#curse the stupid day job taking up so many useful hours

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟒]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, cursing, mentions of abuse/alcoholism, mentions of broken bones

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. i've been SO busy this week, but i hope this chapter still meets everyone's expectations ;-;. unedited for now, but please enjoy and pls pls lmk what you think! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚'𝗦 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗖𝗘

Kinich breaks his arm when he’s eleven.

It had, admittedly, been stupid of him. He’s always been partial to extreme sports, as many members of his tribe are, but he’d gone a bit too far that day with his grappling, and it all came crashing down in an unceremonious heap. He more than anyone knows how unforgiving the ground can be, so it’d been a foolish endeavor in the first place.

Dizzy, he tries to push himself to his knees before crying out in pain—it’s his right arm. He can’t put any pressure on it all, at least unless he gets used to the shooting pain that overwhelms his senses. He leans on it again, testingly, before wincing.

No, there’s no getting used to a pain like that.

Surveying the land nearby, he notes the sharp, menacing rocks that dot the riverbed—he’d been lucky to land where he did. He decides he won’t fill you in on that detail. After all, you’ll be mad enough as it is.

As far as he knows, you’re still at home at this time, but you’ll be out delivering medicines later as a courier—the village apothecary trusts you with the work, and there are few others willing to do it. Plus, you learn a few things along the way. Kinich notices that you’re becoming quite skilled in certain remedies.

In general, the work the two of you participate in is rarely safe—safe work doesn’t make Mora, and it’s hard to feed two mouths without coin. Kinich himself usually takes jobs that see more combat, involving Saurians or any other odd tasks. So it’s not uncommon that he comes home with injuries, but it’s never been this bad. Something like this spells out a lack of work for at least several weeks, maybe more.

He sighs, briefly considering whether or not he should hide it.

But you seem to have a sixth sense for these things, and he’s truly lousy at lying when it comes to you, so he decides against it. Instead, he rises to his feet, groaning at the feeling of his pants sticking to his skin, still soaked.

The journey home feels three times as long.

He hadn’t risked grappling again with one arm, so he had walked, the hot sun beating down on his skin. When he thinks about it, he can’t really remember how he had put up with having to walk everywhere—grappling truly saves him so much time out of his day. The small building at the foot of the mountain enters his sight after what feels like an eternity, an even smaller form standing just outside of it.

“Kinich!”

As he grows closer, a certain affection seeps into his chest at the sight of your grin, toothy and bright. You’re carrying a wicker basket on your hip, filled to the brim with fruits and vegetables—dinner for tonight, most likely. 

He never quite gets used to your excitement whenever he returns to the small house you share. It’s as if every day is your first day seeing him, or like he’s just returned home from a year-long journey. At most, he’d been gone a few hours.

“Hey,” he says, smiling faintly. For a moment, he almost forgets he has something to tell you, simply satisfied with your presence. It’s only when you scamper to his side that he becomes hyper-aware of his arm.

“Wait!” he hisses, just as you reach for him. You stop in your tracks, lips barely parted in an ‘o’ shape. He takes a cursory step away from you, blood freezing in his veins when your face drops at the distance.

“I broke my arm,” he quickly admits. Your brows knit together as you give him a once-over.

“What?!” you half-yell, nearly dropping the goods in your hands—Kinich has to catch the basket with his good hand, wincing at the volume.

“I was grappling, and I messed up, and I…I landed in the river.”

The whole thing sounds ridiculous as soon as it leaves his lips. You seem to think so too, based on the way you blankly look between him and his arm. You’re thinking, hard.

“And you’re sure it’s broken?” He nods, sighing. “I’m sure.”

Truly, he’s never experienced pain like that in his life—at least not the physical kind. His father’s beatings usually ended in bruises, but he was always able to escape out the door before they got to this point. But the way his arm hangs uselessly at his side is certainly unfamiliar.

Fingers pressed thoughtfully to your chin, you look toward the house.

“Well, I have the materials to make a splint, but that means you won’t be able to use that arm for a while.”

Kinich frowns. A while could be a long time, and time he isn’t working is time that Mora isn’t being made. The two of you could survive decently on your farming and hunting alone, but it would be hard labor for you. He’s unsure how much help he can be with only one usable arm.

“But—”

“—and I already know,” you interrupt smoothly, “that you’re not going to argue about that. Because that would make me really annoyed, right? Because your arm is clearly broken, right?”

Kinich presses his lips together tightly. It’s probably not the best idea to fight you on this. So he merely sighs, walking toward the front door.

“Fine.”

“Good!” you cheer, hoisting the basket to your side again, following closely in his wake. “Then I’ll make dinner for us, and you try not to make trouble for me!”

He rolls his eyes; he never makes trouble for you the way you do for him.

/

If there’s one thing that truly bothers Kinich, it’s being unproductive.

He’s not unreasonable about it, per say; after all, breaks can be productive too if they improve your work. But it’s to the point that there’s rarely moments where he truly isn’t doing anything. He’d grown up that way, always on the move, always doing something for the sake of survival.

That apparently includes moments when his arm is broken, set firmly at his side in a splint.

You’re preparing vegetables for dinner when Kinich plops into the chair at your side, quietly asking what he can help with.

You send him an incredulous look, still cautious about your fingers under the shadow of the knife.

“Your arm is broken, Kin.”

And you’re right, but the notion irritates him a bit—the idea of doing absolutely nothing while you prepare all the food. He folds his arms on the table, resting his chin atop with a scowl. His golden eyes passively watch each cut of the potato, the neat chunks gathering on one side of the cutting board.

“So? I can still help.”

A heated exchange occurs—you stare at him questioningly, and he stares right back, determined. Within the past few years, the two of you have reached the point of nonverbal communication. Sometimes, he truly feels like you can read his mind.

“Fine,” you relent, gently placing your knife down. You slide the basket of vegetables to him, gesturing towards it with your chin. “Pick out the good ones and give them to me.”

Kinich looks unamused, unsatisfied with the difficulty of his task, and his mouth opens like he’s about to say more when you shake your head.

“Please?”

And he really can’t take that look you give him, when your eyes widen and your lip juts out, so he merely sighs, pulling the basket closer to himself.

“Alright, alright.”

The room grows comfortably quiet, save for the even thuds of your knife against the cutting board. Kinich listens to your sonorous hum as you smile and sway to the sound of your own music. He takes his job seriously, too—he squeezes at each potato, feeling for the right ripeness.

“Is that a good one?” you ask, nodding toward the vegetable in his hand.

He frowns. “It’s okay.”

Kinich tends to be a bit strict about his vegetables—he gets it from his mother. Rarely is he ever truly satisfied with a harvest. Based on your impatient stare, you’re probably realizing this isn’t the best job for him after all.

“It’s probably good enough,” you say. Kinich looks at the potato thoughtfully for a moment before setting it down before you.

He still has trouble accepting the idea of being good enough.

You engage in a bit of small chatter, discussing your plans for the next few days and funny things that have occurred recently. Kinich enjoys these moments the most, the feeling of belonging, of caring—the way your eyes sparkle genuinely as he recounts his day, or the way you giggle hearing about the gossip overhead in the village.

“I’m gonna head to the market tomorrow, so let me know if you need anything.”

Your lip curls in disapproval, gaze drifting to his arm.

“I can go this time,” you say, concern written over your face. Then, you add teasingly, “since I know you hate having to get along with all those people in town.”

Kinich glares at you, sour.

“I know how to get along with people.”

You smile, and Kinich remembers when you told him that you like when he acts a bit childish, a bit more like you. It reminds you that you are the same age after all. It’s a bit difficult to realize in your daily life, when he’s always nagging and protecting and working. 

“Is that why all the others run away at the sight of you? Ever since we went to school, they’ve been avoiding you.”

And Kinich can admit that he isn’t the easiest person to get along with, but the kids at the village school aren’t the kind of people he wants to get along with anyway—the one day he spent in class made that much clear. They don’t understand the realities of living the way he does, the way you do. 

Really, he considers it a success that they seem to steer clear of him now.

“What about you?” he counters. “You’re not exactly a social butterfly, living out here in the woods. The most social interaction you get is in the market, just like me.”

It’s your turn to be offended, a pout crossing your lips.

“I’ll have you know they like me in the market.”

Kinich quirks a brow, handing you another potato.

“They like you because you take whatever price they offer,” he replies flatly. “I really need to teach you to barter.”

Everyone knows how notorious Kinich is in the market—he’s a menace with Mora in hand, even at your age. It’s one of the reasons that he’s so insistent that he be the one to do your shopping, besides the fact that he doesn’t like you traveling alone.

“I can barter,” you defend, pouting. “I just feel bad. What if they need that extra Mora?”

“You know we also need that Mora, right?”

Kinich flicks at your forehead with his good hand, faintly smirking when you sulk in response. Brushing off your hands, you lift the cutting board toward the pot on the stove. He lets his gaze follow you, curious.

“Enough about me,” you declare, glaring playfully. “If you want to eat, help me start cooking these.”

When Kinich eats that night, a simple meal of curry and rice, he thinks it might just be the most delicious food he’s ever had.

/

A few weeks later, Kinich finds himself lying side by side with you in your bed, staring at the ceiling.

You’d been telling him about something amusing you saw on one of your deliveries, and he makes a point to listen to all your stories, no matter how small they are. The moon is peeking over the horizon by the time that you finish, and Kinich glances over at his own bed across the room.

He’s not really sleepy yet, he reasons. You don’t seem to be either, based on the way you stare at his side profile.

“Your hair is getting long,” you murmur, taking a lock between your index and thumb. It’s a bit rough to touch—Kinich doesn’t tend to be gentle when he washes up. Neither of you really are, not when the river water is as chilly as it is.

He sighs, blowing his bangs out of his face. It’s a perpetual messiness that you think suits him, in a way.

“I know, it got in my eyes when I was grappling and I couldn’t see. That’s how I fell.” He glances at you, deadpan. “Should I just shave it off?”

The idea leaves you giggling—the image of it is certainly vivid. 

“I don’t think you should go that far, but I do think we have to do something. Otherwise, you might snap all your bones at this rate.”

He huffs, immediately defensive. “I would not—”

“I’m joking,” you soothe, chuckling. You card your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, humming—Kinich has to keep himself from melting into your touch. The room grows a tad warmer by the time your voice echoes again, barely a squeak from your throat.

“Can I try something?”

Kinich snorts. “You’ll have to be more specific, because last time you said that, it didn’t end well.”

Sitting up, you scoff. “I mean with your hair. Just to see if we can get a bit of it out of your face.”

You pat at the space in front of you, urging him up—he moves begrudgingly, already comfortable in his spot. Clambering to your knees, you peek at him over the top of his head. 

“Which part gives you trouble? This long part?”

Kinich hums thoughtfully, thumbing at some of the strands framing his face.

“Yeah, I guess. Some of the longer strands behind my bangs get annoying because they won’t stay.”

You nod. “Okay, let me try this then. Just sit still.”

Kinich follows along, hands neatly gathered in his lap. It’s a bit puppy-like, and you smile at the notion.

You don’t speak as you plait his hair, gently easing each strand between your fingers. It’s a certain kind of calm that tends toward the unfamiliar. Kinich feels a bit conflicted over the heat that spreads through the rest of his form at the contact.

He’s still trying to get used to a lot of things about you, despite how long he’s spent at your side—even now, the gentleness and kindness with which you treat him leaves him speechless sometimes.

“Your hair is pretty,” you state softly, looping a tie over the end of the braid. “So unique.”

He thinks that you’re the first person to have told him as much. There had been times when he caught his mother staring at the blond streaks of his hair, frowning—they likely reminded her too much of his father. A part of him is glad that he at least inherited the majority of his genes from her. 

“Thanks,” is all he breathes, staring down at his hands.

Your fingers brush over his ear, and a blush crawls over his cheeks.

“You’re welcome,” you yawn, stretching, “I’ll try to figure out something else to keep your bangs out of your eyes.”

That night, listening to your soft snores, Kinich watches the moon just outside the window. 

His hair doesn’t bother him anymore, he realizes.

/

A resounding crash rouses you from sleep.

When your eyelids split open, body pulsing with shock, the sun hits you first. Harsh rays slip through the curtains, pools of gold falling between your bedsheets. You’re quick to throw the blankets off, sitting up quickly. 

In the opposite corner of the room, Kinich’s bed lies empty, cooling with the morning dew. But he shouldn’t be gone, at least not yet—with his arm out of commission, he’s been taking time off work.

Your heart drops.

In a panic, you cover the space from your bed to the door in a mere two steps, and then you’re throwing it open, chest heaving.

The sight that greets you leaves you frozen where you stand.

Kinich stands in the kitchen, equally as flabbergasted as you are, surrounded by a shower of crystalline shards. His good hand is still raised, evidence of his own shock.

“Sorry,” he utters, hasty. He looks more disturbed by the situation than you do. 

You take a cursory step toward him. “W—what happened?”

He looks at the floor, then back at you.

“I was trying to wash the dishes,” he explains, sheepish. You peer over at the sink, bursting with soapy water. It would’ve been hard to do with one arm.

He’s still standing among the slivers of ceramic, sharp edges too close for comfort. You suck in a breath.

“Just…don’t move, okay?”

You snatch the broom from the closet—when you glance over your shoulder, Kinich is standing obediently still, a statue in your kitchen. Carefully, you sweep the shards away from his feet, before neatly depositing them in the trash.

Kinich lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He’d wanted to wake up early and clean up a bit so you could relax, but even that had ended in disaster. 

He glares down at his arm.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It takes a bit of arguing to get him to take a seat away from the sink—Kinich finds something ugly curling around his heart at the idea. He’s heard enough arguing in this kitchen, and the memories aren’t friendly. So he takes a seat at the table despite his hesitation, unwilling to meet your stare as you check the floor for stray fragments.

You don’t seem to be angry about the broken dish—in fact, you seem to be angrier that he woke up early to do any of this at all. He doesn’t really get it. Though he’s becoming familiar with your habits, he finds that he sometimes falls short in terms of truly understanding you.

The cupboard falls shut—Kinich flinches at the sound, and then you’re padding over to him with a cup of water.

“Drink.”

The order barely leaves your tongue by the time you’re back at the sink, starting to clean at the rest of the dishes. You’d been upset moments ago, but you’re already back to being concerned about his hydration.

He stares at the drink, too long. If you notice his unrest, you don’t comment on it. 

A few minutes pass that way.

“Sorry that I broke my arm,” he finally mumbles, tracing the rim of his cup. A drop of condensation glides down the side, slow. He watches it pool on the table, seeping into the wood. 

“Why are you sorry?” you wonder aloud, scrubbing at a plate. “Did you hit the ground on purpose?”

He eyes your back. You’re so happy in everything you do, Kinich notes. Even something as simple as washing dishes, you do with your best effort—it’s admirable. You glance back at him when he doesn’t answer, and your gazes meet momentarily. He’s first to break the contact. 

“You’ve had to work way harder for weeks,” he replies, regret pouring from his words. “Because I fell from that stupid tree.”

A seed of fear plants itself in his heart. Despite your cheery disposition, he’s always wondered what you truly think of him. Typically, he’s satisfied with just being useful to you, being able to provide for the home that you share. But when he’s like this, he wonders if that standard will change.

Like this, he’s just a burden to you.

To his surprise, you merely shrug. “I had to work way harder than this when I was alone. And now, I get to work hard with someone by my side. I think that’s a better deal, isn’t it?”

Your words permeate the air, and Kinich sucks them in greedily—they fill his lungs, slow. He wonders if this house has ever seen such warmth before. Then, he wonders if you know the way your comment fills his heart, pulsing.

You crane your neck to look at him, another smile gracing your lips. Light pulls through the gauzy curtains over the kitchen window, a halo.

“Don’t you think that kind of relationship is priceless?”

At that moment, the blazing sun rises in Kinich’s chest.

[f444wning]

The Plug (1/?)

Summary: Wanting to make a name for yourself, you find yourself in modern day King's Landing. Dealing with the weight of expectations, you find an unlikely connection.

Warnings: Drug/alcohol use (underaged and not), eventual smut, curse words. 18+

Note: Okay it took me a little longer than expected but here it is!

WC: 4.2k

"Virtue has a veil, vice a mask." - Victor Hugo

You always had big dreams, desiring an independent life. One that left you free to do whatever you wanted. While your parents were well-off and influential, you didn’t want to use their money to get you anywhere because you wanted to work for it yourself. “Stubborn girl,” they’d lovingly call you; they wanted to help you and see you succeed. While they knew you were smart and felt you were capable of anything, they believed it wouldn’t hurt to use their privilege to give you a hand. You always refused but understood their stance. You felt they did enough for you growing up—putting you in the best schools in the city, supporting whatever extracurricular activities you took interest in (mostly volleyball), and generally spoiling you whenever they could. Rumor had it they even paid the school to overlook any trouble you got into throughout high school.

You weren’t the biggest troublemaker, but you weren’t a goody-two-shoes either. You got good grades when you tried, but occasionally cheated on tests when you got too high on edibles or drunk on whisky that you’d stolen out of your dad’s cabinet that week to be bothered with studying. A bit of a party girl, one time taking a random pill given to you by a classmate that turned out to be Xanax. Afterward, you felt stupid for doing such a thing and vowed never to do it again. You knew how dangerously close you came to beginning a downward spiral. Your parents didn’t suspect your habits as you kept them well hidden, not wanting to ruin the idea of their perfect only child.

Well, to a degree. When the teachers busted you for cheating, they kept silent after contacting your parents, and it never escalated. Deep down, you knew what happened and felt guilty that it was most likely your parents’ money that kept you in that school; not everyone was so lucky. It was never enough to completely stop the habits, however. As an adult, while you were slightly more responsible, you still gripped to your vices as a baby grips their bottle. It wasn’t that you had a particularly hard life; you just found yourself wanting to escape from the pressures that came with expectations.

Having such supportive family and friends, you got through school and decided to jump into the working field, excited to move on to the next chapter of your life, wanting to prove to yourself that you weren’t a lost cause. Unfortunately for the past few years since then, the search was unfruitful. As you sat on the end of your bed, laptop in front of you, you clicked on the icon for your email to see if any jobs that you’d applied to had written you back. It seemed like a dud until you scrolled down a bit further, noticing you missed one from the large fashion magazine Gevives.

You had applied for a paid internship because you were always interested in the fashion industry and daydreamed about working your way up as a big-time writer. In slight disbelief, you opened the email to see that they were interested in you working for them and would like you to come by for an interview. Your mind raced in excitement for a few moments as you read the email until your stomach dropped when you saw at the bottom of the page that the location they wanted you to intern for was King’s Landing.

It was 5 hours away from Riverrun, your home. It had been your home since you were a child. It’s where you were born and raised, spending your childhood weekends at the country club your parents attended where you first acquired your love for volleyball. It held so many memories, like your first kiss, drunk in the closet playing 7 minutes in heaven with a boy from your grade after sneaking out to a friend’s house on a weekday, knowing your parents would kill you if they found out.

This was where you were comfortable; you didn’t know anyone in King’s Landing, you’d never even visited. You only ever heard things about it from acquaintances. Nothing too substantial, just that it was bigger with more shops and things to do. While that sounded wonderful, you knew you’d miss the nature and serenity that came with your smaller town. You loved it, and all the friends you grew up with as well as your family lived there. However, you knew jobs weren’t as easy to come by here as in the bigger cities, it was hard to make a good living. Your parents had driven at least an hour away for their jobs. You sat there staring at the screen for a few minutes, turning over the thoughts in your head before coming to a conclusion.

This was it. Deciding you couldn’t let fear get in the way of such a big opportunity, you sighed, hitting “reply,” and wrote back that you were still interested and would love to have the interview. While you knew they’d be sad that you were leaving, you also knew everyone would ultimately understand. Besides, it couldn’t be so bad, right? You’d finally have the opportunity to meet new people, experience new things. You’d finally get the chance to do something you’d only dreamed of. You figured you’d be a fool to pass it up. Besides, you heard they had better weed there. Closing your laptop, you lay down and texted your best friend, Abby Tully.

Y: Abbs, guess what!

A: What???

Y: I might have an interview with Gevives magazine

A: Omggg no freaking way, the internship?

Let’s talk about it over some cocktails on me this Friday, be there or be square

Y: Would rather die than miss it, babe

You set your phone down and snuggled under the covers, the soft fabric against your skin providing some comfort as your mind swirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions before sleep finally took over your body.

The next day you woke up to your alarm clock going off. 8 a.m. You groaned as your eyes adjusted to the sun beaming through your window, getting up to prepare for your day. Standing in front of the mirror in your room, you thought about how you were going to tell your parents, but you knew deep down they’d be proud of you. The day went by uneventfully, besides breaking the news to them, and they reacted just how you’d expected.

What you hadn’t expected, though, was your mother crying as you sat at the dinner table that evening. It was obviously a mix of both happy and sad tears. My little girl is growing up so fast, she thought. They knew the day would come, but it wasn’t going to lessen the impact of empty nest syndrome and having no siblings to soften the blow. Your dad offered to pay the first few months rent for a flat while you got on your feet, which you begrudgingly accepted. You truly didn’t want to, but you had no other choice. It’s not like you had any money to pay for a place to stay yourself. Not yet, and you couldn’t wait to change that.

The weekend rolled around, and you met up with Abby and her twin, Oscar, at the local pub. You were close with Oscar as well, the three of you being the same age and growing up on the playgrounds together, followed by the parties you’d all sneaked out to in teenage adventures that ensured you stayed glued to one another. You sat across from them, a cocktail in hand as you explained the email you’d gotten and how you’d be moving away.

“Girl, I’m so happy for you! But you better not forget about us.” Abby warned, jokingly pointing a finger at you.

Oscar nodded, “Yeah, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do while you’re there. We can’t chaperone you from here.” He laughed.

“Of course not,” you said with a cheeky smile, “and if you’re really worried, you guys are welcome to come babysit me whenever you like. I’ll have my own flat.” You winked at them.

Oscar and Abby groaned in unison, “Even worse!” Abby said with a grin.

“Look, I’m not the one who puked in the Lannister’s yard on summer break for drinking too much.” You said, raising your eyebrow and shooting a pointed look at Oscar.

He raised his hands in feigned offense, “Not everyone could make it past the driveway like you!” You all laughed. The conversation continued until late into the night as you three reminisced about all the memories you’ve had with each other. You all ended up getting decently tipsy by the end of it, and you decided to call it a night. Oscar called their older brother Kermit to drive you all home, dropping you off first. The twins got out of the car to hug you and wish you well, and even Kermit, who you had hardly spoken to despite being close with his siblings, wished you good luck before they drove off. You tried to quietly stumble your way up to your room. You could tell they were trying to hide their sadness, so you vowed you’d see them again as soon as possible.

Monday rolled around, and you knew you were going to have a busy day. Your interview was today, and you also had to go flat shopping with your parents. You got up at 4 a.m. to make sure you had enough time to make yourself look put together and get an Uber to King’s Landing before the interview. As the car began to drive through the city, you couldn’t help but stare out the window as the scenery changed. There were tall buildings and lots of people walking on the street, the city buzzing with activity. You noticed it was noisier as well. As the driver pulled up to the building located at the address you were given, it stood as possibly one of the tallest ones you’d seen. You looked up at it with slight awe. With a shake of your head to gather your courage, you headed up to the front desk to let them know you had arrived.

You feel like the interview went well enough as you watch the elevator buttons light up as it takes you back down to the bottom floor with a quiet “ding.” You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to living here, though. It feels so foreign compared to what you’re used to, and you feel a bit out of place. Chalking it up to bad nerves as you’re greeted with the bustle of the city, you walked away feeling a mix of relief and optimism. The energy of King’s Landing seemed to pulse with new possibilities.

Later, as you and your parents wandered through the vibrant neighborhoods, each corner of the city revealed something new: sleek cafés, trendy boutiques, and busy market streets. The search for a flat was exhausting, the sheer number of choices overwhelming. But amidst the confusion, a spark of excitement kept you moving forward. When you finally settled on a flat—a cozy space with large windows that overlooked a quaint park—you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the start of something significant.

The property manager told you that you could move in the next day, which ended up working out perfectly as you got a call back a few hours after your interview to let you know you’d been accepted. They asked you to start next Monday and you agreed. Once you were back in Riverrun, you texted Abby and Oscar with updates on the interview and the flat-hunting adventure. They promised once summer break hits, they’d come and visit you.

 Staying up late to pack your things, you struggled to get up the next morning. Still, you got up and freshened up before taking your luggage out to your dad’s car. He shook his head, smiling at you struggling to carry your bags and grabbed them from you, placing them in the trunk and closing it. As he drove you to your new home, you two talked about your future and he expressed how much everyone was going to miss you, but that he was proud of you. He reassured you that they’d be alright and made you promise him that you’d stay safe and give them a call if you ever needed anything.

When you got to your new home, he helped you carry your bags up to your flat and you couldn’t help but look around it in disbelief. This was really yours. Your little corner in the city, home away from home. You beamed up at him as you thanked him, he hugged you in response before planting a kiss on your forehead and saying his goodbyes before heading back to Riverrun. You’d have to remember to call your parents soon to keep them from worrying themselves to death, you figure.

 You unpack your bags the rest of the day. Thankfully some movers had brought furniture up to your flat earlier that day, so it was fully furnished and before you knew it you were finally settled in. The stress of the day hit you, and you felt the need to use something to relax. Reaching into your kitchen cabinet you thanked yourself for remembering to bring a few bottles of wine with you and you drank them as your music filled the air and you danced around your new living room before passing out on the couch.

The sun streamed through the large windows of your new flat as you slowly woke up on your first full day in King’s Landing. The faint hum of city life below was a stark contrast to the quiet of Riverrun. Stretching and yawning, you reluctantly got up from the couch, where you’d spent the night amidst a mess of packing materials and empty wine bottles. Head slightly hurting, you popped a few pills.

After a quick shower and a hasty breakfast of cereal, you cleaned up before deciding to take a walk and explore your new neighborhood. You wandered through tree-lined streets and bustling avenues, taking in the lively atmosphere and the mix of modern and historic architecture. As you strolled, you marveled at the array of shops, restaurants, and cafés. The sheer diversity of the city was exhilarating, but you still felt a pang of homesickness.

You found yourself at a charming little café with an outdoor seating area. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted through the air, tempting you to step inside. You ordered a latte and a croissant, settling into a corner table with a view of the street. The café was quaint, with potted plants hanging from the walls and soft indie music playing in the background. It seemed like the perfect place to meet new people.

As you sipped your latte and skimmed through a local magazine, a young woman sat down at the table next to you. She was absorbed in her phone but glanced over at you occasionally, seemingly intrigued. After a few minutes, she put her phone down and gave you a friendly smile.

“Hi there,” she said, her voice warm. “I’m Sara. I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new here?”

You returned her smile, feeling a bit relieved to meet someone so approachable. “I’m Y/N. Yeah, I just moved here a couple of days ago. I’m starting an internship at Gevives magazine.”

Sara’s eyes lit up. “Gevives? That’s so cool! I actually know a few people who work there. What’s your position?”

“Intern,” you replied. “It’s my first big opportunity, so I’m really excited, but also a bit overwhelmed. This city is so different from what I’m used to.”

“Yeah, King’s Landing can be a bit intense at first,” Sara agreed sympathetically, nodding. “But you’ll get the hang of it. If you need any tips or just someone to show you around, I’d be happy to help. I’m a graphic designer here and I know a few great spots.”

“That would be amazing, actually,” you said, feeling grateful. “I’ve been feeling a bit out of place.”

“Great!” Sara said, finishing her coffee. “How about we meet up this weekend? I can take you to some cool places and we can grab lunch.”

“I’d love that,” you said, feeling a genuine sense of relief. “Thanks so much.”

As you both finished your coffee, Sara started talking about some of her favorite places in the city. You found yourself genuinely enjoying the conversation, feeling more at ease. Before you knew it, she had to leave for an appointment, but not before giving you her number.

“Here’s my number,” she said, writing it down on a napkin. “Text me and we’ll set something up for the weekend. Oh, and if you’re looking for a recommendation for some good weed—I’ve got a guy. His name’s Aegon. He’s reliable and knows his stuff. Just let me know if you need his number.”

You were taken aback by the sudden offer but quickly appreciated her candor. “Thanks, I might take you up on that.” You smiled.

Sara laughed. “No problem! I’ll text you his number later today. Enjoy the rest of your day exploring the city!”

As she left, you felt a renewed sense of optimism. The move still felt overwhelming, but meeting someone so friendly and open was a huge boost. You spent the rest of the day wandering around, taking in the sights and sounds of King’s Landing with a bit more confidence.

Later that evening, as you sat on the couch in your flat watching TV, your phone buzzed with a text from Sara. Attached was a number with a brief message:

S: “Hey! Here’s Aegon’s number: 555-789-1234. He’s great—let him know I sent you. Hope the city’s treating you well!”

You saved the number, feeling a mix of curiosity and anticipation. With a smile, you picked up a wine bottle you had left out, poured yourself a glass, and sat back on the couch, already feeling a little more at home. Deciding to waste no time, you pull your phone out and shoot a text to Aegon.

Y: Heyy I’m y/n, Sara gave me your number

A: can I call?

Y: Uhhh yeah sure

Almost as soon as you responded your phone rang, “the plug” lighting up the screen. You giggled to yourself at the name you assigned him and picked up. You could hear people talking and music playing in the background before he spoke.

              “Why hello. What can I do for ya sweetie?” His raspy voice rang. Oh great, a flirt.

“Hi, I just moved to King’s Landing and I’m looking for something to help me chill out. Sara mentioned you might be able to help with that.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky you got my number?” You could tell he was smirking, even over the phone. “I’ve got just the thing you need. What’s your vibe—something to mellow out after a long day or something to keep you buzzing?”

“I’m looking for something to help me unwind,” you said, honestly starting to feel a bit flustered by his tone. “It’s been a bit overwhelming with the move.”

“Ah, gotcha. I’ve got the perfect strain for that,” Aegon said smoothly. “How about we meet up around 8? I can make sure you’re well taken care of. My place isn’t anything fancy, but it’s got a cozy vibe. It’ll be a lot of fun.”

“That sounds good,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll text you the address in a minute. It’s at my place,” Aegon said with a chuckle. “And just so you know, I’ve got a pretty good setup. You might even say I’ve got a knack for making new friends feel right at home.”

A few hours later, you felt a flutter of excitement mixed with nervousness as you made your way to his place. You arrived at the address Aegon had sent, a slightly worn but lively building with other frat-type houses nearby. The bass from inside thumped so loudly you could feel it through the floor. When you buzzed the door, it swung open to reveal Aegon, his white hair a tousled mess and a grin on his face. He gave you a quick glance up and down before speaking.

“Hey there! You made it!” Aegon greeted you with an exaggerated enthusiasm that made you smile. “Come on in, gorgeous. Let me show you around.”

You stepped inside, greeted by the lively energy of the party. The flat was decorated with posters, random string lights, and a collection of beer bottles that had taken on a life of their own. Aegon led you through the living room, where people were lounging and chatting. Smoke and music filled the air as you looked around, trying to ease your nerves.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Aegon said, guiding you to a spot on the couch. “I’ll get us something to drink.”

As he grabbed a beer for you from the fridge, you took in his appearance, noting that despite being a bit disheveled looking, you find he’s actually quite attractive. He returned with the beer and a small bag of weed, sitting down next to you as he began to roll with practiced ease.

“So, you’re new in town, huh?” Aegon said, flashing you a cheeky grin as he worked. “I have to say, it’s nice meeting a pretty little thing like you. Y’know, I could show you around and help you find the best spots in the city.”

You laughed, the beer you started drinking you started feeling more at ease. “I’m looking forward to it. This is actually my first time hanging out with someone from here.”

“Well, I’m glad to be your first,” Aegon said with a wink. “Here’s to new adventures and new friends. And who knows, maybe this is the start of something even more exciting.”

He finished rolling the joint and handed it to you with a mischievous smile, his violet eyes watching you intensely. “Let’s make sure your time here is one to remember. Sara has great taste, and I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy yourself.”

You feel your cheeks warm. You wonder if it’s just the alcohol starting to make you feel flustered.

“I sure hope so. I left a lot behind to be here, I might as well enjoy it.” You replied, taking the joint from him and taking a long inhale from it, feeling your lungs burn a little.

He raised an eyebrow as you passed it back to him, “Don’t tell me you have a husband and 5 kids back at home?”

You laughed as you felt the joint making you a little lightheaded. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve partaken and the rumors seem to be true, this weed is definitely better.

“Hell no! Just my parents. Some friends. Riverrun is all I really know.” You said, absentmindedly running your fingers over your beer bottle in your hand. You didn’t expect to be here, in a drug dealer’s flat beginning to tell him your life story on your first day in the city but here you are.

“That was a close one.” He said in feigned relief, taking another drag from the joint and handing it back to you, eyes twinkling with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Sounds like you’re a long way from home,” he said, leaning back against the armrest and observing you with a relaxed demeanor. “So why did you come here? If I may ask.”

You pause and take what you deicide is your last hit, feeling the effects rush through you as you move to hand it back and he shakes his head. You put it out in the ash tray and grab the baggie to put it in, dropping it in your purse. “To prove myself. My parents worked hard to have as much as they do, and all I did was fuck off. I’m here to pave my own way.” You say, laying your head back on the back of couch and looking up at the ceiling. You smiled to yourself in amusement at the fact this was starting to feel like a fucked up therapy session.

You heard him laugh in a way that reminded you of a hyena before responding, “I can relate. Cheers to that.” He says as he lifts his beer up and you do the same, tapping it with your own.

As the night wore on, you found yourself opening up to Aegon, feeling surprisingly comfortable despite the circumstances. He listened with genuine interest, his violet eyes reflecting curiosity and amusement.

Figuring it’s about time you head home and enjoy your high in peace, you pull out your phone to order an uber. “I’m about to head home, thanks for the weed. You really helped a girl out.” You say as you turn your head to him. He’s still looking at you with those soft violet eyes as he’s leaning back against the couch, and you wonder if he ever stopped.

He smirks. “Of course, and don’t worry about payment this time.” As you prepared to head home, Aegon handed you another baggie of weed with a wink. “Consider it a welcome gift.”

Tag list: @p45510n4f4shi0n, @lysenni, @malfoycassimalfoy

[night-dazai]

Happy Birthday Dazai Osamu !!🌹🥳🎂

(a.k.a my husband )

This was also a request and since it was my love's birthday I thought I would combine both. Also become a lot longer than expected 😅 summary: Your boyfriend who had gone on a long mission is back home but you feel he is not the same also his birthday is the next day and you do not want this tense air.

“Bella ~ “ his velvet voice dripping with lust was whispered in your ear “ I need you to relax hardly 2 fingers are in and you hold me down like this ?���. Long thick fingers pumped in and out of your puffy cunt which had been eaten out for hours “You have a take something bigger relax love “ he said gently kissing your lips which was a huge contrast to how his fingers fucked you.

(The image is from Pinterest )

It had been a boring weekend, your college had given you a long weekend due to Good Friday while he had a day off cause he “did a good job and deserved it “ the director said. That is what he told you but you were not fully sure how true it was “Dazai I am bored, “ you said for the nth time while your 8-month lover was busy reading his book for the 10000th time.

He woke up late, and while you had breakfast ready both of you shared the meal and soon went to bed and lay around till lunch for which you ordered takeout and kept lying around. You had done the majority of your work so you started watching the series you always wanted to while he started reading his book near. Dinner was a simple meal and again as you continued your series he continued to read.

For some reason you had a feeling he had been avoiding you, well it started a few weeks ago before the month-long mission the agency had. He said we won't come to your shared apartment for 4 days and the reason was “ cannot put you in danger “. His eyes were clouded, he did not look at you fully or he did not even hug you after saying that, he just left.

During the span of the mission he would come home less and less and you guys would be together, talk, eat and all but still something felt odd …..something was off.

You had told Dazai you were a virgin when you guys were having a very heated makeout session and as his hands tried to go into your pants. But the moment you told him, he stopped … stopped everything pulled you into a hug and you guys went to bed. After 3 days the intense mission started.

Nights became longer and lonely, and the bed was always cold you were getting used to it but somewhere deep down you felt hurt.

“Dazai!” you shouted voice louder than the person dying on the TV “Look at me “You had turned and were sitting on your heel to face your lover who sat calmly next to you cross-legged reading that stupid suicide book.

“Yes Bella?” he asked not taking his eyes off the book, you did not know what to say “What would get his attention, “ you thought and soon one word struck you “Let's have sex, “ you said loud and clear.

Dazai turned to look at you with the most unexplainable expression, chocolate brown eyes wide and mouth parted and his hands holding the book slowly fell to his lap “Y/n what happened ?” he asked.

“I…..I…am a virgin so…pls..slow or .la..later?” she stammered into my ear. The tightness in my pants just became more tight “ Bella? “ I looked at her. She surely was inexperienced when we started dating but this is huge.

“Ah ..fuck !” I cursed silently tracing my hands on her curves next to me like I was the safest person on the planet. Of course, I am not she should get away … My hands rested on her hips “I ….should go slow …..slow” I tell myself.

The mission was easy, but y/n … just looked more and more tempting “ I should wait till she is ready ?”

Tears well in your eyes, and you feel stupid “sex ?”.Your first bf left you cause he did not want to teach you how the be in bed while the second was so obsessed with many weird kinks when he pulled the straps and whips on your first time. You practically ran away. Both your previous relationships ended horribly due to your inexperience “Will he not like me too ?” you thought and asked.

“do you not like the fact that I am a virgin ?”

Dazai’s hands cupped your face while the book fell on the floor “ Bella of course I love you and what is this ? Did something happen ?” he asked.

All you could do was nod your head wiping your tears “No…but please I want you to take me “ you said and climbed onto his lap settling your hands on his broad shoulder “Please…take me ..” your voice begged.

His hands swiftly planned on your hips gripping it tightly “Love.. it is no compulsion for you to have sex with me . We can always wait till you are ready “ he said softly tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear “Hum?”

Now you were not sure if he did not like you or cause it was because he thought you could not work well in bed ? “now that hurts my ego samu~” you said and leaned in your hands going down his chest to his belt “I…..need y….you …..”.

Tall fingers found your hands and held both your hands down “Love… Are you sure? I feel that there is something else that is making you do this ?” cold lips found your flushed neck “Tell me Bella ~” he cooed.

All your resolve crumbled down, no matter what compared to you the experienced bandaged man always had a way of making you a mushy mess “You…are avoiding me ….since.that night “ you mumbled falling on him and planting your face in his neck.

His brown eyes widen for a second understanding setting in instantly he chuckles hands which held you down are removed and wrapped around your waist tightly “Y/n…” he laughs a lot louder now “Seriously you are the cutest “ he says and carries you to your shared bedroom while you clung to him like a kola.

"Maybe thinking that she might need space was a wrong idea, " Dazai thought.

Putting you down gently on the bed like a glass doll “Leave me love I need to get some things” he said trying to pull your hands from his neck but you shook your head “What things?” you asked not looking at him.

“Wet towels, water, some lube …Bella let me go for a second “ he said again and before he could talk a moan left his mouth “That's what you get ass” you said biting his neck hard and making him whimper.

Smiling suddenly he pulled your pony, making you whimper “If you wanna play with fire let's play “ he said grabbing your hair a little harder and making you fall on the plush pillow “Sit back and enjoy “.

Your night pants and top were off in a second while his bandaged hands romaned your untainted skin gripping your flesh in certain places and pulling out moans you never thought you could make.

Being naked under him made you feel nothing but vulnerable and scared, but right now when you look into his eyes all those vanish. Lovely brown eyes filled with nothing but love and lust looked at you.

As if possessed you moved your hands from your chest showing everything “Beautiful Bella ~” he said eyes eating the naked flesh in front of him as his shirt and pants were getting removed.

Left in his underwear he towered over you, eyes asking for permission, tongue out and ready to taste you “Come here “ you said pulling him into a hug and making him immobile “ y/n …you have to leave me “ he said patting your hair. But you did not answer or nod, just an erratic increase in your breathing.

Feeling the ridge breath and heavy movements of your chest Dazai pulled back worried “Did I push her too far ?” he thought.

But again as you tried to pull him back into a hug to hide your face, he caught your hands. Holding them down by your face which was turned to the side to avoid looking at him “Tell me what is it love?” he asked voice soft and caring.

“Gentle … I am not ..sure how it will be but…” you looked right into his eyes “Please..gently “ you said.

His orbs widened for a second but he gained his composure soon” We can stop any second you want to, “ he said moving your hair to the side to kiss your jaw and neck.

Leaving a trail of open-mouth kisses his tongue works near your neck and collarbone ripping moan after moan.

“Y/n such a lovely voice, should I record it ?” he teased nipping the red mark on your neck, eye which was screwed shut opened up looking at him.

He sucks once more satisfied with his marks and admires it while stroking your sides “Don't worry …..nothing you hate will be done “.

Hands roaming in your chest “ such pretty breasts, all full and all for me “ he jumped between them like they were his last meal sucking and nibbling at the hard buds “Mine right ?” he asked again holding your right bud between his teeth while his hand plays with the other he looks up at you for an answer.

Refusing to answer you stay quiet, while he bites harder making you yelp “AH! That hurts !” you say looking down at him. Eyes staring right into your soul “Answer me y/n all mine right ?” you could only nod your head.

Chuckling at your shyness he gets up “ I need words love “One hand strokes your face while the other travels down to your core, which is throbbing and wet.

“yes..yours” you say trying to avoid his gaze but his hands pull your face and his lips on yours. It was a tad bit rougher and deeper, his finger which was teasing near your core now ghost near your clit, flicking it.

It was a little painful but felt weirdly nice, the flick was not too hard. Satisfied with your reaction he got up and opened a drawer next to the bed pulling out a packet of condom you never knew existed there.

Dazai removing the condom and putting it on himself was a sin to watch, bandages slowly fell from his body revealing scars of the past. His past was of murder and death but scars were also there cause he no longer wanted to live.

Slowly moving up you tugged at this arm pulling it closer to your lips, kissing every scar you could find. Swloly you worked your way up your shoulder, collarbone, chin, lips and forehead “I love you “ you said kissing him again.

Your boyfriend was a stone for a few seconds, checks flushing hands fumbling he hugged you tightly “ I love you too..more than you know “his voice filled with emotion but was hidden in your neck.

You somehow got the courage to kiss him like this but now both of you fully naked made you feel more vulnerable. Dazai still hugging you brought you back to the bed “Now relax “ he said kissing you . One hand was nipping at your hard bud while the other went down and trusted a finger in.

Long slender fingers worked their way into your tight cunt as you held on to his biceps “Da..samu…enough….” you said between hard inhales. Dazai chuckled looking at your state, wet eyes and cheeks, lips parted for oxygen intake, chest rising and falling having your lovely breasts moving in a rhythm which made him more hard and ready to cum on them “No love” he kissed your forehead and your nose “still not “.

He moved his hand and hit a spot inside which had you screaming and shocked for a second with your reaction “There..see right here “he pressed the spot again but this time harder. “I am using only one finger and you react like this …you need to be well-trained “ he cooed. An evil smirk played on his lips while the understanding settled in your eyes he slowly inserted another finger in you “I need you to take 3 fingers first okay Bella?”

30 minutes? 1 hour? you had no idea, you had 2 intense orgasms which left your legs shaking and feeling like jelly but still stiff, hands hurt from the sheer grip you had on the sheets and your boyfriend's hair. You thought you had pulled out a few strands but seems like you had no such strength “Sweet love…” he licked your dripping pussy again from the bottom to the top flicking the overly stressed bubble of nerves “See soo sweet “he got up sucking his fingers clean tasting you while making sure you watched each action.

You heard your friends tell you “Nah sex can be very boring or disappointing not like what we read in books “ but have told you it was amazing and even better than the books. And today you knew for sure sex with Dazai will never be anything short of otherworldly.

Kissing your lips, tongue dominating your insides he slowly spread your legs wider, you realised what he was doing …distracting you. You opened your eyes to find brown pupils looking at you “Relax, might hurt I can stop anytime okay ?” he said. All you could was nod your head and hide your face in the crock of his neck.

He was not very grithy but his length was a bit on the above-average longer side and the grith was no joke. His tip kissed your folds twice before entering.

Dazaai tried to keep an eye on your face but you did not let him, cause you knew if he saw you in pain he would stop “go..” you said while he hesitated listening to your hissing noises. And in ..he was inside you, little red droplets combined with your previous release and his pre cum dripped out “Y/n…?you feeling good ?” he asked patting your head “look at me please ?” he begged.

You slowly let go of his neck and lay back down, tears running like a stream down your face, lips open and breathing hard you looked up at him “I…don't know…feels weird “Your eyes looked below at your connecting with him “hurts …but…also ..weird “ you sniffled.

His mind was racing in all directions and telling him only one thing “ slow..gentle ..her first time “ but he wanted none of that. He wanted to start moving thrusting his hips, ramming into your cunt, watching your cry more tears but “it's fine ..it will feel good love “ he said wiping a few tears “Slalty “ he thought licking it.

Slowly he moved his hips while you helped his arms for your dear life, but it was long before his thrusts took a higher pace. The pain was present but something else was taking over you “Mh... Samu..” you mumbled mindlessly “Yes love right ..he..here” he grunted sensing your sudden tightness.

After making sure you were adjusted to his little faster pace “Bella, hold here “ he said bringing one of your hands to his neck while he held the other with his and rammed his hips into your cunt. The thrust was rough and bruising, you were sure your ass was red and all the air left your lungs in a second hand you panting.

He patted your head with one hand “Good girl ..ta..taking me so well..” he said through gritted teeth while ramming into you at a pace you did not expect the slender man to be capable of.

Soon you felt the third knot ready to release “Dazi…da…I..” you mumbled unable to form proper words . “Gonna cum huh ?..cum for me y/n ..cum on my cock “ he said. And right on those commanding words you released while he followed you in seconds.

Panting hard you lay there unable to lift even a finger, your whole felt like it was on fire, it felt jelly but also stiff “How do you feel? does it hurt anywhere?” Dazai asked removing the used condom and putting on his trousers.

“Mhh…it..was intense, “ you said and looked at him, keeping your eyes open was a very big struggle “We have to clean ..or should I get towels here?” he asked ready to do your words.

Instead, you patted the space by your bed “Check the time “ you said “12:15 am “ Dazai replied coming near you and patting your head while the other hand lay on your stomach “I was really not sure what to gift you but I am also not sure if I am worth it here ….” you opened your arms and smiled “Happy birthday Dazai Osamu “.

Your feeble voice and words had the man in front of you crumbling, leaping into your open arms “Tha. thank you y/n” he said. You were not very awake but could feel his words' emotions. He got up and held your face “You are enough more than ever, I am not worthy of such an angel “ he said. The face showed an emotion you could not read but hoped it was not full of sadness.

“Don't say that …if you are not worthy of me who will take me huh ?” you giggled. The tiredness was taking over you “ I am sorry ..” you yawned “ I cannot stay away but I am the first one to wish you “You smiled at your lovely boyfriend through half-open eyes “ I hope you enjoyed y…..yawn your present and thank you…love you “ you mumbled as soon closed your eyes.

As you drifted into a deep slumber, you could not look at the single teardrop that fell from his eyes, kissing your face “ I love you too angel ..my saviour “ he said getting up to clean you.

After he was done, he hugged your body tightly burying your face in his chest, even though a sleep you snuggled into his warmth giving a statsifed hum …you never knew the kind of power you held on this man for you slept while he watched his saviour rest.

(This image is from Pinterest )

[vampirebloodie]

Little Help | Mark Hoffman x Reader

Summary: John makes Hoffman help you and he almost kills you (with pleasure)

Warning: NSFW Smut, creampie, degradation kink, puller hair

After having survived one of Jigsaw's tests after making some bad choices in life, John Kramer saw enormous potential in you due to your willpower to survive being different from anyone else tested, you had the strength of an apprentice, as well as Amanda and Lawrence. As you didn't have many things to lose, you easily accepted John's invitation to become one of his apprentices and help him with the next games, even though it was almost like signing other people's death warrants, you saw it as a job, you just don't receive any payment for it.

Amanda wasn't with you today at the factory, so it was just you who was putting together a new trap and John who was drawing some new models in a notebook. You had been making some mistakes for a few days now, which made him start keeping an eye on you to look for some good solution.

“I called Hoffman to give a little help for you. I see that you are having a lot of difficulties.”

John said, still drawing. You felt your heart stop for a few seconds after hearing that. You hated Hoffman just as he hated you too and you knew that very well, he made a point of always making it clear when you saw each other, which fortunately was rare.

"You what? Hoffman? Are you kidding me? What about Lawrence?”

Unlike Mark, Lawrence liked you and you liked him too, you always got along well and always helped each other.

“Lawrence has a family, and he's traveling with them. Amanda is not available, you stay with Hoffman, the end.”

He closed the subject there and you huffed in frustration, the hours there with the detective would be terrible.

.........

It was almost dusk, John had gone home to rest in his room while you had stayed to wait for Hoffman, sleep had consumed you and you soon dozed off on the table, only to be woken up by a loud knock on the table that almost made you have a heart attack.

“Finally! I thought that besides being stupid you were also deaf.”

You rubbed your eyes and looked up to see the devil, aka Mark, staring at you.

“Fuck you.”

“You can curse me later, cutie. We have a lot of work to do.”

He went to the other table where there was the trap that you needed to assemble but there was something wrong with the pieces, since every time you tried to fit it to your body it simply came apart and you had to do it all over again.

"Do it"

He handed the materials into your hand, but you didn't take them.

“How am i going to fix it if i don't know where im going wrong damn? i've tried several times.”

Mark took a deep breath and placed the tools on the table again, carefully picking up the trap.

“Don't be a stupid girl, just open your fucking arms.”

You ignored his rude manner and looked at him suspiciously, opening your arms, then you felt the trap being placed around your waist and your neck.

“Hey hey, what are you doing?”

You despaired for a few seconds thinking he was going to fix it and use it on you.

“I'm not going to kill you with that ugly thing you did. I need a model to be able to see the error. Unfortunately, i only have you.”

You ignored the offense and stayed quiet, he bent down a little in front of you and looked at the pieces, you held your breath when he looked at the part of your neck and ran his hand over it. You could swear he squeezed your neck on purpose.

"Thats it."

He spoke and took one of the tools, where he placed it near his neck and fixed the error that was in the support of the equipment. After that he released the trap again and removed it from his body, placing it on the table. You felt your neck tingle.

Mark ran his long fingers along your neck, where the metal had left a mark due to his grip, you tried to control your breathing when you realized how close your two faces were to each other. You looked at him again.

“Don’t look at me like that…”

"Like what?"

You tried to hide the sexual tension, turning your head, only to feel his hand pulling your face back to look at him, at his blue eyes.

“I know you don’t really hate me, do you think i don’t see you staring at me every day?”

“I stare at you and imagine myself killing you in various traps.”

You tried to finish the subject there and he laughed sarcastically.

“Oh sure. Do you know what i imagine when i look at you, Y/n?”

He got close to her ear and whispered:

“I imagine myself every day fucking that tight pussy of yours right on this table and you screaming my name.”

You closed your legs on impulse as soon as you heard that, only to see a smile appear on his face, he grabbed your hair from behind, giving a light tug making you let out a moan.

“Why don’t you make it a reality then, detective?”

"I will”

You felt his tongue invade your mouth with precision while his arms pinned you against the table, Mark held your waist and placed you sitting on the table, where this time he attacked your neck leaving some marks, your hand pulled his tie. Hoffman took off your blouse, squeezing your breasts and then removed your underwear, he took off his blazer and threw it in a random corner of the room and pushed you against the table, opening your legs, you shivered when you felt his fingers pass through your intimacy.

“You don’t know how many times i've thought of you in this position just for me.”

He squatted in front of you and removed your panties, leaving you completely exposed to him, before you could say anything you felt his tongue invading your pussy making you scream in surprise, his tongue worked so well inside you that made you roll your eyes with so much pleasure, Hoffman stuck two fingers inside you and started moving them while sucking your clit, you pulled his hair, you felt your stomach tighten.

“H-Hoffman, I...”

“No.”

He realized you were going to cum and pulled away, making you moan in frustration, he grabbed your neck and unzipped his pants, exposing his member, which made your eyes widen a little due to its large size, Mark positioned his member at your entrance and forced himself into you, the tip hitting your cervix, which made you squirm at the new sensation.

He placed both hands on your hips and began thrusting hard into you. Completely invading you with each blow. You grabbed his arms and moaned loudly. Hoffman pulled your hair and squeezed your neck, starting to choke you as the loud sound of your bodies crashing into each other filled the empty room. Your face started to turn red due to lack of air and he seemed to enjoy it.

“You look so perfect when im choking you, you fucking little slut!”

He said irritably and began to move even harder and released your neck, making you gasp for air quickly, Hoffman squeezed your waist tightly, which would probably leave marks later, the two of you moaned loudly and together. His fingers began to make quick movements on your clit, making you almost cry with pleasure.

“Be a good girl and cum for me while you scream my name, hm?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck, Mark!!”

"Good girl!”

You screamed, cumming and feeling your legs weaken and shake, Mark grunted and soon you felt him coming apart inside you, you breathed for a few seconds before he came out inside you, watching the semen drip from your pussy, he licked his lips. Mark took you off the table and helped you get dressed again.

“It won’t change how much i hate you.”

You said and he laughed.

“Please remember to say this when i fuck you again .”

He gave two little slaps in your face and put his blazer back on.

“I'll give you a ride. Hurry up. Cmon"

You put on your boots and picked up your bag, walking alongside him, even though your legs still felt sticky to each other. God, what have you done?

[anotheroceanid]

Before I (try) to take a nap, here it is: the first part of the next chapter (that hopefully won't end up as long as the previous one)

JASON

JANUARY 2028

NEW ROME

Even before getting some ribs broken, Jason was having a rotten day.

He started the morning with news of an earthquake nearby. The earthquake in question reached one of their depots of food, which meant that now they were cut short for the upcoming months.

Rome’s crops were near unproductive, their livestock was scarce and prone to sickness. There hasn’t been rain in a long time. Not ever since Jupiter, Jason’s father, had cursed the Greeks with a drought and Neptune, Jason’s uncle, decided it was fit to impose the same upon Romans, avoiding any water from getting in the sky and retrenching their access to fresh water through his influence on the river gods. The past year, hundreds of people have died of hunger, disease and dehydration.

A few hours later, a letter from the Mexican front was delivered to him. The fauns advanced in their territory. The Roman army struggled to stop them. Multiple soldiers died in the attempt, and just as many were now wounded, some permanently.

The Fauns Rebellion shrunk Rome’s army every day, there was nothing they could do about it. After they signed the armistice with the Greeks, their only choice to fight against the Nature Spirits was to accept mortals’ enlistment. While their enemies in the East could be starved to death, nymphs could endure months with only sun and water. Fauns weren’t as resistant, but that didn’t matter because their Lord of the Wild always found ways to help them, even from afar.

Though crowned Emperor of Rome by his peers, Jason couldn't think of someone more powerless than himself.

Jason spent his morning writing a letter to the Greek cities begging for food. Because that was the only thing he could do for his people in these times of need.

He crumples up a piece of paper and throws it in the pile of discarded letters. Jason did it a thousand times, and yet, he can’t really find the proper words. He runs his fingers through his hair and his beard, takes off his glasses and presses his eyes together hoping it'll help the thoughts come clear.

Asking the Greeks for help is pathetic. Beyond stupid, Jason also feels guilt. If anything, he should be looking for ways to apologise. Not that it would be worthy anything. What's the point of apologising for something unforgivable? At most, he’d come out as weak to the Senate, and his enemies would use the opportunity to eat his liver.

Although Jason might’ve learned to live with remorse, his fellow Romans didn’t learn to leave with hunger. So, he picked another paper and started again. For every word he managed to write, Jason heard Annabeth of Perses telling him to go fuck himself. Well, better her saying such a thing than Piper, the thought made a shiver go down his spine. That woman creeped the soul out of his body, in a way not even the Vipera Graeca and her deadly poison could do.

Once he finishes his letter, Jason stares at it with a numbing acknowledgement that soon he won’t have to beg for food anymore. At any time, the war that decimated most of North America would restart. Rome would burn. With the Greeks courtesy, Jason would be alive to watch, surely. How else could he expect his debt to be paid? Though, Jason ponders, I might destroy Rome myself, will it be a favour or a slight for the Greeks?

The walls of New Rome were too thin to protect its citizens forever. How longer before truth would rushes in? How was Jason supposed to fight against it? For now, New Rome was safely unfamiliar to the horrors outside their gates. The people didn’t need to know everything. How, despite how bad things were in the city, it was much worse across the rest of the Roman Territory.

Jason’s job was to keep them ignorant. To try to get things better outside. Win the war against the Greeks.  He was bound to become thrice a failure. Only thrice? How optimistic.

For what felt like the thousandth of times, Jason begged the Greeks to feed his people so the day would come when the Greeks would have more than corpses from who to take revenge.

With this happy thought, Jason sends his letter.

Next things Jason does, is dig his face on his hands and moan loudly in absolute despair. What a way to start the year…

‘I can’t even say there isn’t any way this can get worse…’ Jason mumbled to himself.

His door was slammed open. Reyna arrived in a rush. ‘Octavian’s house was attacked!’

… Because of course, it can.

[caramel1mochi]

ぐちゃ ! (Splat!) [Yoru x F! Reader]

Heya everyone!

This is it, the winner of the vote! I totally didn't spend a few days trying to get the title right. Japanese people, don't come for me!

I kinda wish the Chamber one won (try saying that out loud) because I have so many good ideas for my KING but maybe after this one's done we'll get to him!! I don't blame people for voting for Yoru, though, he's so much more lenient and... just doesn't care, haha.

Anyway, this might be slow at first, what with how avoidant Yoru is, but I promise it gets good. Hope it's a good read!

❤ฺ·。

Yoru x F! Reader

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 4.5 / Part 5 / Part 6

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: Hapless doesn't even begin to describe you. With your life flipped upside down within the span of a day; you're left to rely on your best friend Tala to help you pick up the pieces and build the new one forced upon you. And this 'luck' seems to have caught the attention of one of her friends.

。+❤ฺ·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ· +❤·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ·

To say you were unlucky would be a grand understatement. To also say this day had an awful start would be stupid, because that implied that your days usually had a good start. And if you were to list off all the things that went wrong, you’d be here for hours. Which is exactly what you and Tala did once your schedules for once aligned, and you met up at a cafe after so long.

Yep, that’s right. You spent hours explaining to her everything that went wrong this week. And with permission, she had a grand time laughing at some of the mishaps that made it look like you were cursed by the gods or something.

Tala caught her breath and lifted her head to meet your gaze, holding back tears.

“Wait, wait– let me get this straight, even with three warnings, your boss didn’t fire you?!”

“No joke, I’m as stumped as you.”

“And you’re also infamous for your misfortune with them! Didn’t you get this job just last week?”

You crossed your arms, smiling.

“I am now!”

“Okay, wait, hear me out– what if you’re really just cursed? Like, maybe you rejected some guy and he paid a witch to cast a spell on you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah? And Manuel said it’s because I didn’t ask my grandma for a blessing before I left, or I don’t pray hard enough.”

As you spoke, you grabbed your bag and placed it on the table, digging through it to find something.

“And this one time, his girlfriend gave me this to help me with my luck.”

You slammed a block of wood on the table, a splinter flying across the surface. And just the sight of it made Tala burst out in laughter again, quickly wiping away the tears that narrowly escaped. In fact, her previously dazzling pigtails had gotten more and more dishevelled throughout this conversation the more she laughed and struggled to keep herself together. Even people were starting to look.

“I’m scared to open the gift he gave me today. He said it’s supposed to ward off bad spirits–”

“There’s more?!”

You nodded, taking out a small black box and setting it in front of you on the table. This immediately drew her attention away from the wood. In fact, it concerned her.

“Wait, this looks like a… hold on, he wasn’t proposing, was he?”

“He has a girlfriend!”

She giggled, before stretching out the palm of her hand expectantly.

“Hand me that thing, I wanna see.”

“No! What if it’s a prank?”

“And? What’s the worst that could happen, confetti ruins your hair? Very scary.”

She pointed at your messy bob, not as well-kempt as her own hair. And not messy in a flattering way, it looked scruffy. The chaos that followed you ruined your day and your looks, so, at this point, why even bother?

“What if it’s something dangerous? Like, a snake or a spider, and it bites us?”

“Fine, okay, let’s go somewhere where we can open up the box safely. If it’s a frog, it’ll jump out, right?”

You stared at her for a second, then the present once more. The plan didn’t sound as bad. You’d have to open the thing eventually, right? Might as well do it right next to your friend, now.

Then, she grabbed the slab of wood and knocked twice, brows furrowed with a smile. This comforted you, in a way.

“Alright! Somewhere safe… I can do that.”

“Good, let’s go, I don’t have all day!”

She grabbed her drink, then you by the wrist and pulled you out before you could gather all your things. And of course, you left the slab of wood on the table by accident.

❤ฺ·。

You knew what she meant by that final comment. Out of all of your inconveniences, the worst thing that happened was Tala’s sudden disappearance. For months, all contact was lost, and nobody knew where she was. Even when she came back, she’d return for a few hours before disappearing again. Her answer? ‘Work’. 

But your mind instinctively focused on something much worse.

“Ow, ease up! My arm!”

She giggled awkwardly, quickly letting go. 

“Sorry, I’m used to being rough, you know?”

“You don’t say.”

A red rim formed around your wrist where she held you, and you rubbed it in annoyance. A little more pressure, and she could’ve easily broken your hand. Nevertheless, you continued down the path you both walked down on, your destination being a forest. Or, if you were lucky, some park right around the corner.

“You were so scrawny before you disappeared, Tala. Are you gonna tell me what this ‘job’ is, yet?”

“I don’t want to get in trouble if I do tell you.”

You raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t meet her gaze since she walked faster than you did. But somehow, she felt your concern rising, turning to look at you with an awkward expression. Maybe she should go back to practising how to keep secrets.

“Okay! Hear me out. You’re luckless, yeah? What if your luckless-ness… passes on to me, or whatever, then you discover what my job is by accident.”

That’s also mostly why people avoided associating with you, too, but that’s by the by. With an eye roll, you walked past her up the concrete stairs, making your way down the less dilapidated pathway. She quickly ran up behind you, somehow catching up to you within the blink of an eye. At first, you thought it was unnatural, but you got used to her speed.

“Come on, you can’t tell me the plan isn’t solid!”

“Solid like jelly, Tala. Let’s get this over with, I’m throwing the box away.”

“Lighten up, Y/N. Who knows, maybe this will turn your luck around?”

You slipped the box out of your bag again, walking up a small hill in a park you both entered a while ago. There were groups of people behind you, so you both purposely went to a spot where you’d both be alone.

“Last time I said that, I almost got diagnosed with diabetes!”

“That’s because you’re always freaked out, seriously!”

She stopped and spread out her arms, as if to tell you to observe the area you both found yourself in.

“Look at this park. It’s innocent and stuff. There’s even kids here! But I bet there’s still something scaring you about this place right now, yeah?”

You looked around, the ever so familiar sensation of anxiety creeping up on you, along with many possibilities of your death. But you also don’t want to let her have this win. 

“No way, I’m not scared. This place is nice.”

“Okay, open the box.”

You stared at her for a few seconds, before awkwardly giggling.

“Uh… What do you, what do you mean?”

“You’re not scared, right? So, open it!”

Tala gestured to the gift in your hand with an incredibly mischievous expression, watching her point get proven right just by the way your left eye twitched. Then, you looked down at the tiny object, mind running wild with possibilities. If it wasn’t a cobra that would lunge at you, what if it was the hatching eggs of a bug? Like, a roach or something, and it’ll burst all over you if you open it. Worse, what if it’s a bomb? Maybe a smell bomb that would make both of you pass out if you inhale too much. Wait, do those even exist?

You quickly handed it to her before your mind could come up with something else, smiling.

“You’re the muscular one, right? I’ll let you take care of it.”

She stared at you with a raised eyebrow, before rolling her eyes and taking it.

“You’re such a chicken, Y/N.”

“I’m not a chicken! It’s… heightened survival senses.”

Tala laughed, taking a few steps back and opening the box.

“Heightened survival senses?! Did your mom tell you that?”

She absolutely did. Of course she would, your mother would never outright call you spineless to your face. That would be rude… and unlucky.

“Shut up and open it.”

“I did, it’s just some bracelet!”

Tala tossed the object at you, the gold quickly bouncing the moonlight off of it moments before it landed on your hand. And she was right. It was just some bracelet, probably pawned or made up of fake gold. Or something like that.

Putting it on your right wrist, and you quickly sighed in disappointment at a new discovery.

“It doesn’t fit.”

You held up your hand and watched the accessory slide down your arm, dangling on your elbow. Of course, Tala simply gave you a wry smile at such an unlucky revelation. To be fair, the least Manuel could’ve done was get your measurements, but it seemed like he nicked some random bracelet and handed it to you as a joke.

“Look on the bright side, if it’s real gold, you can sell it.”

“Sure, we might even get to split the cash.”

She smiled and grabbed your wrist, fixing the bracelet’s position.

“No way, with your luck? You need the money more than I do. Who knows? Maybe you could invest in a mansion.”

“And then an earthquake comes and destroys the mansion.”

You turned your gaze away and sat on the grass. Well, sat is an elegant word, considering you just plopped on the ground and laid your chin on your hand. Tala noticed this, slowly stepping up and taking a seat right next to you, her eyes on yours. The mood seemed to have shifted, and she clearly got concerned.

“Yo, you’re not pissed about the bracelet, right?”

“Pissed? No way. It’s not that bad. On the bright side, I can use it to strangle Manuel when I see him tomorrow.”

You mocked her way of speech, and earned a giggle from her. Then, you heard buzzing around you, jumping and rapidly looking around. Tala noticed this, getting up alongside you with her ever-so-familiar dismissive eye roll.

“Relax, it’s just a fly.”

Just as she said that, a loud smack echoed through the air around you; and the bug fell onto the grass. You couldn’t help but sneer at this.

“Gross, you kill flies with your hands?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

You met her gaze, still harbouring the disgusted expression. Your friend, on the other hand, quickly got defensive.

“You know what’s even more gross? A fly laying eggs on you!”

“What?”

“That’s right. If you don’t kill it, it’ll land on your head and lay eggs. Then, they’ll be embedded in your skin forever.”

You laughed and jokingly elbowed her.

“That’s so filthy!”

“You’ll become a bug, Y/N! Trust me on that. You’ll grow wings, and big red eyes, and– and…”

She quickly turned her gaze away, putting one hand on her chin as she pondered.

“Hey, what do bugs do again?”

You raised an eyebrow. You weren’t even sure what they could do besides lay eggs and eat faeces, and probably vomit some acid to melt food, but you knew it wasn’t turning humans into one of their own. Then, you winced once you heard another buzzing around you, swatting the fly away. And, even though you were too embarrassed to admit it, you partly believed Tala’s egg theory. You stood up to slap the persistent bug away from you in fear.

“These stupid flies, they’re everywhere! Where are they coming from?!”

Tala simply watched you with a cheeky smile, not bothering to help.

“Hey, maybe they wanna lay eggs on you. Your hair might make a good nest.”

“Help me out?!”

She laughed, sitting with her legs crossed and angling her body towards you. Another fly appeared from nowhere, and they began to buzz around you. And despite your frantic waving, it didn’t help.

“I think I'll just watch. Don’t wanna gross you out.”

You started to grow angrier, the air letting out an audible whoosh as you slapped them away. 

And after a few seconds, Tala looked around in concern once she felt something stop around her.

“Gah! Get out of my face, you stupid son of a b–”

Then, a loud bang deafened both you and Tala; a strong gust of wind sweeping both of you off your feet. But with unnatural speed, Tala grabbed you and you held each other for safety.

And when you opened your eyes, terror surged through you.

[jeonbunnie]

the entertainer ✧ 2

✧ reader x seokjin, ft. yoongi

✧ summary: In need of some real cash, you take a job as a dancer in your city's most notorious strip club. You’re making your own hours, raking in a good amount of money, and feeling sexy while you do it. Everything was fine as long as you kept your work life and your personal life separated.But when a handsome stranger shows up one night you find it difficult to maintain the balance.Jin is a gorgeous, rich, and–taken man. But one look from you on that stage has him spellbound. He knows he’s got no business coming back to the club, but there’s something about you that makes him want more than just a private dance. . .

✧ genre: strangers to lovers; angst; smut; fluff; 18+

✧ content/warnings: 18+, rich/ceo!jin, fuckboy!yoongi, stripper!reader, college!au, songfic, pov shifts, based on summer walker’s last days of summer album, loosely inspired by pretty woman, slow burn, smut, pining, mutual pining, love triangle, romantic suspense, cursing, dirty talk, explicit sex, oral sex, fingering, aftercare

✧ a/n: this is an old fic I wrote under my prev pseudo @jeonsweetheart that I put on hiatus as noted in this lovely banner by @kookdiaries. however recently I’ve found some love for my old pieces so I decided to try writing it again. If by some miracle your someone who’s read this story in the past lol I’ve edited some details to fit the narrative better but other than that, I’m continuing with the story as is! this isn’t beta’d and since I haven’t done a series in a while I’m actually pretty nervous reposting this so if u like it pls stop by my inbox or drop a comment I’d really appreciate it :)

✧ soundtrack: girls need love—summer walker

✧ word count: 9k

♪ So what’s a girl to do when she needs loving too... ♪

| <- prev | next -> | masterlist♡ | ao3

[2:06am] Yoongi: You up?

You squinted at your phone, reading the message in the dark as the blue light shined on your face. You liked Yoongi; you really did. But more and more, you noticed he’d formed a habit of messaging you late at night. Only at night.

He’d brush you off when you attempted to hang out with him outside of work in the daytime, then later hit you up when it was convenient for him. You were starting to hate him for that and yourself because you let him get away with it.

Well, not tonight, you told yourself. I’m not gonna play that game. You put your phone on DO NOT DISTURB, returned it to your nightstand, and buried yourself in your sheets. You lay in bed feeling empty inside; you liked Yoongi, but you didn’t like this. Feeling so desperate for him all the time it was stupid and embarrassing.

Is that what love is?

You didn’t know. You’d never been in love before. Not really. Sure, you had crushes, mild infatuations, and situationships galore, but nothing like this—not this dull ache in your chest. If what you felt for Yoongi was love, then as much as you hated to admit it, maybe it was unrequited, and Hyuna was right.

Love had to be better than going to bed alone, feeling so cold and numb even though you were covered by a blanket.

You hoped she was wrong.

You wanted to be more to him than a few stolen kisses in the night and a body to hold. But as much as you wanted him to take your relationship seriously—to take you seriously—you could never risk asking him for more. To ask would be to give him all the power, and Yoongi already had enough control over you.

It wasn’t always like this. There used to be a time when you had all Yoongi’s attention.

You were so nervous coming into the club the first time. Back then, you still weren’t fully comfortable with stripping. But you had just started school, and though you already had a job bussing tables, you were still so very broke, and those bills wouldn’t pay themselves.

So you sucked up all your inhibitions and made yourself audition. You don’t know how Yoongi saw you in that crowded room. There were so many girls, certainly some more eye-catching than you, but he managed to catch you in the corner having a minor panic attack.

“You need to breathe.”

“Huh? Sorry, did you say something?” You blinked, taking in the appearance of the handsome stranger before you. On any other day, his intense eyes would have made you swoon. But that day, you were too caught up in your thoughts, worried about the worst possible outcomes of your getting up on stage. It’d been a long time since you danced for anyone besides yourself, and somehow, you were convinced you would mess up. Trip over your heels or forget a part of your routine.

“I said, you need to breathe. You look like you’re holding your breath. Are you that nervous?”

Yes, yes, you were.

You smiled weakly at him, clutching the water bottle in your hands. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I don’t think I can do this.” Your eyes flitted towards the exit.

“You’re here now, so you might as well go through with the audition. Don’t stop halfway.”

God, you thought, were you that obvious?

“What if I fuck it up?”

“Then you fuck it up. But that’d still be better than not trying at all.”

You remember being shocked at his response. But the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Yeah, so what if you fucked it up? You didn’t know these people. Worse scenario, you wouldn’t get in and leave a little embarrassed, but no one would know about your private failure except for this handsome stranger.

You must have taken too long to respond because shortly after his blunt advice, Yoongi apologized.

“Sorry. . . I’m not that good at pep talks.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t know why, but that actually helped.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened. Just a bit. Just enough for you to know your response surprised him. “Uh, good. You’ll be fine.”

“Thanks,” you said. Then thoughtfully, you wondered out loud, “Why are you being so nice to me??”

You couldn’t believe some guy was talking you down from your anxiety attack in a strip club. What was his agenda? Did he expect something from you?

“Why not?”

You opened your mouth to question that logic when you heard your name called. Your stage name. It was your turn to audition next. You glanced up at the stage before you, the black velvet curtain in the background, soft pink and white lights setting the mood, guiding your eyes to the catwalk in the middle. And on that center stage, those same lights highlight the silver pole in the middle.

Just looking at it made you gulp. Even though you were no stranger to the spotlight, having been a dancer, this new venture was awfully intimidating.

Strange enough, you found yourself looking towards the kind stranger—for what? Words of encouragement?—but he offered you none. Just a lazy smile as he nodded towards the stage for you to dance.

Truly, you don’t remember how the audition went. You were too nervous, too full of adrenaline to recall if you did well and if your movements were graceful and sexy rather than stiff and awkward. What you remembered was the conversation that followed, what you could make out of the hushed voices huddled together to decide your fate.

You strained to hear them over the thump of your racing heartbeat.

The first man to speak still seemed to be in thought as he stated his opinion. “I’m undecided. She doesn’t really seem like the type. . . I can’t imagine her sticking around for long.” He turned to the other judges in the room, “What do you think?”

“I agree with Namjoon,” said a man so pretty you could have mistaken him for a girl. “Technically, she’s a great dancer, but she’s lacking major confidence.”

Finally, the woman spoke. “Well, I like her. I think she’s got a lot of potential. Everyone grows into it anyway; give her a chance.”

Even with that vote of confidence, the group leader still seemed unsure. He turned to look over his shoulder to the man in the audience you spoke to earlier, the one you gave your whole performance to as you swayed on stage under sultry lights. “What do you think, Yoongi?”

At last, you had a name to put to the face of the handsome stranger. His dark eyes held no hint or indication that he favored you, and if his body language was anything to go off of, you were sure it wouldn’t be a good thing based on the way he slouched in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

But then he spoke, a slow grin pulling over his face that put all your nerves at ease.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.”

That was how it started. At the time, Namjoon, Jimin, and Hyuna were strangers to you. You had no idea the club owner and their two most favored dancers were in the room with you deciding your fate. Yoongi gave them his vote of confidence and sealed your fate. You started work later that week.

After you were hired, you were always aware of his presence at the club. You could feel his gaze follow you on stage, at the bar, always that cool, calm smolder. And the attraction was mutual. You constantly watched him in the booth, amused by his natural gift for music. There are so many shows you put on just for him. It was a crush, simple as that. You wanted him, but you were much too shy to say it. Thankfully, Yoongi was brave enough for both of you, asking you out after your first week.

The date was a pleasant surprise. Despite Yoongi’s introverted nature, he actually took you to dinner and made conversation at first, none of that Netflix and chill bullshit. His calm, quiet demeanor was infinitely attractive to you, and you found yourself mooning over him the whole night.

You hadn’t planned on fucking him, honestly.

But it’d been a while since anyone had touched you like that. So when Yoongi’s gravelly voice whispered in your ear, asking you to tell him how you wanted it, how you needed it, as his fingers rubbed sweet circles on your clit, all you could do was whine and tell him how badly your body wanted him with a desperation that couldn’t wait. You needed him right then and there.

The next morning, you woke up and swore it wouldn’t happen again.

But, of course, it did.

Again, and again, and again.

So here you were, stuck inside a situationship you didn’t want but one you always succumbed to. And tonight seemed no different.

Closing your eyes, you will yourself to go back to sleep, and you do for a little while. Until a pounding sound woke you up. You barely registered it as a knock the first time, but after two or three times, you dragged yourself out of bed and to your front door.

You had half a mind to reach for the bat you keep in the hall closet, just in case. It was an ungodly hour, and you lived alone (times like these made you regret not getting a roommate). You checked the peephole first, then sighed. Irritation rose in your blood.

You unlocked the door and snatched it open. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You were giving me puppy dog eyes all night. You really think I wouldn’t show up?”

You can’t tell if the anger surfacing is from your lack of sleep, the scare, or the fact that Yoongi is standing on your doorstep. It’s probably a combination of all three. “It’s two in the morning,” you said pointedly.

Yoongi isn’t phased by your grumbly voice or sharp tone. He shrugs and moves to step inside, but you block his path.

“Absolutely not. I’m going back to bed.”

“You’re mad.”

He didn’t say it like a question, but you could tell by the lilt in his voice he seemed surprised.

You scowled into the dark. “You can’t do this, Yoongi. Pick and choose when to show up.” Pick and choose when he could be in your life, when you mattered to him.

You motioned to close the door, but Yoongi stopped you, sticking his hand in the frame. And then he did something that made you pause. He reached for you, placed his hands on your waist, and pulled you close.

Shit.

Yoongi pulled you in like the tide. It was always eb and flow with him. When he did things like that. . . You couldn’t help but give in. You were weak for this, for his touch, for the moments when he wanted you. So when Yoongi swept in close, body heat coming off him in waves as his hand reached up to cup the back of your neck, you leaned into the embrace.

“I know I’m late,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth. He nuzzled into your neck, sneaking kisses on your collarbones.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“Yoongi. . .” You started, coming to your senses for just a minute. But before you could protest, he interrupted you with a kiss. Any resolve you might have had left your body once his lips found yours. It was so easy to lose yourself in Yoongi. His kisses were fire, all-consuming, wild. You could never get enough. Yoongi licked into your mouth, and you moaned, stumbling back into your apartment.

And just like that, you crumbled.

You let him lead you to the bedroom, shrugging off his clothes, his mouth never leaving yours. You felt your knees hit the back of something soft and sat down on your bed while Yoongi kissed you stupid. You let him touch and, tease and pull you apart. Till the pleasure overtakes the pain in your chest. And it’s good, so good. Good enough to make you forget why you were even upset in the first place.

He inches you forward with kisses and bites—marks you know will leave a hickey—till your back hits the headboard, momentarily breaking you from his spell.

“Wait,” you said, eyelids fluttering open.

But Yoongi’s hands are already sliding up your nightgown, leaving wet kisses down your thighs.

And then there was the solid feel of his hands spreading your legs apart, lips dangerously close to where you needed him most.

He hooked a finger under the waistband of your lace underwear, pulling the material off.

“You were saying?” said Yoongi, and you shivered as his breath fanned over you.

Honestly, you couldn’t remember. You lost every coherent thought your brain was trying to form. All you could think about was his touch, his thumb on your clit, the feel of him stroking you gently. You were so, so wet.

And he knew it. You could feel Yoongi smile against you as he rested his cheek on your thigh, long slender fingers working over you until all you could do was tilt your head back and sigh.

“I love playing with your pussy.” He whispered, voice just above a purr.

His words made you throb. “Yoongi,” you moaned, his name a desperate plea on your tongue.

“What?” He answered, voice smug, “What do you need?”

Too embarrassed to say the words out loud, to admit just how badly you need him, you reached down, sliding a hand into his hair, tugging at his locks to pull him right where you wanted him.

Yoongi chuckled. “So impatient.” But he didn’t move his head from between your thighs. Instead, he leaned forward, licking a stripe up your center before rolling his tongue around your clit.

You couldn’t help but lean into the action, hips tilting up to catch the sensation. But Yoongi was having none of that. He brought up a hand, pushing one palm against your belly to press you down into the mattress, while the other caressed your thigh.

“Behave,” he said, the dominance radiating through his voice. It’s the only warning you get before he nips at your clit, drawing out a sharp cry from you, the pain mixing with pleasure. Before you could even respond, Yoongi lapped at your folds, tongue making a mess out of you.

You let yourself get lost in the sensation as Yoongi buried his head between your thighs, devouring your whole. You’re too far gone to stop the whimper that spilled from your mouth. All you felt were stars as his tongue curled around your clit, languid licks driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Yoongi knew your body like it was his. He memorized every shiver and shudder, every move that turned you on. He could hear your heavy breath, feel the tremble in your thigh, and know exactly how to push you over the edge.

So he does it, sliding two fingers deep inside you to press against the spot that made your body taunt with pleasure. The pressure of his palm against your belly, his hot tongue flicking against you, his fingers curling deep—it’s overwhelming.

Chest heaving, you called out his name, a plea and a warning all at once. You were so, so close.

Cum for me,” Yoongi rasped, voice vibrating against you, and that’s all it takes for you to fall.

You climax, pleasure rushing all through your body, blanking your mind, curling your toes. Your hands fist in Yoongi’s hair, once again tugging at his locks. Only this time, Yoongi didn’t stop your pleasure but doubled it, replacing his fingers with his tongue to delve inside and taste every drop of your release, stopping only when your thighs shake, the sensation becomes too much.

When you finally came back down and caught your breath, Yoongi lifted his head and met your gaze with a smirk. “Did I make it up to you yet? Or should I apologize again?”

Though you’d been satisfied, Yoongi ‘apologized’ twice more for good measure before laying you on your side and pulling you against his chest. Cold as he appeared, Yoongi defied all fuckboy logic and was quite fond of aftercare and cuddles. Thirty minutes later, he still laid beside you in bed, naked body flush against your skin.

These were the moments you treasured the most. Pos-coital bliss, where you could pretend, if only for one second, that you were something more than strangers who sometimes shared beds.

But they also made you the most confused. Because, here in his arms, it felt like more than friends, more than sex. But did he think that, too?

So many nights you spent just like this, trying to convince yourself that this was good enough, that you were comfortable living in this in-between state. But that was then, and this is now, and it’s not enough.

And now you know it never was.

“Yoongi?” you said, turning in his arms so you’re face to face.

“What,” he grumbled back, voice thick with sleep. It’s a sound you’re all too familiar with, one you’ve let lull you into a stupor time and time again. He leaned down to kiss you, but you placed a hand on his chest, keeping him away.

“What are we doing?”

It’s a question you’d always been too afraid to ask, but now that it was the only thing on your mind, you couldn’t stop yourself from blurting it out.

Yoongi scoffed. “Sleeping?” He nipped at the sweet spot on your neck, “Unless you’re up for another round.”

“Yoongi, I need—”

He licked a stripe up your neck, scrambling your thoughts. “What? What do you need?” He said, voice husky. It’s enough to make you moan but not enough to distract you from your racing thoughts.

I need to know what this is. I need to know where I stand with you. I need—

“More than this.”

“I’m serious. What are we doing? What. . . what are we?”

You said it. The thing you’re not supposed to say, and it made you feel sick to your stomach.

You shouldn’t—it’s not as if it’s some forbidden phrase, but the words weighed heavy in the air. You’re going places you’ve never gone with Yoongi, putting all your cards on the table. It’s risky. No one wants to be the one who cares most, but you do. And you know you’re not supposed to. You know you can’t say that you want more. That you want love. That somehow, this unspoken arrangement isn’t what you needed any more. You needed to know if he felt anything for you in return, and you needed to know now.

It was quiet for a minute before you finally said, unable to stop yourself from masking the vulnerability in your voice: “I like you.”

“I like you too,” said Yoongi. There was no weight to his words. He said it so quickly, so easily, that it stunned you.

Maybe a little too easy.

“So what does that mean for us?” you said, sitting up in bed, more awake now than ever.

Yoongi froze. “Us?”

“Yeah, is there an us?” You can’t seem to say what you really mean; the words hover around the truth of your real desires, that you want a relationship. It’s obvious, isn’t it? “Because if it’s not, if you can’t see this being real, then I don’t think I can do this anymore. I might take a break.”

He has to know what you mean. . .Do you really have to spell it out?

But apparently, you do because Yoongi glosses over the true meaning of your words entirely. “Can we talk about this in the morning? I’m tired. I don’t want to fight right now.”

He reached for you, his hand slipping up your thigh and rubbing small circles with his thumb. The touch is soothing, but your mind is still whirling. Still trying to connect the dots from what he said, what it meant, and what you heard.

“I don’t want to fight right now.”

Why does the question of choosing me have to be a fight?

It’s this thought that makes it all clear. It’s not a fight. Yoongi knows the question you’re asking. He just doesn’t want to answer.

You opened your mouth to say as much, but you’re tired, too. Tired of this bullshit. The ease with which Yoongi dismissed your needs time and time again. You don’t have the strength to plead your case, and you shouldn’t have to, really.

You laid back down with you back towards him, nodding your head in agreement even as you shoved your disappointment down deep.

As if sensing your frustration, Yoongi wordlessly consoled you. He trailed kisses down your body. Each kiss, a tiny apology. At the top of your head. Sorry. By your jaw, sorry. The dip between your neck and shoulder. Sorry.

Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Despite yourself, you lean into the embrace. Yoongi didn’t always have the right words to say, but he always had the right touch. Still, a part of you starved for a deeper affection, a part that even Yoongi’s touch couldn’t reach.

. . .

In the morning, you woke up to the shining sun, aching limbs, and an empty bed.

Yoongi wasn’t beside you, and the loss of his touch stirred you from your sleep as the loneliness crept back in. You know there’s no note for you to or an explanation to where he’s gone, so you don’t bother checking. Instead, you roll over to your side, clumsily fumbling around for your phone on the nightstand.

You open your eyes with a sigh, blurred vision trying to make sense of the digits on the screen reading 9:02am when everything clicks into space with startling clarity. Your entrepreneurship class started at nine.

Shit.

“Late! I’m late!” You shouted, hopping out of bed and throwing on a T-shirt and jeans. No doubt, you look a mess, but you didn’t have time to worry about appearance. You could not be late; this course was one of the hardest in your major. You couldn’t afford to miss any class and pass, and if you flunked out, you’d have to wait another two semesters before it’d be offered again. That was time you simply didn’t have. It’d put you way behind your schedule to graduate on time with your degree, and you couldn’t afford to waste more time in school.

It’s the desperation that has you rushing down the hall to your classroom, tired and out of breath after sprinting from the parking garage into the building. You’re flustered, sweaty, and way too embarrassed to make eye contact with your professor as you enter the room, only bowing your head in apologies as your eyes scan the room for a seat.

Mia flagged you down in the corner of the room, and you slid into the desk next toher. “I saved you a spot,” she whispered, careful not to raise her voice above the steady drone of your professor’s lecture about starting a new business.

“Thanks,” you said, eternally grateful to have made a friend in this class. Mia was a school friend who, through late-night study sessions and lunch breaks, was slowly becoming a real friend, too. If only you didn’t have more time on campus, you’d probably be best friends by now, but between working for two jobs and school, your schedule was always full.

“We’ll dive deeper into identifying your target customer base next week.”

When the lecture ended thirty minutes later, you pulled Mia outside the classroom. “Hey, thanks again for saving me a seat. Can I borrow your notes from earlier?”

“Of course.” You thanked her as she pulled out her notebook and handed it over.

“No problem. Where were you this morning? I thought we were supposed to catch up before class.”

You forgot about that. “Uh, sorry. I overslept. Rain check?”

“Sure. I have a class until 3, but after that I’m free. You wanna grab dinner tonight?”

You wince, knowing you’ll have to turn her down once again. “I’d love that. I really would, but I’ve gotta—“

“Work, right. Of course.”

“Sorry, Mia.”

“Look. I get it you’re busy. But I feel like I never see you these days.”

You can’t help but feel guilty knowing she’s right. You have been all over the place this semester. Your social life was definitely suffering for it.

“And when I do, you see, you’re basically running around campus looking like a total mess.”

Ouch. When she puts it like that. . .

Mia must have read the hurt look on your face cuz she quickly backtracked. “I don’t mean to sound harsh. I’m just worried about you, ya know?”

You know she’s right, but it still made you feel like crap to hear your friend chide you like this. You know you’ve been distant, but were you really that bad?

“And I miss my friend,” she added, squeezing your hand.

At this admission, you relax, understanding where she’s coming from. “I know. Today’s not great, but I promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?” You looked down at your phone, checking the time. Now you were going to be late for your next class, too. “I gotta run, but we’ll talk later?”

Mia nodded. You hugged her before hauling ass across campus to your next class.

. . .

“Do you know what an embarrassment you are to this family?”

Seokjin sighed, slumping in his seat. His father slapped the newspaper onto his desk so hard it’s a wonder the glass didn’t crack under his palm. It took all of his strength not to wince at the title:

Billionaire Playboy Caught At An Infamous Strip Club.

“I didn’t choose to go there. Taehyung and Namjoon took me out—“

“I don’t care what Taehyung and Namjoon do. They can destroy their families’ reputations if they want to. But you are my son. I won’t have you tarnishing my reputation. You think you deserve to run this company after a stunt like that?”

At this, Seokjin rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I deserve anything. I’ve never wanted this company,” he said.

“You ungrateful piece of shit.”

Seokjin meant what he said, but he wasn’t ungrateful. Inheriting his father’s million-dollar diamond corporation was never part of his interest. “You should hand over your company to the child who wants to run it. Sohee would—“

“Sohee doesn’t have what it takes to run my company.”

Translation: Sohee wasn’t a man. And Seokjin’s sexist father would never give her the chance she deserved to take over the family business. Even though she was the progeny most naturally suited for the job.

His father waved away the idea. “Enough of this talk of Sohee. You will inherit the family business. It’s time you stopped acting like a child. Have you forgotten your responsibilities? After your wedding to Mei, our company will expand. You’ll have no time for these foolish endeavors.

How could he possibly forget? Between the tabloids and the endless, frivolous meetings crammed into his schedule to decide what color goes best with the tablecloths or what dish should be served for the twelfth-course meal, he hasn’t been able to escape any thoughts of the wedding as much as he’d wanted to.

Seokjin met Mei under duress six months ago with the intention of their union expanding the company into the Chinese market. And though their families held a long-standing relationship with each other—they were practically strangers. He had no feelings for her, and their relationship was strictly business, to his chagrin.

Seokjin didn’t want to get married—let alone to someone he barely knew. But the decision wasn’t up to him. As with everything else in his life, his father made all the decisions. Every school, every job, and every opportunity was already picked out for him before Seokjin could even utter the word ‘no. Nothing was ever a choice.

He hated his father. For his cruelty and selfish ways, his blatant disregard for others, his children’s wishes, and the control he had over Seokjin’s life.

“As a matter of fact, I have an important business dinner with her father this evening—you will attend.”

“Of course, not like I had any plans.” Said Seokjin, smiling sweetly, but his eyes held malice.

His father cut him a look and opened his mouth for what Seokjin was sure would be a good cussing out, only for his father to explode into a coughing fit. The bastard was sick, but unfortunately for Seokjin, not ill enough to die. Just enough for his father to retire early and order him to take over, crushing any dream he had of escaping his legacy.

His father cleared his throat. “I expect you to be on your best behavior and impress him, boy. But don’t be a fucking kiss ass. Remember, you represent the Kim name. Show me you are not a complete disappointment as my heir. You can do at least that, can’t you?”

Seokjin grit his teeth, swallowing down his anger. He hated his father for his relentless demands, but he also hated himself.

Because despite resenting it all, Seokjin always did as he was told.

. . .

[4:34pm] Sunshine Boss: I have something for you :)

[4:34pm] Sunshine Boss: I know you’re off tonight, but you should stop by and pick it up. I think you’ll be satisfied with the gift.

You look up from your phone, stopping midway in your tracks. It’d be risky, but you could squeeze in some time to stop by the club before heading to your other job.

Jeongguk winked at you as you walked up to Paradise. You smile at him as he holds the door open for you, shaking your head at his endless flirting. It always amused you that he was the club bouncer when the kid was a little younger than you. But you always felt safer having Jeongguk at the door. You’ve seen firsthand how that sweet bunny smile could fade into a deadly expression. Jeongguk could be very intimidating when he wanted to be, and his muscles weren’t just for show. You felt sorry for anyone who crossed a line at the club and ended up facing off with him.

It doesn’t take you long to find your boss. He’s tucked away in his sleek gray office as usual, typing away on his laptop. He looked polished as ever in a new suit and a crisp white button-down. When you knocked on the door, Hoseok looked up and waved you inside. “Come in.”

“You said you had something for me?” You asked. You were still curious as to why he requested you stop by. Work was work, but Hoseok took your personal lives seriously. He never crossed the line between the two, so you found it odd he reached out.

“I do,” said Hoseok, reaching inside his desk drawer. “Your private session left you a big tip last night. I thought it’d be best if you received it directly.” You watched as he pulled out a fat white envelope and slid it across the desk.

Just looking at it made you raise an eyebrow. Hoseok’s bright eyes gave nothing away as he waved a hand towards the envelope, beckoning you towards it.

Without thinking, you opened the envelope and let out a little gasp of shock at the thick wad of bills inside. Hundred-dollar bills.

“All this is for me?”

“All of it.”

You shifted out a few bills, ready to hand over your expected dues, but Hoseok stopped you with a hand. “You misunderstand. I already have my cut. Everything within that envelope is yours.”

“Are you serious?” You said, unable to hide the shock in your voice. You had enough money in your hands to pay your whole rent for the month and then some. All from one dance.

The sharp angles of Hoseok’s face softened, and he smiled at your disbelief, a dimple showing out. “Clearly, you left a good impression, but I expect nothing less—you’re one of the best.”

You wave away his words, too embarrassed to accept the compliment, thinking about exactly how you won Seokjin’s favor. Just the thought made your heart race. As much as you hated to admit it, your patron wasn’t the only one affected by that last dance.

“I um—I’ve got to go. But thank you for making sure I got this personally.”

“Of course. Before you leave, your gift came with a letter,” said Hoseok, pointing back to his desk.

You don’t know how you missed it at first, but sure enough, another smaller envelope was on the glass with your name handwritten on the front.

“Oh.”

“I think you might have a new regular. Seokjin seems to be very fond of you.”

. . .

Later that afternoon, you pulled up to work, grateful you remembered to stash a bag with clothes in your car. You quickly run to the back, hoping to change into your uniform. But your boss caught you before you could sneak off to the back.

“You’re late,” she hissed.

Yes, that was becoming quite a habit of yours. You ducked your head apologetically, hoping the woman would scold you quickly. “I’m sorry, I was—”

“—I don’t have time for excuses. A high-ranking guest is coming in tonight, so just do your job.”

You don’t miss the pointedness in her tone—no fuck ups tonight.

“Got it,” you said, holding back your grimace as she berated some more before sending you off to change. All you could do was grin and bear it. Even if you didn’t feel like you had it in you to pull on a fake smile and tend to your special guests.

But that was your job as a hostess. It paid well, though sometimes it almost didn’t feel worth it with the snooty customer base you had to face, but between rent and your school tuition, you literally couldn’t afford to be picky.

Even if you didn’t have the energy to put up with these rich assholes, at least you didn’t have to pull a shift at Paradise after this. You just had to pull yourself together for a few hours, and then you could go home.

You change into a little black dress and switch out your sneakers for a pair of tall heels. It wasn’t exactly a ‘uniform’ uniform, but your second job still has a certain look and aesthetic to maintain. The dress hugged your curves in all the right places, and you can’t help but feel eyes on you as you make your way back to the hostess table up front, heels clicking.

Dionysus was in full swing, each white-clothed table crowded and buzzing, and you watched as people clinked glasses under the chandeliers. But at your post, you kept your eye on the empty room in the back.

Whoever your guests were tonight, if they were truly a big deal, you’d escort them to have their meal in that private room.

Once the opening crowd thins out, the evening goes by slowly for you, and before you know it, you’re sneaking a peek at your phone, trying not to keep your boredom at bay.

There were a couple texts from Hyuna and a picture she sent of herself and the girls at Paradise.

[6:15pm] Babygirl: I’m so BORED when you’re not here🥺

[ 6:16pm]You: Sameeee. Don’t have fun without me!

[6:18pm] Babygirl: You know it’s boring when you’re not here! Miss you tonight 💕

You heart the message, missing her too.

Still no messages from Yoongi.

All his silence does is confirm the feeling in your gut and fuel the quiet resolve to make a decision.

You’re so busy ruminating that you don’t even realize you have guests in front of you until someone clears their throat in front of you.

“Act like you have some sense. The reservation for the Kim Corporation is here.”

You shove down your disdain for your boss and put on your best smile, ready to greet your new guests. Only when you look up do you realize it’s not a new guest after all.

Kim Seokjin stood in front of you, handsome as ever. His fringe frames his face, drawing your attention to his dark eyes and immaculate suit. You could tell from the quality of his clothes that it was expensive, but the white button-down left open on his chest said that looking flawless was effortless on his part. His brows furrowed at the sight of you, but then the confusion cleared, and in its place, Seokjin fixed you with a dazzling white smile and said: “It’s you.”

You barely have time to recover from the blow before you fix your smile in place (the one you use strictly for work; polite and friendly) and greet his party.

“Welcome to Dionysus, Mr.Kim. It’s a pleasure to have you dine with us tonight.”

Seokjin blinked at your formal demeanor, not expecting your casual dismissal of his recognition. But you don’t react—you can’t. No one here knew of your other life, and you planned on keeping things this way.

“Please follow me; I’ll direct you towards our private dining experience.” You quickly turned on your heel, walking forward without sparing so much as a second glance towards him. But you can sense his eyes on you, that hot, molten feeling rising in your body as you lead the party toward the back.

When you stopped before the table, Seokjin pulled out the chair closest to your position, trying to address you once more. “It’s nice to see you again.”

You maintain your plastic smile. “You must be mistaken, Sir; we haven’t met. I’ve heard this is your first time visiting Dionysus.”

“You mean to tell me we haven’t met before?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, but your facade didn’t waver. If anything, your eyes seemed to embolden, daring him to question your professionalism. You’re so calm and cool that if it were anybody else, Seokjin might have believed himself to be mistaken. But he knows he’s not. As if he could forget your face after last night.

So that’s how you wanted to play this? Fine. Two could play that game. He’d get your attention one way or another.

“Excuse me, I have a special request,” asked Seokjin, successfully grabbing your supervisor’s attention. “Your hostess is so lovely. Is there any way that she could tend to our table tonight?.”

Your eyes widen in shock for a split second, not anticipating this outcome. “I’m sorry, I’m not a part of the waitstaff—”

“—Absolutely,” Your boss cut in. “I’m sure (Y/n) would like nothing more than to take care of your party personally.”

At the mention of your name, Jin’s eyes widened. He simply wanted you near, but his request seemed to come with a little gift now that he knew your name.

The realization must have dawned on you simultaneously since the look on your face is a mix of shock and rage. Jin finds the combination amusing, and he can’t keep the satisfied smirk on his lips, knowing he sneakily earned another night with you.

Serves you right for trying to ignore him. Seokjin gave you a look, cocky and full of ego, relaying this very thought.

You wanted to wipe his smug smirk off. Asshole. You haven’t waited tables since your first year in college, and now, because this guy batted his pretty eyes, you’re right back where you started?

Who does this guy think he is?

You’re beyond annoyed, but all you can do is plaster on another fake smile and join the servers at the table. Thankfully, you’d served with everyone working the table before, so getting back into the flow of things was easy.

You fell into step from memory; everything returned to you from years of practice waitressing. You reached past Seokjin to fill his wine glass, and the asshole had the nerve to look up and smile at you.

You smile back, of course, even though you’re silently fuming, but your eyes tell a different story. You let Seokjin see it, all the anger buried underneath the polite mask as you pour.

But Seokjin’s smile didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. You swear his smile only brightened, the grin spreading across his handsome face.

You didn’t realize you had overfilled his glass until you heard the scrap of his chair across the floor when he jumped back from the table.

You were so distracted you poured the wine right into his lap. But he didn’t have to know that. Even though it wasn’t your intention, you’re more than happy to claim the credit for his displeasure.

“My apologies, Sir,” you said with a smirk.

Seokjin glared at you in response. Now that the shock was gone, you had to stifle a laugh behind your hand seeing his pouty face.

Your boss hissed your name, eyeing you with a tilted head at the mess you were in no rush to clean up.

“Let me help you with that,” you sighed. You bent down, picking up a spare napkin off the table. You dipped it in water and mindlessly dabbed at the spill on his suit.

You were already so close before you realized your mistake. You could smell the heated spice of Seokjin’s cologne, and you were just a breath away from that dazzling face. Just as close as you were the first night you met. The memory of it flashes through your mind—the warmth of his palm cupping your cheek like you were his lover. It’s enough to make your breath hitch.

You met his eyes, and the depth of his dark pools told you you weren’t the only one thinking of your first night together. Seokjin’s gaze dipped, looking at your lips as he wet his own.

It’s that small action that brings you back. What were you doing? Surely you weren’t about to kiss the stranger in the middle of a job? Quickly, you removed your hand from his lap, clearing your throat as you backed away.

Your mind felt hazy, and you knew who was to blame. But what you wouldn’t understand was the fact that Seokjin had any effect on you at all.

You knew it wasn’t his status; you often came across rich men in your work. His looks were unparalleled, but you rarely found attraction towards a pretty face last if you hadn’t liked their personality.

And you didn’t like him, right? No. He wasn’t your type at all. Still, you couldn’t deny the pull felt whenever he was in your presence.

For the rest of the night, you completed service for the party away from Kim Seokjin. Dinner went on in a daze. And before you knew it was closing time. The Kim Party stayed the whole night, which was tiring, but the generous tip they left did lighten your spirits as you exited the building.

You’re halfway out the door, eagerly awaiting a night alone in your apartment, when you hear someone call out your name.

“(Y/n).”

It’s Seokjin. You looked up to find him leaning back against a luxury SUV. “Or should I call you Angel? Both names suit you quite well.”

Dammit. In the heat of the moment, you forgot all about your boss giving away your name. If your two lives weren’t crossed over before, they certainly were now.

You’ve half a mind to ignore him and pretend you didn’t hear him in the first place, but ultimately, you decided to deal with it before things get more out of hand.

You walked up towards him. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you kept that name to yourself.”

“Which name?” He teased, eyes glinting at you in the dark. “They’re both very pretty.”

“I mean it. People don’t know about my other job here.”

“So you live a double life? That’s sexy.”

“It’s not as sexy as you think,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s actually really hard, so don’t make it any harder for me.”

Seokjin tilted his head to the side, studying you. You put up a good front, coming up to him acting all demanding. But he could see the vulnerability underneath it all; a part of you was worried.

“I wouldn’t dream of making anything more difficult for you,” he said, earnestly hoping to put your mind at ease. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Oh…” You weren’t expecting him to acquiesce so quickly. You honestly thought he’d be the type of jerk to tease you and hold it over your head like earlier. But Seokjin immediately respected your boundary; you didn’t even have to put your foot down.

“Thank you,” you said awkwardly.

“Of course.”

His behavior took you off guard, but you couldn’t lose focus. Your name wasn’t the only reason you approached him.

“Um, also, while you’re here, I’d like to give you this back,” you said, reaching into your bag for the envelope. You help it out for him to take. “Thank you for the tip, but I can’t accept this.”

Seokjin stared at your hand. “That was a gift.”

“It’s too much,” you added as if that held any weight.

“I haven’t to politely disagree. I enjoyed myself, and I value your time. I think the amount reflects that.”

“I can’t accept it.”

“Can’t? Or won’t.”

“Okay, I won’t accept it. Take it back.”

“No.”

“Seokjin.”

“(Y/n).”

“Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Love, you’re the one making this difficult.”

“Look,” you said, frustrated at the conversation. “I’m not in the mood for games. I don’t know what your expectations are. But I’m not that kind of girl.”

Seokjin shook his head. “I’m not following…”

“Well then, let me make it clear to you. I said. I’m not that kind of girl.”

You were all up in his face, eyes full of fire, and Seokjin couldn’t help but like it. For a man in his position, very few people had the confidence to speak to him like that. He at once found it incredibly attractive and entertaining, watching you sass him with your neck craned as he looked down at you.

Clearly, you meant to be intimidating, but all Seokjin could think about was how sexy you looked when you were assertive.

“You didn’t read my letter, did you?”

“The letter is irrelevant; I don’t care how rich you are—you can’t buy me.”

“I think you are mistaken. I’m not trying to buy you, (y/n).”

You didn’t buy it. If there was anything you learned in life, it was that nothing ever came free. There was always a price. And this man came from a world where money ruled supreme.

“Then what do you want?”

You. It was the first thing that entered Seokjin’s mind. The thought took him by surprise. It’d been a while since he felt this attracted to anyone. And he certainly didn’t know what he was doing waiting after dinner to talk to you. Something was there, but he knew better than to voice this new feeling aloud.

Instead, he told a partial truth. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “That night…. I’ve never seen someone move like that. The way you dance...You captivated me. You were like a goddess.”

You wanted to be mad at him. You really did. But you couldn’t help but feel yourself flush at the compliment and the sincerity in his voice. Men flirted with you often. It was a hazard of the job, but not like this. You’ve heard men highlight your body before, but no one ever mentioned the way you dance with awe in their voice, not just lust.

“It’s only natural to give an offering as your patron,” said Seokjin, winking at you.

Your body betrayed you then, a flush that heated you up. Get a grip! You thought. You weren’t some lovesick teen. You were grown. You would not be swayed by some rich asshole’s stupid flirting.

“Well, I don’t need your money. Here,” you said, thrusting it out in front of you. “You can have it back. I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“You don’t owe me. I wanted to give it to you,” said Seokjin, stepping closer to you. “I think you deserve a lot more, to be honest.”

Seokjin placed his hand over yours, firmly keeping the envelope in your grip. “It was a gift. Nothing more, nothing less. Keep it.”

You’re so close Jin could smell you; your skin is warm and sweet, and your perfume was sultry and floral. Seokjin could drown in it. The scent clouded his senses and, clearly, his judgment because he closed what little distance sat between him and you. Here, he had a front row to your beautiful eyes, and those plush lips, and the only thing running through his head was what it would be like to kiss you.

Seokjin looked at you, really looked at you, and this time, he noticed you were not startled. Your pupils are blown, your chest rising quickly—he’d bet anything that whatever it is going on with him, you felt it too.

But again, you pulled away.

You took a step back to give yourself space and clear your head. Any longer, and you might have kissed him for real. And even though you and Yoongi were barely a thing and planned on ending things, you hadn’t ended them yet. Even though Seokjin had you wanting to cross all kinds of boundaries—you weren’t about to cross that line.

“I um,” You stuttered, “I really can’t convince you to take it back?”

Jin considered your question. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll take the money back in exchange for a date.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Was he really asking you on a date? “How is that appealing to me? That’s just swapping one problem for another.”

“It would be the best day of your life.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

You sighed. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m seeing someone. And even if I wasn’t—”

“Are you exclusive?”

“Well, no—”

“—Then I have a chance?” Said Seokjin, taking a step closer to you. He smiled again, and this time, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and you felt the warmth of his gaze flush all over you.

“I, um—”

Seeing you stutter, Seokjin’s smile brightened. “I do have a chance.”

Stupid, damn feelings.

“You have no chances,” you said, barely recovering from the brilliant attack on your heart. “Because I don’t date clients, remember?” You let words settle between you, their weight grounding you back to reality.

“And now you’ve also popped up at my day job?”

“A charming coincidence, I promise,” said Seokjin, placing a hand over his heart.

“Hmm. Well, I guess I’ll keep your money after all.” Even if he was the most handsome man you’d ever met, you were an adult. Your better judgment kept you from crossing that line.

Seokjin smirked. “Good.”

Good? You narrowed your eyes at him. He looked a little too pleased with your decision. “Did you only propose that because you knew, I’d say no and keep the money?”

“No,” he said, leaning toward entrancing you again with a close-up view of his superior good looks. “I hoped you’d say yes. But I’ll take the consolation prize.”

“Besides, I’m rich,” laughed Seokjin. “It’s not like I need more money.”

And just like that, the moment of infatuation passed. Seokjin was back to being a rich asshole. Perfect. You could work with that.

You backed away from him, heading for your car. “Goodnight, Seokjin.”

“Goodnight, (Y/n)”

It’s not until you’re sitting in your car, catching your reflection in the rearview mirror, that you realize you’ve got a stupid grin on your face.

Immediately, you stopped, catching yourself. It felt nice to be admired and flirted with, but what was your problem? Why were you smiling about some random stranger when you had a—

The bright ping of your phone went, and you reached inside your purse to check your texts.

[9:06pm] Yoongi: Missed you at Paradise tonight? Can I stop by later?

Speak of the devil…Of course, Yoongi would contact you now.

You didn’t owe him any loyalty, but that didn’t mean you felt comfortable talking to other guys. But still, why?

Yoongi wasn’t your boyfriend. So why were you giving him the boyfriend treatment?

“Are you exclusive?”

“Well, no—”

“—Then I have a chance?”

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. Why were you thinking about Seokjin’s words earlier? He wasn’t even a dating option, but he did have a point.

For all intents and purposes, you were practically single, so why were you acting coupled up again?

You look at the three little dots bubbling up from your lack of response. How long were you going to keep doing this? Repeating the same cycle over again?

No. No more.

You fired off a text back: I can’t, busy, then threw your phone on the seat and started up your engine before you could change your mind

The cycle ends right now. You wouldn’t spend the rest of your twenties going back and forth with some guy who only ever wanted to sleep with you.

You’re young. You’re hot. You didn’t have to sit around and wait for some guy to want you. You could get a date with anyone you wanted, hell, even a millionaire!

For a minute, even though tonight was an inconvenience, you’re grateful you ran into Seokjin just for that reminder.

The next time you see Yoongi, you know what you need to do.

You’re ending things up with him. For good.

[jamiesfootball]

@sighonaraa you opened the door on this so here we go:

PACIFIC RIM AU

Ted and Beard? Hella drift compatible. Shouldn't even need to be said. Since becoming a dad, Ted has struggled to justify his job as a trainer for the Pan Pacific Defense Corp, but damnit someone has to care about these pilots. Someone's gotta train them to make it out alive. So many of them die young.

He wonders sometimes if its selfish of him that he's not a pilot himself, but there's no hiding that sort of thinking in the drift. The Beard he knows in the drift is the gentlest man in the world, and he always, always, talks Ted down from doing anything stupid.

Rebecca is what happens when the drift goes sour. Rupert used what he learned to dig his claws in further. Rebecca was never a pilot, but Rupert's money helped built all of this. Even though she left him, even though he's halfway across the Pacific and she's the one left running everything, his voice remains in her head like a ghost. It's only by having people like Keeley and Ted at her side that she's begun to think 'maybe I'll try again some day. maybe.'

The tragedy of Roy Kent is that he didn't die young. Recruits have been calling him an old man since he turned thirty. He's almost forty. He's outlived all the recruits who first called him old. At this point he's become so overbearing, so controlling in a drift, that he's almost impossible to find a partner for.

Everyone is bewildered when one of the new recruits, some hot-headed mollusk they pried out of Manchester of all places, takes the general compatibility test and his scores come back. They check and they check again, and then they reluctantly call in Roy Kent.

Roy dislikes him instantly. He's too cocky and he doesn't take the risks seriously. They have one sparring session. Roy curses the sixth sense years of piloting have given him. They're drift compatible. Offensively so. Why won't the world give him a break?

Their first and only test drift is an unmitigated disaster. They nearly destroy one of the last functioning Jaegers; repairs will take months. Both of them walk away from the experience scraped raw and haunted by the knowledge they'll have to carry about each other for the rest of their lives.

Meanwhile Colin and Isaac are two guys from different departments who happened to meet in the lift one day. They ended up at the cafeteria talking for hours about everything and nothing, and the next day they got tested on a lark, even though neither was in the training program. Scores came back off the chart, they are now in the training program. It's terrifying. They wouldn't trade it for the world.

Richard and Jan Maas are barely drift compatible and shouldn't be let anywhere near a giant robot but somehow they keep winning so-

Keeley is the cutie on the bridge who gets to wear the bright colorful suspenders and run the clock.

Moe is one of those crazy scientists, but I couldn't decide which one so he might be both idk

Actually I've decided that Trent Crimm is Newton. He's not a scientist per se but he is a researcher and has fantastic style and rock t-shirts.

Oh and there's a sweet moment in here where Dani offers to drift with Jamie even though they basically just met and it is beautiful and healing. Dani is one of the most all-around drift compatible people around, but he really loves his amigo Jamie.

Sam is also a pilot in training and everyone in the world is like 'please no don't let the kaiju kill him or truly there is there no god in this world'

[sirladysketch]

SVSSS Fic Recs for Friends

Putting the links and a brief description below the cut to avoid clogging the feed. I'll come back and update this as I find more/have time to find and add them in . ^_^

A Child Once by Tossawary - Teen+, Moshang, Bingqiu

Shang Qinghua is cursed to become a child again, with no memory of Mobei-Jun or of his life in this world, and many long-held secrets come tumbling out for both transmigrators.

Cold Hands, Warm Heart by Zizzani - Teen+, Moshang, bg Bingqiu

Shang Qinghua and Mobei-jun have their spiritual powers sealed before getting dumped in a white-out snowstorm. Mobei-jun quickly learns that humans are far more susceptible to the cold than he thought.

High Mountain, How I Long by Minimalistless - M, Bingqiu

Shen Qingqiu, after enduring his trial, is placed into Luo Binghe’s custody at Huan Hua Palace.

When I Speak, Will You Listen? by ForgottenVice - T+, Bingqiu

To speak things into existence was a talent only those who cultivated were able to do. [....] Shen Yuan been too young to use words of power, so they had taken his away

AN IDIOT'S GUIDE TO A HAPPY MARRIAGE by tagteamme - E, Moshang, bg Bingqiu

Modern AU - In order to pay off a debt that's not his, Shang Qinghua agrees to marry a man that's as cold and unyielding as he is stupidly rich.

Icing the Cherry by minhyukwithagun (deadlylampshades) E, Moshang, bg Binqiu

PWP In which SQH desperately wants to get laid, haha.

Wife Swap by LuckyLuoc - E, LB/SQQ, MBJ/SQH, LB/SQH, MBJ/SQQ

In which Mobei-Jun and Luo Binghe fall into another wife plot and swap bodies, much to Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu's distress.

so you have a bad day by tagteamme - E, Moshang, bg Bingqiu

Shang Qinghua is not stupid.

It does not take a genius to know what it means when you ask a servant where your lord has left to and they readily supply the name of an exclusive brothel in between the two realms. Especially when it's after your utterly disastrous first time together.

So he goes away for a bit to clear his head. And promptly gets kidnapped.

you still eat away at me by martyrsdaughter - T, Moshang, bg Bingqiu

Eleven years after losing touch with his former boarding school roommate, Shang Qinghua encounters him in a bar, all grown up and in need of his help.

He's a simple man. From the moment he said yes, he should have known he didn't stand a chance.

That's NOT A REAL TROPE you Hack Author! by Boom_After_Dark (Boomchick) - E, Moshang, Bingqiu

So. It turns out that Shang Qinghua was taking commissions on the side to write fanfiction of his own novel. Truly, his shamelessness knows no bounds, ect., ect., what else is new?! The problem is, now the System has found those stories, and shoved them in the middle of Shen Qingqiu's Happy Ever After!

We are Not Wise by Boomchick, Suzoomie - T, Bingqui, Shen Yuan & Shen Qingqui

Transmigrated into a version of Proud Immortal Demon Way where cultivators manifest their own souls into spiritual weapons, Shen Yuan finds himself sort of kind of…accidentally blackmailing Shen Qingqiu into taking him on as a disciple before Luo Binghe joins the sect.

That should give Shen Yuan plenty of opportunities to make sure nothing goes wrong for his favorite protagonist, right? RIGHT!?

A story of twists, turns, hope, despair, and soul swords.

Cold Brew by Neyasochi - E, Moshang, side Bingqiu

Modern AU, unfinished - Shang Qinghua works a day job that doesn't quite pay the bills and churns out several popular web novels for supplemental income; somewhere along the way, his quiet crush on a very cool, very intimidating customer begins to seep into his works.

Or, the one where Shang Qinghua unwittingly starts basing several of his side characters and romantic interests on Mobei Jun.

Living With a Tiger by x_los - E, Bingqiu

Shen Yuan has been engaged to Emperor Luo Binghe from almost the hour of his birth. He grows up knowing his place in the world exactly; he is far less certain of his place in his betrothed's guarded affections.

A Deer in Headlights by NeonCandies - E, Mobei/Shang Q./ Original Luo Binghe

Mythology AU, In progress - SQH transmigrates into a mythical creature that happens to have exactly what Luo Binghe needs to counterbalance the effects of Xin Mo. Threesome ensues, lol

Spill the Tea by tabulaxrasa - E, Bingqiu, bg Moshang

Shen Qingqiu has learned his lesson and had enough of misunderstandings and miscommunications. He would actually like nothing better than to tell Binghe who he is, really, and where he comes from-- all of it. In fact, he's been trying for years. But every time he tries, he's still blocked by the System.

So... maybe it's time to shut down the System.

He Was Made For Untidy Rooms and Rumpled Beds by Bluethursday - E, Bingqui Shen Qingqiu kind of, sort of, does not have the same modesty standards as a xianxia novel set in some form of Ancient China? He also hates the heat, who knew right?

Bend, So I Don't Break by Camorra - T, Bingqiu

After escaping the Abyss, Binghe uses an artifact to sneak back onto the peak to see how his Shizun fares.

Idle Dream // 闲梦 by tarkus -- M, Moshang, side Bingqiu

the one where Shang Qinghua dreams, and Mobei Jun yearns

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk Into the Bamboo House by VeryCharismaticDragon - T, Bingqiu

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

since you could endure my bitter cold by hanxues - T, Moshang, bg Bingqui

Shang Qinghua is tasked to stay by Mobei-Jun's side until his memories return. The twist? He technically does not own the memories that the Cryo Archon wants from him.

The Shang Qinghua Effect by Yuu_chi - E, Moshang, side Bingqiu

Shang Qinghua knows better than anybody that he doesn’t get a second look so long as Shen Yuan is around.

Shadows can bleed by SenZen_Travers - E, original LBH/original SQQ

Set after Original!Luo Binghe's visit to Shen Yuan's timeline.

Shen Qingqiu owes everything to Luo Binghe, and Luo Binghe is determined to get it all. When he resurrects his master, it's to make him into the kind Shizun he saw in another world, the one who loved this meek version of himself.

Of course, Shen Qingqiu isn't that sweet - nor that harmless.

every star in the sky by haysel - T, Moshang, bg Bingqui

Shang Qinghua doesn't have a romantic soulmate. He meets Mobei Jun. He doesn't have one either.

The Most Ordinary Flower of Cang Qiong by isianobasho - E, Moshang

Shang Qinghua is an unpopular prostitute in an upscale brothel. His dreary everyday becomes much more interesting with an arrival of a demanding but so very handsome customer, that favors him exclusively.

Stepping Up by Tossawary - M, Moshang

Shang Qinghua accidentally brings Luo Binghe in as a disciple of An Ding Peak instead of Qing Jing Peak. Thankfully, there don't seem to be any requirements that he step up and become the new villainous mentor figure, so he decides to ignore the problem until further notice. Luo Binghe looking up to him is a dangerous sign. But as long as he keeps young Luo Binghe and Mobei-Jun away from each other, everything should be fine, right?

To Conquer an Emperor by zarasu - E, Bingqiu

(ongoing) Transmigrating into the stallion novel he hates most is bad enough, but why did it have to be into the body of one of the protagonist's wives? Shen Yuan spends exactly two months dealing with harem intrigues, sullen maids and his husband utterly ignoring him before he decides to go on an extended holiday. Very extended. Surely no one will care if he just forgets about being married and becomes a cultivator, right? …Right?

fuel the embers with the flames of your soul by MissParasol - M, Bingqiu

(Abandoned?) Trapped in Huan Hua’s Water Prison, Shen Yuan’s illness from his previous life relapses.

Shen Yuan's School for Unrepentant Assholes by TGP - M, Bingqui

(Ongoing) Shen Yuan has been dealt a rough hand at the beginning of his life. Then he gets sort of adopted by Shen Qingqiu, who desperately needs someone to help smooth out his interpersonal relationships. Thankfully, Shen Yuan is awesome at understanding people and what they want! ... (Or, a drama of errors with comedic moments, exploring the growing relationship between an unforgiving misanthrope with serious issues and a traumatized kid that just wants to teach him what family means (and maybe learn it, himself))

The Moon's Beloved Shadow by mofumofu - E, Binqui, XueJiu

Shen Qingqiu is a man who hides his twin brother from the world with the ferocity of a phoenix-eyed mother crane.

Shen Yuan is a helpless transmigrator who wishes Airplane-bro had given even a single bit of backstory for this side character he's inhabiting!

Luo Binghe isn't doomed to face the Endless Abyss, but he is forced to confront something infinitely more frustrating: an overly protective brother.

-------

Entirely Out of Spite by Bgtea - Teen+, Zhongchili

(Technically not SVSSS but very much inspired by it)

SVSSS inspired Genshin fic where the main character, Ajax, wakes up in the body of the scum villain Tartaglia and he has to figure out how to not die a gruesome death.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ SAINTS BLOOD by SEBASTIEN DE CASTELL / ch10 - ch18 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

'three against thirteen is terrible odds.'

'i wouldn't know. i've never had that much money.'

'you'll try to kill me, of course.'

'then you'll be dead /and/ embarrassed.'

'i know it isn't your usual approach, but i'd suggest you consider surrender.'

'the last time i surrendered to someone they tortured me until there was almost nothing left of me.'

'there's always luck. and red, bloody rage.'

'you're killing her.'

'i'm not sure if you've noticed but the bad men here are pointing weapons at us.'

'i really need to find a new job. one that doesn't involve swords.'

'you don't reason with mobs for the same reason you don't reason with hordes of fire ants: they're too stupid to understand what you're saying and eventually they'll just swarm over you.'

'try not to get torn to pieces.'

'this is what you do, you know.'

'you throw yourself into fights you have no real chance of winning.'

'it's the only thing i know how to do that ever works.'

'it's a /staff/, not a stick.'

'say there, friend, why exactly have you chosen to tie that nice fellow to a post?'

'you would attack an unarmed man?'

'that was a remarkably foolish gamble.'

'something you need to see, going to make your day a whole lot worse.'

'so how long have you been riding around with a corpse strapped to your horse?'

'help me get the ropes off, will you? my hands are still too numb; i was tied up for hours.'

'i just didn't have any faith any more.'

'he was, in fact, a son of a bitch.'

'he's a little slow sometimes, but he usually gets there in the end.'

'would someone /please/ tell me what we're talking about so i can decide if i care?'

'she wants to speak with you and that is the only gift left that either of us can give her now.'

'we pray in the shadows that we may summon the light.'

'well, i'd sort of had my heart set on an extended discussion of just how terrible you look, but if you insist, we can move straight on to how bad you smell.'

'now i remember why i liked you.'

'see, when you put it that way i don't sound very clever.'

'his desires cannot abide mercy. he will destroy it unless you stop him.'

'i suspect he despises a great many things.'

'the only thing the gods ever call any of us is fools.

'are you too busy sleeping with men for money to bring me some tea?'

'there are still things worth saving.'

'i would have spared you this if i could.'

'do not touch me with those hands, those hands of violence — hands meant only for holding swords and shedding blood.'

'you know i could kiss you right now, don't you?'

'oh well. i've been cursed plenty of times in my life and nothing too bad's happened yet, right?'

'"arsehole" is a terrible name for any beast.'

'your nervous griping is taking all the fun out of this trip.'

'maybe if we found you a proper weapon you wouldn't feel quite so scared all the time.'

'of course you'd rather sleep out in the cold.'

'i hear the call of music, a soft bed, women and, most importantly, beer.'

'you can /hear/ the beer?'

'and here i thought you were on a mission to get drunk and bed the local schoolteacher.'

'i can do more than one thing at a time. i'm ambidextrous.'

'how about, instead of pining here in your little room, you go down there and be a fucking man for a change?'

'go ahead and tell me what's wrong with me.'

'of course some of it's real. i mean, it's a giant pain in the arse, so it has to be real.'

'walk in like a man, mind you, not some shade of the long dead.'

'if you're both so fucking cursed then i'm sure lightning will strike you down.'

'dancing. well there's a tactic that never occurred to me.'

[baelonthebrave]

salt fat acid heat

continuation of spearmint and nicotine

sydney/richie [Ao3]

word count: 2,473

rating: gen

summary: Sydney reflects on the people who made her.

warnings: post Season 2, angst, referenced child abuse, mental illness, grief

Sydney picked up a copy of Salt Fat Acid Heat when she was 22, fresh out of school and still with a firm residence on the bottom rung of the culinary ladder. The smell of thyme had become a stink to her, so pervasive in the way it clung to her hair and underneath her fingernails as she spent hours everyday just stripping the leaves off their little branches, forming one part of many in the marinade for jerk chicken.

Whatever. She’d kind of prepared herself for this. Kept her head down and showed the sous that she could do what she was told and do it well, so that next week or next month she could be upgraded to scotch bonnets.

It was on a day off, when her mind had somewhat recovered from the numbing activity of stripping thyme leaves, that she picked up the book. Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking. It was for home cooks, really, and didn’t contain much technical learning that hadn’t already been drilled into her in school, but inso never went wrong, a fresh way of looking at something she’d already considered a thousand times before. A new philosophy and, if she was being honest, something to remind herself that she loved food, loved cooking, which had more to it than prepping herbs.

Besides, it put a warm feeling in her to see someone from outside the major European culinary traditions - Samin Nosrat, the cover stated - making a name for herself. Honestly, if Sydney had to listen to one more Italian guy act like his connection to and understanding of cooking was just so much more in-depth and spiritual than hers because of his heritage, her knife was going to slip and remove a finger. Good luck carrying on Nonna’s legacy with only half your right hand, you pretentious dick.

The book followed her after that, from restaurant to restaurant, from her own place and her own business back to her childhood bedroom, never straying far from her bedside table. Part of a stack of inspiration and a stack of resilience. Keep going, it said, keep going. You were made for this. It’s not supposed to be easy. Keep going.

At a certain point, those words - salt, fat, acid, heat - became ubiquitous in her life. All day, every day, variations fell from her mouth at different volumes and levels of urgency. They followed her out of the kitchen, coming home with her like the carefully wrapped and lovingly sharpened blades in her bag. They were everywhere, just like food, service, love was everywhere.

And they became a part of her philosophy, the fabric of her life.

salt

Sydney’s dad was salt.

Emmanuel Adamu was a good man, a kind man, a steady man. He paid for their beautiful apartment with his steady, well-paid job in an accountancy firm that required him to wear a tie and not utter any of the curses that fell from his daughter’s lips on a daily basis.

Emmanuel didn’t drink alcohol because his father - Sydney’s grandfather - did, and got mad and beat his eldest son when he was intoxicated. Sydney could understand being angry at an unfair world - sometimes she struggled with it herself - but she never figured out how it helped you feel better to take it out on a child. Fucking stupid. That was also why Emmanuel didn’t like the taste of cherry, because his sobbing mother used to spoon cherry-flavoured Tylenol into his mouth after the beatings, instead of being allowed to take her boy to the emergency room.

It was through learning of her father’s dislike for cherry that Sydney first started to piece together why food was so important, and how it gave meaning. Cooking was about the senses, and senses were memory, and memories are us. A person’s consciousness was little more than the cumulation of their memories, and that was the key to it. Flavours and smells and textures cut straight through every artifice to the very core of a person’s being, and that was what it was all about. Saying something, leaving your mark on someone.

So, her dad was salt, Sydney’s grounding element. The frame of reference that gave the rest of the world its meaning. He raised her, so gentle and kind where his own father had been cruel and angry, and gave her her footing. He brought out the colour in everything. Just like salt in caramel could take off the edge of the sweetness and let you taste the complexity of browned sugar and butter, Emmanuel tempered her anxiousness, slowed her worst tendencies, and helped her see that whilst all this might be fucking difficult, it was also beautiful. And it was worth the fight.

(n.b. Emmanuel Adamu was also salt because he cried. Sometimes with Sydney, sometimes without. Usually about his wife. About every step Sydney took that her mother didn’t get to see.)

fat

Sydney wasn’t clear on what made her mother the fat in this pretentious extended cooking metaphor she used to explain her life to herself. Partly because her mother actually grew her, with her own body. Sydney would literally not be here if not for the bones grown, muscles fashioned, fat and skin and organs added by her mother. Without her milk, her love, her hugs, Sydney wouldn’t be here.

And that line of thinking brought up the other reason why her mother was the fat. It was the part of the cut of meat that spoiled it for many people. The part you either hacked off or endured with a grimace, rubbery and chewy and greasy.

That’s kinda what losing a parent as a kid felt like.

You could either just… refuse to think about it. Hack it off at the source. Resolutely not imagine baking sessions and kisses after school and a comb sliding through your hair, all the things that you only got half your fair allotment of.

And when not thinking about it failed miserably, you could endure it. Think about how the world would have been, how you would have been if they’d lived. Sydney imagined herself calmer and more level-headed, with an actual normal way of thinking. It’s kinda hard to develop a normal way of thinking when your formative years are disrupted by the realisation that everyone leaves, everyone dies. You start living your life with one eye on the clock, except the clock is a fucking Doomsday clock counting down to the day you finally implode and people will make sympathetic faces and say its such a shame, she had a hard start at life, she never stood a chance, really. Part of Sydney thinks that’s why her catering company failed, because she couldn’t even look at the name - Sheridan Catering - without feeling a twist in her stomach.

Fat could be things other than a strip of grizzle on the side of a steak, though, and Sydney tried to remind herself that. You can’t cook anything worth eating without fat - rich olive oil, creamy butter, adding flavour and indulgence and energy your body needed to keep going. She wouldn’t be here without her mother, and she wouldn’t be Sydney if her mother hadn’t died of Lupus when she was four years old. Her drive, her wit, her passion, her appreciation for how fucking short life really is and how you need to make it count - she would have been different if Sheridan Adamu hadn’t died young.

She would like to meet the Sydney she would have been if her innocence had hung around longer.

But that was impossible.

So instead, she kept moving, and fat was as ever-present in her cooking as grief was in her life, like the Three of Swords inked on her shoulder blade.

She tried every day to see the positives in that, she really did.

acid

Acid, without a doubt, was Carmen Berzatto.

One of the greatest chefs living, definitely the best chef Sydney had ever had the privilege of working with, Carmy was the fucking zing that Sydney needed to get out of bed before the sun had risen and the frost had thawed.

Carmy was citrus - so lively was his cooking, his tattoos, the way he moved around a kitchen like his pants were on fire. He was the lemon to Sydney’s lime and there was some deep understanding between them that made Sydney sorry she’d ever hated on Italian guys, because this one was clearly her soulmate, her blood brother.

Carmy was also vinegar. He was sour and tangy, the clear result of leaving some nasty shit to fester for too long. In some ways, she knew Carmy was her if her dad hadn’t been so steady. If she’d had a brother who shot himself. So she tried to cut him slack where she could, but sometimes… sometimes the kindest thing you could do for a person who was a bit fucked in the head was tell them they were acting like they’re fucked in the head. As a victim of her own poisonous thoughts and nerves that ricocheted through her body like a nuclear chain reaction, Sydney knew sometimes you needed to put your foot down and tell people they’re not grounded in reality right now. She knew Carmen appreciated it.

He was sharp. Sometimes, that was a good thing, and he cut through the bullshit and found the heart of an issue like a little acid could lift an entire dish out of complicated mediocrity. Sometimes, it was a bad thing, though. Carmen could cut deep when he wanted to. His own close alignment with his biggest insecurities, the wounds he picked at, gave him a peculiar affinity for working out the weak spots in others.

She loved Carmy - he was ingenious, disciplined, creative, sweet, original. But when he was sour, it was overpowering. And maybe that was just his way of protecting himself, of claiming control. He pushed people away so they wouldn’t have the chance to reject him first. He said and did shitty things because being on the offence was familiar territory, family territory even, and the runt of the litter always had to bark twice as loud and snap twice as hard just to get his share of the meal. Didn’t make it okay, but she did understand it. Somewhat.

He could still be a little bitch though.

heat

For the longest time, Richie was heat just because being around him boiled Sydney’s blood. The person who got her back up by being so obstinate and infuriating that she was left wondering how he’d lived so long without walking off a cliff like a damn lemming.

They yelled and screamed at each other about God only knows what. Richie was a bitch about caulk. Sydney stabbed Richie. They were basically even, right?

But then, Richie changed.

The Bear changed them all. It was a call to arms, to a higher purpose, and they had all had to pull up their big girl pants and figure some shit out. Richie most of all, as it seemed that he was every bit as lost and drifting with the tide as Sydney had always thought him to be.

But then, by opening night, he was this guy in a suit who smelled good and who ran the front of house like a track star.

There was the minor issue of Carmy screaming some truly obscene things through the walk-in door, and the few days where they’d all but accepted that Richie was gone, sick of this shit and realising his own worth for the first time in his life. But then, Carmy had dislodged his head from his own rectum and made amends. Richie forgave him like he’d forgiven Sydney for stabbing him in the ass - that is, with remarkable ease - and came back to The Bear, as stubbornly committed to the Berzattos as ever.

That was something she learned the soft way about Richie - if you were loyal to him, he’d pay you back tenfold.

Heat became warmth. Warmth became a flame kindled between them. Fragile and flickering at first, then steady and strong. He brushed the back of her hand with his when they passed each other during prep. He reminded her to eat and drink. He asked questions. Where do you get your hair done? How long have you known you wanted to be a chef? What was your mom like?

Was he closer to her dad’s age than hers? Yeah, and she could tell it bothered him. Constantly asking in the early days why someone like her was hanging around with someone like him. The answer was simple, really. Because the more she worked with him, the more she realised he was only ever territorial. Trying to protect the last piece of Michael he had, no matter how much of a fucking nightmare it was. The second they realised they weren’t a threat to each other, that they could be friends, it was game over for Sydney. His laugh, his eyes, his voice, his heart. The way he was dragging himself out of his rut, hand over hand, fighting for himself tooth and nail. Made her realise maybe she could do it too, if she just followed his example. It was never too late.

He was so tender with her. He was the heat that kept her at a steady simmer, the warmth that stopped her from going cold in a world that had only ever been hard on her. He kissed her collarbones like they were precious, folded her washed bandanas into neat little triangles, told her she was beautiful at the most random moments, like he thought about it all the time.

She found herself cooking for him more and more as his palate and curiosity developed. Started listening to Taylor Swift, because Eva loved her, and Richie loved Eva. Started asking him questions. What was Michael like? Does Eva prefer school or sports? Had you been stabbed before or was I your first?

She’d long accepted that, for a man who had lived an entire life before she’d even met him, she’d never be the first anything. And she was happy with that. She didn’t think she could have hacked Richie the 22 year old at a tailgate party, draped drunkenly over Mikey Bear’s shoulders. She liked Richie the dad, the divorcee who still fixed Tiffany’s leaky kitchen sink on the weekends, the uncle who could bounce and quiet the baby when Nat was ready to cry herself.

So it was a surprise when, one morning in bed, he kissed her bare shoulder and told her, “You’re the first person it’s ever felt easy with.”

Ease had never been her thing, but she was finding it now.

Thanks to some good people, she was finding it.

all likes, reblogs, comments massively appreciated ❤️

[be-the-creature-fan]

Rise of ZV (Episode 4)

Episode Summary: Martin's Job is stressing him out which is taking a toll on his mental health. Meanwhile Zach is getting ready to run for a government position. John Doe is enjoying his new life and continues to learn about the lives of Mr and Mrs Svinth

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *click*

Martin turned off his alarm clock. It was a Monday, not like it mattered it was just another day without Chris. Martin slowly got out of bed before he started getting ready for work. As he was getting ready he turned on the TV to catch up on the news. Though Martin for the most part never really paid any mind to the news, however someone had caught his eye during a political segment.

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

"Zach Varmitech, founder of Varmitech Industries have just announced run for presidency in this upcoming election."

Those were the words that appered on the bottom of Martin's TV screen as A News Reporter was seen sat across Zach Varmitech and was interviewing him on live television.

"So, Mr. Varmitech what has inspired you to run for presidency despite not having any prior experience in a political position"

"Well you see Ms. Stone, in this day and age our country is currently facing many problems such as not being able to find affordable housing, not being able to pay off student loan debt, the list goes on. And not to mention the political discourse plaugeing our country. I have ideas and the plans to eradicate these problems." Zach then turn towards the camera. "Your vote for me will be one step forward to having a better Future."

"What kinds of plans do you have that would allow such problems as these to be fixed?"

"Well from what I have noticed many of our natural resources are not being utilized and are instead" *-click-*

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

Martin turned off his TV and scoffed

"Pfft the day Zach becomes President is the day Chris comes back from the dead"

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

John Doe had been out of the hospital for just over 6 months. In the time since then had gained back the majority of his ability to walk besides a noticeable limp. The lost of his left eye also took some getting used to but it was nothing compared to the pain of not being able to reaccount anything except for a stupid word despite being on medication for the majority of his consciousness. Mr and Mrs Svinth were a godsent and as John's physical condition continued to improve, upon John's request they allowed him to help out with more of the labor inducing chores instead of just collecting eggs from the chickens or helping Mrs Svinth with her vegetable garden. He was finally able to work in the fields with Mr. Svinth where he was able to clear his mind.

As Mr Svinth was showing John the ropes he began also regailing stories of the time he taught his own son about farming.

"Oh, you never told me you and Barbara have a son" John said not thinking about why Mr. Svinth haven't spoken about his son before.

Mr. Svinth sighed, "That's because he passed away about 3 years ago, its hard for Barbara whenever I bring him up so I don't unless she's not with me."

John was taken aback and profusely apologized. Mr Svinth put his hand on John's shoulder and assured him that he wasn't at fault for bring it up.

They continued to work for a couple of hours until John started developing a Migraine which was a recently diagnosed side effect of the medicine he was taking.

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

Martin was working at his desk when he over hears 2 of his colleagues talking politics.

"I'm telling yah Mark, this Varmitech dude seems too good to be true"

"Aw Dave, I'm telling you Varmitech may be a multi-billioniare and since he's not a politician he won't bombard us with empty promises"

Martin had decided to tune out the rest of the conversation, and started focusing on the task at hand but after working in the scientific field for so long only to be cursed with a desk job seemed like a big burden.

So day in and day out Martin continued to meet his deadlines and do what he needed to do but in return became a empty husk of who he once was.

But little did he know that will all change in a matter of months.

TBC......

[mary-is-writing]

@writeblrcafe Secret Santa 2023🎅🎁

Thank you for organizing this event! This is my gift for @sparrow-orion-writes , I hope you like this short story!! Sorry it took me so long, I wanted to finish by Christmas but life happened. Still, here it is, a coffee shop kinda enemies-to-lovers with a fantasy setting story. Happy holidays and happy new year!!!

Title: Snakes and Vines

Word count: 2409

CW: None

Something was burning and it wasn’t Eri’s fault.

She could’ve sworn she hadn’t left the oven unattended for that long. She simply went to decorate as many cookies as she could while the cupcakes finished baking, and then, she was planning on going back and multitask on decorating both to finish earlier. But it seemed that hellfire powder, though a quick rising agent, was more flammable than she thought, since the whole oven went up in flames with a kaboom that could be heard from every place in the shop.

The bits and pieces went flying, destroying most of the kitchen as well as whatever pastries were lying around. The good news was that nothing hit her and the coffee shop was empty since it was already late; the bad news was that the destruction reached even the tables and chairs that were farthest from the kitchen. The worse news was that her boss was already stomping his big combat boots towards her direction while yelling and cursing all heaven and hell, and there was no way for her to fix it before he opened the kitchen door. The terrible news was that the fire was spreading quickly through the wall.

And the worst, most absolute, horrible news was that a bunch of cookie-frosting and burnt cupcake had flown right into Amalia’s face, of all the demons in Obertham. However, as established earlier, this was not Eri’s fault.

“This is your fault!”, she quickly yelled at her, while Amalia tried to clean her face.

“WHAT?! How the fuck this is my fault?!” Amalia’s snake hair hissed back at her.

“You kept messing with the oven when I told you to leave it alone!” Eri answered, vines with thorns quickly growing around her.

“YOU’RE the one that added the stupid hellfire powder even though I told you not to!”

“And I wouldn’t have needed to bake another batch quickly five minutes before going home if you knew how to bake shit!”

“The only reason I have to bake is because of your slow ass that doesn’t get anything done! At least I know how to prepare coffee while working in a coffee shop.”

“You’re just a–”

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY KITCHEN?!”

Their boss entered, his screech giving off a freezing gust of wind so cold it immediately put down the fire. Then, after giving a quick look to the damage and the two, proceeded to freeze them in place so he could lecture them both for about half an hour, all the while letting his rage take control of his ice and making them feel like they were in a freezer. Eri didn’t like working for an ice demon; whether he was happy or angry (especially when angry) he was always surrounded by the cold. The whole “enjoying a warm coffee in a chilly environment” was part of the shop’s charm, but a dryad like her would never understand why anyone would like that. Still, she needed this job, so she had to suck it while trying to not freeze to death.

But getting yelled at was unfair. Sure, maybe she had added a tiny bit more of hellfire powder than she should have, but if Amalia hadn’t been messing with the oven, the settings would’ve been the correct ones and it wouldn’t have exploded. Nothing her boss would listen to, though, and she found herself being ordered to stay overnight, clean the whole mess and re–bake everything to be ready for tomorrow.

Alongside Amalia, because of course. And at that hour, it was only natural for their tasks to extend into ungodly hours of the night, so of course they had to spend it there. There was a sleeping room, destined to be used by employees in times where the shop had to remain open for days straight, like in the Festival of Light, so they could take turns sleeping and working during their shifts. Eri was glad that she at least wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.

There was only one bed. Because of course.

“I’ll take the floor”, she said with a groan.

“No, I’ll take it”, Amalia said. “You take the bed. Just give me some sheets or something.”

“I said I’ll take it”, Eri responded dry. “It’s gonna be colder than usual thanks to the boss’s fit, and that’s bad for a snake demon like you.”

“Said the dryad, the cold is just as bad for you. Besides, I’m younger, so it’s better if I take the floor.”

“I’m sorry, did you just call me old?”

“Oh, for the love of–” Amalia ran a hand over her face. Some of her snakes hissed in frustration at her, and Eri almost wanted to hiss back. “Just take the goddamn bed, Eri.”

“No”, she crossed her arms. “After all, it’s the responsibility of the older ones to take care of the children. So, you take it.”

“Fine, I guess nobody is sleeping in the bed, then. We’ll both sleep on the floor.”

Eri was used to fight with Amalia at this point, so much so that she didn’t even think to contradict her just for the sake of it. Forest will wither and oceans will dry before she’d let her win an argument.

“If that’s the case, why don’t we both sleep in the bed, then?”, she said, only realizing what words had left her mouth afterwards.

“Fine! Geez! Have it your way then!”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

After a couple more “fines” that we’re said in a very “fuck you” kind of way, they both climbed in the bed. Amelia took the side closest to the wall, while Eri the side towards the door. There was also just one sheet and pillow, so they had to sleep back-to-back without moving an inch.

What a night. Eri couldn’t remember a worse one since she started working there…though having to carry around her tree in a pot in the middle of a cold night after getting evicted was a close one. Now what? She hoped the boss wouldn’t fire her for this. Without a job, one cannot survive in Obertham, not only because it was required for non-humans to have one in order to remain in the city, but also because it was expensive as hell and almost no landlord would give her a lease without one. Feeling the physical exhaustion and the mental stress growing got to her and, ever so softly, she sniffed a few tears away.

“I’m sorry.” Hearing Amalia apologize shot Eri wide awake.

“What did you just said?”, she asked, still not facing her. Amalia sighed, in a way Eri’d never heard before.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have messed with the oven. I thought that, if you weren’t gonna listen about the hellfire powder, at least I could prevent the oven from exploding by changing the settings, but…”

“Wow. You literally couldn’t have done a worse job.”

“Yeah. So. Well. I’ll tell the boss tomorrow to not punish you too much more for it.”

That was…weird. Was Amalia actually…being reasonable? As Eri was trying to wrap her head around this situation, a thought crossed her mind.

“You heard me cry, didn’t you”, she asked, monotone.

“…No.”

“Okay. Yeah. That’s not gonna fly.”

“I just thought you…could use a win.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from her lips. And it must have been really bitter because Amalia immediately stood up.

“Why do you hate me, Eri? What have I ever done to you?”

“You mean besides destroying the kitchen, almost killing me, and jeopardizing my livelihood?”

“But you didn’t start hating me now, did you?” Even in the darkness, Eri could see the silhouette of the snakes in Amalia’s head squirming because of how agitated she was.

“I don’t hate you.” She answered. “I just don’t like you.”

“What’s the difference?”

“If I hated you, you’d be seeing me with thorns all around me all day long, since I have to be all day long next to you.”

“Okay, fine. Why do you dislike me, then?”

Maybe it was the tiredness. Maybe it was that they were completely alone, in the darkness, and she couldn’t see Amalia’s face. For whatever reason, Eri felt like spilling her guts.

“Because you’re arrogant, despite only knowing how to brew coffee. And you are terrible at baking, yet you act like you’re in charge of the kitchen. And you’re younger than me, yet ever since you first came you’ve had this attitude of ‘why do I have to work with this useless adult?’. And even though I need this job to survive, you act like just being here is a bother and couldn’t care less of what happens to it or me.”

The silence that proceeded was as cold as the floor, and as the seconds passed and Eri regained her composure, she started to wonder if she’d said too much. But then, Amalia talked.

“What about you, then? Ever since I came here, you’ve treated me with nothing but hostility.  You just assumed whatever you wanted about me and decided that you didn’t like me. I’ll admit I’m bad at baking, and I hate it, but if I didn’t care about this job, I would simply get another one. Saying that I don’t care about what happens to it or you is honestly insulting. You think I’m that heartless just cause I’m a demon?”

“Of course not. You think I’m nice and delicate just cause I’m a dryad?”

“A rabid hellhound is nicer and more delicate than you.”

Eri let out a sound that was a mix of scoff and laughter. Still laying on the bed, she breathed deeply.

“I’m sorry, too. For, you know… Antagonizing you, and stuff.” It felt awkward. When was the last time she’d talked with her without feeling a headache? Scratch that; Eri didn’t even think she’d ever had this calm of a conversation with Amalia, ever. “But don’t you think it’d be better if you showed you care more?”

“Well, don’t you think it’d be better if you learned how to serve a cup?” She said, playfully.

“Why? Your coffee is great, I don’t need to learn.”

Amalia blinked. Some of her snakes looked at each other.

“You…like my coffee?” Eri felt wide awake for the second time. Crap, she hadn’t meant to say it. “You’ve…never said so…”

“Because I didn’t want it to get into your big head”, she said, then instantly regretted it. “Yeah, I like your coffee. It’s good coffee. Great, even. I don’t know how you do it, but every single fricking cup you make it’s perfect. Happy?”

She wanted to cover her face with her vines and disappear. Never would she had imagined she’d compliment Amalia, out loud, to her face.

“I…I like your baking.” Amalia responded, shyly.

“Don’t give me the pity talk, please.”

“No, I mean it. I started working here because… because of it.” Eri looked at her in the dark. She could almost see Amalia’s hand playing with her snake hair. “And I’ve always been good with coffee cause, y’know, my snakes help me perceive the smells and temperature appropriate for each brew, so I thought I could work here. Never expected to blow up the kitchen.”

There was something there, though. Something about the way the silhouette of her hand moved, how the snakes danced over the fingers. Like a very distant memory Eri’d almost forgotten but that came back little by little as she spoke.

“Wait…” Eri threaded carefully. “Are you– Are you that girl that always came here and always ordered black coffee with marshmallows and a slice of abyss strawberry shortcake? The one that always burnt her tongue whenever she had her first sip?

Amalia let out the biggest groan Eri had ever heard leave her lips.

“How do you remember that but not me?”

The dryad basically jumped up and sat on the bed next to her.

“WHAT?! That was you?!”

“Of course it was me! How have you never noticed it?! How many snake demons do you see in the daily to not recognize me?”

“I mean, all dryads have face blindness, so…?”

Well, that wasn’t an answer Amalia was expecting at all.

“W-Wait. What?”

“Yeah. We can only recognize one another. Everyone else just looks the same, like, beyond things like voices or mannerisms? It’s like trying to differentiate two grains of rice. And that was so long ago that both things are very fuzzy in my memory. But was that really, really you?”

“Yes, it was. Why do you keep asking?”

“Cause I’m pretty sure that girl gave me a love letter once”, she said. “But then she stopped coming, so I could never answer back.”

Eri could almost swear she heard a little gasp. The snakes suddenly stopped moving, and Amalia turned away, the line of her face showing she was looking left. Suddenly her coming to the coffee shop a lot, to the point of even starting to work there, made much more sense.

“That was in the past. Before I knew a rabid hellhound was nicer than you.”

The feel of a grin in Eri’s face made a few little flowers grow at the tip of her hair.

“Hoh? Disappointed, then?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe”, Amalia answered, trying to sound calm. So, since she was playing the cool card, Eri decided to play along.

“Really?” She approached her. Vines filled with leaves and flowers grew around, and she trapped Amalia with them by the wrists, the hip, and one ankle. “Then I guess this would do nothing for you, hm?”

The snakes hissed at her. For the first time since knowing her, she thought that reaction was cute.

“Screw you”, Amalia spouted.

“Pfft. Yeah, you wish.”

“ERI!” The dryad laughed as a response. She released the snake demon and went back to lay in the bed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Goodnight, Amalia.”

Eri closed her eyes. Who knew her demon coworker could be this innocent? If she didn’t get fired, she’d have to start treating her more gently. Perhaps she’d get more fun reactions like those. As she was getting ready to start drifting into sleepiness, the voice of Amalia reached her once more.

“And what was it? Your answer…?”

Eri didn’t open her eyes, but she smiled.

“Maybe I’ll tell you over some coffee and cake.”

[mollybecameanengineer]

Incubo

Summary: The week before Scully goes on maternity leave, she and Mulder head to New Jersey to investigate a series of suspicious deaths. However, neither of them could have predicted how personal it would become.

word count: 7686 | Teen | MSR | @today-in-fic

Read on AO3 or check out the first chapter below the break

This is part of an episodic series called A Second Chance. All the episodes are collected, in order, using AO3’s series feature. The concept of the series is to rewrite seasons 8 and 9. It deals with Mulder’s return from the dead, the birth of William, and Mulder and Scully trying to juggle family life with impending doom.

If you don’t want to read the whole thing, but want to read this story, here is what you need to know…

Previously on A Second Chance: Mulder has returned to the living. Scully is pregnant with what she believes to be their child, but Mulder has doubts. However, he has publicly acknowledged the child. Mulder and Scully are now living together. Since he was declared dead, Mulder had to be re-hired by the FBI, rather than having a job to come back to. Reyes has been partnered with Doggett since This Is Not Happening.

Chapter 1

Today was Mulder’s first day back at the FBI – and it wasn’t going well. 

He and Scully had gone back and forth about him starting before or after the baby was born. But after the debacle with the oil rig, he wanted his badge back. When he’d received his official offer, he filled out the paperwork and requested to start as soon as possible, though it meant he’d have to take unpaid leave when the baby came.

But now that he was sitting at his desk (or Scully’s desk, he wasn’t sure who had ownership at this point), trying to log on to the computer so he could do hours of mandatory trainings, he questioned why he had been in such a hurry. 

Glaring at the screen, he tried again: 

username: fmulder 

password: tru5tn015cully 

The computer told him, yet again, that his username and password weren’t recognized. 

If it had been just him and Scully in the office, he would have been cursing and possibly kicking the trash can by now. But with Doggett and Reyes quietly typing away at their desks, he felt like he had to restrain himself. 

Scully came over and started looking through the file cabinet. She was wearing loose pants, a sweater, and flat dress shoes – all concessions to being 36 weeks pregnant. Whenever she was near, he wanted to reach out and touch her, caress her stomach. He didn’t understand why this was – before he had been abducted, he’d liked to touch her. But now it felt like more of a compulsion. He chalked it up to evolution. He was trying to possess or protect his mate, or some such crap. 

Again, he wished Doggett and Reyes would get out of his office, so he could hold her.

“Why aren’t you doing those trainings?” Scully asked, glancing at his computer screen. 

“The stupid thing won’t let me log on.”

Scully came over and leaned against the desk. She looked uncomfortable. It was probably a good thing this was her last week at work, before maternity leave. Mulder didn’t relish the idea of weeks in the office without her, though she thought it might give him a chance to bond with Reyes and Doggett. 

Maybe he could convince Skinner that four of them in this office was two too many. Though maybe he should also lay low, because his boss had done some fancy finagling to get a fourth agent assigned to the X-FIles. 

Scully looked at his computer, then down at his onboarding paperwork. “That isn’t your username anymore.” She pointed to the paper. There, clear as day, it said his email was fwmulder@fbi.gov.

“They changed my email?” 

Reyes spun around in her chair. Evidently she’d been listening. (All the more reason to get the interlopers out of their office.) “I just sent you an email. It’s fmulder, right?” 

“It was,” Mulder replied.

“It didn’t bounce back. Let me check the directory.” Reyes turned back to her computer, while Mulder typed in the new username. This time it worked, he was in. He started up Outlook, and waited for the emails to load. 

Scully had gone back to her rummaging (he wondered what she was looking for). He was half watching her, half looking at Outlook, when Reyes spoke again. “Um, Agent Mulder? I think you have a problem.” 

For a moment he thought she was talking about his staring at Scully, but then he saw she was still looking at her computer. 

“What is it?” Scully asked, walking over to Reyes.

“There’s two Fox Mulders.” 

Mulder joined them. Sure enough, in the directory, there was him, with his picture from 1986 and fmulder email, and then him again, with the picture he took this morning, and his new fwmulder email. 

Scully looked up at him, smirking. “What do you think? Doppelgangers? Alien Bounty Hunters?”

Doggett spun around in his chair. “Well, whichever Mulder you are, I think we have a case.”

-----

Doggett and Reyes had left for New Jersey several hours ago, leaving Scully and Mulder (who was still doing trainings) behind. They had asked Mulder if he wanted to come along, but he’d declined. Scully wasn’t surprised. A man had shot himself in the head – it didn’t seem like an X-File.

“Six down, two to go, Scully,” Mulder said, making a show of closing the window on his computer. 

She gave him a fake smile and a thumbs up. He’d been announcing stuff like this ever since Doggett and Reyes left. 

He seemed more himself once they were gone. She understood that Mulder was protective of their space, but at some point he was going to have to accept that the X-Files wasn’t just them anymore. Scully viewed the inclusion of Reyes and Doggett as a good thing, particularly with the baby on the way. She didn’t know how else she and Mulder could keep the X-Files open. 

“Hey Scully,” Mulder called to her, already clicking through his next training. “Did you know that the videos that aren’t mine that used to be here is a type of sexual harassment?”

She looked up. “Yes. You didn’t?” 

He shook his head. 

Scully was surprised. “You actually thought it was appropriate that they were here?”

“Well, no, I guess not. I never thought about it.”

Scully sighed. For an intelligent man, he was oblivious sometimes. 

“Did you feel harassed?” Mulder asked, seeming genuinely concerned. 

Scully considered his question. At the time, eight years ago, she hadn’t felt harassed by the porn. She had thought of it more as a concession to being in a male dominated field. She had been much more bothered when her co-workers tried to touch her or called her ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart.’ Or the hundreds of ways they excluded or belittled her. A little porn had been low on her list of grievances. 

But that didn’t mean that she had been totally comfortable with its presence. 

She tried to distill her complex thoughts. “I thought it was unprofessional, but I wasn’t offended.”

Mulder, looking appeased, turned back to his computer. “Actually,” he said, scrolling, “we do a lot of the things on this list.”

“It’s only harassment if it’s unwelcome.” 

He playfully leered at her. “Oh, so you welcome my,” he turned back to the computer, “aggressively asking you out on dates?”

She rolled her eyes. “Mulder, you’ve never asked me out on a date, aggressively or not.”

He stood, and came over to where she was sitting. He leaned down, invading her personal space. “Well, maybe I thought you’d think it was harassing…”

“Why don’t you try and find out?”

Her lips were on his before he could respond. Though it was wildly inappropriate for them to be making out at work, Scully figured some light fooling around couldn’t hurt anything. Mulder had just started kissing her neck when they were interrupted by the phone. 

“Scully, I’m pretty sure that was sexual harassment, but I’m not sure who was harassing whom,” he said, as he returned to his desk to answer the phone. “Mulder.” He paused, then said, “Hold on, I’m going to put you on speaker.” Mulder pushed a button, hung up the phone, and said, “Ok, go ahead.”

Doggett’s voice came through the phone. “Like I was saying, this body is pretty weird. The ME can’t make heads or tails of how a man was shot in the head but there isn’t any sign of a firearm being used.”

Scully stood, and joined Mulder. “You mean there isn’t any powder residue?”

“Not just that,” Doggett replied. “There’s an entry wound, but no exit. Yet the ME couldn’t find a bullet.”

Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. “That is odd.”

“That’s what we were thinking. Look I don’t know if you can, but getting your insight on this one would be a real benefit, Agent Scully.”

“Can you send the body here?” Mulder asked.

“It probably won’t get here before I go out on leave,” Scully cut in before Doggett could reply. “It’s only a four hour drive to New Jersey. We can leave after my doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”

“We’d really appreciate it,” Doggett said. 

Mulder shrugged. “If you think you can make the trip.”

Scully nodded and after making arrangements with Doggett, Mulder hung up the phone.

“This reminds me of that man from Nevada–”

“Crump,” Mulder interrupted. “Mr. Crump. Do you think the military is testing those radio waves again?”

Scully shrugged. It was possible. Though if they were, she hoped it ended better than last time.

Keep reading on AO3

[jodilin65]

Made myself comfy in bed on the wedge pillow I’m so glad I had when I got the Norovirus and now I’m ready to talk-type an entry. I typically take notes in between entries so I know what I want to discuss. Where should I start?

I guess I’ll start with the Facebook deadbeats, as I call them. There are about 5 people I wouldn’t mind deleting but I don’t really have the heart to do it. Mostly neighbors. The honker and a couple of other guys. Even though the honker doesn’t appear to want anything to do with me, he’s friends only so if I want to see what he’s up to when he’s here, this is the only way to see unless he deletes me. If we ever do move, though, then he’s gone.

I don’t have the heart to delete Linda even though she’s pretty quiet. Nor do I have the heart to delete Adonis who’s been using other accounts that he doesn’t seem to want to add me to. He only checks into the one we’re connected on once in a lifetime.

I just like to keep the friend count as low as possible and only add those who really matter and are going to at least once in awhile react or comment on something of mine because it’s easier when it comes to customizing audience settings for various posts. If I had many dozens or hundreds of people to go through, that would be a real pain. So while the idea of dropping the count from 20 to 15 people is appealing, I’m going to leave things alone for now.

So my sleep isn’t cursed, huh? Yeah, right! And why would whatever’s cursing it let me sleep after 3 days of having decent energy? I don’t usually make it 3 days, after all. One or two is more like it. So what just had to happen? A power failure of course. I was sound asleep when the power went out 4 hours after I crashed. What is it with this 4-hour bullshit? I know the number 4 is very unlucky but it seems like shit that’s going to happen is usually after I’ve been asleep for 4 hours.

I had to stay up long enough for things to reset so I could restart the sound machine and the fan and turn off the bedroom and closet lights. Tom was pissed because he was in the middle of a $20 job. Luckily, when the power came back on he was able to pick up where he left off. Also luckily, it didn’t take me one or two hours to fall back asleep. I was probably up for 20 or 30 minutes, though. If it’s more than a few minutes, then that’s all it takes to leave me tired the following day, and I am. Maybe that will help keep me calm along with the fact that I cut my waiting time to 10 minutes today before coffee because I felt wound up last night. Tom thinks it’s just because I’m on nights and that’s probably true, but just to be safe from accumulation, I cut the waiting time. No more of that for a while, though, because it’s getting closer to labs.

Amanda has been upgraded and there are new games. A few stupid role-playing games but she gets some beautiful outfits for it. I asked the dev what I’m supposed to do with all my coins if gems are required to make most purchases and he says he’s got something in the works in the future.

One of the daily tasks is glitchy and she freezes. He asked for a recording of it. So Tom looked up how to record on Androids and at midnight when the tasks reset, I’ll get a recording of it.

I’m now 70% through my ride and my rank is 113. In a few days, I hope to get out of Ohio.

My TMJ seems to be a little worse lately and I may have to go back on my nasal spray. I haven’t had any sneezing fits but since the ear and nose are connected, the congestion I’ve been having puts pressure on the head and neck in general.

I didn’t know you could do this till Tom told me (damn, that guy is smart!) but I love how I can have Alexa set the brightness of the lights. Rather than have both bedroom lamps on at 100%, it’s nice to be able to have just one on at 10% at night so I have just enough light to see my way when coming and going to the bathroom. I don’t like to use the one off the hall when he’s sleeping in case he wakes up needing it.

I thought of adding tags to my Blogger entries. Well, they call them labels there. But I don’t want to go through nearly 10K entries and I don’t know that I would like seeing certain people’s names on my blog regularly right there in front of my face.

Burger Queen is better than Burger King. He got some beef patties and I made us some awesome burgers. They were definitely better than Burger King’s but not the fries. We don’t have a deep fryer because it’s not healthy so I had to bake them and baked fries just aren’t quite as good as fried.

To catch up on dreams since I didn’t write yesterday, I had a dream that I was going to ask Doc A if we could be running partners in a race which is pretty interesting considering that I can only run all of 2 minutes at 4 MPH which has certainly got to be quite laughable to her, LOL.

I was in the middle of a dream about asking Tom why he didn’t like Alyssa back in Cali when the power failure woke me up.

When I went back to sleep I had a dream that I ordered hair dye and received an assortment of different colored wigs instead.

Then I dreamed that we were vacationing somewhere. He was finishing up charging the car when a bull that had been loose in the area approached the car that I was sitting in. The thing started ramming my door and Tom hurried to disconnect the car and get us out of there.

Back at the lodge we were staying at, we asked someone who worked there if they’d seen the bull and the guy said, “We haven’t seen him since Saturday.” It was the middle of the week so that told me it had been a few days.

As we were walking down some corridors later on, I noticed a door open on one end and hoped the bull couldn’t fit through it if it happened by.

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

Dear Universe Gods, You're Grounded

Over the weekend, me and my mates went to a fan expo on the mainland. It went swimmingly! We got photos with multiple celebrities including Elijah Wood. We sat through several panels led by actors and voice actors that we love including Grace Van Dien and Neil Newbon. We bought merchandise that gave us all a healthy-happy-feelings boost. One friend’s mother paid for our entire dinner the first night at a stupidly good Malaysian restaurant, even though she wasn’t there. We went to IKEA and got cookies and meatballs and jams. We like to stock up as there’s no IKEA here. We took our Build-a-Bear baby Yoda named Yodito and hunted down every Star Wars cosplayer to take a photo with him. It was a wild, overstimulating, exciting, hilarious, unbelievable, and unforgettable weekend adventure. 

And then we came home.

*cue the Jaws theme* 

And our world went stupid again.

*cue the speedier part of said Jaws theme*

The day after we got back, one friend found out her father has cancer and is due for surgery. A few days later, another friend was in the hospital for appendicitis, she’s still there actually. A day after that, today in fact, at work, it was decided by a corporate minion that wearing earbuds on shift is no longer allowed. For years, we were able to have a single earbud in and listen to music, podcasts, audiobooks, what have you, whilst working. This man came into the store, unannounced, off the clock, and saw people just doing their jobs and I guess decided they were too content. Now we have to listen to the cursed drugstore bullshit playlist and our brain thoughts. But wait, it gets worse…suddenly, the automatic announcements and music switched to French. Everything was French and no one knew what the crap happened. This was the day the music died and the day Canadian French corroded our brains. It went back to semi normal after a few hours, but those few hours were brutal. 

So it’s been a week of cancer and surgery, and head office being committed to destroying any ounce of possible happiness we have at work. We were happy over the weekend, life was good. I think we need to have forever vacations at this point because the moment they end, everything goes to shit. Once our lives go back to normal, chaos and disappointment ensues.

I am still in the process of acquiring the contact information for the head office of the universe, however, it’s been incredibly difficult to locate. If anyone has the personal numbers for any universe corporate members, please let me know. My strongly worded letter was clearly ignored, so I’ve decided a phone call might be more effective. 

Seriously though, what the bloody absolute fuck are the odds of this amount of immediate buffoonery happening after such a wholesome weekend with friends? We just came home and cancer and bursting organs were just sitting on the table and the gods were guffawing at us. I say again, NO ONE, NOT A SINGLE SOUL can tell me, with a straight face, that we are not cursed as shit! You can search high and low for a lawyer to argue until they’re blue in the face against this fact, and you will fail. There is no valid evidence, no physical or mental or spiritual proof that stands in favor of this truth being false. There are mysterious, malicious forces at work against us and all we can do now is laugh because it is hysterical, in the most tragic way possible, just how fucked we are. If we become villains later on, the origin stories for us that show our descent to the dark side will be horribly stupid and completely reasonable all in one. “Oh, why ever did you become evil?” they will ask. “I was greatly inconvenienced two too many times,” I will say. And they will nod in understanding as I set fire to the world.