I love it.”

She smiles and leans over the box to look at the bag, admiring the beauty of it as well. “It’s pretty great.”

“Mhmm,” Harry hums and she raises her eyes, seeing his trained on her face. “You’re under the mistletoe again, darling,” he smirks.

Her breath stops once again, how could he do that to her so easily? Their eyes stay locked under the city lights. The fake mistletoe bobs above them still connected to the silly headband. It’s colorful leaves and fun stripes mock her when she flicks her gaze up to it for a moment. Then back to Harry. Harry who’s holding the gift she just gave him. Harry who looks beautiful tonight. Harry who is her favorite person in the world to spend time with.

Now. Now is when she pulls back from the ledge. This is when she takes a step back and stops herself. When Harry laughs it off. When she pushes him away. When they go about the rest of their day like that electricity hadn’t gone up either of their spines.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, she nods in agreement and then crashes her lips against Harry’s. It’s not like those friend kisses that had happened with him all night under that same mistletoe. It’s hard and hot and fast. Her lips are pressed to his for one searing moment and then she’s biting his lip, desperate to taste more of him. She had been longing for this for so long and now that she had it, she couldn’t let it go.

Harry’s hands fly to her cheeks as he pulls her closer, more into his lap. He pushes the box into the front area of the car blindly. The gift was completely forgotten. This was a far more important matter. Her lips were wet and plush and they tasted like the single Manhattan she had halfway through the night and vanilla lip gloss. When she bites his lip, he can’t hold back the moan inside his throat and she presses her tongue into his mouth quickly. He was her oasis and she had been traveling for months. He responds with similar vigor, enjoying the way her body presses to his in the backseat of this little car.

They kiss for as long as they can. Licking, sucking, and biting each other’s lips to taste as much as they can. But it’s just kissing. Neither of them work to travel anywhere else. Their lips are seemingly enough. Each press of their lips communicates what they had been longing for. It’s euphoric.

When the windows start to fog and her eyes open for a random moment, she realizes they need to cool whatever this is.

“H-Harry,”  She gulps for a breath of air and she tries to get his attention. “I gotta get home.”

“Come back to my place,” he mumbles into her collarbone, happily licking over his love bite.

She laughs and swallows slowly, “That is definitely out of the question, I have a flight tomorrow.”

He removes his mouth from her and straightens up. His lips are even brighter pink than usual and perfectly puffy. His hair disheveled from her hands. She blushes at the thought.

“Right, forgot about that,” he opens the car door and they both slide out. They stand at her car, just like they usually did outside his house. However this time is quite different from most.

They sigh heavily, in unison. The winter air is cold in London. She shivers slightly and knows she can’t stay in his presence much longer.

“Merry Christmas, H.”

He leans down and places one last sweet kiss to her lips. She wrinkles her nose and smiles  unabashedly.

“Merry Christmas, Darling.”

-

Harry and her don’t talk as much while she’s back home for the holidays. There’s no work to be discussed and while they parted on not necessarily bad terms, there was definitely a conversation that needed to be had between the two. Neither seemed to want to have that conversation over the phone, or worse, text. So for the next week and a half, Harry and Y/N exchanged texts of funny memes that reminded them of each other and odd anecdotes from family members that had made them laugh. Nothing really substantial, just small, I was thinking of you messages.

When she walked out of the luggage carousel at London Heathrow Airport, she expected to be getting in the queue for an uber. Instead, before she could cross the street to get to the queue even, a tall man stopped her. A tall, scruffy, extremely buff, extremely handsome, and extremely kissable man. Harry. It would be terribly strange if it was anyone else.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need a lift back to your flat?” His dark sunglasses cover his face and a big coat, scarf, and hat make him hardly recognizable. The curls sticking out from beneath the cute knit scarf are thankfully a dead give away for her. As well as his perfect drawling voice.

She shivered in the cold, her matching grey sweatpants and Treat People With Kindness sweatshirt had been warm enough on the flight, but proved inadequate for almost January in London. Yet, Harry’s presence brings a smile to her face.

“It’s good to see you, H.”

He laughs, his cover obviously blown. His arms encircle her body and she instantly melts into his embrace. His large coat easily fell around her and warmed her. His own natural body heat adds to her new found warmth as well.

“You too,” he murmured. His head buries into the crook of her neck, warming her cold skin.

He pulls back after a rather long embrace, realizing they’re still out on the sidewalk. He takes one step back and she visibly deflates at his absence, the cold once again surrounding her.

“Let’s get you home,” he grabs at the handle of her suitcase in one hand and her hand in the other. The warmth returns and she grins, placated by his touch.

“So are you coming to my party tonight?” He inquires once he settles into the driver’s seat after putting her suitcase in the back.

She shifts in her seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself, still cold without any warmth from Harry or the car. “Don’t you suppose there was a reason why I chose to come home today?”

Harry’s ears perk at the use of home, never assuming Y/N viewed London as her home, still it made him smile.

As the car purrs to life, heat immediately seeping out of the seats and vents, Harry’s phone connects as well. NFWMB by Hozier begins to play softly and she glances at Harry again. The song was so sultry and soft, like expensive dark chocolate melting on your tongue. The mood in the car seemed to shift. Their eyes met, Harry’s green ones narrowing at her, trying to decipher the look she was giving to him.

Then he drove off, softly singing along to the words through the sleepy streets. It was surprisingly quiet out for the holidays, people choosing to lay low during the day so they could celebrate the changing of decades in full force tonight.

After the song ends, his eyes travel over to her again and she’s already looking at him. She had missed his face. Sure, he’d sent some silly selfies while she was gone. Mostly on Christmas Eve with his family when he had gotten drunk on mulled wine and eggnog and brandy. Still, in person, he was even more beautiful. The high cheek bones that glistened with a shine most makeup could only hope to produce. Full raspberry lips with stubble growing to frame above and below. The crinkles growing on his forehead and by his eyes that showed him aging with grace. The precious few moles that had gotten lucky enough to live on his face forever. His big green eyes that were consistently bright with interest and intellect, but deep and knowing despite his loving demeanor. She loved those big green eyes, they were just so big and she didn’t understand how no one took the same interest in them as her. All of it, just sitting there beside her. Don’t even get her started on the soul that inhabited the beautiful man beside her. She never would stop spiraling then.

“What?” He asks softly, the sounds of Paul McCartney during some era fading in.

She blinks, hazily in admirance, “Nothing,” she replies.

“What?” He insists, laughing slightly, the lips she loves so much widening in excitement.

“Just missed you.”

Her voice is quiet but strong, serious. A blush creeps up his neck, taking hold of his features.

“Missed you too,” his left hand reaches across the console to take hold of her hand that resided on her thigh. He squeezes her hand softly and they both smile at each other again.

“Don’t worry, I can get my stuff upstairs. I don’t want you being out in the cold any longer than you have to. I’ll see you tonight, H!” She pushes her body across the console and places a kiss on his cheek before jumping out of the car. Harry makes a half smile, knowing he can’t change her mind. He waves to her behind the window as she travels into her building.

“See you.” He says to himself before driving back to his home to finish up preparing for tonight’s festivities. The party was going to be more intimate than the Christmas party at the restaurant. Tonight was just Harry’s family and closest friend - the band, Jeff and his family, Y/N, and a few others.

-

The whole night Harry and Y/N are within a foot of each other, if not on top of each other. He never leaves her side nor does she his. They are tethered to one another. The longest they’re apart is when Harry gets them refills of Champagne and Y/N journeys to the restroom. They laugh and catch up.

As the night goes on, Harry begins to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and she giggles and places her hand on his chest flirtily. Their interaction is a dance, bedroom eyes and low voices, lingering touches and suggestive lip bites.

When the countdown begins to grow closer, everyone refills their drinks and gathers in the center of Harry’s living room. They cheer and countdown to 2020. And of course, Y/N’s by Harry’s side as he begins the count. And when they get to ‘one’ and everyone’s saying “Happy New Year”, Harry and her are sharing a chaste peck to the lips that electrifies everything they had been saying to each other all night. She sighs into his mouth, but pulls away quickly, aware of their surroundings. No one particularly questions the kiss, either not paying attention or caring. Harry beams down at her and they enjoy the rest of the evening.

At around 1 am, the last of the guests stumble out of Harry’s homes and into waiting ubers and safe rides. Y/N lingers back, beginning to clean the discarded glassware and paper plates. Her and Harry are definitely tipsy, but they enjoy the cleaning work, making terrible jokes about New Year’s and commenting on what people wore tonight. When it’s relatively cleaned in the kitchen, Y/N wanders out to the living room and finds Harry reclined back on the couch.

“H,” She sticks out her foot and nudges him with her boot.

“C’mere,” he reaches out his hand to her, his coat discarded, leaving his arms bare with only a white tank top on.

She takes his hand hesitantly and is yanked on top of Harry in an instant. With a loud huff, she settles above him. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Shush,” his pointer finger goes over her lips, her eyes narrow at him, “Can you believe we’re seeing 2020?”

“Oh my god! I hate you!” She rolls her eyes at his pun and shakes herself from his hand around her waist. She stands up to walk away but he easily grasps her wrist and stops her, easily sitting himself up on the couch.

He looks at her and her annoyance, that wasn’t all too strong in the first place, dissipates. She sighs, “I should probably be heading home.”

“You should stay, it’s so late,” his hand rubbing over the skin on her wrist.

She bites her lip, contemplating the offer, he was right. “I’m really tired and we haven’t really talked, H.”

“But we-”

“Not about us. We’ve been skirting around it, flirting with each other all night, but we haven’t talked about what’s going on. I can’t stay if you expect something from me.”

“I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. That’s not why I want you to say,” Harry says earnestly, realizing quickly  what she’s saying. “I’ve never expected anything from you. An offer to stay is just an offer to stay.”

“Okay,” she finally smiles and sits down beside Harry.

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom, too. If that makes you more comfortable?”

“Oh...I don’t know if we have to take it that far. Plus, you’re like a personal heater and I get cold at night.”

Harry perks up, he had been feeling resigned that maybe she wasn't on the same page as him. He wanted to be with her all the time but also didn’t want to put any pressure on her. She just made him so happy.

“Great! Let’s get to bed then.” He pops up from the couch and brings her into his arms, “You know where all my clothes are, so you can just borrow whatever you want, and then I’m sure I have extra toothbrushes…”

She giggles into his side as she watches him ramble animatedly. Sometimes he was oh so bright, so joyful and carefree. A stark contrast from the quiet confidence he often exhibited for the public.

-

She woke up in the warm embrace of Harry. His whole bed smelled like him, vanilla mixed with spices of tobacco and sandalwood. It was delicious and she snuggled in deeper to the soft chest she laid against, breathing in his scent deeply.

They rested there for a long time. Harry makes his awakening known with a lingering kiss to her forehead. They both sigh in contentment, radiant in each other’s arms.

“What’s the plan today?” She ponders as Harry’s fingers trace patterns over her skin. He hums in thought.

“Wanna be with you…”

She laughs and looks up at him, “Me too, but we can’t lay around all day.”

“Well, we could.” Harry insists.

She laughs again and twists in his arms, settling so she’s facing him. She bites her lip as she thinks about something, scanning his face over and over.

“I’m gonna go home and get ready for the day. Let’s just explore the city and do some 2020 shopping. Who knows, maybe fashion’s changed since the last decade,” she grins.

Harry chuckles a little and pets at her hair, “I like the sound of that. And we can talk - about us.”

“Mmhmm.”

He tilts his head forward and meets her lips once again, savoring her taste. Each kiss makes him want more. She was good.

-

Harry lugs in the four heavy shopping bags into her flat, as she carries the single small bag from the chocolatier he had dragged them into. He presses her to the counter when he sets down the bags and begins to kiss her face all over. She giggles and places her hands on his shoulders, giving him a kiss to the lips before pulling away.

They had talked about what they wanted, what they saw in each other and how that fit into their work relationship and the rest of their lives. Harry would have to talk to Jeff, but more so as a by the way this is what I’m doing with my life, not an ask for permission. Y/N would continue as his stylist until the end of the tour cycle, but afterwards she’d go back to freelancing. They wanted to try to date and be as normal as possible. She told him how she didn’t love the fame or the celebrities. Sure she dealt with those things for work, but when they were off duty, she wanted to be regular. She wanted to go out on dates and make dinner on weekend nights. Harry had agreed, he wanted those things too and he understood her wish to keep work and their relationship separate. However, he’d made her concede to allowing kisses during work hours. She had laughed and said it was an easy term to agree to.

It was going to be a good thing. They were both giddy with excitement, the new year, and all the new things they had bought on their relationship high.

“Oh!” She pushed Harry further away from her and hurried into her room. He laughed and looked confusedly after her. “Wait there!” She called. Harry leaned against the back of her upholstered chair.

“Close your eyes!” She says before coming back into the room. Harry’s hands go over his eyes easily as he grins blindly in her direction.

“‘M waiting…”

“Open.”

Harry’s hands slip away and his green eyes blink open. In front of him stands Y/N holding up a hand knit brown sweater vest with horizontal red, cream and blue thin stripes along with the thicker brown stripes. Harry beams, reaching his hands out to take hold of it.

“It was supposed to be a surprise for later, but I found it at this vintage place while I was home and I couldn’t wait any longer to show it to you.”

“Darling, this is gorgeous. I love it! But you shouldn’t have...”

“I thought you could wear it for Lizzo’s concert. I know you said you liked the other sweater vest, but this one is so-”

“You spoil me, seriously.” He cuts her off and laughs before pulling her back into him. Their lips collide in a searing kiss, Harry’s excitement over the new garment making him eager to show her how much he really loved it.

A small sigh escapes her lips as Harry presses into her. His tongue pushing into her mouth in a way that turns the sigh into a moan.

“Let me show you just how much I love it,” He murmurs against her lips, casting the garment onto the back of the chair he had previously been leaning on.

She smiles, eyes fluttering open and meeting his with adoration swelling in their depths. Then she allows him to back their intertwined bodies into her room.

-

Some apartment in New York a few months later:

“I knew it!” 

“Huh?” Aidy lifts her head from the skit she was working on to look at her friend and coworker. 

“That stylist...for Harry Styles,” Heidi shifts, sitting up and turning her phone to face Aidy, “She was seen out with him, getting lunch in London and then making out on a street corner. I bet they were dating back in November when he was on the show!” 

Aidy laughs, thinking back to her conversation with the stylist that night of Harry’s show. The girl had been so in love that night and Harry had been smitten all week, describing her in the best way, praising her every decision, yearning for her even. And now they were actually together...she was happy for them. 

“I don’t know about that...but they were head over Gucci heels for each other that’s for sure.” 

Heidi and her scroll through the pictures on social media of the singer and his girlfriend. 

“They probably are the best dressed couple I have ever seen,” Heidi grumbles. 

“Now that is definitely accurate.”

--

taglist: @meredithhuntt​ @sovereigndeadlyperfect @marauderswhisperer​ @toribentleyva​ @girlboss99​ @harryssunflxwer​ @loverofaccents​ @stephaniemalvie​ @mk15x @beanholland​ @stfxlou​ @loliismutt​ @pinkisawesome101​ @stilljosiegrossie​ @kikisparadise18​ @clementimee​

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. A window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

Hello my lovelies!! Part 3 sees a whole lot Amelia's beautiful brain & you get your first slice of interaction with the british boys - leading up to an all important Mykonos adventure (part 4 - out friday). As usual, please let me know your thoughts and feelings, and let me know what you want to see happen with Amelia and her story! Updates have increased to 3/week! I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am!

Love always,

Steph xx

UPDATE as of 31/07: I've made some additional editing changes due to some feedback about the confusion between ben white (her brother) and ben chilwell (not her brother LOL). Nothing has been added to the story, just the addition of either surname has been added where i think it could be more straightforward - for future readers!

Part 3. | parte terza

warnings; none - just a whole lot of feels.

word count; 2081

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Friday 30/07 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)!

Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven

link to fic masterlist here

It was the day after the final match and Amelia should be nursing a hangover due to the large amount of red wine she consumed with her Italian counterparts the night before. However, she finds herself at St. George’s Park before 9am, meeting one of her father’s colleagues who directs her to the recreation room that she remembers from a few days prior.

Standing outside the door, she assumed she was just waiting for her dad as agreed on the phone an hour earlier. As she was waiting, she could hear Gareth Southgate give a team talk to the players, praising them for their ability and pleading for them to bounce back from this defeat and use it to push on. The next voice she could hear was that of her father, giving them the tactical run through of the game. She listened to the points her father made, and both agreed and disagreed with some. Unexpectedly, the man sent to collect her opened the door and ushered her inside.

She stood at the back of the room, facing her dad and Gareth, whilst the team and other management staff had their backs to her. Making eye contact with her dad, he smiled slightly.

“Whilst I can offer you my opinion on the match last night, to better prepare you for the next time, there is no better opinion to learn from at this moment than that of your opponent. Amelia, would you please come up here” Dean really threw her into this situation, that again, she was not prepared for nor did she want to participate in. However, the 30+ sets of eyes that had currently turned around to stare at her didn’t exactly inspire a choice to be made here.

_____________________________________________________________

“Lads, this is my daughter. I taught her everything she knows, which was probably too much considering I can now recognise that it was her signature plays that the italian side used to their advantage last night. Treat her with respect, or I will let her at you. Which i’m sure you all saw a few nights ago in this very room” My dad spoke as I walked up to the front area, weaving in and around beanbags with players occupying them.

Standing in front of the Three Lions was more nerve wracking now than it had been when she was confronting her brother, maybe Fede did offer her protection as his bodyguard. Either way, she put her big girl pants on (figuratively speaking, literally she was wearing her official puma tights and Italian polo) and got on with it as if she was speaking to her team.

“Thanks Dad. Hey guys, I think the first thing I would like to say is that you’re allowed to feel exactly how you feel right now. There is no rush to ‘get over it’ or ‘push on and learn’. You need to feel this now, feel it throughout your body, understand the pain and then turn it into motivation.” I speak to the group, trying to accurately express how sincere I am to this group of heartbroken men.

“As for tactics, I can stand here and praise you for how good you really are but that's not how you are going to learn. You came into the game hard and fast.” I paused, understanding the innuendo just as it was flying out of my mouth. I pursed my lips and tried to hold my giggle in, however some of the boys seem to have the same sense of humour as I do. My brother, face of steel and eyes that burn into any man that tries to joke with me.

“Sorry, can’t help myself. So yeah, you took charge of the game from kick off and we were not ready. You had the aggression and desire to push from the start and that's what you did, Shaw, you really surprised me with that goal. Not because I didn't think you could do it but because I wasn’t anticipating you being someone we had to watch so closely.”

“Again, something you guys need to keep in mind is that it is literally my job to know everything about you and how you play the game, what foot you prefer, who you pass to, how long you hold the ball before you pass, do you like to assist or score...all of these things make a massive difference in each play we make.”

“The error you made came around the 25th minute of the game, we had settled into the game and did what we do best - we slowed you down. In Italy, in the Serie A, which is where most of my team play, the game is a lot slower. There is more skill and tactic used to ensure a favourable outcome. Again, i'm not saying you all don’t have skill, but the Prem favours pace over tactics and strategy. The only way we were going to be able to win was by making you play our game, but in your half of the pitch.”

At this point, all of their eyes are trained to me and the more senior players of the team, like Henderson, Walker, Coady, Kane, they understand what i’m trying to say. Gareth, my dad and other members of staff are sitting to one side, arms folded and a slight smile on their face at the simplicity of my approach to such an important game. I direct my next question to them.

“Can I ask - have you already selected your man of the match?”

“Off record, yes we have. Before I announce to the team who it is, can I direct the question back to you and find out who you would award it to?” Gareth poses back to me, interested to hear my opinion.

“While the obvious choices would be Kane, Sterling, Maguire - your players who perform week in week out and are consistent and no doubt deserve an award as such. I would recommend Declan Rice. Personally, he was the most instrumental in the match last night. Every time we turned to attack, he was there to stop it. He was a player I was confident that I knew the extent of his ability, when it was obvious that I didn't.”

The boys around him, Mason Mount & Ben Chilwell, offered him a gentle shove and ruffle of the hair, to show their encouragement to the bashful boy who seemed surprised at the praise he was receiving.

“The other player that I think deserves a bit of a shoutout, and not because of his hair, is Jack Grealish.” I spoke, looking around the room until we locked eyes. I wanted him to understand how serious i was about my next words.

“You are so dangerous on the ball, you are an asset as a team mate, you aren’t guilty with the ball, but you have the power behind you to score when the opportunity presents itself. The moment you were subbed on I pulled Jorginho to the side and told him to treat you like Chiellini and Bonnucci were handling Sterling and Kane. You were one of my players to watch, and for good reason”

At the end of the little session, I said thanks to the boys for listening and that I hope to see them again in a tournament. The only way to be the best is to beat the best. After a quick round of applause that made me feel more special than I am, I walked past my brother, gave him a quick ruffle of his hair and met my dad at the back. Gareth dismissed the boys and they all stood up, breaking away and grabbing some breakfast that was set up to the side of the room, for one last team meal.

“Mills!! I’ll get you an almond croissant and a coffee, come sit with me!” Walker shouted from across the room.

“Oi mate, she’s my sister not yours” Ben counters from the back of the line.

“Yeah she's your sister by blood, mine by choice.” Kyle firmly states and begins his way to one of the tables.

“I suppose i better join Kyle before he drowns everyone in his tears” i joked with the england officials i was standing with before walking over to Kyle and a few of his team mates.

“Sooo am I supposed to pretend I don’t know who you all are so you can introduce yourselves? Or do we just mutually agree that I know too much about each of you and not bring it up?” I question the boys, jokingly. They all laugh and I sit down in the space Kyle left between himself and John Stones. I sat there and got to know some of the boys on a less competitive level, working out who was a leader both on the pitch and off it. After listening to the boys joke around and just be mates, rather than teammates, I leaned over to Kyle.

“Hey, before I go, do you think you can introduce me to Bukayo? I want to speak with him for a moment.”

“Yeah sure, I'll take you over there. Why are you nervous? You've never been shy before” Kyle questioned back at me.

“I’m not nervous, I'm just hyper aware of the sensitivity of the moment. Last night would have been tough”

Saying goodbye to the boys, Kyle directed me over to a table that was sitting my brother Ben White, Kalvin, Ben Chilwell, Grealish, Saka, Sancho & Rashford.

“Hey boys, Ben, I just wanted to come say goodbye before I head off.” I directed towards my brother. He pulled up a chair and asked me to sit for 5 more minutes, claiming he deserved it after months of no contact.

“Ben here didn’t let us know he had a sister as smart as you...what happened to you Ben? Did you miss that gene?” Jack Grealish poked at my brother. With his signature scowl on his face, Ben White let his mates laugh at his expense.

“Oh don’t make fun of my brother Benny, that’s my job!” I joked back, setting the boys off again with my brother’s childhood nickname. It was nice to hear some laughter again from a side that looked so solemn the night before.

“No in all seriousness boys, I especially came over because I wanted to talk to you Bukayo - what you did was so impressive. In a final, as the last penalty taker, to take on the responsibility of the nation at the age of 19! Not many players would dare to do that. You have earned a lot of respect, particularly from the Italian camp.” I spoke with a smile on my face, directed at the young boy.

“The same goes for you two” Now looking at Sancho & Rashford.

Bukayo looked down at his hands & smiled, before getting up and walking to my side of the table. Anticipating what he was going to do next, I stood up and welcomed him with open arms. Grateful that he understood my message and was beginning to accept the praise he so deserved. Stepping back from the hug, I turned to address the group of lads one more time.

“If any of you fancy a change of pace and want to come over to the Serie A, just give me a call - Benny can give you my number!” I start to speak, before I'm cut off but my brother.

“Stop poaching my mates! I’ve already lost you to another country. I don't need to lose anyone else” He jokingly says while standing to walk me out of St. George’s Park. I know it was a joke but I can't help but think there was some truth to that.

It had been more than 3 years since I moved out of our family home to start my life in Turin, and not one moment had i regretted it or thought i made the wrong decision. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I wished I was closer to my family, but I know I had to make that move to prove to myself I am just as successful as I hoped I would be. Not saying I have learnt everything there is to learn with the Serie A giants, Juventus, but maybe it's time for a new challenge? Maybe I can bring the strategic spin on the game to the fast paced action of the premier league?

Part 4. | quarta parte

[filmflowersbangtan]

Dead of Night (preview)

pairing: gang member!jungkook x reader

genre: angst, fluff 

warnings: swearing | drug mention | gangs | in the full story, there will be violence, blood, fighting, threatening 

preview word count: 4k

you meet jungkook in a diner in the early morning where it’s just the two of you in the entire place. An interesting relationship ensues, and you find out he’s not who you thought he was. He’s a prominent member of the city’s most powerful gang, surrounded by danger and trouble. But you still want him.

--

author’s note: I sincerely apologize for being gone for so long and for not updating any of my fics. To everyone waiting on IMSWY pt. ii: I am so sorry for taking so long with it. It’s still in my WIPs, and I haven’t given up on it yet, but it is on the back burner right now since I have many other ideas bubbling up that I absolutely have to write or else they will probably internally set me aflame (lol). 

I will be deleting many of my fics soon. I will be keeping “Unbound,” “I Must Still Want You,” “Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold,” and “Lonely Planets.” Everything else I will be deleting because I have no desire to finish working on them or I simply do not like them anymore and can’t see them going anywhere.

I also will probably not be writing anymore series. Everything will most likely be one shot because every time I start a series, I get too overwhelmed with the idea of updating parts and finishing them that I just end up postponing them for too long and leaving too many people who have been looking forward to them disappointed. I do want to say that I have been going through So Much since I last posted Lonely Planets pt. ii and IMSWY, but I am in a so so so much better place now. That’s why I’m even writing this story now.

This will be a oneshot. It will not be a series. It will be very long. I am almost finished with it, but I am posting this preview just to see if you all would like to continue reading it.

Thank you all. I appreciate all the feedback and the follows and the reblogs so, so much. The feedback and the reblogs of Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold is what really motivated me to write this one. I hope you all enjoy it. 😊

--

Being alone was like an addiction. It was fulfilling and appealing and…well, lonely. 

Two in the morning diner stops during the weekdays had become routine. The place was completely empty save for a waitress and a cook and maybe a tired trucker. You tucked yourself in a booth in the back. The vinyl seats were cracked and uncomfortable, the lighting was stark and washed everything raw. But it was comforting. Sleep was evasive and your apartment was barely unpacked, boxes stacked haphazardly in the dining area and the mattress on the living room floor. It was your idea to move to this vast city far away from home. This city swallowed everything in its incessant noise. Nocturnal and teeming with cars and neon lights. It never rested and the two of you had that in common. You took solace in that. 

The air was thick with bacon grease and bitter black coffee. Every morning you had waffles and orange juice. The refills were free and the waffles were the exact same circumference as the plate underneath it. Time was stagnant here. The city pressed against the plate glass windows, but the reflections from inside barred its entry. If you looked out, you simply stared directly at yourself. Maybe there was some kind of metaphor in that. 

The night shift waitress, Bethany, set your plate of steaming waffles on the table as well as a glass syrup dispenser. She knew you by name and you thanked her for the food. She smiled sweetly and left you be. 

The door chimed, denoting the entry of another patron. You didn’t look up. Bethany greeted the person in her cheerful customer service voice. You knew she didn’t actually sound like that. Once, you glimpsed her smoking a cigarette by the dumpster at the back of the diner arguing with her boyfriend on her cell phone. She had a tired voice. You wondered if she was lonely, too.

As you ate, Bethany took the patron’s order. From where you sat, his voice was a mumble. “You got it!” Bethany said before breezing away.

You glanced up from your food at the patron. Hair dyed blond, dark brown at the roots. He had a gentle face and a mouth made for smiling or furtively suppressing them. Tattoos were stippled on his arm all the way down to his knuckles. He was staring down at his phone, his fingers were slender and embellished with many silver rings. He was impossibly handsome. A paragon of beauty. 

And he looked up. Right at you. Why was it at that moment you happened to notice him, he decided to notice you, too?

Your scalp prickled with hot embarrassment. You immediately averted your eyes back to your waffles. There was only a bite remaining. Good. You could finish, get your check, pay, and leave.

Boldly, you chanced another glimpse. He did, too. This time, a smile, broad and lovely, stretched across his face. It was endearing and intimate and you had never felt so seen. It was exhilarating. A small smile crept onto your mouth. You couldn’t help it. His smile was contagious. 

This was how the following hour went. Weighted glances and secret smiles from across the room. He received his food, and he picked up his plate and mug of coffee and…was he coming this way?

You watched him, eyes wide, as he sauntered over to your booth and set his items on your table. “May I sit?” he said. His voice was the perfect match to his face. Smooth, sonorous, soft. Crushed velvet. 

Jerkily, like you had never done it before, you nodded. He sat. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” you replied. 

“I’m Jungkook.”

You told him your name. He repeated it once, twice, thrice. Like he enjoyed the feel of it in his mouth, rolling it around like a piece of hard candy he didn’t want to dissolve on his tongue just yet. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He reached his hand over the table. You smiled and shook it. 

His plate was piled with pancakes and sausages and scrambled eggs. He dug in. In between bites, he asked, “So what brings you here at this time of night?” “I have trouble sleeping. And you?” Your chest was tight with the awkwardness of it all, but he appeared to be perfectly at ease. 

“I’m just a night owl. Or I’m a vampire.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued eating.

Surprisingly, laughter bubbled from you until you couldn’t help the giggles that shook you. How long had it been since you had a conversation with anyone? Your store had been a drought for the past month, only a couple of people coming in a day. You didn’t call home because your parents would ask how you’ve been, and that topic lit a fire in your skull. Bethany was just a waitress doing her job. And Nora was always busy. It was refreshing to have someone sit with you. Talk with you. Want to be near you. 

His eyes danced at the sound of your laughter. It was an innocuous expression, boyish in how pure it was. 

You covered your mouth with your hands to mask the laughter. And he gently grabbed your wrist and removed them. “I like your laugh.”

Butterflies unfurled their wings in your stomach and fluttered in a frantic cluster. He resumed his meal as if nothing happened. “So what do you do?”

You cleared your throat. “I own a used book and record store downtown. It’s small and kind of hidden from the street, but it’s there.” You chuckled nervously. You were proud of that store, but you might have to close it down soon and return to your hometown with your tail tucked in between your legs if the revenue continued as it did. 

His eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s super cool. I like records. Books, not so much. Where is it located?”

You told him the address. “By that bodega on the corner.”

“The one that sells the really good blue raspberry shaved ice?”

You snapped your fingers. “That’s the one.”

“I’ll definitely have to stop by.” 

This was how the next few hours went. Talking about everything and nothing. He had lived in the city his entire life, worked as a freelance artist, had an apartment not too far away. Plates had been swept away by Bethany long ago. Refills poured, drained, and poured again.

And then, “Do you maybe want to get out of here? Kick it at my place?” Jungkook asked. His expression was open and genuine. 

You didn’t know if that was a good idea. But talking to him was stimulating and you didn’t want it to end. 

He noticed your hesitation. “Turn you location on your phone, I’ll even give you my address so you can send it to your friends. Anything to make you feel comfortable.”

He was right. He didn’t live that far. It was barely past five o’ clock in the morning, the city was still awake, billboards alight. The buildings towered, dark against the predawn blue of the sky. The apartment building was modest and typical of the city. Clean and affordable but just expensive enough to be appealing to a specific demographic of college students and those with decent enough jobs. His apartment was on the third floor and was charming with brick walls and high ceilings. There was a bookshelf packed with vinyl records, even more in milk crates. A record player in pristine condition sat on an end table beside an armchair. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Jungkook said, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the front door. 

“You said you liked records,” you replied, browsing his collection. 

“I did.”

“This isn’t liking records. This is a goddamn treasure trove.” You pushed your hair behind your ear, eager to move it from your face. “Bowie, Billie Holiday, Bob Dylan, Prince. You even have a rare version of Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland. With the naked women! This is incredible.” 

He laughed. “I see you are a woman of taste.” 

“If only my dad could see this. I’m afraid to touch anything.” 

“I’m sure you don’t have clumsy hands with records. Since you have a record store and all.”

You laughed. “I appreciate the trust.”

“So what would you like to listen to?”

You mulled it over, taking your time examining the sleeves of the records. Then you found one.

He smiled when you showed him the cover art. “Perfect.” 

Frank Ocean’s Blond. A modern classic. Perfect for the liminal hour of five AM. 

Jungkook slipped it from its sleeve, fingers on the slim rounded edges of the record. He carefully settled it on the turntable, placed the needle on the disc, and played the album. There was the classic crackle of vinyl, and then the first track emanated. It was a phantasm of sound, rich and ethereal. Light but weighted. The song was the deep blue of the sky before the sun decided to pull itself above the horizon and emblazon the sky with its myriad of colors. It was the perfect song for this liquid moment that felt like a dream. This beautiful stranger standing before you with his incredible collection. 

And then you were in Jungkook’s arms, slowly swaying to the music. You smiled up at him and him down at you. 

The album continued on in the living room, serenading to no one. You and Jungkook had moved to the bedroom, lounging on the bed. The horizon blushed peach, casting the room in half-light. You both lay on your backs, him with an arm slung casually behind his head, you with your hands folded delicately on your stomach. 

“Thank you for paying for my meal today,” you said to him meekly. 

He smiled. “Thank you for the great conversation. And having an amazing taste in music.” 

You laughed. “What made you come sit with me anyway?”

That was when he looked at you, his mouth still slung in a smile, but his eyes sincere. “Because you’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks went hot and you giggled nervously, covering it with your hands. He rolled over and carefully removed them, his eyes on yours. For a brief moment, time was still. Your breath caught in your throat. He was so close. His lips were so close. Your noses were just barely brushing. His voice was husky when he said, “I like your laugh.”

And then he kissed you. 

In the living room, Frank Ocean sang about nights and new beginnings. 

In the bedroom, you and Jungkook were breathless. Hands on thighs. Hands in hair. Teeth on collarbones. It was a innocent hunger, one that never got too peckish. He was careful with you, didn’t dare to remove your clothes. “I like you,” he breathed into your neck. You gasped at the sensation. 

You kissed until you both eventually succumbed to sleep, the morning sun pouring drowsy golden light across the room.

It was well into the afternoon when you woke to the sound of a shower running. The room was unfamiliar. Definitely not your barren apartment with the boxes strewn about the place. And you definitely weren’t on your living room mattress tangled amongst its waves of sheets. The bed you were in was the most comfortable you’ve ever experienced. Brick walls, plants, beautiful abstract canvas paintings leaning against the wall. Then you remembered. 

The diner. The vinyl collection. The sunrise. The kiss. 

Jungkook. 

He was in the shower and you were fully dressed and the night had to have been a dream. But it wasn’t. Reality settled back onto your shoulders in agonizing waves. You were hours late opening the store. But oh, you wanted to burrow into these soft, sweet-smelling sheets and dissolve into nothing. Eventually you got up. 

The door to the bathroom was open. You thought about telling him you were leaving, but instead, you drew your name and number into the mirror steam and went home to shower and change yourself.

An entire week went by and he never called. He didn’t return to the diner, either. It hurt. Every time you lay on your side, willing yourself to sleep, the phantom feeling of his hands and lips barreled you at such an unwelcome rush you would gasp. None of it was real. You had to keep telling yourself that. None of it was real. 

Life went back to normal. Jungkook was a fleeting daydream that sifted in and out of your thoughts. The store still barely got any customers, except for the same two or three crate diggers who visited like ghosts. And then Nora, your best friend, breezed through the door. She was a city girl through and through. Large sunglasses, the omnipresent iced coffee, the expensive wardrobe curated specifically for being in front of a camera. She was partly why you moved here. The two of you were from the same hometown, and she had escaped first to chase the tail of a fashion designer career. 

“Move here!” she had said during a phone call. “You’ll love it. You’re super hipster and this city eats that shit up! And you can open up that record and book store you always dreamed of.” 

She wasn’t wrong. You loved this city but this city seemed to not love you back. Now, she pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and set her iced coffee on the counter top before you. You were sitting behind the register, feet up and reading a book when she had come in. You looked up from the paperback in your hands. “And what have I done to deserve your presence, Your Highness?”

“Good morning, dork! We’re going to a party.”

You kicked your feet down. Slipped a bookmark in the book and closed it. And you simply said, “No.”

She blinked, her smile stiff. “Why not?” 

“You know I have to open this place every single morning. I can’t go to a party and get drunk and miss another opening.”

“Stop making this store your entire life.”

���It is my entire life.”

“Well, live another one. Just for one night.” She clasped her hands together and actually pouted. “Please.”

You sighed. “You don’t have anyone else to go with?”

She perked up and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I do. I just want you to go with me. I want you to have fun for once. All you’ve done since you been here was work.”

Every single dollar and penny from your savings went to this store. It was your lifelong dream. And Nora—lovely, naïve Nora—had never needed to work for anything a day in her life. She meant well. She was never intentionally ignorant. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating. 

She also didn’t know of your time with Jungkook. It was embarrassing that he never called. It angered you that he called you beautiful and said he liked you only for it all to be false. Thank goodness you didn’t have sex with him. 

“I’ll have fun once I’m a millionaire or something,” you said to Nora.

She huffed. “I can find you someone to cover the shop for the night. You won’t even have to pay them. Please just come with me.”

“No. What if they steal something.”

She stared at you flatly. “Do you really think any of my friends—my friends—would steal? Let alone steal any of this stuff? No offense.” 

“Why do you want me to go so badly?”

“I already said. Fun. You know, music, drinks, guys.” She sang the last word and accompanied it with a little shimmy. 

“I have plenty of music and I can buy my own drinks.”

She slammed her hand against the counter top, startling you. “Stop being fucking difficult and come have some fun with me.”

So, grudgingly, you went. Albeit late because you didn’t trust anyone else to close the shop for you, but you went nonetheless. Nora did your makeup. Just glitter eyeshadow and a little eyeliner because you insisted you didn’t want much. And she picked out your outfit—a black lace bra, a crop top cardigan, and a pair of white shorts. 

“Because I can’t dress myself?” you grumbled, sliding on the clothes. 

“Exactly that. You dress too…hipster-y. You need to be hot for tonight.” 

You hadn’t worn that bra since you dated Namjoon. He was pretentious and arrogant and such a city boy it made you lightheaded. You met when he waltzed into the store shortly after you moved here. He smiled at you and you practically melted. The books were what he came for. He bought a Russian classic novel and at checkout, he discussed with you the allegory of sharing fruit in literature. He was eloquent and intelligent and so damn gorgeous you fell for him in that same moment. He scribbled his number on the receipt and told you to keep it. 

The relationship lasted for four months. He suggested you move into his high rise apartment downtown with him. It was a modern edifice, all glass and steel and money. He was the wealthiest person you had ever met in your life. And, stupidly, you were in love. 

And then you saw his text messages with some unfairly beautiful girl he followed on social media about how good she looked in his bed . He said he was lonely, that you worked too much, what else was he supposed to do? Needless to say, you left him. And you hadn’t seen him since. 

Now, Nora said to you, “And don’t think about wearing those fucking platform boots.”

“Why not?” you said, frowning. “They’re cute.”

“They look ridiculous. Like those boots that one goth girl from that cartoon you like wore.” 

You grinned, mischievous. “That’s exactly why I bought them.”

To Nora’s dismay, you wore the fucking platform boots. 

The party was in an underground venue. It wasn’t all red wine and an elaborate excuse to brag about money, like the gatherings Namjoon liked, it was edgy. A live band played pop punk on a stage, the lights in the place were dim save for the spotlights and the white Christmas lights behind the bar. Greasy pizza and liquor and neon lights. You brushed elbows with someone smoking a joint, and you were pretty sure someone was doing coke in the bathroom. 

Nora pulled you to the bar where she ordered herself a cocktail and you a craft beer. She knew you so well. 

There were so many people here. You mentally kicked yourself for not bringing flyers for your store. 

And then you saw him. Nora was talking your ear off about how hot the frontman for the band was and you almost choked on your beer. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you spat.

Nora blinked rapidly. “What? What happened?”

“This is why you brought me here. You cunt.” You didn’t mean to call her that. It wasn’t a word worn with frequent use in your vocabulary. In fact, you hated the word. But it was deserved in this situation. 

Namjoon. He was standing near the stage with a craft beer of his own in his hand, bobbing his head to the music. He didn’t like places like this. They were tacky to him. He didn’t even listen to this genre of music. What the hell was he doing here? 

The girl standing next to him turned to him and smiled. She was wearing lipstick as red as murder and her bob was so black it reflected the lights with an envious luster. She had a septum piercing, the two silver balls glittering in the low light like two tiny stars. That’s when it clicked. He was here because of her. She was that unfairly beautiful girl in his text messages. Your skin felt incandescent. 

“He had to see how hot you are. I thought you would enjoy shoving that in his face.” Lovely, naïve Nora. You wanted to slap her. 

You stood from the bar stool and set your craft beer on the bar. “I’m leaving now.”

Her face was slack with regret. Before she could form an apology, you turned and walked away. 

You were a few moments from the door when you heard your name. It wasn’t Nora. You stopped and your breath hitched. Your turned slowly, preparing to see Namjoon with that girl by his side but instead—

“Jungkook?”

His hair was black now and almost as shiny as that girl’s bob. It hung past his ears in gentle waves. He stood there in a baggy black shirt and jeans, his thumbs tucked into the front pockets. Silver bracelets draped from both wrists. In this lighting, he looked ethereal. Infernal. This couldn’t be the same man you shared a chimerical morning with. He looked like he had been created by the darkness of the city’s nights. 

Maybe it was just the hair. 

“Hi,” he said in the same way he did when he sat your table at the diner. It could’ve been mistaken as sheepishness, but his eyes were not meek. Besides the hair, you couldn’t figure out what was so different about him. 

Breathlessly, you said, “Hi.”

“You look nice.” 

Over his shoulder, you noticed Namjoon go to the bar. Nora scowled at him. He smiled amicably at her and his mouth moved, saying something. She froze, and her eyes immediately darted to you. Namjoon turned and saw you. And he started your way. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked.

You should’ve ran out of the venue. There were a million other things you should’ve done, but instead you grabbed Jungkook and kissed him. 

Initially, he went rigid with shock, but he melted into the kiss. You felt him smile against your mouth. “Miss me that much?”

You pulled away. “I did not.” A glance over his shoulder and Namjoon was gone. You audibly exhaled. 

“What happened?” 

You ran a hand over your face. “Ex.”

“Ah,” he said. “Is that why you were leaving?”

“Yes. And now I’m going. Goodbye.” You whirled around, shoulders tense with embarrassment and headed for the stairs. 

“Wait.” He caught up to you on the stairs. “Can I go with?” There were small white string lights strung in the stairwell and the glow reflected in his eyes. They were so brown. 

“Don’t you have friends to be with?” Your phone buzzed in your back pocket with an incoming text message. Most likely your own friend dying to know who the guy you just kissed was. You ignored it. 

“They’ll be fine.” He grinned. 

“Okay,” you said, feeling yourself smile as well.

There was no destination, but you ended up at a park, sitting beside each other on a swing set. Your feet dragged in the wood chips as you pushed yourself back and forth slowly. He looked up at the night sky and sighed. “Do you want to know why I hadn’t called?”

You just looked at him. 

“This may sound like a corny excuse, but… I was afraid of what you would think of me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated before saying, “If we continued seeing each other, you would eventually find out that I’m not a freelance artist. I do paint, but that’s not what I do.”

You could feel your heartbeat gradually speeding its pace. “What do you do?” His eyes fell down to his hands. He turned them over, studying the lines in his palms. His hair slipped over his eyes. He was a portrait of affliction. “I’m a Lost Boy.”

You didn’t understand. He noticed your silence and looked up at you. “The Lost Boys. This city is practically run by them.” He corrected himself, “Ran by us.” He stopped, closed his eyes, and sighed. “I’m in a gang.”

Your voice was a whisper. “What?”  

He quickly added, “If you no longer want to associate with me, I understand. They’re—we’re—dangerous. I mean, even if you haven’t heard of us, you know us. The leather jackets, the vandalism, the fights. That venue is owned by us. The drugs at that event were supplied by us. That band playing is in our pockets. My apartment is paid by dirty money.” He laughed quietly to himself then, almost pityingly. 

The night air around you was thick with your own dread. “Is being around you dangerous?” You hadn’t meant for your voice to sound so small.

“I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re asking.” You could hear the unsaid “but” in his tone. 

“But what?” you prompted.

He chewed on his lip. A dimple in his left cheek appeared. “I won’t hurt you, but I can’t promise your safety. If you do decide to be around me.”

--

[radiorenjun]

nightmare surfs || hrj

¤ pairing: huang renjun x reader

¤ genre: angst, slight fluff, idol!renjun

¤ warnings: nightmares lol, the reader has a panic attack, crying, pain, idk mentions of the readers health worsening, soft kisses

¤ summary: you've been suffering from random nightmares as of late. You didn't know how but when they get too far, you're glad you have something (or rather, someone) to seek comfort.

¤ wordcount: 1.3k

¤ song rec: freaks - surf curse

¤ a/n: I cried while writing this lmfao

¤ disclaimer: I am NOT ROMANTICIZING having panic attacks or having mental breakdowns. I just wrote this somewhat based off of my own experience to vent. Look away if these sort of things trigger you

¤ tagging: @neowritingsnet @nct-writers @neoturtles @culture-cafe

Your body flinched as your eyes shot open, blinking as your brain tried to decipher that you were no longer in the hellhole you were previously in merely moments ago. A dark empty feeling sank in your chest, something you've never felt before. It was an ugly feeling, you couldn't get it out. Your senses were heightened as if something was going to hurt you, yet you didn't know what to do. The dark feeling lied deep inside of you and you didn't know how to make it stop or go away.

You couldn't breathe. As if the lump in your chest had spread through your lungs, inevitably enabling them to stop letting air flow through. You sat up against the headboard of your bed, trying to calm yourself down as your mind scattered into a mess right before you. Trying to breathe through your nose, you ran a hand through your hair, gripping it tightly as you closed your eyes as tightly as you could.

I dream

"Hey," a familiar voice called out softly. The sound of sheets rustling beside you grew deaf to your ears as your head began ringing loudly, flashbacks of the nightmare you just had replaying itself over and over again in your head like a broken record player. You then felt finger wrapping themselves around your wrists, gently tugging your hand away from your hair. You slowly opened your eyes at the sudden soft touch, surprised to see Renjun's soft yet concerned gaze on your face.

"Breathe for me," he whispered, his fingers moving to hold your palms in his, massaging your hands soothingly in an attempt to calm you down. "Breathe in," he coaxed gently, his melodious voice reaching your ears as you slowly obeyed his words, trying your best to shoo the thoughts away as you took a deep exhale. The pain in your chest wasn't going away as Renjun continued to help you breathe your thoughts out, it scared you.

Of you

It scared you even more that you wanted to cry, but as if your tears had run out from your previous crying sessions, you couldn't. Your eyes burned with tears but they couldn't stream down your face, they stayed stuck to your waterline. "It's okay, it's going to be okay," Renjun told you as your eyes shot down to your hand being caressed in his, your throat running dry as you were unable to form words. You weren't sure if it was because you were overwhelmed with all the different emotions at once or if it was because you had him right in front of you, comforting you right when you needed him.

You watched as he released one of your hands to cup your cheek, running his thumb soothingly against your skin. "It's okay to cry, don't hold it back. It's not healthy to bottle up your emotions like that, I know you're scared right now. But you're okay, I promise," he reassured, giving you a soft smile.

God, that smile.

It was enough for the tears to finally flow from your eyes, a simple reassurance that you were allowed to cry. You were allowed to feel scared. To feel sad. You were allowed to embrace your emotions and let it all out. You didn't even realize the tears flowing from your eyes like a water tap until you let out a small sob, the memories flooding back into you once again as you gripped Renjun's hand tightly. Your free hand coming up to his wrist, holding it tightly as if you were to let go, he would disappear right in front of you. A part of you knew that he will. He will disappear. He wasn't yours to keep.

Almost every night

"That's it, let it all out," he pulled you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you to give the biggest and tightest hug he could muster as you broke into a fit of sobs and hiccups. You clung onto him as if he was your only reason to live, as if he was your air, as if you couldn't live without him. At the moment, you truly felt as if he was your reason to live. Your hands clutched onto the fabric of the white shirt he was wearing, burying your head into the crook of his neck as you let out silent sobs. Your tears soaked the fabric of your shirt, but neither of you cared.

"Please don't leave me," you begged, your voice cracking as you spoke, sniffling loudly as you shut your eyes tight. You felt his grip tightening around your body, his arm hugging you closer by the waist as his other hand made its way to run his fingers through your hair in a weak attempt to sooth you. "I'm right here, I'm not leaving," he pressed soft kisses against your temple, his voice growing heavy as a lump started to build itself up in his own throat at the sound of your harsh sobbing.

Hopefully

"Don't leave," you whispered into his skin, sniffling back your tears as you started nuzzling into his warm skin in contrast to your cold one. He rocked your body back and forth as if you were a small child, shushing your cries softly as he pressed a longing kiss to your hair, playing with it in between his fingers as tears began to leak from his own eyes at the sight of you in great pain. "I'm sorry I can't take the pain away," he mumbled into your hair, pressing another soft kiss as your heart swelled for him. You shook your head at his words, mumbling how it wasn't his fault.

Your chest never stopped hurting as the nightmares kept replaying in your head. You didn't want to go back to sleep, you wanted to bask in Renjun's warm embrace as long as you could. You wanted to bask in the feeling of having someone to comfort you when you needed it the most. It felt like heaven. To be in the arms of your loved one. To be able to cry your emotions and stress out. You refused to let go of his embrace, you didn't want him to let you go.

"God, you're getting worse. Your nightmares are getting way worse," he hissed at your ear, causing you to shut your eyes tight. You tightened your grip on his shirt, nuzzling into his shoulder, inhaling his sweet scent as you chose to ignore his words. "Are you listening to me? You're getting worse," he repeated once again.

I won't wake up this time

Your eyes shot open, your body was covered in a cold sweat. Your head was on the pillow, tears staining your pillow and cheeks, your blanket was messy. It was barely covering quarter of your body in the cold air conditioned room, as if you were thrashing wildly in your sleep. There was a dull ache panging inside of your chest as you slowly sat up, choosing to ignore it as you reached over your nightstand for your phone to check the time.

3:28 AM.

You saw a few texts from your friends who were staying up late gaming. You felt numb as you opened the groupchat, seeing the messages your friends sent before placing your phone back on the mattress. Placing your palms against your forehead, you groaned internally as your phone screen illuminated the dimly lit room. A picture of Huang Renjun, your favorite idol, on your lockscreen as you began to shed tears.

Your mind liked to play mean tricks on you. You didn't mind them anymore, you were used to it. But you couldn't help but admit that this dream was the worst one yet in comparison to the other nightmares you've had the past few months. It left your heart stinging and aching, it left you crying and sobbing through the night. It leaves you in the reality that you had no one to comfort you when you needed it the most. It was a sign that you truly are getting worse

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