#cheap coach travel

[wellourgerdes]

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[phagodyke]

pls let this backpacker hostel I'm staying at in a couple weeks be nice so I can go to more gigs in [redacted] and not have to worry abt how to get home from them bc I can just stay there... 😭

[minibushirecardiff]

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[purinfelix]

hiii, i love your writing so freaking much, can i please ask for a Franco fic inspired on Gold rush by taylor swift? he just literally gave me that vibe and I NEED to read something like that, please and thank you <3

everybody wants you ‧₊˚✩ - franco colapinto

summary: when your best friend since birth finally joins you in formula one, it's safe to say that you're excited - though when it becomes apparent that he's the more favoured one, you start to doubt things, including your feelings w/c: 2.8k

a/n: oh anon i love this idea but also this was my first time listening to this song so i hope i interpreted it the way you hoped and did it service !!! <333

You hated how cliche it was. 

The two of you were childhood best friends, together for as long as you could remember. You always credited yourself for getting into karting first and Franco, always eager to stay by your side, followed suit. The track only gave the two of you another domain to be inseparable in, with every race ending with both of you on the podium - and it never mattered who was first, only that you were both there, together. 

There was an unspoken understanding in your hometown that the two of you were never to be separated, which you initially revelled in, but the older you got the more you felt yourself developing a feeling towards your friend you couldn’t quite explain. Somewhere in the realm of jealousy, just beyond admiration and reaching just short of a childhood crush.

It came in waves, flowing whenever you were reminded of just how different the two of you were, and how inadequate you felt next to him - with his charismatic personality and curly brown hair that always fell perfectly into place, always drawing more and more people towards him. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself wondering why he had chosen you of all people to stick so close by, even if he never gave you a reason to doubt it. 

And so when you decided to move away to pursue racing, it wasn’t shocking that Franco would too. The two of you set off, after many tearful goodbyes to your friends and family back home, to brace the world, hand in hand. 

You stayed racing for the same teams, always getting promoted or signed at the exact same time - almost as if the universe had heard the same unspoken understanding of your town, and knew that you worked best together. And whilst it helped to see each other during practices, debriefs, and even wearing the same uniforms, it was far from the only thing that kept your friendship strong. 

Away from almost everything else the two of you knew, you clung to each other tightly and came to know absolutely everything about each other through it. Hushed midnight conversations, early morning snack runs, and even visiting landmarks as you grew and travelled countries - all the while with Franco by your side. 

Strangely enough, it never did occur to you to see the boy beside you as more than just a friend - no matter how much the other girls you befriended seemed to think otherwise. Whenever they would sneakily whisper to you, asking whether you were sure the two of you were just friends you would always roll your eyes shooting back something along the lines of Ew? Franco? No, we’ve known each other forever - which typically made them happy to pursue him themselves, even if they strangely never succeeded. 

All this came to a screeching halt in the summer of your second year in Formula Two, however, when you were met with a contract deal from Alpine Racing. A racing seat for one. 

“You’re taking it right?” his voice is excited as the two of you sit in the stuffy hostel room you’re sharing with about eight other strangers, all too broke or cheap to pay for anything better. Franco was the first you had told, before your coach, before your family, before anyone. 

“I don’t know Franco, I mean-“ 

“What? Why wouldn’t you?” 

You chew your bottom lip as you fiddle with the bedsheet below you, not able to look him in the eye. “It means we won’t get to race together you know,” you sigh. 

“Well you don’t know that, maybe you race alone for a year but once I make it into F1 we’ll be side by side again! Plus you’re stupid if you think I won’t be visiting every one of your races anyway.” 

You watch his green eyes scan your expression, searching for a clue to how you’re feeling. 

“It’s just a big step, I don’t know if I’m ready for it.” 

“I think you’re more than ready,” he insists, though you don’t feel convinced. 

When you finally speak again your voice is tiny, “I’m scared, Franco.” 

In that moment, he gives you a sympathetic look before pulling you into a tight hug and even though neither of you spoke about it again that night, you knew exactly what it meant - I know you’re scared, but I’m here for you. 

And you aren’t ashamed of the fact that it was his reaction alone that pushed you to make the decision to take up the deal, and you couldn’t have been happier that you did. At least, that’s how you felt for the initial months of your contract which was filled with cocktail parties, race suit fittings and media interviews. And despite what you had expected, and as selfish as it might’ve been, having Franco not by your side for once felt like a breath of fresh air you hadn’t known you needed - it filled you with a lone sense of pride, having ‘made it’ without someone being right there for you to be compared to. 

It was perhaps this sense of pride that helped you manage to score points on your debut. You still remember running up to where Franco was waiting for you in the garage, the biggest smile on both of your faces as you jumped into his arms - and it felt, just for a moment, like this euphoria might’ve been what you had spent your whole life waiting for. 

But perhaps you had spoken too soon, since your progress saw a steep decline causing you to lose not only the chances to score points and impress your team, but also the confidence you had spent so long working on. 

And one night, just when it seemed like you were at your lowest, after a weekend full of DNFs and near-crashes - the most unexpected thing happened. A singular text from Franco, halfway across the world, excitedly explaining how he was going to be filling a position in Formula One, in a different team to you. 

There wasn’t a single word to describe the millions of emotions you felt rushing through you in that moment. For one, surprise at the mid-season switch as well as a certain sort of selfish disappointment that you would no longer be the only one in the highest form of the sport you both loved. But above all else, a thrumming excitement about being with your best friend once more - to see him at the paddock, catch up with him during sessions and not have to trek all the way into grandstands just to see his face. 

It didn’t take you long to realise though, that you were far from the only one who felt this way. It was almost like the moment Franco stepped foot on the paddock, donning the blue of Williams for his first race weekend, the world fell in love with him. Online, conversations about him blew up to the point where you couldn’t go moments without being bombarded by clips of his interviews or edits of him. It was strange, one part of you felt proud that the world was finally waking up to the treasure that was your best friend, but another felt the strong urge to hide him away, for him to be all yours. 

A small part of you had expected this, having known Franco and his personality since before you could put it into words - but what you hadn't expected was for him to also back it up with amazing performances. Now, it was him who was scoring points and impressing everyone - and you who was left to do little more other than celebrate with him, for your own results paled in comparison. And once news got out about you being childhood friends, through a couple of grainy leaked photos of the two of you smiling proudly in your tiny karts, the comparisons started up again. 

It was like salt in the wound, agonisingly so - seeing your best friend adored him doing well in the sport you got into first, while you were left to, weekend after weekend, fail to make it into points range. And to make matters worse, the media frenzy that cropped up around Franco did little other than make you come to a realisation you might've spent your whole life running from - that you were jealous, not of Franco, but of those who loved him. That maybe your desire to constantly stick by his side was more than just a childish habit, and that your jealousy of his achievements was just a reminder that you’d never be more than just a friend, one that was always a little behind, a little worse. 

Despite your best efforts, the two of you began to drift apart, each achievement he got driving a deeper and deeper wedge between you. It hurt a lot, race weekends beginning to bleed into each other - a plain blur of failed races, celebrations from other teams, and Franco's adoring fans.

It all seemed to come to a head one weekend, a minor crash in an earlier lap winding you up in the Alpine garage - sweaty, irritated and extremely exhausted. Yet you continued to watch the race, not so much for anyone else, but more so that you could keep a close eye on the blurry blue car, and its driver.

And before you knew it you were watching it cross the finish line in third, Franco’s first podium - right in front of your eyes. 

You weren’t sure why, but your first instinct was to hastily get up from the fold-out chair you were sitting on and rush away to your driver's room, like a child throwing an immature tantrum. You knew Franco well enough to know he’d come looking for you but knew yourself enough just as well to know you couldn’t face him right now. With everything that had been going on, with the constant stream of less-than-kind comments you were getting online and the extreme dip in your performance, the last thing you wanted was to be reminded of your inadequacy. It was extremely selfish, sure, but you convinced yourself that you were actually doing Franco a favour since you knew your acting skills were too poor to convincingly put on a show as he celebrated right in front of you. You always had been a faster runner than him, at least, that’s what years of playground tag had told you. 

But it had been a while since then and before you could make it to your room you heard an all-too-familiar voice call from behind you. 

“Hey!” 

“Not now Franco,” you huff, so close to the door of your room that you’ve got one hand on its handle already. 

“What? C’mon, I just got a podium and that’s all you have to say?” You pause at the handle, the hurt tone in his voice pulling at your heartstrings. 

“Yeah, I saw, good job but I just can’t right now.” 

“Can’t what? You’re joking, right?” His voice rises in volume a little, and he sounds in disbelief - you’re glad the garages are mostly empty so that no one can see the scene he’s making. 

“No, I’m not,” you shoot back firmly. You’re still facing away from him, arm hanging limp from the door handle - you can’t remember the last time you felt this defeated, this tired. 

“Seriously, what is going on with you lately? It’s like, you were so excited for us to race together but now we barely talk even though we see each other every day.” 

“Franco,” you say, quietly. 

“We’ve known each other forever but this feels like the first time where I truly have no clue what is going on in your head, why don’t you ever talk to me anymore? You don’t think I don’t notice you avoiding me?” 

“Franco, please.” You feel tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes, and it doesn’t help how accusatory he sounds. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, just go celebrate.” 

“No! If you think I’m just going to leave now without you, you’re seriously ridiculous. I mean, this is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it?” 

At that, you turn around to face him - looking him in the eyes for the first time in what feels like months. You watch his brows unfurrow immediately as his expression softens at the sight of you, tears welling up in your eyes which are surrounded by dark circles, marks left from your many sleepless nights. It’s clear that he notices how small you look as well as you hunch into yourself, barely having the energy to stand up straight. 

“Woah, hey,” he says, his tone gentle now. 

“Don’t do this Franco, don’t talk to me like we’re still children,” you say, instinctively defensive. 

“Aren’t we?” 

You let out a laugh, soft yet cruel as you struggle to hold in your tears, “Everything’s different now, isn’t it? When was the last time we were on a podium together or even spoke face to face like this.” 

“What are you even saying?” You feel a pang of pain in your heart at the look in his eyes, a little anger mixed with disbelief. 

“I’m saying, that maybe being friends isn’t going to work if we’re racing against each other anymore. Have you seen the way I get compared to you relentlessly? Everyone loves you, everyone wants you, and I’m just, there! Do you have any idea what that’s like? To have no one backing you?”  

“You’re my best friend, I’m right here, backing you!” 

“Franco,” you say, just above a whisper. 

There’s a moment of silence, and you can see Franco working up the courage to say something, his hands fiddling with the fireproof mask he’s been holding this whole time. You feel a couple of tears finally make their way down your cheeks and you do your best to wipe them away, eager to not embarrass yourself in front of him anymore. 

“I love you.” He finally says. 

“Don’t say that, please, don’t say that.” You’re about to turn away, ready to just shut yourself in your room. 

“No, like, I love you.” You hear him take a couple steps closer to you, to the point where he’s right behind you. 

“You don’t mean that,” you sigh. 

“I do,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I have, for years.” 

You pause, silently turning around to face him, and it feels like the breath has been knocked out of you. He looks at you, nervously waiting for a response though trying to put on a face that tells you how serious he is about what he’s just said. 

“And I know that you probably don’t feel the same but I need you to know this because I can’t keep going on like this, barely seeing or talking to you and-” he begins to ramble, and all you do is let out a relieved sigh as you lean forward to rest your head on his chest in silence. However, it’s clear this confuses him as he stops talking immediately. 

“I love you too, Franco.” 

“Wh- really?” 

“Yes,” you say, the smile audible in your voice. 

“Like, seriously?” 

“As serious as a heart attack.” You lean back against the door with a smile of relief, or as much a smile as you can muster up figuring that you feel like you’re about to collapse right there and then. 

“I’d kiss you but,” he gestures to his face and hair which is drenched in sweat. 

“Oh shut up and come here,” you say quietly, looping your arms around his neck as you pull him close to you. When your lips meet his arms wrap around your waist as he pushes you up against the door of your room, and even though you couldn’t care less, you’re once again glad there’s no one here to see the two of you. No cameras, no fans, no other drivers - just the two of you, and the years of history between you. 

When you part, his face is flushed as he offers you a shy smile, his arms still around your waist. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” 

“I could say the same for you.” 

“So, what now?” he asks. 

“You go celebrate your first podium,” you reply excitedly. 

“We,” he corrects, finally unlooping his arms to take you by the hand and lead you out of the garage - and whilst your beaming smiles might’ve seemed to many the results of his podium, the two of you knew they were part of something much, much bigger. 

taglist: @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

[theoldsports]

SOLUTION.

Art Donaldson x Reader | 5k words

SORRY SERIES LINK.

warnings: pregnancy, implied discussion of abortion, a boy groveling on his knees for his family, there’s a dog (a real one, not just Art), talk about Art’s forced weird athletic borderline disordered eating.

okay, i lied last time. THIS is my best work. this is very out of my brain and i hope you love it. holy shit.

Have you ever sat and listened to a leaky faucet? I mean, really listened?

Steady. Like a heartbeat, if you think about it.

Sometimes, though, if the leak is slow enough, it’s more like the kind of heart rate that sends the nurse with the crash-cart sweeping into the room to shock you out of an AFIB pattern. Or however that worked.

[Y/N] was listening to it. The dripping. The kitchen sink. It hadn’t stopped for days. When it began, it was steady. Now, it was irregular. It started the day Art left

Art had been away at an early season tournament. [Y/N] had an impossible work week, so Art had told her he was happy to go for the better part of the week on his own. They both knew Art really did hate to be alone in situations like that. He had always had one of his people there. His mom, Patrick, [Y/N]; one of them was in his corner at these things. This time, he was truly on his own. Art could not stand to travel alone. He had his team of physios and coaches, but not his family. [Y/N] was going to swing by and surprise him at the end, but her boss had leaned into her for trying to take more days off during release season for the big summer blockbusters. Plus, someone did have to watch the dog.

This context about Art’s being away is important. It’s not that Art was the epitome of a handyman, but he really liked to feel like he was contributing to their home’s ecosystem when a lightbulb went out or a switch needed replacing. The man was incredible with the small things. Yet, [Y/N] sat at the kitchen table with a frown on her face, trying to rough in an outline for an article. With the faucet dripping. If Art were there, or if she was with Art three states over, the faucet wouldn’t be dripping against the porcelain basin.

It wasn’t like the wifi signal was strong enough anywhere else on the property for her to up and move either.

drip drip drip. Said the faucet.

[Y/N] was damn near the point where she was going to run upstairs to the bedroom and get the baseball bat Art kept with the express purpose of running down the stairs in his briefs and cracking up on possible intruders. All she could think about was bringing the wood down against the glass and cheap metal on her kitchen counter.

A new house would have a working sink and a bathroom counter that wasn’t too small and a halfway decent wifi signal.

Instead, [Y/N] set her face down upon the cool blue faux granite countertop. The temperature helped ease the feeling of the hyperbolic corkscrew being driven between her eyes. The dripping kept dripping and [Y/N] wanted to cry.

This agony wasn’t all the sink’s fault, though.

[Y/N] saw on the tennis channel before she even got a call from Art that he’d won that weekend. He still hadn’t called. The lack of a call from made her feel ashamed. Not a soul there to celebrate the success with him. She felt an immense sense of guilt slide across her skin because she wasn’t there to witness that smile he got when he won. Sweaty and angry, but relieved every time. He still got that look when he won. Art was a machine on the court, and a competitor not worth counting out at this point in his career. He still looked surprised and delighted every time he, of all people, hit the winner. [Y/N] loved that look. Art loved how she would celebrate with him after a win, too.

[Y/N] prayed Art made his flight without delay that evening. Selfishly, because she wanted her boy back. Also because Art was mortally terrified of airplanes. Planes made him feel out of control due to lack of trust with the pilot. Without that phone call from him, [Y/N] was scared knowing he was out on his own and that he likely felt anxious enough to give a horse a heart attack. She would have no way of knowing if something had happened between the match end and now.

She did know that the sink was leaking.

She also knew her period was two weeks late.

That, Art couldn’t fix on his own. In fact, it was fairly obvious that the delay was more or less Art’s fault.

[Y/N] hadn’t yet taken a pregnancy test at that time. If she took the time to take one, it would make everything the obvious answer a reality she would have to deal with. She had scares before. Ones that she had never, and would never, tell Art about. She would wait for her delayed—not missed!—period and everything would be fine. Like the other times. It had to be fine.

She checked her phone. It was a blue slidephone with small rhinestone stickers she had applied to the back. Still nothing from Art. He said he would call first right after the match, but he still hadn’t actually called, so maybe it was time to call first. It had been hours since he said he’d ring up. It wasn’t a major concern that Art would blow her off. Ideas of danger and uncertainties flooded her head.

“I’m the one that wants marriage so bad. Not Artie. What if he says no? Or not now…?”

[Y/N] sat on the beach with her back against Patrick’s shins. Art and [Y/N] were completing their first year completely post college. [Y/N] and Patrick were twenty-four and Art was almost twenty-four. His November birthday set him behind.

Patrick’s hands were on her shoulders and his body in a beach chair behind her while they both stared off over ocean as the sun set. “You’re actually stupid if you think he’ll deny you, [Y/N].”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to step on his game, or whatever. The guy is supposed to ask. Isn’t this going to be… emasculating or something?”

“Emasculating for Art? For pretty baby? Yeah, okay,” Patrick teased. [Y/N] threw a fistful of sand at him. “Christ, okay, okay. Cool it.” He spit.

Art had run back up toward to hotel to grab his water bottle, while Patrick and [Y/N] stayed at the dunes. [Y/N] wanted to propose to Art by trip’s end. She thought it would be sweet. Art was extremely forward when it came to her her, but he hadn’t been forward about the whole proposal business. He seemed scared about marriage. [Y/N]he would do it herself.

She was grateful for the time alone with her best friend too. Sitting and doing nothing, or partying. Either was more than welcome. “He’s not going to say no,” Patrick continued. His mouth casually leaned close to her ear. “Because it’s insane how whipped you’ve got him.”

“Don’t say that—“

“He wants to have your babies. Ask him. Trust me, he’ll say yes and he will be all the hell over you.” His fingers worked into [Y/N]’s shoulders, feeling the tension there. He took his hands off of her when Art came running down the beach.

[Y/N] heard a click in the lock. Her head flopped to the left, still pressed against the counter, to glance at the door. Her heart rate increased. She was so tired and the speed of the situation so fast, that she didn’t both moving or attempting to defend herself.

Most fortunately, when the door swung open, it was her Art. The sun was going down behind him. He looked a bit ragged and had a racket bag over one shoulder and two duffels in the other hand. She sat upright sharply on the kitchen barstool. “Pretty baby!”

All Art’s gear hit the floor. The door was left open behind him (taking a big chance that their Labrador mix, Cheese, didn’t run down the stairs and bolt out and away). Art walked toward [Y/N], arms extending. His strong arms pulled [Y/N] in close to his chest. She rested her head against his soft gray t-shirt. Her own arms embraced him back and one of her hands tucked comfortably into the back pocket of his jeans. “[Y/N]… I missed you.” Art said into her hair.

“I missed you… I-I… You didn’t call. How did you get here—“

“Final match actually started on time, so I gambled on moving my flight to the earlier one. I didn’t have time to call if I was taking the early one. I should’ve texted. I got nervous with the-the flight. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

[Y/N] leaned back to look at him. There was no more welcome sight in the world than Art Donaldson. Irish genetics saw to it that Art was freckled from the spring sun. With shaggy hair boyishly covered by a baseball cap tipping back dangerously, he practically glowed. Even though he looked like shit. His sunglasses were hanging on his shirt. [Y/N/] tilted her head up, signaling for a kiss. Hungrily, Art leaned forward to take as many kisses as he wanted. His lips tasted like spearmint gum. Like always.

Cheese did run downstairs when Art’s hand climbed up the side of [Y/N]’s throat and when her own hand started to squeeze from under the fabric of Art’s back left pants pocket. Art had to pull regretfully away to grab Cheese by the collar and shut the front door.

Delightedly, Art did gteet Cheese with ear-scratches and a belly rub. Art received the customary licks and a tailwags in return. Cheese was always pretty down when the whole family wasn’t together. He walked and played a bit, but when his dad wasn’t around, Cheese kind of deflated. He had spent most of the time laying flat on Art’s side of the bed. It was obvious the dog was grieving the disappearance of his boy.

When Art bent down to pat his beloved Cheese, [Y/N] stood from her chair and bent at the waist. She pulled Art’s hat off and set it on the counter. Gently, she kissed Art on top of the head. With a scratch not unlike the ones he gave to the canine to the back of Art’s neck, the man looked up at her from the ground with a half-smile.

“Congrats, baby,” [Y/N] said. Art cut his eyes curiously from her to the tennis channel on the TV playing in the next room. That had him realizing where she would have gotten the information of his win from so efficiently. “How was the tournament? I’m sorry I couldn’t—“

“Sure, sure, but I bet Cheese here is pretty glad you were home,” Art said and stood up with one final pat to Cheese’s flank. “The whole thing was great. I… I’m kind of surprised I won, if I’m being honest.” Art said, wrapping an arm around [Y/N]’s waist.

Naturally, her hands flattened against his toned chest when he tugged her towards him. “I’m not. You’re fucking good at tennis, Art.”

His ears reddened in embarrassment as he tucked his face into [Y/N]’s neck to hide his face. Art was used to praise and loved it more than anything, no matter where it came from. Every compliment from [Y/N] was worth a hell of a lot more. Art hated thinking about why that was the case. He knew why, though. She had seen he and Patrick play and even then thought Art was good. Art still won the match when it came to [Y/N] and he would never tell her that.

“Hush…” He mumbled into her neck, planting a biting, teasing kiss there. She laughed. He laughed. “I played against an eighteen year old kid yesterday. He played really well,” Art leaned back to look at her again. “You saw, I’m sure,” he indicated the TV with a nod. “He would’ve won this weekend if I hadn’t won that match. Just… I’m twenty-six. Made me feel old.”

“…Glad you won, then.”

“I said if I hadn’t…”

“Well, if you’re sooooo down on your win then congrats on flying home all by yourself like a big boy.” [Y/N] smirked.

“Oh, you’re gonna be like that, huh?” Art withdrew his hands from his wife’s body and put them teasingly on his own hips.

[Y/N] nodded. “Yeah. If you’re old, imagine how I feel.”

“Ancient, probably.”

Art leaned in for another kiss. She pushed him back playfully. “No! You called me old!” [Y/N] laughed.

She leaned one way, then the other to avoid Art’s beautifully wrinkled nose and smiling mouth. “Please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You’re-you’re not old!” Art said and attempted to trap her with his arms and give her a kiss.

[Y/N] turned hard over her shoulder and ran up the stairs. Cheese gave a woof from the couch when Art chased after her. Art spent his life chasing after her.

“No! You can’t kiss me! Doghouse! Bad Art! Bad!” [Y/N] accused jokingly. Art jumped up the stairs. He took them two and three at a time.

Art backed her against the bathroom door. Nowhere left to run. His rough hands settled on her hips. “Gotcha. You’re pretty fast for an old lady, y’know. Late for bingo, or—“ Art smirked when he leaned in to kiss her.

[Y/N] shut him up with a kiss. She had missed his stupid boy babbling. His mouth was soft against hers. Art put one of his hands on the wooden door beside her face to hold himself up. The other hand found her belt loop, keeping her body close to his.

“I love you,” Art whispered between kisses. “I love you so much, honey. I missed you.”

[Y/N]’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. Her breath caught in her throat. “I love you t—mmh!” Art leaned in for another kiss.

The joy of being Art Donaldson’s wife was that he never got tired of touching her, or being physically close. Sometimes, [Y/N] would look over at him while she was writing, or making dinner, and he would be staring, or slowly extending his hand to her and seeing how long it took for [Y/N] to acknowledge his presence. It never ceased to make her feel beautiful. “Can we…” his fingers danced over the button on her jeans.

“Can we what…?” She asked coyly.

Art blushed, but smirked and lowered his lips by [Y/N] ear. “Can we fuck? Please?” He asked too politely for as dirty as those words were. Like the good midwestern boy that he was.

She tipped her head back further. Art kissed her neck with all the energy he could muster. “Can I not make you dinner first? You-you a cheap whore as well as old now, too?” [Y/N] jeered. Art snorted a laugh. The warm air from the giggle spread over [Y/N]’s skin, causing goosebumps to raise. “I’m never letting you leave home alone again, then.”

Art nodded against her skin, sucking and licking a spot they both new would bruise dark. The sound she let out was absolutely disgusting and Art loved it. “I would prefer to never be let out of your sight, personally.” He said when he pulled away.

“Come on, house boy… We’re havin’ dinner. And you’re gonna eat some bread,” [Y/N] said, pointing a finger at Art’s chest. He started to put up a fight about the ultra-low nonexistent amount of inactive carbs he was eating during the season, but [Y/N] kept chattering. “Stop talking. Your brain doesn’t work right without carbs. Braindead. Come on, dinner.”

“You’re bad for me.”

“I know.” [Y/N] smiled.

Normally, [Y/N] drank a cup of coffee when the pair made dinner. Art knew the pattern. He made her the cup of coffee every time. It sat mostly unfinished that night, though. She found herself heating and reheating it in the microwave as they cooked. She started to space out as he recapped the tournament in full detail, as she requested. If Art noticed, he didn’t let on. [Y/N] noticed, though. Little stood between her and coffee. She didn’t want to drink it. That was violently unusual.

“Hey, I’m gonna go piss. Can you—“

“Watch the sauce?” Art asked, indicating the creamy pesto she had on the stove while Art cleaned and cut vegetables.

“Mhm.” [Y/N] confirmed. Art slid over to take the spoon from her. He placed a hand at the bottom of her back as she walked away. Art fit perfectly into her life. It wasn’t fair how right he was for her.

She went to the upstairs bathroom instead of the downstairs one. She hoped that didn’t set off Art’s sixth sense about the way-things-had-to-be. Once upstairs, [Y/N] wasted no time yanking open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. It was overflowing, naturally. Makeup, supplements, condoms, hair ties, pill bottles, loose painkillers. It was a disaster. There was also a pregnancy test.

A laughing Art had given it to [Y/N] as a joke the morning after their wedding night and she had hit him hard enough to bruise across the chest. The test sat wrapped and in the box behind the mirror every day since. Just in case.

[Y/N] had officially arrived at just in case.

She gingerly tossed the empty box under the sink so Art wouldn’t see it without looking for it. Then, [Y/N] undid the buttons on her overalls and, well, took the test.

Lacking the time to sit and watch it come back positive or negative, [Y/N] tossed the clean cap on the stick, slid it into the pocket of her overalls, washed her hands and went downstairs like nothing was wrong.

Except she knew something was wrong. Now she felt like she had a loaded gun in her pocket. She was too cautious with her movements due to the fear that the test would slip out of her front right pocket in front of Art.

She was damn near about to step into the pantry and shut the door just to see if the pee stick had one line or two. If he wasn’t already suspicious, that would do it. [Y/N] felt that the anxiety created was easily the worst anxiety she had ever had. Oops.

[Y/N] got quiet. She was talking less and listening more. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she was a chatterbox. Art would notice her blanched face and wrinkled brow eventually, she worried.

Ever the perceptive bastard, Art did. When he sat beside [Y/N] at the counter to eat a bowl of pasta with more inactive carbs than he had eaten in six months, he kept cutting his eyes at her. His bare foot nudged her ankle. Her dish was relatively untouched. “You good, babe? You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are being weird because you’re not being you. I’ve barely asked you how you’re doing with all the excitement. Long day?” Art asked, setting down his fork to drag his hand across the back of her shoulders.

“Yeah, a bit.” [Y/N] said. What she meant to say was I have a pregnancy test and I bet it is positive in my pocket right now and I’m so terrified that I can practically smell my pit stains right now, baby. But she didn’t say that.

Art spun to face her, taking in her expression and demeanor. There was that contemplative knot perched between his eyebrows. The back of his hand landed calmly on [Y/N]’s forehead to check her temperature. “Art…” [Y/N] said, pushing his hand down.

“No, hang on.” Art said firmly. He tried to put his hand back on her face. Instead, not having a clue what it said, [Y/N] reached into her front right pocket and slammed the pregnancy test down between them. Art retracted his hand and flinched back a bit at the sudden movement. The test was face down on the counter.

Art’s eyes cut from the test back to her. His face was suddenly very solemn. “Are you—“

“—I dunno. I didn’t-I couldn’t look. It’s been in my pocket for twenty minutes. No idea.”

“Do you think you are?”

[Y/N] shrugged and looked at her bowl. It looked too green. sick sick sick. drip drip drip said the faucet.

“Do you want to know if you are?” Art asked wide-eyed. “I want to know, personally. Do… Do you?”

Again, [Y/N] shrugged. “If we don’t look, it’s not real.”

“…That’s stupid.” Art shook his head.

“You’re stupid.”

Art sighed. “I’m gonna look. I mean, I’m going to turn it over,” his eyes frantically reached for [Y/N]’s. He grabbed her hand with his to get her attention. “I’m going to look. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah.” She whispered and it was okay.

And she was pregnant.

Two blue lines stared at them.

“Fuck.” [Y/N] said. She felt both elated and humiliated. She wanted so badly to be a mother. She wanted to cry. How could they keep it? The timing was wrong. She hadn’t agreed to this. The two of them had so many fights about it. She barely understood how this happened. She thought they were being so careful. It didn’t make any sense. Every precaution she could think of had been taken at one point or another.

And the fucking faucet was still dripping. She could hear it. drip drip drip. Over and over.

“Fuck.” She said sliding out of her chair and standing unsteadily. That wasn’t the result one should feel when they get something they have spent so long wanting.

Art ran his hands through his hair. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling when she looked so worried. His face betrayed the wide smile he hoped to hide. That’s exactly what he wanted to see. Fuck.

“Honey… Hey, hey. You’re okay. This is awesome. C’mere.” Art said like he was diffusing a bomb. His arm were wide open to hold her.

“Art…”

“No, uh-uh. Just come here. Please.”

Cautiously, [Y/N] made her way into her favorite pair of arms in the world. “It’s not supposed to be like this.” [Y/N] choked out as Art held her.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Art said calmly. His left hand’s fingers brushed her hair away from her face. “But that’s how it is now. We have to accept that and solve for the next move, right?” It was silent for a while after that. [Y/N]’s arms were tightly wrapped around Art’s shoulders and their bowls of pasta were certainly cold. She felt that she had ruined everything.

She glanced at Art’s face. The small smile betrayed him. “Art… We can’t. Not now.” she had told Art not now so many times that it felt forced and rehearsed. Now that [Y/N] that was actually pregnant, she wanted nothing more than to stay pregnant. The timing was far from good. She had articles that were still very due the next day. She had a husband who very much traveled often for work (who she traveled with too). She had Cheese, who was staring at her weird over the back the couch because he didn’t understand crying.

“What do you mean we can’t?” Art said quietly. “We-We can. We… have. We are… Actively.” He fumbled.

“We can. We did! But… You know now’s not a good time, baby.” [Y/N] countered weakly.

Art’s hands never left [Y/N]’s waist. “Let’s run pros and cons.”

“Pretty baby.” She said accusatorially. Good old analytic Art…

“Let’s run pros and cons.” Art repeated unflinchingly. He sprang up off of his barstool to gather a sharpie and a legal pad from some drawer. Art uncapped the marker harshly with his teeth. Cap between his teeth still, he asked: “Do you want it?” while he found a clean, smooth page.

Before she could respond with her head, [Y/N] responded with her heart. She nodded a yes to him immediately. “Do you?”

Art capped the back end of the marker to free up his mouth. “More than anything ever, I think. It would probably kill me a little bit, actually, if… Yeah. I understand and it’s all up to you, honey, but… Yeah.” His hand created a PRO column and a CON column on the page.

Under PRO, Art added the items he knew would cause no trouble in his blocky capitalized handwriting:

FINALLY START FAMILY

NATURAL/EASY START

SEASON ALMOST OVER

[Y/N] HAS FLEXIBLE HRS

DREAM COME TRUE??

WILL BE GR8 PARENTS

[Y/N] nodded in approval. She couldn’t think of more pros, but Art handed her the marker and she started in on the CON list:

OLYMPICS??

ART’S NEVER HOME

EXPENSIVE

SMOKING/COFFEE

CHEESE JEALOUS?

TOO YOUNG!

Art drew the line at giving up stimulants and assigning the dog human traits and struck both of those off the list with a frown.

Frankly, Art thought the cons list turned out rude.

“I haven’t qualified for the Olympics yet,” he protested. “And if I do, imagine how early on that would be. Before all the hard stuff.”

[Y/N] replied with the thing they both knew was the most real problem. She had waited forever to say it out loud. “No offense… You are never home anymore. You’re busy all the time. Which I get. It’s your job. You’re good at your job. But look how excited the fuckin’ dog got to see you because you were gone so long. You are never here. We can’t put a human in doggy day camp all the time. It would be fucking impossible to raise—“

“I’ll quit,” Art said, wincing. He wouldn’t. [Y/N] felt that this was a bluff. He tried in vain to hide his expression of shame. “I’ll quit tennis.” He said. He wasn’t going to.

“That would worsen the problem. No money.”

“I’ll work at the 7/11. I’ll be a construction worker. I could be a fuckin’ coach. I actually have a degree, y’know, I can use it. I’m more than a racket. I don’t want you to feel alone here. I want to be here for all of it, I can—“

“You know I’m alone here a lot, babe. A lot. You don’t… You’re in a position where you’re unable to help constantly. Because you’re gone. That’s okay. I married you knowing that, right? But a baby, Art? That’s not fair.”

“I’ll bail on a season. I will. I just…” Art stared at her. “Please. I’m begging you. See this kid through with me.”

The sharpie was forgotten on the counter along with dinner. Art’s knees landed on the floor before [Y/N]. Art practically lived on his knees in front of [Y/N]. He gathered [Y/N] hands in his. “Please. It’s your call, but hear me out. Because that thing is part of both us. I don’t want you to hate or resent me or the little stinker forever, but you want it. I know that. Hear me out.” His beautiful two-tone eyes stared up at her.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“I will give you anything. Please, my world is you. Not tennis; you. I’m telling you, I-I would leave that behind to be anything you need right now. Just ask it. You’re my fucking priority, you got that? I just.. I… Please? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to keep it too, but—“

“Then what’s the big deal?” Art asked hopefully.

“It isn’t a good time. It’s too soon.”

Art’s mouth trailed kisses across his wife’s stomach and hips and hands and arms. He let this go on for several minutes. “Please,” Art whimpered pathetically into the skin of her wrist. “Please, please, please. I will do anything, my love. I’m on my knees here,” Art looked up at her through thick lashes. “We can do this. Both of us together. I’ll do whatever you want. You know I will. This can be good for us. I’m really sorry we’re here, but here we are, hon. What time’s going to be the right time? Please. I love you.” Art pleaded desperately.

[Y/N] knew this was going to be a disaster. But she wanted to keep it. What time’s going to be the right time? rung in her ears over and over, like the faucet. They had put so much time into arguing about the time and the place that would be right for a family. Now it was right in front of them. Her hand caressed Art’s face. She loved it when he groveled like that. This time, on his knees and everything. On instinct, he nuzzled his face into her hand and looked up at her through long lashes.

“Will you fix the faucet? It’s been dripping all week.”

“Anything.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. I’m going to think about it. The baby.”

“You will?” Art’s teary eyes widened.

“Objectively, this is a terrible fucking idea. We both know that. But if it’s really so terrible, why do I feel, like… happy about it…”

Art’s face lit up. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. [Y/N], honestly, found it very hard to say no to Art. His arms wrapped carefully around her thighs while his head rested against her middle as he knelt. [Y/N] could feel his silver ring through the denim of her overalls. “God, I love you. I love you, [Y/N]. We’re not going to regret this. Holy shit…”

“Love you too. We’re gonna… We’re gonna try, maybe? This doesn’t feel real. Does this feel real? I…”

“It feels like a dream is what it feels like,” Art mumbled into her clothes. “I love you.” Art said, pressing a kiss to her stomach.

“I love you.”

“I’m gonna be a dad…” Art almost wept. “If you, y’know, but… Shit. I’m sorry.” Which part he was apologizing for was unclear.

At that, [Y/N] laughed and tangled her fingers in his curly blonde mop of hair. “Yeah, you’re gonna be a fucking dad, pretty baby.” She smiled.

[Y/N]’s next instinct was to say: I have to call Patrick. Then she remembered couldn’t call Patrick.

TAGLIST (ask to join):

@diorrfairy @donaldsonsdarling @muthafuckingstargirl @shysstuff @soberbabes @avylanchce

apologies for tag issues. i’ll dm those it didn’t work for!

[ohbabydollie]

Teacher Schlatt BUT also the coach of the baseball team

Reader would always bring the best snacks for the team. Treat them to food or ice cream whether they win or lose

Schlatt shows off his skills in front of his partner whenever he has the chance. Whenever the players make fun of him for it, he adds an extra lap for their warm up

- 💌 anon

You love the team like your own mini family

You’re like the fun parent of the team and Schlatt is the strict parent

When you have the free time to go to the practices Schlatt takes the chance to show off infront of you

It annoys the team to no end and they always take the chance to embarrass him (which occasionally works if they’ve been slacking and Schlatt thought to go easy on them)

So he makes them run extra laps the following practice if they succeed in humiliating him

the players tease him, making kissy sounds and asking if they’re gonna practice or if he’s going to be showing off the entire time

You always bring them snacks and drinks after practice if you weren’t there during

If they spot you before Schlatt does, it’s immediately “ohhh Mr. Schlattttt, here comes your little loverr” followed by a chorus of oooooos

If you end up calling him during practice, he’s tries to stay as quiet as possible, moving away from them and covering his mouth as he mutters into the phone before someone calls him out on it

“IS THAT MISS/MISTER L/N, CAN WE SAY HI?”

He says no and tells them to go warm up instead, queue 15 minutes later, after nonstop whining and begging he lets them go in a line greeting you

You always attend games!!

On schlatt’s arm as you cheer on your team, win or lose

Getting them ice cream after if they’re home games

Faraway games, you’re traveling with a bunch of teenagers and your boyfriend on a small school bus

even though Schlatt insisted you could just meet them there, but you said it would be the same

Hyping up the team as you’re getting there

You even made them a playlist and little goodie bags for the team

Schlatt says you don’t have to do it, but you do it anyways

Schlatt always tells them that he’ll get them something quick and cheap for dinner on away games but without a fail, they end up being treated to a nice dinner and dessert

If the team sees you going to pay for it, they start dogging on Schlatt for it

Schlatt’s wallet suffers for it

he’s not going to let his ego be crushed by kids half way through puberty

Win or lose, you’re always there for them

Ik I haven’t posted in a while, I’m sorry 😞😞

[103rafes]

TAPE 007 ᯓ★

"Woah, you're at my game sober?"

in which varsityboy!pogue!reader is playing against a rival University, and frat!rafe is actually there; weird.

-

FRAT!RAFE and VARSITYBOY!POGUE!reader

Nothing could be louder than a Varsity hockey game between both Harvard and Michigan University, the echoes of people scrambling at the fierce competition that took place on the ice of Bright Landry hockey center. Both teams were out for blood, slamming eachother into the boards, skates faintly scraping from how much pressure they were putting on the ice, and inhumane speed of the puck being passed back and forth.

It was crazy alright, but then again it was the norm. No.

This was your norm.

The sweat that was surely sticking to your hair from the compact space of your helmet, the mouthguard you were suddenly hyper aware was practically glued to your pearly whites, and of course, the strain your legs muscle had from all the rushing and speeding you were doing.

They never said hockey was easy, you knew that and yet that had never stopped you even as a child. Now here you were, fully supported on a sports scholarship and the C of Harvard's Crimsons. You were the best out there, you knew that. You proved it time and time again, and as you dribbled the puck, swerving past a Michigan player and towards the net, you reeled your arm back and slapped the puck towards the net with a force that would've hurt in the form of an actual slap.

The buzzer above the opposing net blew, and you raised your stick up while you skated behind the neck and out. Goal.

Your team was now 4-0.

You grinned as your teammates rushed up to you, mitts colliding with the top of your helmet in a congratulatory sense, some hard smacks to your back while your team yelled praises right into your brain.

It felt good, it would always feel good.

Within a few minutes, it was already half time and intermission had stopped the game temporarily for a well deserved break. You walked back on your skates to your team's bench, both Michigan's and Harvard's teams exchanging cusses and insults between one another and promises to destroy eachother.

Quickly, you were sat down with your stick between your legs and hands, slowly zoning out while your coach spoke to the majority representing; though, it's not like you were listening.

Especially when your eyes saw the last man you'd ever expect to show up to a varsity game, let alone a hockey one.

Rafe Cameron. The leader of probably the biggest fraternity on the Campus.

You blinked, eyes slightly wide and brows furrowed dumbly.

..Huh?

You hadn't realized you'd been staring for long until your coach practically screamed into your ear, causing you to flinch.

"Number 78! Is your head here or elsewhere?" Your coach barked, and you stared at him dazed, before nodding, "Yup yup, I'm here, I'm here," You hastily answered, doing a mini salute. The coach seemed unconvinced, eyes narrowing as he studied you before he gruffed out, "k, keep up the work out there, you boys are killing it; just keep your head in the game."

With those words travelling through your mind in a loud loop, halftime seemed to fly by.

Skates slid smoothly against the ice as you chased down the other Captain on Michigan's team, the two of you on a head on duel to gain control for the puck. You were trying to steal the puck right from the other guy's stick, breath baited as you almost managed a few times. You had just went infront of the guy in an attempt to block him, before he suddenly turned around and shot the puck across the ice.

Icing.

You grimaced, some muttered curses as you skated to replay the puck. A little irritated by that cheap move the opposing captain had pulled, you skated slowly before a bang to the tempered glass made your head whip up to attention.

It was none other than Rafe Cameron. You didn't know why, but amusement filled you and you snickered, "What're you doing here?" You asked, your voice somehow getting to him over the crowd.

Rafe had that smug smirk, the one you wanted to wipe off so bad, resting on his features, before answering, "Thought I'd see y'gettin' your ass kicked, seems I was wrong," he shrugged, and you slightly rolled your eyes, "Oh, cause you would've fuckin' loved that," You snorted.

The one Kook you'd bury alive, yet the only one who could manage a conversation with you, even if it was one filled with distaste.

Rafe rasied his eyebrows mockingly, "Might've even jerked off to it."

Your eyes narrow at that, and you're about to skate off before Rafe spoke, "Woah woah, a'ight, m'just kidding!" He quickly spoke up, and you turned your head slightly to the side, not willing to sell his game cause Mr. Pussy frat eater wants to tease his balls off.

Rafe scratched the back of his head, adjusting the snapback he wore backwards, "Sooo..uh, got a party this weekend 'n uh..was wondering if you'd show," He muttered, and you stared in disbelief, before a laugh escaped you, "Bro? Look, I have practice this weeke-"

"S'on a Sunday, relax," Rafe interrupted, and you could already hear your coach's voice piercing your hearing, though you didn't care; that's weird, why didn't you care?

You hummed lowly, "Hm..no." You denied, and Rafe's nose scrunched in annoyance, "Oh c'mon-"

"Why? You're gonna be kissin' your frat sweetheart's face off, what's her name..Sofia? Yeah, I don't wanna see that shit buddy," He snickered, and Rafe's gaze darkened in obvious irritation, "Hey, I was drunk," he argued half assedly, and you groaned, "Yeah, like cause fuck! When are you not drunk, riddle me this-" You joked before Rafe cut you off once more.

"Just! Come, okay? Yes or no question, dipshit, don't fuckin' uh, do your teasing shit. You comin' or no?" Rafe asked firmly, and you realized that oh, you had to give an actual well thought answer; you were already on thin ice, testing both your limits and your coach's with how long you were stalling the replay.

After a bit of thought and panic beginning to settle into your skin for not getting back into the game any longer,you groaned in annoyance, "Fuck..fine, I'll come. Ya need my number?" You asked, venom in your voice as you silently stressed, hearing your coach's yells grow louder and angrier.

Rafe nodded, "Uh..pshh, yeah I do." He concurred. You considered your options for a bit, before you leaned your mouth towards the tempered glass, and let your breath create a fog against it. You quickly took one of your gloves off, a slender finger tracing letters into the foggy surface.

Rafe watched you with a focused gaze, the sentence forming before his eyes, and no doubt a number.

647 087 8895 better have coors light, or twisted tea if you're weak LMAO

You put your glove back, before you skated off to the face off with a snicker and no prior word.

By the end of the game, you'd gotten a huge earful from your coach about how long you'd stalled the replay faceoff (despite winning 6-2 by the end of the game), but again - it flew through one ear and out the other.

You were heading back to Campus now in your car, your best friend talking to you about something while you absent mindedly hummed, before your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced at the screen of your car, waiting for the notification.

Maybe: Rafe Cameron

yo [10:18PM]

2 attachments

[10:18PM]

topper approves kign0re the mass [10:18PM]

ignore* mess* lmfao holy shit i'm a sbit durnk [10:19PM]

so you down? [10:19PM]

You stared at the messages in disbelief. Well, shit. Now you had to come to this party, and try your damn hardest to avoid everyone who tried to lay you.

Now at a red light, you could think over what you wanted to. You murmured some words to your best friend, and he gave you advice. Some really bad advice.

"You should go, I'll come with you if you want." He told you, and you were quiet, nodding as you pursed your lip.

After a hot minute of contemplating between bad probably fun decision and safe boring decision, you sighed loudly as your one hand quickly typed out a short response, while you pressed the gas lightly at the bright colour of a green light against your face.

LMAOO damn [10:22PM]

ight fine i'll come [10:22PM]

-

note: zest fest fr. This is short, I just wanted to pull something out of my ass real quick for this. I'm missing AA, missing hockey over an injury is the worst. Hope this is good, and uh..yeah, have a good day, thank ya kindly.

also, this shit isn't proofread. Maybe later.

[daengtokki]

𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒹 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝑒

Kim Seungmin/Female Reader

wc: 8.5k

rating: mature/explicit ಇ

comments: part three was heavily edited from it's original version. There are most likely some grammatical errors that I've glossed over from staring at the screen for so long. Feel free to send a message and let me know if you see anything wildly wrong.

→ PART ONE

→ PART TWO

Part 3 of 4

“You can’t be nervous if I’m nervous.”

He’s right. You take a deep breath and turn to face him again. Kiss him on the lips. Your free hand snakes around his waist, finds the hem of his shirt, and tucks underneath to run over his skin.

His muscles tighten for a second, then slowly relax as your hand moves upward against his side and back across his shoulder blade. He sighs as you touch him.

You haven’t felt this much of his body until now.

-

Your plane lands four hours later than scheduled. You’re tired, hungry, and your back is killing you. Korea Air is fine, and it always has been, but 13 hours in coach is something you’ll never get used to.

There were no plans to travel home up until three days ago, and it’s a miracle you got the week off to deal with your family. As much as you hate doing it, you don’t mind a change of scenery and a break from your typical work days in Korea.

Honestly, this is the perfect solution to the loneliness and monotony. It was only three weeks ago that you finally got to see Seungmin again, but it’s been a long three weeks. And he has kept his promise of keeping in touch.

Every single day since date number two, he's sent at least one text. You try to send messages only when he does, but occasionally you can’t help yourself, and you send something in the middle of your work day, or right before you go to bed. You’re still a little worried about being a bother, and holding back your clingy-ness has been difficult, but he always sends something back. Not always right away, but he does answer. And he sends selfies often—those texts are your favorite.

You have failed to mention that you’ve been on your way to Chicago (he sent a text about two hours ago, letting you know the first two shows had gone well), and that you’d be arriving the day before he would also be in the same city. But you’ll let him know soon. You don’t have much hope for getting to see him while you’re both here; he’s busy, and the last thing you want to do is bother him during a tight schedule. But he's been the only thing on your mind for weeks.

You managed to get a ticket to the Chicago concert the night you realized you be in town for it, but it wasn’t cheap. Even if you don’t get to see him alone, seeing him on stage will be worth the price.

____

“Who are you talking to?”

There’s a giggle in his ear, and a sharp chin lands on his shoulder. “Why are you smiliiing?”

IN grabs Seungmin’s shoulders and takes a seat directly behind him, giving him a good view of the phone in his friends hands.

“Don’t be nosy.”

“Is it the girl you’ve been talking to?”

Seungmin half turns and stares at IN, then looks him up and down, “What are you talking about?”

IN stares back wordlessly, a grin plastered on his face. He’s squinting his eyes at him accusingly. “I’m talking about the girl you’re always texting.”

Seungmin picks up his iced coffee, takes a sip, then releases himself from IN’s stare.

IN follows him across the room.

“Send her a cute selfie.”

“I already did.”

“Oh, haha!” He beams with pride at thinking he got him to slip up. “Did she send one back? Can I see her?”

“No. And no.”

“I won’t tell anyone else, I promise.”

“How did you know if nobody else knows?”

IN stops and thinks for a moment, then he side-eyes the other two members that are currently in the same room. They’re too far away to hear the conversation, but Seungmin stands and heads over to them.

“Chan?”

Chan turns and looks at him with a smile. He doesn’t get a chance to speak before Seungmin does.

“Did you tell IN about her?”

It takes him a few seconds to process what he’s being asked. “No, no…I didn’t tell anyone.” his voice lowers as he realizes what they’re talking about.

“How does he know?”

Chan peaks around him at IN, who’s already staring wide eyed. He beckons him over with two fingers, and he runs over, unbothered.

“How do you know?” He asks softly, very curiously. “I didn’t tell you.”

“I just guessed.”

Seungmin and Chan stare, speechless.

“I always see him smiling and laughing while he’s texting, and then taking selfies. I didn’t know he was actually texting…” he looks around at the others that just walked into the room. “…texting someone.” He whispers the last part.

“The less people that know, the better…” Chan says, but casually, as if he knows he doesn’t really have to tell IN. “It’s nothing serious, right Seungmin?”

“Huh…” he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. “Oh um, no…it’s not.”

Chan stares a little longer, “is it?”

Seungmin feels like his mind is being read. “We just talk a lot.”

He nods and leaves it at that. IN smiles at Seungmin once more before walking off. Then he pulls his phone out to check his notification.

Sounds like you guys had a good time. I did catch some fan videos from last night!

He smiles at the text, and then wonders what you’re doing up at four in the morning.

____

You pull out your phone, hoping the buzz in your pocket is him.

What are you doing up so late? Are you okay?

Oh, you forgot about the time difference. Maybe it’s time to let him know you’re not in Korea.

“I’m okay. I just landed in Chicago. I had a family thing come up, and I had to come home. I promise I’m not following you.”

You see him typing a few seconds after your message is delivered.

oh, you’re from Chicago! That’s so exciting that you’re here. Are you coming to the concert tomorrow night? Please come!

Before you have time to reply, he’s typing again…

Maybe not if you have family to see

“No, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it”

let me know what seats you have…maybe I can get you closer

You’re trying to text him and stuff your bags into the trunk of you moms car at the same time.

“I don’t think they’re very close, but I’ll let you know as soon as I get home”

don’t worry, I’ll figure something out

“What are you so smiley about?” Your mom asks and slams the trunk shut.

“Just a text.”

____

“Sooo…”

“Soooo what?” Seungmin glances at IN. He has an inkling about what he’s getting at, and he’s trying not to indulge him too much. But Seungmin will admit that if any of them were going to find out prematurely, he's glad it was him.

“Can I see her?” He’s careful and quiet saying it. “Please?”

“Fine, give me a second.” He types a quick message and then pulls up the photos you’ve both shared. He finds one of the very few selfies you’ve sent him and shoves it a few inches from IN’s face.

He looks and his eyes widen, smirk grows. “Oh she’s not…” he stops himself and lowers his excited voice, “she’s not Korean? Oh she sent a text.” He giggled and tries to finish reading before Seungmin pulls the phone back.

“No, she’s not.”

“Where is she from?”

“Chicago. She’s here now, too.”

“Oh she’s gonna come see us tomorrow!”

Seungmin nods and types, “yeah, she is coming. I need to get her a better seat.”

“Sneak her into soundcheck.“

____

The next morning, you wake up to the buzzing of a text notification. A Seungmin message. You open it up and squint through sleepy, jet-lagged eyes. It’s barely 8 am. You slept an entire ten hours, at least.

Good morning 🤍 if you’re able to, come down to the venue at around 2!

A close-up selfie follows. You can only see his eye, a peace sign, and a little bit of hair.

And a heart emoji. That combination is a first.

You reply, set an alarm, and immediately fall back asleep.

And luckily, you don’t sleep through it. At eleven, you’re up, nervous, showered, more nervous, and then when it’s time to figure out your wardrobe, you feel like you’re going to puke. Knowing you’ll see Seungmin is keeping most of your nerves at bay, but the fact that it’ll be at an arena of this size, with this many people (you assume there will be a massive amount of fans already hanging around that early, because you know how concerts here are), and throw in the possibility of meeting his friends…you’re nervous.

____

It’s as busy near the venue as you expected. And you find yourself enjoying it, surprisingly. Seeing all of the fans gathered around and clearly having a good time, despite the heat, is nice.

You jump out of your Uber and send a text to Seungmin. You need a more accurate location to head to, but for now you don’t mind wandering around and people watching. Just a glance at someone seems to immediately give away their favorite member, and you make it a point to look for anyone who prefers your favorite.

A text message buzzes before you get too far.

there is a staff entrance at the box office, just walk in and pretend like you belong

That sounds like a terrible idea, but you trust him and head in that direction. It’s not very busy there, because the tickets have long since sold out, but there are staff members milling around. You don’t look like you belong, but you also know that attitude and demeanor can get you far, so…

____

Seungmin only mentioned his plan (IN’s, really) to Chan about ten minutes prior to his last message to you.

“I don’t know if that was the best idea,” he says. “Is she already here?”

“Yes, she’s somewhere outside. And I know.”

“Okay, I might have a solution. Wait here.”

Chan disappears for a few minutes, and in the meantime, Seungmin actually starts to feel a little nervous. His plan was simple: have you walk casually in through the staff entrance he’s already seen used many times that days, by many different people—some with and some without staff shirts or lanyards.

“Even if she gets in using your terrible plan,” Chan returns, and behind him is a man much larger and taller than either of them. “She can’t walk around alone or with you the entire time.”

“She gets her own bodyguard!”

“Chaperone. And she won’t look too out of place with him. “

“Thanks, Chan. Thank you, Jay.”

“No problem, buddy. Let’s go find her before she gets lost.” Jay pats Seungmin on the back and leads him down the hallway. “What does she look like?”

It’s a long walk toward the entrance, but both of them scan every person and group as they pass by. It gives the butterflies in his stomach more time to move up to his chest and throat.

“She’s right there!” Seungmin waves and gets your attention before approaching. He doesn’t want to make a scene, so he waits until none of the venue staff is around.

You have a hard time containing yourself when you finally catch sight of him. You don’t remember him ever smiling as wide as he is right now, and it makes your legs tremble a little.

You wave and wait for him to reach you.

“Hey…” Seungmin stands a few feet from you. He seems a little uneasy.

The man following behind him is obviously trying to keep some distance, but not too much distance. “I can turn away if it makes you both more comfortable.”

“No Jay, you’re fine,” Seungmin laughs but doesn’t look away from you.

“Is this your bodyguard?”

“He is, actually. But today he’s going to hang out with you so you don’t look out of place, and you have someone who knows what’s going on.”

“Oh, that's a relief.”

“But I’ll take you to our dressing room if you’d like…if you want to meet everyone."

"I'm...I do, but do you think it's too much? I mean, too much too soon?"

"Meeting them?" He thinks about it. His mouth is pushed to one side, puffing up his cheek. "I don't mind if you want to wait. We can always just go right out by the stage for soundcheck. You'll see them out there, they'll probably see you. You'll be a mystery."

"I like that idea. Maybe afterward I'll feel better about it."

He nods and waves Jay over. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off of you.

“You look nice.” He lowers his voice and and drops his gaze to the floor. But you can still see his smile.

____

You’re sitting a few rows back from the main stage. Your chaperone is a few yards away and much more relaxed out here. There are so many people working the sound check that your extra face is hardly out of place, so now you feel like you can relax and enjoy the view.

All eight of them are on stage, along with a few band members, and some techs. There’s a camera filming everything just off stage, and another directly on stage with them. You watch Seungmin as he interacts with it. He looks relaxed and happy. No more worry in his eyes.

You get out the earplugs he gave you, but for now you just enjoy listening to him speak into his mic and headset. He looks at you a few times, but subtly, trying not to direct too much attention.

One of the others keeps looking your way, you assume out of confusion or curiosity. Or both. It’s Lee Know. You watch as he walks along the edge of the stage closest to where you’re sitting. Another member joins him and looks out; this one is smiling, almost as wide as Seungmin smiled at you earlier. You know who everyone is thanks to the endless videos you've watched. It's IN.

You try not to make too much eye contact, but you don’t avoid them completely. They seem to know who you are.

Your chaperone appears next to again and takes a seat, “having a good time?”

“I am, thank you for dealing with me.”

“No problem, anything for these boys.”

“Do you know them well?”

“I’ve been working with them for a while now, so I’d say I do. How’d a girl like you meet Mr. Kim?”

The Mr. Kim is said with a bit of sarcasm, but a cute, playful sarcasm. And by a girl like you, you assume he means an American.

“I live in Korea, near where he grew up. We met through a friend. Do we seem like a weird match? I mean…we’re not a couple—"

“Are you sure about that? He’s looking at you right now with those big puppy dog eyes.”

Jay points up to Seungmin. When you look, he quickly smiles and waves before running back to the center of the stage.

____

Your adrenaline is off the charts at the end of the concert. You had an idea of what to expect from footage of other concerts, but being there in person, watching them…watching him, was obviously on another level. You feel like you’ve been introduced to a new little part of Seungmin’s personality. You feel closer to him.

Now you’re back outside in the fresh night air. You haven’t heard from him yet, but you’re not surprised. He’s probably exhausted. You stick around, though. He didn’t mention anything about seeing each other after the concert ended, so you don’t assume anything or get your hopes up (even though they are, by default, always up when it comes to him).

A small group of girls—you can’t really tell how old, maybe around your age—find a place to sit near you. They’re understandably excited and very loud, so you listen in as they talk about their favorite parts, favorite songs, and biases. The loudest of the group is a Felix fan. You sneak a glance at them and one of them notices you.

She waves, “are you here alone?”

You look around and then point to yourself, “Me? Oh, yeah I am.”

The rest of them wave you over with such enthusiasm that you can’t possibly deny them your presence.

“Was it your first concert? It was mine, but not theirs. We’re flying to California for the first two next week.” The girl who looks the youngest, and has a Han Quokka plush strapped to her gestures to the whole group. “Are you going to any more?”

“This is the only one I got a ticket for, so probably not.

“Who’s you bias?” The one who spoke to you first asks.

You hesitate for a moment. Who is your bias?

“It’s Seungmin.”

The girl continues talking, but you’re distracted by the buzzing of your phone. It’s him.

you are still around, yeah?

“Of course! I’m outside”

Now he’s calling. “Sorry, I gotta get this!” You excuse yourself from the group and answer.

“Hi, it’s a little loud out here.”

“Okay, I just figured calling would be easier. Come back in the way you did earlier, I’m already here.”

“Okay, I’m near there. Give me 10 seconds.”

He starts counting down…

“Okay…nine…”

You laugh and speed up a little—

“Eight…”

—but there are more people here and dodging them is not easy.

“Seven…six…five…”

“Count slower!”

“Fooooouur…three…”

You see the door and push through a couple much harder than you intend, but your hand is pushing the door open just as Seungmin says—

“Two! You did it!”

He’s a good distance away, but you can see his smile. He takes a few steps toward you, but lets you finish closing the gap. He holds out his arms and pulls you into a hug, which catches you off guard. You’re surprised oh makes him giggle. There’s nobody around except for Jay, but it still feels very bold.

“You were amazing.” You squeeze him a little tighter around the waist, and he reciprocates.

“Thank you…I hope you had a good time.”

“I did,” you slowly release him but keep a bit of his shirt clenched in your fist. “What’s your plan for tonight?”

“Hotel tonight…and I think we are leaving in the morning. Unless they change things last minute, which sometimes happens.”

“Well, at least you don’t have to leave right away. It’d be nice if you stayed in Chicago a little longer, though.”

“Yes, it would be nice.” You see him glance at Jay and lower his voice. “I can let you know which hotel, though. And I’ll text you my room number.“

“Oh?” You feel your face getting hot, and Seungmin’s cheeks have definitely turned a shade of pink.

“Unless I have to share the room.”

“Well, you just let know which hotel. And we’ll figure something out if we need to.”

He nods shyly and takes your face in his hands. He doesn’t pull you in for a kiss, though, just gently rubs his thumb over your cheek. And it’s somehow even better.

“I have to go, but I’ll text you.” He disappears with Jay around the corner.

And then you panic a little, because you weren’t ready for a hotel invitation. You’re having flashbacks of the last date, and how heavy things got for just a few minutes. And how Seungmin reacted, because he hasn’t gone that far with anyone yet.

Maybe that isn’t what he was getting at. You’ve spent plenty of time with him alone in your apartment, why would being alone in his hotel be any different?

It’s just a feeling. Just in the way he lowered his voice and blushed. Things will play out how they’re supposed to, though. No pressure. You’d never put him in an uncomfortable situation.

It might be a good idea to prepare anyway.

Going home seems pointless, because the hotel is most likely here in the city. You don’t want to waste time traveling home and then back. You’re already short on time as it is.

But when you find a convenience store to pop into, you get a look at yourself in the mirror. It could be worse, you suppose. It was a hot day, and the concert was no different. Besides, Seungmin has already seen you like this. It can’t be that bad.

But you do buy a water to chug, gum, and when you pass by the condoms, you stare at them for far too long. Buying them means you expect something to happen, and you feel weird about expecting it for some reason. Not buying them and being unprepared seems worse, though.

You grab a pack. You grab two, actually. You did get a quick feel of him before. And you remember it well. Now you just have to deal with the awkwardness of checking out with two different sizes of condoms.

You stuff your purchases between the mess of other things in your bag and walk aimlessly for a few blocks. It’s still crowded down here, even though it’s getting late, and you can’t help but start worrying when almost an hour passes with no text from a Seungmin.

Maybe you should have gone home and waited.

But just as the thought crosses your mind, you get a message.

“Here’s the address, and my room number is 1344.”

Your heart starts to race when you read it. He has his own room, so things will at least be easy. And the address is only another two blocks away.

____

You text him when you get to his room instead of knocking. You’re afraid to make any unnecessary noise. He's shuffling around in the room before the latch clicks and the doorknob turns.

Somehow every time you see him, he’s even better looking.

The door is closed and locked behind you before either of you speak.

“Hi…you got here fast!”

“I was close by. Was I too fast?” You look him up and down. He’s in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, and his hair is a little damp.

“No, definitely not. As long as I don’t look like a wet dog.”

“No, you look very handsome,” you grab a handful of his shirt and pull him toward you. “It’s a good look.”

He leans forward and kisses you on the forehead. Another romantic gesture. It gives you butterflies. You like it, but you can't help but be baffled by his very bold and distinct romantic gestures. Three weeks ago he had a hard time with your hypothetical dating question. But that was three weeks ago.

“Do you want something more comfortable to wear? I can give you one of my shirts.

Okay, so maybe he does want you to spend the night, “Yes, I'd like that.”

He grabs one from his bag and shakes it out. Then he brings it to his face to smell it, “this is clean.”

“Thanks,” you hold it up and look at it.

“It not very big on me, so it should fit okay.”

You head into the bathroom and look at yourself again, try to get the butterflies in your stomach to calm down. Big breath in, slow breath out. It doesn’t seem like he’s trying to drive you crazy, but he’s doing a very good job.

You start taking off your necklaces, your bracelets, and then peel off your shirt that’s long since dried from the sweating you did all day. You check yourself for any offending odors, and even though it’s not bad, you take the time clean up the best you can.

It’s been a while since you had to do a sink bath before a potential lay. And every single one before this wasn’t even worth it. Seungmin is different, though.

Now you wonder if this is the way you want things to go. In a hotel, very little preparation. But you may not see him again for a while after tonight. And if this feels good for him, it's good for you.

There is still the possibility that he won’t be ready.

You slip into his shirt, and it's still pretty big. The sleeves reach your elbows and the bottom hem just covers your shorts. You could walk out without them and he might not even realize it—you take them off and fold them up neatly with your shirt and jewelry, look at yourself one more time, and then head back out to him.

“Oh, that looks good on you,” he turns from his seat at the edge of the bed, then pats his hands on the spot next to him. “Come here.”

As you climb onto the bed and crawl toward him, he slowly lies down on his back. “Are you tired?”

“No, not tired,” he props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at you. “Not yet...it takes a while to relax after a concert." He pulls at the hem of your shirt and his fingers slide across your thigh. He takes his hand away, so you grab it and put it back. Seungmin takes the hint and slides his palm to the side and gently squeezes.

When he looks up at you, you grin, but he just lets himself fall forward so he can hide his face in the blanket. You hear a big sigh, and maybe a soft laugh.

“What’s the matter?” You lie down next to him and wait until he turns his face to yours. “Minnie?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Do you want to get cozy and watch something?”

“Yes, that sounds nice.”

You pull the blankets down and fluff the pillows while he gathers himself again. “Which side do you prefer?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t usually have to choose.”

“Okay, I’ll take the left side.” You cover yourself up and relax against the pillows.

Seungmin follows, but he stays on top of the blankets for a moment and stares at you. You stare back and say nothing. Then he crawls underneath them, too.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” You say.

He just pushes himself into the pillows and pulls the blanket up to his chin without a word, but he turns himself to face you.

You do the same.

“If that’s what you want.” He says.

You roll your eyes around as if you’re thinking and hmm under your breath. “Can I come closer?”

He nods.

You scoot yourself toward him until you can rest your forehead against his. “That’s better.”

“Can’t watch anything like this.”

“Oh, no I guess not,” you move back a little and look him over. “Should we—“

“No,” he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back. “This is good.”

You take the invitation and place your hand on his neck; he moves in for a kiss before you get the chance to, though. And he kisses hard enough to push you on your back.

For a moment you think this might be it, but you find yourself hesitating and softening your kiss. Then loosening the grip on his neck.

He pulls back and stares down at you.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do,” you cup his face and hold him there. “There’s no rush.”

“I know.” He comes back down, kisses you once, and then falls back at your side. But his arm remains draped over your stomach.

Your heart sinks a little. It feels like you don’t know what you want. Well, you do know you want him, but you’re nervous. Maybe just as nervous as he is. “Don’t think I don’t want to, because I do.”

Seungmin smiles and sets his head against your shoulder. “I know you do.”

He knows you want him. You’re glad he knows—and you love the way he says it.

“Are you stopping because you’re worried I’m not ready?”

“No, only you know that. I’m just a little nervous, I guess.”

“You’re nervous?”

“I am.”

“You can’t be nervous if I’m nervous.”

He’s right. You take a deep breath and turn to face him again. Kiss him on the lips. Your free hand snakes around his waist, finds the hem of his shirt, and tucks underneath to run over his skin.

His muscles tighten for a second, then slowly relax as your hand moves upward against his side and across his shoulder blade. He sighs as you touch him.

You haven’t felt this much of his body until now.

You keep going, touching his stomach, his chest. It’s then that you feel his hand on you. It’s warm moving across your thigh, over your hip. His touch is soft, but he squeezes when he pulls you closer.

Seungmin slides his hand down to the back of your thigh and brings you as close as he can manage.

He’s on top off you again, hand still on you. His hips are gently pushing into yours. You can feel him through his sweatpants, and now your brain only wants one thing: to get them off of him.

“Seungmin,” you get him to look at you. “Seungmin?”

“Mhm?”

You pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

“Yeah?” He kisses your neck and lifts your shirt. “Are you okay?”

You nod and help him get it off.

“Oh,” he laughs and touches the spot directly below your sternum. “Tattoo.”

He looks over you slowly, a little shyly, before placing a kiss on your collarbone. You run a hand across the back of his neck. The other slides down his stomach until it reaches the band of his sweatpants.

Your heart beats wildly in your throat as your hand disappears. Fingers wrap around him and feel every inch. He whimpers softly into your neck. The hand buried in his hair moves down and kneads hard into his shoulder as your fingers stroke him.

Seungmin’s face is still in your neck, breathing hard. Eventually he takes a hand and maneuvers it to pull at his sweatpants. You let go to help slide them down enough to free him.

He moans, a little apprehensively, when you touch him again. You know you have to take it easy; he’s obviously very sensitive and you want this to last as long as possible for him.

“I like hearing you, don’t be shy.”

He tries to hold back an embarrassed laugh, but he does a bad job of it.

“Are you comfortable in this position? I could…do this with you on your back.”

He nods, but you don’t know which part he’s nodding to.

“Lie down.”

You let go of him until he’s on his back and relaxing. His face is still flushed and his breathing is a little shaky, but his eyes are almost closed. He seems relaxed enough. You kiss him and wrap your hand around him again.

His eyes open fully when you begin to stroke him again. His lips part and you slide your tongue against his.

The moans coming from him become a little louder. His hand lightly grips and slides down you arm.

“I didn’t really prepare for this. It could be better…if we had lube.”

“It feels good.” He whispers and smiles into your mouth. “Oh, I do have some.”

“Where?” You slow down a bit and let go of his lips. “I can grab it.”

“It’s…” he laughs sleepily, “it’s in my bag on the chair, in the smaller black bag.”

You climb over him and jump off the bed. The bag is is already open and a few things have been pulled out, but you can see a small black bag on the side. “I found it,” you unzip it and look around.

“It’s in the other little bag inside of that.” He laughs again. “Everyone is very nosy.”

You unzip the second bag, and there it is. It’s small, and still looks pretty full. You turn and look at him, “for when you’re lonely and horny on the road.”

He laughs again. “Yes, exactly.”

You warm a small amount in your hand and push the blanket down a little. You’ve touched him, but you haven’t really looked anywhere besides his lips and eyes yet. Now you watch your hand slowly move up and down , and the warmth and slickness makes everything so much better. You can feel how good it is for him. Your heartbeat drops into your stomach and you can feel yourself getting wetter every time he lets himself moan.

But as wet as you think you might be, his size is still more intimidating than you expected.

“You’re very good at this.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so soft.

“Yeah?”

He bites his lips and nods. “It feels so good.”

The room is warm, and the AC hasn't kicked on again. There are a few beads of sweat forming at his temple—you kiss him there and work your way down to his chest, then across his stomach.

The muscles tighten as you move across his hot skin, further and further down. When you slide your tongue across his head, he moans out the breath he’d been holding since you got to his chest. The sound he makes is desperate. He does it again when your lips close around him and your hand grips a little more tightly.

He wasn’t prepared for your mouth. He breathes out your name and it sends a wave of pleasure through you. His hand touches softly across your back and neck.

He says your name again.

“You okay, Minnie?” You kiss his stomach again and look up at him.

He nods and sits up, “can I touch you?”

You let go of him and straddle his stomach. He reaches for you and runs his fingers over the thin fabric. You put your hand over his and push your underwear to the side so he can feel you. There’s another, almost inaudible moan when he does.

Two fingers slip deep inside as you lean in to kiss him, and with your help, he gets the hang of moving inside of you.

You sigh sweetly into his mouth. You’re already much more sensitive than you normally would be. Every little movement he makes is causing just enough friction where you need it. The heel of his palm found your clit and you’re not sure he even realizes.

“I’m gonna come if you keep that up, wait a sec,” you stop his hand and take a deep breath.

“You are?” His voice cracks and he sits up more. His other hand has been digging into your hip, and he finally loosens his grip. There might be a bruise there later.

You grab his face and kiss him hard, then finally maneuver yourself out of your underwear while he’s there to keep you balanced. You reach behind and find his cock, stroke him a few times, and move back.

“Are you good if I…have a seat?” You laugh and wrap your other arm around his shoulder.

“Yes, very good,” he holds onto your waist to help steady you both.

When his head slides across you, he smiles and throws his head back. You do it again before carefully pushing him a little bit inside of you. It doesn’t take much to get another sound out of him.

“There’s a lot more to go,”

He looks drunk, but he smirks, “sorry.”

“For what?”

“For having a lot more to go,” he laughs.

“I’m not complaining.”

You push him deeper, just a little, because you’re not sure what your limit will be in this position.

And deeper. You watch him carefully. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open. You hold him tightly around the neck with both arms before slowly lifting yourself.

It takes a few more times before you find a rhythm , but when you do, you’re sure the sound Seungmin makes reaches the surrounding hotel rooms.

You try to quiet him with your mouth, but it only stifles him a little. You love the noise, but if the others are close enough to hear him, it might makes things awkward.

His hands hold your hips and slowly guide you up and down on his cock. You breath his name into his mouth, and he bites down on your lip.

His voice is a whisper. “Is it okay?”

“Yes,” you whine and push yourself as far down as you can. It stings, just a little, and only for a moment. “You feel so good.”

He leans back to watch himself slide inside of you, and the lusty, satisfied look on his face is making the ride even smoother. “Do I?” He takes your face in his hand and runs his thumb along your lips and cheek.

The room disappears and all that exists is the feeling of him; his breath on your neck, his voice in your ears. His hands grip you tighter, lifting you, and holding you steady when he fills you up again.

He’s not ready for it when you pick up your pace. His fingers dig hard into your hips—you hear him swear under his breath as he attempts to keep himself under control.

“Talk to me, I wanna hear your voice. Do you like it, Minnie?”

Seungmin kisses your neck, his lips graze over your ear, “yes,” he manages through the soft sounds he can’t hold back, “yes, fuck. You feel amazing.”

You pull him away and look at him, arms still wrapped firmly around his neck. One hand slides up and into his hair. “I like you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Under me, lost in it. I thought you were sexy before…but—“

“You think I’m sexy?” His smile is cute and tipsy, voice is airy. If it weren’t for you holding him up, he’d be flat on his back.

All of the sudden, you’re snapped back to reality. Seungmin is there, eyes wide, but the room is back. You’re no longer floating. You lost control and went a little too hard, and it hurt. You make a pained sound and all of your weight is on his shoulders.

“Did I hurt you?” He holds you up and pulls out, and you’re now relieved to be giving your burning thighs a break.

“No, no you didn’t,” You have to kiss him to get rid of the worried look on his face. “That was my fault.”

“We should change positions.”

You lay back on the pillows and grab his waist when he crawls over you. Your legs fall open and rest on either side of him.

“This is a bad angle for you to look at,” he smiles and hides his face in your neck.

You lift his face back up, “is that a joke? You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever had between my legs.”

He whispers a no and hides his face again, but at the same time, his fingertips slide down your thigh as if he’s teasing you.

”Sexiest…” you moan into his ear and wrap your legs around him to bring him closer.

You don’t need to give him any more direction. He explores you briefly with his fingers before guiding himself in the same way you did; slow and gentle.

“I’ll be careful…” he slides in easily in this position, stopping short to make sure he isn’t going too far.

You take his hips and carefully pull him in the rest of the way.

A rough groan jumps out of him when you meet. He stays there and looks at you until you brush the hair from his eyes and speak. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he smiles, looks down your body, then back up to your face. “Just like looking at you.”

“I’m the one with the view,” you kiss him and shift your hips, getting another sound out of him.

Now he’s finding a rhythm, but he’s much more reserved than you were. He seems to know his own limits, and maybe he’s trying not to overdo it and finish too fast.

“Is this okay?” He nuzzles into your ear and whispers before kissing you just below it.

“Yes,” your hands run up his sides and back, his neck, into his hair, “it’s perfect.”

He thrusts into you, very delicately, a few more times before slowing down. Then he stops completely, still inside of you. He’s breathing hard, eyes closed in concentration.

“Seungmin?”

“I just…need a few seconds.”

“Take your time,” you take his hand in yours and help his thumb find your clit.

He moves it in slow circles and watches you for any direction. But he does very well. He has a light touch, and a good pace. His hands are soft and warm. This, combined with him inside of you, looking down at you with eyes drunk with pleasure trying so hard not to come yet, is making everything happen very fast. But you don’t mind.

When he pulls out halfway and pushes back inside, you whimper and the pleased look on his face pushes you over the edge. He smiles and starts fucking you again, and he doesn't let up—you feel it coming. You moan much louder than you intend. He loves hearing it.

Your back arches up and your legs squeeze around him. It lasts a long time, and he doesn’t stop—just carefully touches you in the right spot until your body finally relaxes

“Wow…did you—”

You nod and try to catch your breath.

He doesn’t get through his question because it’s his turn. He comes hard and fast. The condom was completely forgotten up until this point, and he certainly doesn’t attempt to pull out. You don’t even allow yourself to dwell on it—you just enjoy the moment.

Seungmin’s mouth hangs open, and his eyes water. His moan is different this time; it’s more feral. His whole body tightens and moves in slow motion as his orgasm passes through him. He pumps into you until he can't take it anymore..

Then he’s catching his breath and regaining his composure. He comes down to kiss you, tucks an arm under your neck to bring you closer. He slowly pulls out and puts his weight on his knees.

“Come here…”

He listens and slowly lowers himself next to you. His hair is a little damp from sweat, and his face is pink. It’s a good look for him. You pull the sheet up and over both of you, then wipe at his brow with your thumb.

“That was nice,” he’s still catching his breath. His eyes close and you can see his body soften and relax on the pillows. “That was very nice.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“It was better than nice,” his eyes flutter open and he looks at you. Then he reaches out and pulls until there’s no space left between you. “It was much better than I thought it could be.”

“Wow,” you say into his neck. “That’s quite a compliment.”

“But I’m sorry, it’s probably not great that we didn’t use protection.”

“No, but I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

Someone’s phone buzzes.

“I think that was me,” Seungmin says and reaches behind him. His phone got lost somewhere underneath the blankets. As soon as he glances at the screen, he tosses it behind him again. “Are you going to stay the night?” He asks, arms tight around you again.

“I should get home before my mom starts to worry.”

He nods and tries to hide a pout.

“But you’re leaving in the morning, right?

“I think so, I’m not sure what time.”

“Would it be alright if I spent the night? So we can say goodbye.”

“Yes, that's a much better plan.”

“Can I use the shower?” You wiggle free of his grasp and look at him, “heat, concert, sex…that’s a lot to sleep in.”

Seungmin laughs and nods, “yes, go take a long hot shower.”

____

When you come back to the room, Seungmin is sitting at the desk writing. You can hear soft music playing from his phone. There are fresh clothes laid out on your side of the bed: the shirt you had on very briefly, and a pair of very comfy looking sweatpants.

“Are these for me?” You ask. He’s already cleaned up and redressed.

He closes his book he’s writing in and spins around in the chair, “yes, I’m sure they won’t fit very well, but they’re comfortable.”

“Thank you.” You drop your towel and pick up the shirt.

Seungmin stares at you as you pull it over your head, “what?” You laugh and grab the sweatpants. They are soft and they look expensive.

“Uhm, sorry…I didn’t see you without your bra before.”

You think he might be blushing.

“Oh!” You grab your chest, “I guess you didn’t. Come here.”

“Hm?” He smirks and walks toward you as you lift the shirt back over your head. “Oh…”

You take his hands and he immediately touches you, running his palms, and then his fingertips, over your nipples. They stiffen from his touch. He sits at the edge of the bed and pulls you closer, keeping one hand on your chest. The other runs down your side and over your ass. He squeezes and kisses the spot where your tattoo is.

This could turn into something very quickly, but right now you want nothing more than to get under the covers with him and sleep. You know he needs it.

“I like this,” he pulls at the hem of your shirt when you slip it back on. “You look cute in my clothes.”

____

It’s nice waking up next to him.

The room is still dark because the curtains are pulled shut, but not completely—little bits of sunlight make it in through the sides. You can see his sleeping face, cheek squashed against the pillow, lips slightly parted. He’s curled up tight in his spot with the blanket only covering his lower half, but one bare knee is far up enough to poke out.

His arm is reaching toward you, palm up and fingers curled. You slide your hand over the sheets and gently touch him. His fingers twitch and then close around yours.

He sighs deeply, then opens his eyes. First he looks at his hand holding onto yours, then his eyes move along your arm and up to where you’re laying on your pillow.

“Good morning,” he squeezes your hand and moves himself closer to you. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod and pull his hand up to your lips. “Did you?”

“Mhm, very well.”

“Did I tell you how amazing you were last night?” You ask and fluff his hair, “I mean…” you hide behind a hand, “I’m still asleep.”

“Well, I don’t know about…amazing.”

“The concert I mean!” you hide your face in the pillow, and Seungmin giggles as he tries to get you to look at him.

“I was okay I think.”

“The concert was…and you. I was focused on you the whole time.” You clarify as much as possible through your grin.

“You focused on Seungmin the whole time?”

“Yeah, the best part.

“And last night…last last night.” He smiles wide.

“Also focused on Seungmin.”

He pushes himself closer until his face disappears into your neck. “Thank you.”

A knock echoes through the room. Three heavy knocks. The voice that comes through is soft. “Seungmin, are you up?”

“Oh, it’s Lee Know. Stay here.”

You stay put and pull the covers up over your shoulders, but you turn to face the door. Seungmin opens the locks and pulls it open a few inches.

“What’s wrong? It’s still early.”

“I know, but I thought you might want to get breakfast,” Lee Know puts a palm on his side of the door and pushes, “can I not come in?”

“Uh, you can but…” Seungmin hesitates. “I’m not alone.” He gives in when Lee Know takes several steps into the room. He won’t be able to hide you for much longer.

“Oh,” he looks to the spot on the bed where you’re under a pile of covers. “Is it the girl, the one who was at the soundcheck?”

“Did IN tell you about her?.”

“No, Chan did. I should go. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to go,” you squeak out. You can just make him out from your spot, and when you pull the covers down from your nose, his whole body comes into view. Then you remember that one of them doesn't speak English very well, and you think it may have been him. You repeat yourself in Korean.

His eyes widen a bit. “Should we all get into bed, then?” He can be sarcastic and dry; you remember Seungmin mentioned that as well.

You sit up and look at him with a smirk on your face. “He’s the boss.” You nod toward Seungmin.

“You’re the boss,” Lee Know looks at Seungmin and winks. “Text me if you want to come.”

Now he turns to you, “nice to meet you,” he smirks and lets himself out.

Seungmin let’s out a long sigh when he’s gone.

“Come back to bed,” you move the blankets from his spot and fluff up his pillow. “Please.”

He listens and crawls back to your side. When he puts an arm around your waist and pulls you close, he says, “I was nervous about you meeting him.”

“Lee Know? Why were you nervous?”

“Am…am nervous, I guess.”

“You don’t think he’d like me?”

“The opposite, actually.” He hides his face in your chest and whines.

You oooh into his ear and it makes him giggle. “Does that tickle?” You move his hair and place a kiss there.

“I think you two are very similar.” Seungmin says. “You remind me of him sometimes, especially when we text.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he shakes his head, still shoved into your chest. “But, I just think you’d like him.”

You scoot yourself down until you’re face to face with him, but he still doesn’t lift his gaze. “Hey, look at me.”

He doesn't.

"Minnie?"

This time he listens, but he also gives you his best puppy eyes.

“You think I’ll get to know him and like him more than I like you?”

Seungmin nods.

“And that he’ll steal me away from you?”

He nods again, then stops and shakes his head, "You're not really mine to be stolen away..." he scrunches his face up in thought, wondering if his English made any sense.

“Well, I’m a little flattered you’d think someone else would like me that much. I’m much more flattered you don’t wanna have me stolen away.”

He rubs his eyes and sits himself up on the bed. “I’m sorry, I know we already talked about this.”

“We can talk about it again if you want to.”

He shakes his head and gets back under the covers. His hands find you and start to paw—at your side, your hip. He slides one down your outer thigh, and slowly back up. Then he starts to talk anyway. “He also knows Choonhee very well.”

“Okay, I think I'm understanding. I could have possibly been set up with Lee Know instead of Seungmin?”

You can hear his dramatic whine from underneath the covers. “It is very possible.”

“But I was set up with you for a reason. And you’re the first person I went on a date with since I left home, so I got very lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Yeah, lucky. Good dates are hard to find.”

Seungmin pokes his head out from the covers and smiles at you. “I’m glad I was a good date.”

"You were a perfect date."

"You should call me Minnie more." He says it's softly, but his hands are in a dangerous spot. "All the time. I like it.

"You were a perfect date, Minnie."

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me Professor (Chapter 57 - The Final Chapter)

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Healing. There would be an infinite amount of healing to do; though over the next six months there were little victories that aided in the process. Will plead guilty. It was an act that everyone was shocked about and ultimately it spared Carol a lot of extra heartache that she didn’t deserve. The evidence was already stacked against him, but now that Will admitted guilt, Carol would not have to sit on a stand as a defense lawyer grilled her and tried to twist her trauma around. For that, everyone was thankful.

Upon a leave of absence for the remainder of the school year, Carol returned to her job in September. In turn, she received a standing ovation from the student body and gained the full support of the staff there. Again, another part of the healing process. I knew Carol was hurting, but she persevered and thrived in her profession. She was going to make it because that’s what women like Carol did. They rose above. They made it.

“She even started coaching volleyball,” Joel informed me. “She was all-state in her younger days.”

Joel. My Joel. I had no issue calling him that all the time now. I tried to prove him wrong every day, and after a little bit of time and a lot of convincing I think it’s clear to him now that I will forever keep his secrets.

He went into a temporary retirement, and I changed my mind and pursued the rest of my Master’s Degree online. Without having to twist my arm too much, Joel convinced me to travel a bit to get away from New York State for a short while. It was therapeutic, to say the least.

I allowed him to take me to Nashville near the end of the summer, and then over to the Grand Canyon. We spent two weeks exploring California, extending our stays from a little ranch near the Joshua Tree, up to San Diego where I unsuccessfully tried surfing and concluding in wine country as autumn really set in. We hiked Washington State, made our way to Yellowstone Park, spent a few romantic nights on Lake Michigan before making it back to the East Coast in time for Halloween, where we crashed the small city of Salem, Massachusetts. It was the perfect ending, really.

Joel found us some cheap masks, and we blended in with the crowds that literally paraded every downtown street in the area. It was welcomed chaos and we spent the day taking pictures with spooky characters, sharing laughs, having some drinks and waiting in lines to slink into shops littered with folklore and magic.

When a light rain began near nightfall, Joel towed me away to a rooftop bar at the top of our hotel where he’d made a reservation earlier in the day. A gentle pitter-patter on the roof of the outdoor patio where we sat was relaxing. It was soothing music to our ears after a day of crowds.

From where we towered above the world, we could see two lighthouses in the distance over the blackened water. Below, people still gathered by the masses for whatever attraction, bar or restaurant they were seeking - if anyone.

“Here are your drinks.” A waitress came back to our two-person, high-top table with a pair of martinis and I sighed as she walked away.

“Ready to go home?” Joel asked, smirked as he placed a hand gently on top of mine.

My fingers squeezed around his and I nodded. “This has been a wild ride.”

“Happy Halloween.”

I grinned again and raised my glass. “Happy Halloween.” Our glasses tapped together and Joel leaned two-thirds of the way across to peck my lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed me another time and then settled back in his chair. At the same time, we took sips from our drinks and I felt my body relax.

“This has been great,” I told him, unable to think of another adjective. “It really revived me.” I gave a nod and looked him in the eye. “How do you feel?”

“A lot better.” He grinned and added, “Thank you for sticking by me. You had every right to run in the opposite direction. You still do.”

“Dr. Miller,” I said sternly, making him chuckle. “I’m going to need you to stop trying to convince me to leave you. Unless you’re secretly trying to get rid of me.” I sipped on my cocktail and kept my eyes on his.

Joel leaned forward, never breaking eye contact. “I would never want that.”

“Then stop saying things like that,” I ordered lightheartedly, leaning back toward him just a little bit.

“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll work on it.”

“Thank you.” When he lingered, I leaned forward and left a long, closed-mouth kiss on his lips. When I pulled back he was grinning and I chuckled.

“I’m thinking the exact opposite of that, actually.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I want you to be with me forever.”

I felt a blush form on my cheeks and I couldn’t help but smile wider. When Joel leaned back, reaching a hand into the pocket of his khaki pants, I felt like my body went numb. And then he pulled out a small, black box and pushed it across the table. I was frozen. My eyes were glued to the box and if it was anything other than what I thought it was, I knew it would be like a kid opening an empty box on Christmas.

“What’s this?” My words barely made it out past my lips.

Joel’s eyes remained on mine as he opened the box. My eyes dropped, staring at the silver ring in the center of it. A Diamond sparkled even in the dim lighting.

“Marry me,” he said quietly, linking his hands to mine on either side of the ring.

“Marry me.” I repeated the words to myself to make sure I heard them right. “Marry me.”

“Marry me,” Joel said again.

My gaze found his again and finally the tears that welded up in my eyes were tears of joy. “Okay.” I laughed and cried at the same time, “I’ll marry you.”

“Yeah?” He kept his voice quiet as mine grew louder, drawing a few glances from other patrons in our direction.

“Yeah.” I giggled and put my face in my hands as I continued to cry at the same time. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Joel!” I popped my face up. “Yes! Yes!” People were staring at us now and Joel looked around the immediate area, giving a wave and a smile before returning his attention to me. He reached for the ring in the small, black box and slid the ring on my finger.

I jumped up from my seat and I couldn’t help it. I rushed around the table and threw my arms around him, pulling him in to kiss him hard.

“I thought Halloween was a fitting night for us to get engaged,” Joel admitted, holding me close as he spoke in my ear. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“It’s perfect.” I whispered back, holding him close as my fingers gripped the hair on the back of his head. “I love you.”

“Did you two just get engaged?” A female voice shouted from a few tables away.

We both pulled back, still holding onto one another and I responded by showing off my ring. “Yes.”

The costume-clad crowd in the immediate area all began to clap and I couldn’t contain my wide, beaming smile and the tears that continued to fall. When a waitress got wind of it, she brought us over a bottle of complimentary champagne.

“I know it hasn’t even been a year since we’ve known each other,” Joel said, “But life is too short to wait. You changed my life, (Y/N). I’ve never loved or trusted someone more than you. I don’t want to ever risk letting that go.”

“I know how you feel.” We shared another kiss and then took our glasses toward the edge of the balcony that overlooked Salem. I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

A breeze passed through and made me shudder, causing Joel to pull me close.

“Any regrets?” He asked.

I smiled up at him. “None, whatsoever.”

**Thank you everyone for following this story. I appreciate everyone reading, reviewing and following. It made it fun to write. This is the longest story I've ever written and it's been fun because people were interacting and guessing whole the killer was and I loved it. It made it great for me, as a writer. So THANK YOU!

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandojojo @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @smolbeanzzz @bandluvr97

[harunayuuka2060]

Vil: I find it unexpected that you had chosen to be closed for the entirety of the previous weekend, Azul.

Azul: We went on a short vacation.

Vil: With MC, I supposed?

Azul: Yes. It was quite a lot of fun. *chuckles*

Vil: And you didn't even think of inviting me.

Azul: I'm awfully aware that you have a busy schedule. I couldn't possibly bother you, however, I would surely invite you next time.

Vil: *sigh* Anyway, I came here to borrow MC. Are they here at the moment?

Azul: I'm afraid they wouldn't be working today.

Vil: Why? A day-off after a weekend vacation?

Azul: They are exhausted after they had an intense pole-dancing competition with Floyd and Jade's father.

Vil: ...

Vil: What?

MC: We're doing an exotic dance. Not an extinct dance. Why the actual fuck you look like you're being grilled on a skewer?

Leech's dad: What? This is sexiness! Tell 'em, ma!

Leech's mom: *just smiling* No comment, dear. But you're doing great.

Azul: *recording the whole situation and is trying not to laugh like Jade and Floyd who's been wheezing for an hour*

Cheka: MC! MC! Let's go to Unca!

MC: *cuddling him* I'm exhausted. You go there yourself.

Cheka: *whines* But I want you to see Unca~!

MC: I know his face. I don't have to see him.

Cheka: *pouts*

Ruggie: Boss, it's rare to see you this tired.

MC: *yawns* Yeah. Not used to travelling under water.

Ruggie: I figured. By the way, boss? Can I borrow some money from you again? I'll give it back as soon as I can.

MC: When did I ask you to pay, Ruggie?

Ruggie: Shyeheehee! Right. Thanks, boss.

Ruggie: I'll do your groceries.

MC: Okay. *uses Cheka as a chin rest*

Cheka: Are you going to sleep?

MC: Yes... Shush...

Deuce: I wonder if boss is inside.

Ace: We didn't see them at Mostro Lounge.

Jamil: However, wouldn't it be rude to visit them without prior notice?

Floyd: Nah~. They don't really care.

Kalim: That's great! 'Cause we badly need their help.

Floyd: *kicks the door open*

Ace, Deuce, Jamil, and Kalim: !!!

Jamil: Don't you know how to knock?!

Floyd: Knock-knock~. There.

Jamil: ...

Ace: Let's just go inside.

Deuce: Boss... Are you sleeping right now?

MC: My eyes are closed but I'm listening.

Cheka: Multi-tasking!

Ace: Okay... Well, we have a problem in the Basketball Club.

Kalim: And Pop Music Club!

MC: Uh-huh. And what are those problems that deserve half of my attention?

Floyd: We need a basketball coach~.

MC: You can do that one, Floyd.

Floyd: *scoots to their side* But that's a boring job~.

MC: And what about the Pop Music Club?

Jamil: They're going to get disbanded if they fail to find new members to join their club.

Kalim: Please, MC! Can you take part in our concert?!

MC: What d'you wanna me do? Sing?

Kalim: Yes!

MC: *opens their eyes and looks straight at him* What if I have an awful voice?

Floyd: They have a beautiful voice. I've heard it once.

MC: Tch. You're not helping, Floyd.

Deuce: I want to hear boss sing!

Ace: Geez. Your fanboy energy, Deuce.

Jamil: I know it's not much, but I can offer my services to you.

MC: *raises an eyebrow*

MC: ...

MC: You cook curry?

Jamil: ...

Jamil: *smiles* Yes.

MC: We have a deal.

Floyd: Hehe~. You're so cheap.

MC: There's no cheap with good food.

Cheka: Unca can cook curry!

MC: No, he can't.

Ace: Why is he suddenly mentioning Leona-senpai here?

MC: He's trying to pair me with his Unca. *yawns*

Cheka: *pouts* But you and Unca would fit together.

Floyd: Just give up. My dad got a kick in the face and when he tried to set them up with a friend.

MC: Yeah. Just like Floyd said.

Cheka: ...

Cheka: Are you going to kick me in the face? *puppy eyes*

MC: Yes. But you're a kid so you're exempted.

Cheka: Hehe~.

Ace: Wow.

[wellourgerdes]

Luxury Coach Tours to Lake District – Travel in Comfort & Style

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[inglorionamy-ammy]

Of Home and Haven (Ch 1/6)

[Yes I love them and I am drawing them a cover lol]

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale SFW

Word count: 3.2k

Notes: Welcome to my first venture into fan fiction!

A gigantic shoutout to @senualothbrok for guiding my newbie writing every step, for being my beta and English coach, and for being so enthusiastic about Gale AND Ta'V in general. Without you, I wouldn't have the courage to post the story.

For whoever ventured here, please enjoy :)

AO3 Link: Here

-------------

It still feels wrong to venture outside without the Nyrulna, your faithful trident.

Logically, you understand it’s a horrible weapon choice for the crowded streets of Waterdeep, its thunder damage a guarantee of passerby casualty. You are not expecting battles anyway — Compared to your last two months of tadpoled adventures and the previous ten years of your mercenary life, this is a significant change of pace. The violence rate here is obscenely low.

Ha. Astarion would have giggled at that, followed by a disapproving-but-amused headshake from your gentlemanly wizard. Gale Dekarios, your human, your man. Even counting your pillow, he is still the softest, finest thing you have ever laid hands on in your nomadic life. What a strange twist of fate, that a scheme of the Dead Three has led you to this treasure you'd never encounter otherwise. Perhaps a “thank you” is in order.

A lady always says thank you. Ma’s voice rings in your ears, a distant memory. You snort, not to her but to yourself. She had never lost faith in your ability to be civilized, even when you believed otherwise.

Now, it is Gale who has given you the courage to try out polite society again. The last time you set foot in a city, not including the cultist-infiltrated war-torn Baldur's Gate, was for an escort mission at Elturel. You and a few others were hired to travel with a half-elf noblewoman, her frail yet elegant frame reminiscent of the fawn you hunted a day before. In daylight, you rode next to her, vigilant for any potential danger. At night, you postponed your rest to hunt so that her private chef could prepare her precious meal, while you feasted on cheap rum and dry meat. You had no protest over such an arrangement, being right at home living simply in the wild. It was only when she deliberately changed her wagon into what you could only describe as a "show-off cart" to enter the city, that you felt a pang of distaste. Despite her so-called concern for safety, she wanted a crowd anyway, and a crowd was what she got. Unsurprisingly, when the crew marched past the city gate, the people of Elturel gathered to stare at her in awe and at you in fear. As you walked alongside the heavily decorated four-wheeled cart at a painfully slow pace, you silently thought, "That could be me sitting in there. I am half-human too, you know?"

But that’s where you stop. Focus. You have two missions today, the first being to bring a surprise lunch to your fiancé at Blackstaff Academy. You have roasted a pig leg as best as you could with his magical hob, picked out the freshest berries of the season, and scouted a rich full-red you know Gale will enjoy.

Wait. Is drinking allowed at school? You wouldn’t know, as your education came from your parents and the road. In any case, he can store it in his big, nice teacher’s room he gleefully described in detail when he first got his position a week ago. You had been celebrating at the Yawning Portal that night, and your drunken wizard had lovingly leaned on your arm, so overjoyed that, despite being in public, he cheekily rubbed his beard against you like a spoilt kitten. You just couldn’t resist giving his soft hair a good pat.

“T-This is surreal,” he sighed, with a lazy gaze under half-lidded eyes. “Please, my love, join me someday. I have so many stories to share —it is my second home after all!”.

You liked the place already. If that is where he belongs, then you must go there as well.

In the end, you decide to give up the Nyrulna and pick a simple axe, just for safety measures. It should be a perfect choice: small enough to hide under your cloak and cheap enough not to make a fuss, even if it got confiscated by an academy guard. Tracing its metal notches reminds you of Karlach, a fellow barbarian soldier. You miss that woman.

You check yourself in the mirror one last time, adjust your dreadlocks, and take a deep breath. Time to face polite society.

---

"STOP."

You hold up your hands as two steel sentinels halt you at the gate of the renowned Blackstaff Academy. It is a gesture you have practiced many times, wary and expectant. Behind them, the arcane tower looms over you. The voice of the guards sounds too hollow and unified, a single echo shared between the duo. Remotely controlled guards then, you think, impressed.

“STATE YOUR PURPOSE.”

“I am here to see Gale Dekarios, Professor of the Illusion School.” You practiced this also, more times than you’d ever admit.

“School of Illusion,” the voice corrects you. Now it sounds like a sentient being, not like that weird projection of Lorroakan’s at Sorcerous Sundries. The masculine voice has a pinched, haughty tone and an air of tired condescension. You are immediately reminded of wizards and their pride in education; how a long time ago, when you had miraculously succeeded in channeling the Weave for the first time and shared your joy with Gale — “I didn’t know channeling the Weave was so easy” — he wasted not a second to remind you that, in fact, it is not. Somehow, that awkward moment has now turned into a soothing memory.

“Hm-Right.” You cough to hide a snort. “I am his wife. I would like to bring him lunch. May I pass the gate?” As an afterthought, you add, “Please?” Your Ma would be proud.

“LIAR. Piss off before I chase you out.”

Of all the responses you expected, this is not one of them. You are growling before you know it. “I suggest you KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.” The words rush harshly out of your fanged mouth.

…uh.

In an instance the two sentinels spring into a battle stance. Worse still, you can feel onlookers start to gather, and your skin itches under their gazes. You force an exhale.

“…What makes you think I am lying?” You try as calmly as you can manage, holding onto the mental image of your smiling wizard, just beyond reach. Volo’s book better gets published sooner so that everyone will know who you are. Better yet, you will make sure he highlights the word ‘wife’.

“Professor Dekarios is not married.” The sentinels, with the smuggest voice you have ever heard in your life, drop their final blow.

And that is when you remember. Yes, you are still technically his fiancée, even though the man himself has often forgotten that, already showering you with affection far deeper than a ring could ever capture.

Perhaps someone more eloquent would continue to argue, ask Gale to come out, and demand proper treatment for a lady. But right now you only feel overwhelmingly exposed, with too many prying eyes and wiggling tongues for you to maintain your civil façade any longer. So you retreat, trying to ignore the unsubtle snickers. The sentinels were not as clever as they thought they were anyway. What kind of guards reveal personal details to a potential enemy like that? Amateur.

---

What would Gale do to remedy the day? He would strategize.

You decide to call upon Tara to deliver the meal, and if the sentinels deny her entry they will know true horror. Her outrage upon hearing your encounter was enough to cheer you up. After all, your goal is to get your love fed, and the means—who is doing the delivery — are less important than the ends.

With that dealt with, you now need to focus on your second mission—to pass a job interview. You have decided that settling down in polite society means less fighting, but there is no way you’d just stay at home and rely on Gale’s income, even though he wouldn’t mind. The man is more than willing to provide for you, but you wouldn’t want to lounge around in the tower, hanging off his coattails. Truth be told, this is for your own good too—you truly wish to be a part of Waterdeep by playing an active role in it, not just as a tag-along of Gale’s.

Of the ten positions you applied for in the past month, you only got one reply: a counter clerk at the Aurora's Realms Shops next to the Market. Gale had frowned when he heard about the demanding dusk-till-dawn working hours, but you assured him you’d only take shifts six days out of a tenday. He had tried to argue further, but upon seeing your determination, swallowed his questions. You both know that if you had applied to be a city guard, a dock laborer, or even a weaponry store assistant, you’d get better offers. But you have decided that you want a change. More sitting, less fighting. To be polite. Chit-chat with people. To smile without malice.

So, on leaving Blackstaff, you arrive at the shopfront five minutes before your interview. You scan the two queues before you: one inside the shop and one outside. A queue for a counter clerk job at this paid rate? You lament, Waterdeep and its gods forsaken job market.

You push open the glass door, and upon seeing you enter, a human woman with a clipboard swiftly calls, “Oh. The interview for security guards is outside.”

“I am here for the counter clerk one.” Several candidates from the queue indoor turn to you curiously. To be fair, all of them are tinier than you; you’d have no problem reaching the top shelf, or lifting one, if you ever needed to.

“Ah. Right.” The lady is polite enough to look embarrassed. “And your name?” She shows you her clipboard as you tower over her, and as you scan through the long list she adds helpfully, “Or you can just tell—” “I know how to read.” You stop her mid-sentence, your harsh tone making her wince, and you wince too. Gods, you need to get better at this. Apologetically, you soften your voice, “This is me,” pointing to your name on the list.

“Ta’V Riversong?” She is surprised. Does she recognize the Hero of Baldur’s Gate? She does not start praising your great deeds, so you assume no, you aren’t that lucky. It must be the other reason then.

 “Yes,” you explain. “Riversong is my Ma—mother’s surname, she’s a human.”

This is one thing you share with Gale: taking your mother’s family name. Your father, however, did not abandon the family like Gale’s father did. Instead, your father understood—theirs was a runaway marriage, and your mother had sacrificed a lot to settle down with a barbarian deep in the woods, away from civil society. Her name was her last connection to her noble past, and your father could never deny her that. Idly, you wonder if this woman has heard of your mother’s family. Growing up, you never cared enough to learn about this illusion of a heritage.

“I see,” she says meekly. “Sorry…It’s just that from your application, I didn’t expect you to be a half-orc.”

---

And that is why you end up shit-faced in a random tavern. You don’t even bother to look at the tavern sign as you stumble in, determined to leave behind the interview, the Academy, and polite society as soon as possible. You order whisky first, then firewine, because you can’t afford to waste money, given that you definitely won’t get the job. You understand. They want someone less intimidating. Of fucking course.

You are almost delighted when you feel hostility flushing towards you.

The hair at the back of your neck stands. At the corner of your eye you spot the flash of a cunning dagger, which you recognize as a Murderous Cut. Ah, local Bhaal cultists then. You may have had a bad day, but at least you can make theirs worse. You down your drink in one go, and without further ado, send the mug right into a cloaked figure’s face.

In an instant the whole tavern breaks into chaos. As the others reveal their weapons, you realize something: You have missed this. The axe you wield breaks through wind and skulls. Frenzied roars explode from the depth of your lungs, your charge unstoppable and inevitable. This is the part of yourself you used to be most proud of, the warrior that you were trained to be, born from ashes and forged in flames.

FIGHT ME! You father shouted, signaling the start of the match.

Two figures charge at you. You ground your stance before taking a full-body swing, slashing open both poor souls at once. With a kick you send one of them towards the side, knocking over a clamour of plates and glasses.

SIDE! He took advantage of your open stance.

A blade cut scratches your cheek, but you promptly ignore its stink of poison. You grab the man and throw him right at a ranger in the corner, knocking both of them out. Perhaps you are enjoying this too much, but when you look at the screaming Waterdhavians, your grin is wide and true. You will not be tamed.

CHARGE!

As you knock down your last enemy you feel free, freedom that you haven’t tasted for months since you arrived in this godsdamned city. You rise, wobbling, and you see your father grinning proudly. On the day you had beaten him down finally, he had pronounced you a worthy adult. You were sixteen, ready to hit the road. You laugh maniacally, in joy and sorrow and everything else you can’t name. You know Gale could name them. Yes. Gale. The smartest, sweetest person you’ve ever known.

And then you collapse.

---

You were inside his purple tent. Late at night, he illuminated it with floating orbs, reclining between your legs as he read his tomes. He was so focused, and you couldn’t help but distract him with a kiss on top of his head as you gently traced circles on his stomach.

He chuckled, low and warm, then leaned back against you.

“This is one mystery I’ll never solve,” he began, closing his tome. “Why oh why would such a wonderful, ferocious, tenacious warrior ever set her sights on someone as brittle as me?”

“I could ask the same in reverse, but I ran out of adjectives,” you muttered sleepily and he laughed, setting his hands on top of yours as his thumb stroked your calloused skin.

You knew he was unsatisfied, so you tried your best, despite the pulling weight on your eyelids, to set his ever-churning mind to rest.

“You smell good,” you managed, and he laughed even louder.

But you needed him to understand. You pushed out one last word.

“Home.”

He went quiet as you fell asleep.

---

You hear…

“Ta—”

Something. Familiar. Wings.

“Ta’V—”

It’s the smell that gets you.

“TA’V!”

“WHAT? I’m awake, I’m awake. Don’t fret!” You jerk up, snapping out of your coma. It is Gale who holds your face urgently, his brows tightly knitted, knees rough on the hard ground. Next to him, Tara flutters her wings, startled by your sudden movement.

You are elated to see them, and you want to tell them so. But something in his glistening eyes makes you pause.

“Don’t fret?” His voice is an octave higher than usual. “You were lying on the ground alone, bleeding, unconscious, surrounded by godsdamned cultists, AND YOU TELL ME TO NOT FRET?”

Dead cultists, you want to counter, but your overflowing relief finally spills over.

“I love you,” you say instead, and Tara twists her tail in amusement.

Gale stares at you for a long time. Finally, with a deep breath, he relents.

“And I you. Let’s go home, shall we?”

---

While you have never been well-versed in sentimental things, you do understand that this situation calls for a hug. So you gather him into a squeezing embrace as soon as the two of you stumble out of the portal. Tara, in the meantime, settles herself on the kitchen counter, waiting for the drama to unfold.

To cheer him up, you decide to start with something happy. “So…did you enjoy the meal Tara brought you?”

You feel him tense, so you hug him harder. A moment later, he nods against your chest.

“It was wonderful,” he mutters. “I savored every bite, sang the chef’s praises to anyone who’d listen.” He pauses. “I learnt from Tara what happened at the gate.”

“Oh, well. Perhaps I shouldn’t have dropped by without a head’s up.”

He pushes himself away from your chest and stares sternly into your eyes. “That is not the point. I swear, the first thing I’ll do next time I return to the Academy is to teach that young man Endorick a very serious lesson on manners. That was pure disrespect, not only to you but to everything the Blackstaff stands for. In fact, the only reason I was delayed was because of the next bit of shocking news Tara relayed to me.” His gaze turns sorrowful. “My love, would you please tell me what happened?”

You grunt. Talking has never been your strong suit, but it is Gale’s preferred mode of communication, so you push through it. You tell him about the failed interview, the resulting drinking, and the fight. You try to describe your feelings along the way, knowing that it will comfort him to know more about you. At the end of your narrative, he falls silent.

Then he announces abruptly, “Let’s pack.”

“What? Why?”

Gently, he presses his hand against your cheek. His voice is firm and tender when he says, “It was never my intention to cause you such pain, or to mold you into something different than what you are now.” He grimaces. “In fact, I can scarcely believe I truly deserve to have someone as wonderful as you by my side as a friend and a wife. So we can go, far away from here, travel again, meet your parents perhaps! Anywhere that makes you happy, I will follow.”

“But what of your teaching?” You counter, and you are almost appalled when he shrugs. “I have barely started. I’m sure the esteemed, resourceful Blackstaff Academy can manage without—"

“NO!” You stumble, hands gesturing frantically. “This is your dream! Your second home, you said!”

“And you are my first,” he declares without hesitation. “I know my choice.”

Your head hangs. You feel dejected. He doesn’t get it.

There are too many thoughts swirling in your head, words starting to slump and melt and break. You can’t explain yourself, and you can’t keep up with this conversation anymore. Unlike Gale, you must see and touch to manipulate. As you fall silent, you can sense Gale’s increasing concern.

Finally, you proclaim, “I will show you tomorrow.”

---

This is why, when the morning comes, your fiancé will find himself awake before you — a rare occurrence — and reading a great puzzle in the form of a simple note, carefully pried from your fist as you doze. It reads, in handwriting he finds as endearingly boorish as its owner:

“I want to work at Blackstaff Academy too.”

Chapter 2

---

Thank YOU for reading this story. Tell me what you think! It would make my day :)

Other things that I do

[kitsunexgari]

Chapter One

Summary: Kitsune is a wealthy billionaire on the hunt for the Front Man of these legendary Squid Games she's heard so much about. However, in her attempt to find this man's true identity, the hunter will become the hunted.

Relationship: Front Man/Hwang In Ho x Original Female Character

Warnings: BDSM mentioned, implied Dub-Con mentioned, some levels of xenophobia mentioned Note: This is the first chapter to establish what's going on so not too much is age inappropriate but it will quickly become that way by chapter two. I have my doubts anyone is going to read this but thought I'd mention that anyway.

Over her time meeting with investors and other clients from various countries worldwide, it wasn’t until Korea that she possibly found what she had been looking for. Whispers of a man, a game, and the need of wealthy investors. Of course, any attempt to research how to get into this or even meet the man who organized this whole process was nearly impossible. Most people she spoke to believed it to just be an urban legend. The people who didn’t think that didn’t want to talk to her because she was Japanese, no matter how much money she was able to offer them. Being the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company in Japan came with plenty of perks but it couldn’t combat the bias against her race. It was only then that she decided that she was going to have to change up her tactics if she was going to find this Front Man that was only spoken of in whispers by an extremely small minority of people in the know. 

As she continued to work and travel she also began to learn Korean. Seeing as how she had a functional understanding of the language already and spoke several others to enable herself to handle international clients better it wasn’t that hard of a task. The real challenge was getting a dialect coach to help her modify her speech so it would seem as if she were a native to the city of Seoul and not a foreigner. The only problem after that was her look but she could take care of that with masks, and sunglasses, or only keeping her communications through phone calls, texts, or emails. 

Soon after she felt she was fluent and authentic sounding enough to fit in as a local did she get the right information. It hadn’t been easy or cheap but it had eventually led her to a man who was able to get her onto the guest list of a very interesting party for the right price, in cash, upfront. He was suspicious of her since she didn’t want to meet him in person lest she give away that she wasn’t one of them but when she offered to double the price for the invitation to be dropped at a secure and remote location he finally gave in and agreed with the deal She knew it was a huge risk as the man could take the money from the drop point and leave her a worthless piece of paper or nothing at all but it was her best chance of getting to where she needed to be. The only problem after that would be figuring out what man she was looking for. 

The party was to be at a privately owned BDSM club with a very hidden entrance where almost no one would think to go without knowing the exact location in advance. The invitation was supposed to get her in, nothing else would. Not even money. Contained within the envelope that held her ticket inside was a list of rules that would be enforced at all costs. The very first one was the mandatory dresscode of a mask. Not just any mask but that of an animal. It could be a choice between a prey animal or a predator. She had ended up going with a very expensive fox mask as that animal fit her intentions the best. An animal which could be both predator and prey. Plus, her alter identity while in Seoul was Yeou, which meant fox. It had been a very lazy choice of alias since it was just the Korean version of her alternate ego in Japan, Kitsune. Luckily for things like this her legal name was of no importance to anyone as the second rule was all about anonymity. No real names were to be used at the party. 

During the course of the night the attendees would have a chance to mingle with each other. At midnight, a partner would be named for them. If they were prey then they were to be ‘captured’ by a predator and have no choice in the matter. As a predator they would have a choice to do the capturing. She wasn’t exactly sure where her animal would put her in the foodchain but she didn’t see it as one of the animals that had been prohibited for whatever reason so she could only assume it wasn’t against the rules. The only other things that the rest of the invitation detailed was that this was an adult oriented event, specifcally for enthusiasts of BDSM, and entering the compound was also consenting to taking part in the prey and predator dynamic. There would be a non-disclosure agreement to sign upon entry and no drugs, alcohol, or other mind altering substance were permitted to enable that no one was too intoxicated to be able to consent to what was going to happen. At the very bottom was a safeword listed should she want to end the situation early but she wasn’t ever planning on using it. 

The only thing that she could hope to do was find who she was looking for and catch his eye enough that he would want her by the end of the night. How she was supposed to do that was not something she knew. In fact, there wasn’t even a guarantee that this “Front Man” would be at the party but she believed that her intel on this was solid enough that it was a good bet. The rest would be up to a little luck and a little fate. All she had to do was keep her eyes and ears open while appearing casual enough to fit in with the rest of the crowd. As nerve-wracking as it was, she believed she could do it just fine. However, there was only one way to find out and that would be by going to the party. 

Thankfully, the invitation did what it needed to do to get her inside. She was quick to sign the NDA and find her way into the back room. This area was muti leveled with music playing. Some random K-Pop stuff she didn’t like nor was she ever very interested in. It was loud enough that the people who wanted to dance were dancing but soft enough that if someone wanted to have a conversation over by the bar or in another corner away from the dance floor, that could be done easily as well. It was a good thing since there would have to be quite a bit of volume to her voice in order to get it to travel over the sound of the music and the muffling of her mask. Other than the fox face that she wore she was dressed in tight black leather. A mini dress which had the addition of knee-high stiletto boots The heels gave her a bit more of a vantage point since on flat ground she was only five feet tall. Now she was five foot seven and she hoped the relative darkness of the place would make people miss that. 

She ordered a sparkling water with a twist of lemon at the bar since there was no alcohol permitted and glanced around her. She saw various other animals, a lot of the same ones were common. Most of the females, or the people presenting as female were wearing kitten or bunny masks. Very few women were wearing predator disguises, though there were a handful. She saw snakes, bears, and wolves that were definitely females. It was the opposite for the men, most of them were predatory, though none of this surprised her. What did give her a surprise was that from where she was standing she couldn’t see a single person, male or female, that had decided to wear a fox mask. It hadn’t been against the rules she’d triple checked it and even had her assistant make sure she didn’t mistranslate anything. She guessed this wasn’t the most creative group of people which sank her heart as she started to consider that this Front Man wouldn’t appear in a group of morons, would he? 

The one thing all of them had in common was money to get in there. The entrance fee was ridiculous and in her case it was double. At least she knew that everyone was a high roller or being bankrolled by one. If she couldn’t find this Front Man here she may be able to find someone who knew him. She had to figure it would be one or the other and she had quite a bit of time to figure it out since it was three hours until midnight when the predators would get their choice of prey. 

“A fox?” The man sitting near her at the bar spoke up. She turned to look at him. 

“Yes, as far as I’m aware that’s not breaking any rules.” 

“It’s not, just haven’t seen a fox around for quite some time.” He chuckled and took a sip of his drink. She wasn’t able to tell from his tone if that was a good or bad thing and there was no way to tell from his expression. She decided to keep her tone neutral as well since she didn’t want to seem too eager or too bored. 

“The mask was a gift and expensive. Thought this was the best use for it.” 

“Name?” 

“Yeou.” 

“So just what you are. Fox. Clever.” 

“Like a fox.” She picked up her drink and pushed the straw just under the mask so she could take a few sips. “And you? Or will I get much the same answer?” 

“Something like that.” He nodded. 

“Do people not like the foxes, is that why it’s uncommon?” 

“Mmm I wouldn’t say that. There are some men here who are very particular and the rare times I have seen a fox they don’t get picked as no one knows what they are supposed to be. Predator or prey. People know what they want at parties like this and it’s not confusion.” 

“Makes sense.” She took another sip of her drink, “Pleasure meeting you.” 

“Same.” 

She nodded at him and stepped away from the bar to walk around a bit and see if anyone gave off the right vibe for the man she was looking for. It most definitely hadn’t been the guy at the bar who was wearing a wolf mask, though with the dominant way he spoke to her and his general physique she couldn’t say he wasn’t attractive. However, his information about foxes not being chosen was disheartening. The only way to find out was to wait and see. She glanced at the digital clock on the wall which was just above a countdown timer. If she was wrong then this would turn out to be a gigantic waste of time so she had to make the most of it. 

Over the course of the next few hours she made her way to every different area of the large club room that she could. She mingled with people, had small talk, danced with a few others and kept her eyes open. There was an odd feeling of being watched after the first hour. As if there were eyes on her and only her but she didn’t believe the idea was too far fetched as her choice of mask really did make her stick out like a sore thumb. As the countdown drew closer to the end the music was lowered and so were the lights. A man at the DJ booth came on at the five-minute mark to make an announcement. 

“May I have your attention ladies and gentlemen,” He started and she realized he was also wearing a mask though it was hard to tell what he was supposed to be from where she was standing on the floor in the back. “In five minutes time the lights will go off. Prey will stay still and predators will tag their catch for the night. If you do not receive a tag you are welcome to stay here and party until closing. Should you find a tag you will follow the instructions on it for the start of the hunt. Predators should note you only have two minutes to tag your prey so keep an eye out for them. Once tagged they cannot be claimed again, get there first, get there fast, and get your meat.” 

After that, the music started up again and people started to cheer. Though everyone had been nice to her, some people overly so, she still didn’t get the vibe that anyone was going to pick her in all of this. She felt as if she was being stared at as an outcast and it was more or less a very subtle way of just telling her to leave. Hopefully, it wasn’t because anyone had figured out she was Japanese. The mask was doing a good enough job of hiding that, right? It was hard to tell because she knew what she looked like, none of them did. Whatever, it was dark enough and she was keeping her head down as much as possible. She realized how annoyed she was that she hadn’t really gotten any further on her search for the Front Man. It would have helped if she had a name or even a description, but even so, she doubted people would outright tell her especially not on a night that was supposed to be all about anonymity. 

She took a seat in an empty booth in the back just as the countdown timer hit thirty seconds and finished her drink. What she really needed was a cigarette but there wasn’t any smoking allowed in there and it wasn’t as if she could leave right when the party would be getting started. If it would start at all for her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath just as the lights went out completely. She wondered how these predators were supposed to find their prey in the dark but she had to assume there were some night vision glasses or something available for those who had registered as a predator. She hadn’t so all she could do was sit and wait as she allowed the hands of fate to take care of the rest. 

It was announced that only sixty seconds were left and so far she hadn’t been tagged. Either it wasn’t going to happen at all or whoever had been staring her down all night was stuck in the crowd somewhere trying to get to her. She swirled the ice that was left in her glass with a straw as the timer ticked down to thirty seconds. Just as she felt like this was all pointless and was entertaining the thought of getting up and leaving she felt something press against her arm as a body moved past her quickly. Had she really been tagged? She brought a hand up to feel there was definitely something stuck to her arm. It had to be a tag, right? Whoever had put it there had moved away so fast it wasn’t as if she could ask, but no one else was talking either. The silence was eerie yet exhilarating and the adrenaline rush of possibly being chosen by someone in the very last moments of the process had very much heightened her arousal. 

When the lights came on again she looked at her arm to see that there was a tag on there. One that kind of reminded her of the toe tag left on bodies in morgues. At least in shape, size, and design. It was stuck there with a light adhesive so it was easy to pull off of her skin and read. 

Your scent has been caught by the black panther. You have a fifteen-minute head start to make it out of the city and hide. Once he catches you there is no turning back. 

Black Panther? Had she even seen someone dressed like that? It was possible. A lot of people around there were some variation of cat, jungle cat, or otherwise. There was also no way she had seen every single person who had attended as she was sure some people came in after she’d gotten there or had left at certain points. Still, fifteen minutes wasn’t a lot of time and even if she didn’t know if this man was the one she had been looking for she figured that she was going to at least have some fun while she was there. Worse came to worst she could always try again some other time. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have the money and resources to keep looking for the Front Man until she was granted an audience with him. She tucked the tag into her handbag and headed out of the club with a myriad of other people who had been tagged as prey while they were following their directions. She wasn’t sure what those were, if all of them were similar or what but it didn’t matter. The game was afoot and she was plenty excited for it. It would be interesting to see how long she could out smart him and stay one step ahead even if he did have much more of an advantage than she did. It was, after all, one of the laws of nature and nature could be very cruel. How cruel would it be to her tonight? 

[suspencerrrr]

I keep seeing posts adding up potential costs for Ghost Files episodes and how it could cost that much per episode and I haven’t seen a single one of you factor how long it takes to comb through HOURS of raw footage and raw audio. Multiple people, including Ryan himself sit there for days combing through hours of footage, cross checking the whereabouts of the crew and the groundskeepers to find anything potentially significant. Have you ever combed through footage where nothing is happening? It is fucking excruciating.

That takes time. It requires manpower. And guess what? Both of those things cost money. And they do it in such a way that they are doing everything in their absolute power to NOT misrepresent anything they find, which is something I can’t even say for shows on major networks like The Discovery Channel.

And then they have to cut all of this footage together in a way is meaningful and entertaining so that you can have your precious little guys, and your precious little bits, and your precious little ghoulies to make your little shitposts. That show eats money for reason. Be so fucking realistic for once, I am on my hands and knees BEGGING.

It is so obvious most of you do not value these people as highly skilled individuals taking the time to craft something culturally significant and genuinely entertaining.

And if they are spending more money on travel costs, hotel stays, meals, even entertainment while they’re away? I wish I hated to tell you this but that’s their prerogative. I personally would not want to come back to a cheap hotel room at 5 in the goddamn morning after filming for 8 hours in a pest infested building and then fly home in coach. I highly commend them for making sure their staff are as comfortable as possible while filming this because again, that’s something I cannot say that for a lot of major networks who are looking to squeeze as much profit out of their shows as possible.

Be ashamed of yourselves, honestly.

[strangelyunfinshed]

Oh sweet sweet jellybean... How about a caption for this baby? 💋

I know this was probably meant to be fratboy!Steve but this one just kind of took root. I do have a second request with this photo specifically for frat boy so keep your eyes out for that. I hope this one is still okay and you enjoy it!

Hot For Teacher – Blurb

“What are you boys doing here this late? Is that a flask in your hand, Mr. Harrington?” As you cross the parking lot, the click of your heels on the asphalt punctuates each word. The ache in your calves matches the one growing behind your eyes. It’s been a long day – a long week, for that matter and the last thing you're interested in is dealing with any more students, especially cocky basketball players who think they're above the rules. 

“Let’s go, give it to me.” Extending your hand, you close the distance.

“I’ll give it to you.” The voice comes from the crowd—Harrington, Tommy H, or one of the others whose names don't seem worth remembering. Their eyes, glassy and brimming with swagger, barely conceal their snickers.

Your expression hardens, a practiced look of authority taking shape as your hand finds its way to your hip. “You with the glasses, you’re about as smart as you look, aren’t you? Wipe that smile off your face.” 

Their laughter fades, eyes shifting downward, lips pressed tight in a failed attempt to hide their amusement—except for Harrington. As your gaze settles on him, he stands taller. His posture defiant – hat on backwards, an eyebrow arching in challenge. Meeting his gaze without a word, you extend your hand once more. 

He hesitates before pressing the smooth metal flask into your hand, his fingers lingering longer than necessary against your wrist. Locking eyes with him, you unscrew the cap and bring the container to your nose. Bourbon – warm and smoky, not the cheap stuff. Procured from his father's liquor cabinet, no doubt. You stretch your arm to the side and turn your wrist. The rest of the alcohol pours onto the ground, eliciting a round of groans. 

“Is there any more?” You ask, tossing the flask back to Steve. “Empty your bags. Now.”

Murmurs of complaint ripple through them, as they fidget and shift in a vain attempt to stall.

That’s when Harrington steps forward, his confidence on full display. “Come on, teach. We’re celebrating our win. Where’s your school spirit?” He asks, turning up the charm with his best, winning smile. “You could stay and have a drink with us.”

“Excuse me,” you huff out on an incredulous breath as he edges forward. 

“It could be fun,” he suggests with a shrug, “You’re not that much older. Live a little. Let that pretty hair down.” 

His hand rises toward your temple, but you're quick to bat it away. “Have you lost your mind, Mr. Harrington?”

His eyes roll, amusement lingering in his smile. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice, “We could go somewhere else if you want. I could drive you home after.” 

Your mouth drops open at his audacity, but it only eggs him on. “You know what you’re doing. Running around in those tight skirts that hug that ass just right. I’m sure you thought about it.” He takes a step back, his eyes traveling up and down your body before his lips twist into a smug smirk. “I know I have.”

The air seems to thicken as the moment stretches, quiet enough to hear a pin drop until the scuff of a sneaker kicking at the crumbling blacktop has the bubble popping. “Well, I hope running laps will give you something else to think about. I’ll be letting Coach know all about this little celebration. Now take a step back, Mr. Harrington.” 

His hands raise in surrender as he retreats back to his friends. 

“Now, if you all aren’t out of my sight in the next five seconds, it’s going to be detention for the rest of the year.” They probably know your threat is empty. You have as little desire to sit in an empty classroom after school hours as they do, but they scatter anyway, unwilling to test the waters any further. 

Your arms cross over your chest as you watch the cars their parents pay for kick up dust on their way out of the parking lot. With a tired sigh, you head back to the school to grab the last box from your classroom. Your steps echo in the empty halls. You pause when you catch sight of yourself in a mirror bolted to the wall. Slowly, you turn, looking over your shoulder at your reflection. A small smile curves your lips upwards before you continue down the hall, adding a little sway to your hips. 

[scotianostra]

June 10th 1768 saw construction start on the Forth and Clyde canal, it was to take 22 years to complete.

The building of a canal across Scotland was first discussed during the reign of Charles II. It was not until the mid-1700s that the building of the Forth and Clyde Canal or “The Great Canal” as it was referred to then, became an actual possibility with funding being raised to carry out the work. The canal was to be built across the Central Belt of Scotland from east to west. The first spadeful was dug out in June 10th 1768 and the construction continued for 22 years including a 7 year period when no work was carried out due to lack of funds. It was the Canal Company’s policy to try to recruit locally to provide employment in the areas the canal crossed.

The work was hard and was manual labour with the use of picks and shovels to dig out heavy wet earth. Wages were about 10d (£0.04p) per day and the workers were a tough lot. Discipline was often hard to maintain and drink was cheap and plentiful causing various problems. Theft of tools and other equipment was common and often the workers were seasonal due to also working in the agricultural land surrounding the canal works. None the less the work was done and the canal was dug. Water was first let into the canal in 1773 when it was filled as far as Kirkintilloch, which increased this town’s profile with additional trades appearing in the area. It was 2 years later that the canal opened as far as Stockingfield, Maryhill. A cut was also made towards Glasgow as far as Hamiltonhill and then funds ran short and worked stopped for 7 years.

In 1784 work resumed when the Government of the time approved a loan of £50,000 to the Canal Company, the money coming from the Forfeited Estates Fund (a legacy of the Jacobite Rebellion in 1745) and this allowed the canal to reach Bowling. The Forth and Clyde Canal was opened from the Firth of Forth to the Firth of Clyde in the summer of 1790 with the first boat navigating its channel in August of that year.

The length of the Canal from eastern sea lock to the western sea lock was 35 miles. In 1791 the Glasgow Branch was extended from Hamiltonhill to Port Dundas giving it a length of 3.5 miles. There are 39 locks to navigate on the canal with 20 locks on the eastern section the firth of Forth to Wyndford and 19 on the western section from Maryhill to Bowling on the Firth of Clyde. The canal was crossed by many bascule bridges and made use of aqueducts such as the one over the Luggie at Kirkintilloch and the river Kelvin in Glasgow.

The canal served three main purposes. It allowed seagoing vessels passage from east to west or vice versa, therefore avoiding the long passage around the north of Scotland. It provided the fast movement of goods. Agricultural produce, mineral resources and locally produced goods could be transported more easily across Scotland. It also acted as a way for travellers to move across Scotland using “Swift” boats that linked to coach services.

The Forth and Clyde Canal had an active life into the years of the Second World War though by this time railways were carrying more goods around the country. Trade was slowly falling away though transits through the canal and day tripping continued. Eventually on 1 January 1963 the Forth and Clyde Canal closed to through traffic.

As part of the millennium celebrations in 2000, National Lottery funds were used to regenerate both canals. A boat lifting device, the Falkirk Wheel, was built to connect the Union and Forth & Clyde canals and once more allow boats to travel from the Clyde or Glasgow to Edinburgh, with a new canal connection to the River Carron and hence the River Forth. The Falkirk Wheel opened on 27th May 2002 and is now a tourist attraction. The Helix project, which includes the magnificent Kelpies is also part of this ongoing regeneration.