#having them fall apart in the span of a couple of chapters was the definition of cruel and unusual

[okay-letsdothisonelasttime]

"You didn't expect me to fight a war in a suit and tie, did you?" - SP, LSoDM

Like I'm sorry...? You're tell me that the Dead Men have dope war outfits and then we only get them in it for like 5 scenes?

A disgrace.

So here, have a self indulgent sketch, of the battle ready Dead Men.

(Also there's sooooo many talented artist on here making great SP art and then there's me like "I'm the trash man. I come out, I throw trash all over the ring".)

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Love; for the First Time

Summary: Y/N's first time with Dean may reveal other firsts for both of them.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Fingering, Thigh Riding, oral (m/f receiving), hint of overstimulation, virgin!reader, age gap, loss of virginity, unprotected P in V sex, fluff, angst if you squint, Dean being the sexiest motherfucker ever.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 3,843

A/N: Okay, so here is the Masterlist for the whole First Time Series even though it's not a traditional series. But the stories are definitely more enjoyable if they're read together/in order. But if it's your preference, you can still read them on their own. I've started this one with a small excerpt (in italics) from the last part, since the story picks up exactly where it left off.

A/N 2: For all intents and purposes, this is the final chapter of this little one shot series. But I have a tendency to revisit my couples, so I may return to them in the future, you never know. But for now, I hope you've enjoyed this slightly odd "series" that isn't really a series. Lol!

The beautiful divider at the bottom was made by @talesmaniac89

“Please Dean.” She begged, dropping her forehead to his shoulder and rocking herself back and forth on his thigh. “I need you. I need…need…”

Dean tipped her chin up so she was looking at him again. “What do you need, Y/N? Say it.”

Her stomach clenched tight at the look of fierce desire on his face; she knew it was only echoing her own expression. With all the boldness he’d taught her and all the confidence he’d instilled in her, she lowered her hand to cup the hard bulge behind his zipper making him grit his teeth and growl.

“I need you, Dean. I need all of you. I need you to fill me up. I need you to touch me and make me crazy. I need you to make love to me. I’m ready.” She ground down against his thigh again, and her voice was ragged. 

“I’m so ready.”

Y/N watched Dean’s eyes darken, and his jaw clench. His voice was low and ragged, desire making it rough. But his words were reassuring, kind, loving - as they always were.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? You know there’s no rush, no pressure. I can make you feel good, make you fall apart, get you to scream my name even without going all the way.” He said the last with a grin, but his eyes still burned.

Y/N smiled and kissed him, commanding and controlling the kiss, so that Dean hummed in a tone of surprise. She pulled out of the kiss and rolled her hips, grinding down against his thigh again, catching her bottom lip in her teeth as pleasure shot through her body. She continued to ride his thigh, hips rolling, as she spoke breathlessly. 

“I know you can, Dean, and I wanna take anything and everything you give me. But I wanna…” She leaned her forehead against his and stared deep into his emerald eyes so he’d know she meant it. “I also wanna give you me. All of me.”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid, I’m not scared or nervous. I’m just on fire, and I need you, more than I’ve ever needed anything - more than breath.” She rolled her hips against him again, hard and desperate, bunching her hands in his dark gray Henley, and speaking against his plump lips. “Make me breathless, Dean.”

She exhaled into his mouth, and ran her tongue along his bottom lip. Dean growled and then captured her mouth, plunging his tongue deep inside, nearly reaching the back of her throat. She whimpered slightly and his hands tightened at her waist. His mouth and hands flew across her skin. He pushed her shirt up over her head, tossing it to the ground before he dipped his head and nipped at the puckered bud of her nipple through her lacy bra.

Seconds later, he flicked open the hooks at her back, and ripped the garment from her body. His hands slid up from her waist, passing over her sides and then spanning her upper back so he could hold her in place against his mouth. He laved her breast with his wide tongue, before sucking on it deeply, and causing her to let out a harsh groan.

With her head thrown back she wrapped her arms around his neck and rode his thigh, drenching his jeans through her panties, her denim skirt now bunched around her hips. Dean moved one hand down from her back, shoving it between their bodies, and pushing her sodden, cotton panties against her sensitive clit, making her cry out again.

“God, Dean.” She rasped out. “Uhn, please, please.” She chanted into his ear. “I need you.” She repeated. Dean shifted to her other breast and bit gently into the soft flesh, making Y/N shout out in surprised ecstasy, and dig her nails into his back muscles, rippling beneath the dark cotton of his Henley.

“Dean!” His name was just a keening moan, and she felt him harden even more beneath her; his cock straining behind his zipper. It must have been painful but, ignoring his body’s rigid heat, he pulled away from her breast, and set his big hands on her cheeks to pull her into a kiss that once again left her breathless.

He shifted in the seat, scooping her into his arms, so he was holding her like a bride as he rose from the chair and walked slowly down the hall towards his room.

When he got there, he set her on her feet, and turned on the light. He wasted no time in shedding his clothes. She watched intently as inch after tantalizing inch of his skin was exposed to her hungry gaze, until he was naked and glorious in front of her. His cock was tall and thick, resting against his stomach and Y/N bit her lip, unable to look away. 

She wasn’t scared, she trusted Dean completely, but she was curious, because he simply seemed too big to fit into her body. Where was he going to go?

Dean’s voice was gravelly and tight. “Do you want to touch me, baby? You can if you want.”

Y/N nodded and then caught his eye; his expression said he was holding himself in check. His jaw ticked, and his muscles were strained, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. She walked forward and reached out her hand to wrap it around his cock. He hissed and then groaned as she rubbed her thumb across the slit that topped the head of his cock. As she pressed there, a bead of white bloomed and then dripped down over his velvety skin. She circled her thumb around his spongy head, spreading out the slightly sticky liquid evenly.

Experimentally, she tightened her grip slightly and slid her hand up and down his erection. Dean’s hips bucked forward, seemingly of their own accord, and the hot, hard shaft in her hand throbbed, making her mouth run dry.

She continued to explore his body, running her hands over all his skin, and moving behind him to pet and massage all the beautiful muscles that rippled there. Feeling bold and encouraged, she ran her hand over his plump backside, squeezing it as she walked back around to the front of him. It was firm but giving beneath her hand and the feel of it made her heart race.

As she looked back up into his eyes, she reached forward once again to grip his cock, entranced as she watched a vein bulge in his neck as he strained hard, desperately keeping himself in check while she touched him all she wanted. She shook her head in awe.

“You’re so unbelievably beautiful, Dean.” She leaned forward, his dick still throbbing in her hand, and pressed feathery kisses across his chest. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “So, beautiful.”

Dean smiled warmly even as she felt his heart pounding beneath her lips. “I pale in comparison, sweetheart.” He said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. Y/N smiled shyly and stepped away from him to shed her jeans and panties. She stood before him naked, and the blatant want and desire she saw in his face made her body glow.

She took up his hand and then pulled him after her. She turned to face him, walking backwards towards the bed.

“Make love to me, Dean? Please. Please show me everything.” She pulled his other hand into hers and placed them both on her breasts. She arched into his hands, and wrapped her fingers around his thick wrists. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I’m so grateful for your patience, for your good heart, and for the way you make me feel so safe.”

She ducked her head. “Maybe this isn’t the right time to tell you, but…I love you, Dean.” She looked up into his unfathomable gaze and admitted the truth. “I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and Y/N wanted him to understand something. “Please don’t think you have to love me back. I don’t want to scare you or pressure you. But everything here in this place, between us, has been based on truth, on saying what we feel, and leaving no space for lies. So…I just felt I owed you the truth.”

Dean’s expression clouded over for a moment, a deep furrow settling on his forehead, making a line appear between his brows. He reached out to run his knuckles gently down her cheek, shaking his head.

“It’s such a bad idea to love me, sweetheart.” She saw fear spark in his expression before he stepped closer and cupped his hand under her jaw. He pressed his thumb to her bottom lip and closed his eyes.

“But I won’t lie to you here either.” He opened his eyes and bent his head forward to pull her top lip into his mouth and suck at it gently. He let it go and dropped his forehead to hers, letting their breath mingle for a minute more before he spoke, so softly she almost couldn’t make out the words.

“I love you, Y/N, all of you and completely.” He shuddered slightly and the fear entered his voice this time. “It scares the shit out of me, and I need to warn you that there might always be a part of me that’ll be sure I’m gonna lose you.”

Y/N tried to speak at that, but he pressed a finger to her lips and shook his head. “No, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m just telling you because…well, because no lies, right?” He shrugged. “I’ll work it out. And every day you're here beside me will be one more day to push away the fear.”

She nodded and tears sparkled on her lashes before spilling over. This moment was more than she’d ever hoped for, and as Dean settled his hands on her hips and pulled her against him, she felt the heady combination of love and want, lust and tenderness wash over her, making her dizzy. 

Dean ran his hands over the swell of her hips and down over her backside before he wrapped one arm around her waist and reached his other hand between her legs from behind, pressing gently at her entrance and making her legs give out. If he hadn’t been holding on to her, she would have melted into the floor. 

She threw her head back and let out a guttural moan as he eased his thick finger inside her. Dean took advantage of her exposed neck to lay a trail of blistering kisses across her skin. He licked and nipped at her pulse and Y/N felt like she might burst into flames as she rode his hand. She instinctively lifted her leg up to wrap around his hip so that he could sink further into her body. He added a second finger and pushed them both in deeper, pumping them faster, as she clung to his neck and panted, dewy and warm across the tattoo on his chest.

He scissored her open on his fingers, stretching her with a pleasurable burn, before pressing his fingers back together and pushing hard on the sweet spot inside her, the spot that made her see stars, and nearly pass out from pleasure. He pressed it repeatedly, until her thighs trembled and she clenched hard around his fingers, ripples of rapture spreading out across her body.

She fell, boneless, against him, and he scooped her up again to lay her out on the bed. Instead of laying beside her as he’d done in the past, though, he climbed onto the end of the bed, shuffling forward so that he knelt between her feet. He let his fingers trail lightly over her soft curls, and caught her eye.

“I wanna kiss you,” he dipped his middle finger into her folds, causing Y/N to lick her lips, her breathing picking up, “I wanna kiss you, here.” The rough pad of his finger pressed against her clit and Y/N raised her hips, trying to get more friction. But he pulled his hand back and simply stroked her sex, giving her only a tiny bit of pressure when she desperately wanted more.

“Can I kiss you there, Y/N? Can I taste you? I wanna see the view from between your thighs when you come. I wanna take you apart and feel you explode on my tongue. Want you to dribble your juices down my chin. Say yes - tell me I can devour you.”

Y/N listened to the heated, intimate, and arousing words that were dripping from his lips and all she could do was nod, and croak out her agreement. “Yes. Yes.” She said quickly.

“Good girl.” Dean said warmly, rubbing the delicate skin of her pussy, and scratching his blunt fingernails through her curls. 

He sank down onto his stomach, and his face disappeared from her view just seconds before she felt him lick a stripe, wet and messy, through her folds. She let out a completely shocked shout, having no time to recover from the unexpected delight of his talented tongue, before he was pulling her bundle of nerves between his lips and sucking lightly.

This time she screamed and clawed at his shoulders. It took him less than thirty seconds to rip her second orgasm out of her. But he didn’t stop there. He took her over the edge again and again, sucking, licking, nibbling at her sensitive flesh. The blankets and bedsheets beneath her were drenched and completely twisted from her thrashing body.

But Dean never slowed. His tongue speared her, it twisted in circles around her clit, the tip flicking back and forth against her. He pushed his fingers into her welcoming body once again, continuing to stretch her, pushing in a third finger slowly, inch by inch while his tongue licked patterns into her tender flesh. He did take her apart as he said he would, over and over. It wasn’t until she was a shaking mess, her body quivering and her throat raw from her shouts of bliss, that he finally moved his body up hers, settling his hips between her legs.

She could feel his heavy cock resting against her slick folds as he leaned on his forearms, his strong arms on either side of her shoulders, keeping her safe under his weight and within the shelter of his arms. He pushed her sweaty hair from her forehead and then trailed his forefinger down the bridge of her nose and then over her parched lips.

She opened her mouth and sucked on the tip of it, before she let it go to smile at him. “You know,” she told him quietly, creakily, “the first time I ever saw you, I remember thinking that your hands looked so strong, like they could keep me safe.” She reached up to take his hand, and pressed all four fingers to her lips.

She shook her head, her eyes shining. “I had no idea just how right I was.”

Dean nodded. “I will always, always do whatever I have to, to keep you safe. I swear it.”

Y/N felt a tear slip down her cheek, happiness bubbling over. Dean sipped it from her skin, and then moved to kiss her, soft and sweet. He took hold of his cock and slid it through her slick; the contact with her overly sensitive clit had her biting her lip and pressing her head back into the pillow. 

Dean kissed the underside of her jaw, and spoke softly. “Keep your eyes on me, baby.” She looked at him, her eyes unfocused with lust. “I need to know how you’re doing.” She felt the spongy tip of his cock press bluntly against her entrance. “No matter what, if you need me to stop, I’ll stop, okay?” 

Dean’s voice was strained and his muscles were tense with unreleased tension and power, but she didn’t doubt him for a second; so she nodded to tell him that she was good. “I’m good, Dean.” She pushed her heels into the backs of his thighs urging him forward. “Please, come into me.” 

Dean groaned at that, and pushed forward.

Y/N felt herself stretch as he moved into her; there was a mostly pleasant burn as he opened her wide. He entered her slowly, giving her body plenty of time to adjust to him. She could feel the way his muscles vibrated with his restraint. As he finally sank into her to the hilt, he groaned savagely and buried his face in her neck.

“Fuck, fuck.” He mumbled. “You’re paradise, sweetheart. Hot, wet, paradise.” 

Y/N chuckled softly. She knew the feeling. Having Dean joined with her so intimately, to be so stuffed full of him, to feel him throbbing deep inside her, did indeed feel like heaven. She couldn’t imagine anything feeling better. 

Then he moved.

He moved slowly and shallowly, pulling back barely an inch and then pushing forward again. Again the stretch of him burned, but the friction of his hard cock gliding over her pulsing core walls made fire explode in her body. She wanted more, she wanted him harder, deeper.

He moved slightly again, easing her body open carefully, slowly carving a path for more vigorous movements as he slid out further every time. Until he was pulling out all but the tip before rocking his hips forward languidly. He gritted his teeth against his need to slam into her, trying desperately not to hurt her. 

But thrust by thrust, Y/N was losing any need for gentleness. It stung a bit, but she didn’t care, she needed him to ram into her body, she needed to feel him so deep, he’d leave an imprint, brand her, mark her. 

“Please, Dean. H-h-harder.” She gasped out. “Please!” She begged.

Following her urging he pulled out almost completely and then slammed himself back into her so deep she felt as though he was breaking her in half. But still she didn’t care. She wanted him to break her.

“Dean!” She shouted, her throat raw and scratchy, “Break me open!” She cried, half insane from her unfulfilled desire. But Dean heard the desperation in her tone, and knew it matched his own. So, he began to jackhammer his cock into her hot, dripping, body, watching her closely as her climax built and then exploded across her face. Her nails dug hard into his sides where she gripped him, and he shouted out his pain and pleasure, as he continued to ram into her with abandon. 

He was vaguely aware that she came again as he pounded into her body one last time, spurting into her, hot and thick. It felt like his orgasm wouldn’t end. He just kept shuddering and thrusting, pumping more and more ropes and of cum into her tight, clenching heat.

Finally his muscles gave way and he landed heavily on top of her. He meant to move off of her, but before he could muster the energy, she wrapped her legs tighter around his thighs, and her arms around his torso, keeping him where he was - head pillowed on her breast, listening to her hammering heart slow down in sync with his own. 

They laid that way for a long time, basking in the aftermath. Finally Dean worried he was crushing her, so he very reluctantly rolled off of her and out of her body. Y/N made a incoherent complaint that ended when he pulled her across his chest. They both dozed for a while, replete and more at peace than either of them could ever remember feeling.

Eventually they roused, Y/N kissing Dean’s chest as she drifted in and out of consciousness before finding his nipple and licking. Dean woke fully and growled, so Y/N woke too, and began to nibble his skin. And they began again.

They turned to each other two more times in the night. The last time, Y/N was too sore to take Dean inside again, so he just feasted on her instead, licking her soothingly, and undulating his tongue against the abused entrance to her body, dulling the throbbing there while still increasing her pleasure until she came on his tongue. 

Then he taught her how to take him into her mouth, how to suck him tightly, and how to pleasure him with her tongue. As his climax crested, he tried to pull away so he wouldn’t explode in her mouth, but Y/N wouldn’t let him, trying to swallow him down completely. She came close, licking her lips and scooping up what slid down her chin.

The whole night was spent in intervals of fierce rapture and idyllic tranquility. It was the most beautiful and soul-fulfilling thing that had ever happened to either of them. 

When they eventually fell asleep for good, they slept straight through until one o’clock in the afternoon. Dean woke up first, a delicious kind of ache in his muscles causing him to stretch long, and groan deep, rousing Y/N with his movements. Being unaccustomed to such vigorous night time activities, her body ached more, and her pussy was raw and tender. She hissed as Dean cupped a hand over her gently. 

Contrition shone in his eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m gonna go run you a bath, and we’re gonna make that feel better.” Y/N nodded, but pulled his mouth down to hers for a long, passionate kiss. 

They were gasping as she pulled away and grinned at him. “It was worth every owie.”

Dean grinned back and then began to get up, but Y/N sat up and pulled him back down beside her. She smiled at him, a little shy, but beaming. 

“Dean, I meant every word I said last night. And it was an absolutely perfect first time, I couldn’t have asked for anything more incredible.”

Dean smiled back and brushed his lips across hers. “Me too, sweetheart, me too.”

Y/N giggled lightly. “It was your first time too?” She said, pretending astonishment.

Dean chuckled, and then shook his head, his face becoming more serious. “It was actually.”

Y/N frowned at him, still smiling. “What?” she asked in confusion.

Dean looked down at his lap for a moment before looking back into her eyes. “It was the first time I’ve ever slept with someone…someone I love.” He blushed slightly, and Y/N couldn’t believe what she was seeing; her confident, sexy hunter looked shy and unsure for once. 

He cleared his throat. “First time I was with someone that I plan on making a life with.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly how this goes now.”

Y/N smiled widely and climbed into his lap to wrap her arms around his neck. “Well, looks like we have tons of firsts to explore together then.” She kissed him softly and then smiled against his lips.

“First time for everything, after all.”

@lyarr24

The End

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@deans-spinster-witch

@impalaslytherin

@maggiegirl17

@akshi8278

@candy-coated-misery0731

@deanswaywardgirl

@slytherinlyn314

@globetrotter28

@jensensgirl

@perpetualabsurdity

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@djs8891

@muhahaha303

@kayyay1219

@emily-winchester

@recoveringpastaaddict

@maximumkillshot

@mimaria420

@sacriceria

@envyaurora95

@lacilou

@jc-winchester

@spnwoman

@mimi-luvzyu

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only.

@carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

@alexxavicry

@nancymcl

@spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@maliburenee

@supernatural4life2022

@spn730015

@kickingitwithkirk

@waywardbaby

@foxyjwls007

@deanwanddamons

@deandreamernp

@deanwithscissors

@myloversgone

@snowlovespie

@leigh70

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@charred-angelwings

@hopefuldreamers-world

@jensensgotyoudean

@thoughts-and-funnies

@magssteenkamp

@princessmisery666

@eevvvaa

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

@courtn92

@avanatural

@ellie-andthemachine

@this-is-me19

@roseblue373

@katbratsupernaturalwhore

@fanfic-n-tabulous

[iamfina5]

The Kinslayer Couple

Summary: The ground falls out from beneath Valaena Velaryon’s feet within the span of a week. The week begins with the death of her grandsire, making her mother queen and her Princess of Dragonstone. It ends with the death of her brother Lucerys at the hands of her husband, Aemond Targaryen. From there, Valaena embarks on a perilous journey to win a war against her own kin, forced to discern who are friends and who are foes on both sides of the conflict.

Chapter Sixteen: Blond-Headed Babe

First  Prev/Next

135 A.C.

A week past Aemond’s departure from King’s Landing, word arrives that the city has fallen to the Blacks. He takes the news with considerable poise, only slashing through one wall of his tent. Echoing him, Vhagar torches a clump of trees.

Once his initial fury has burnt away, his scorching blood cooling to a more febrile temperature, dread and shame set in. He had left his family in King’s Landing, taking with him the vast majority of their men and their only dragon, and now, they are all surely dead. Only Daeron, stuck in the Reach, and Helaena and her children, nowhere to be found, are left, and they will undoubtedly condemn him for this loss. All this for Harrenhal, which is still more than a week’s journey along the Kingsroad from him. There, he suspects a battle far bloodier than he had originally expected awaits him, the Blacks evidently aware of his plans.

Am I king, he wonders, his head spinning. With Aegon’s children still missing, he remains the Prince of Dragonstone, though if Aegon has perished, he is as good as king. There will be no definitive declaration until a crown might be placed on his head, but having a son of his own and being Aegon’s eldest brother, it is terribly unlikely that he would be passed over for Daeron. He still carries the mantle of Lord Protector of the Realm, so he might already possess the crown had he not left it in King’s Landing at Aegon’s request. He hardly spares a thought for it now, however.

His breath caught in his throat, he asks the squire who holds the raven’s message, “How did—Aegon and—” His voice dies out, so restless for the answer is he that he cannot form a single other thought as he anticipates it.

The man shakes his head. “The king is alive, my prince. When your half-sister took the Red Keep, her men found his bedchamber deserted.”

Unspeakably relieved, Aemond heaves a great sigh. Aegon may be the least favorite of his brothers, but he is still among Aemond’s closest kin, and he shudders to think of a life without him. Aegon’s good fortune also lends Aemond hope as to their mother’s fate. Surely, Aegon and Alicent had absconded from the Red Keep together, and hopefully, he thinks fleetingly, they had taken with them the crown of Aegon the Dragon.

“Where have they gone? Do they mean to retreat to Oldtown,” he inquires. Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre the Golden, still languishes near Rook’s Rest, so perhaps they intend to venture there first.

Looking the missive over again, the man reports, “I do not know, my prince. When His Grace your brother escaped—”

Aemond holds up a finger, halting the man’s speech. Suspicion prompts him to ask, “He escaped? He—Who was with him?”

Nervously, the man takes a step back. “I do not know, my prince. The letter, all it says—”

Weary of conferring with the squire, Aemond tears the missive from his hands. His eye scours the top of the letter.

King’s Landing and the Red Keep have fallen to Princess Rhaenyra. By the grace of the gods, His Grace the King Aegon managed to escape her clutches. The Princess’s men found his bedchamber empty when they stormed the royal apartments. Alas, the Dowager Queen Alicent and her father Ser Otto Hightower were forced to surrender. Her Grace the dowager queen is left as her step-daughter’s prisoner, and her father suffered a worse fate. His head is mounted on the castle walls, alongside those of Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Rosby, Lord Stokeworth, and several others.

Aemond stops reading, digesting that which he has learnt thus far. For whatever reason, Rhaenyra has spared his mother. This alone, though deeply perplexing, is an incredible solace. For Rhaenyra to have taken King’s Landing—while a devastating defeat—without Alicent or Aegon losing their lives in the process, is nothing short of a miracle.

Otto is another story. Appreciating that the man is gone and Aemond will never see or speak to him again, he feels a spark of mournful sorrow, though not for long. Ever since he learnt that Otto long held plans to assassinate Valaena, as well as that he had gone ahead with his plot for the Battle of the Gullet despite Aemond’s fervent disavowal of it, he had lost his love for the man. Otto Hightower might have been his grandsire, but Aemond suspects he has only ever been a pawn in the man’s obscure game, and he has tired of playing it.

Secure in the knowledge that his mother and Aegon are alive and presumably well, Aemond reads on.

The Princess has installed considerable defenses. The gold cloaks have flocked to her, and her dragon Syrax dwells within the outer ward of the Red Keep. Ser Addam Velaryon guards the Dragonpit, where his dragon Seasmoke resides, as well as the other Black dragons, Veraxes, Meleys, Vermithor, Silverwing, Sheepstealer, and Caraxes.

The last word on the page has Aemond’s rage returning to him in full force. Daemon has abandoned Harrenhal, he realizes. Rather than a fearsome battle, there is no one to face Aemond in the old castle. His uncle clearly thinks nothing of him, to the point that he would rather hand the most impressive seat in the riverlands over to him than do him the courtesy of facing him on his dragon.

Furious, Aemond’s first instinct is to continue onward to Harrenhal and sack the ruin, dispatching any of the men that Daemon might have left behind, or mayhaps scorching the riverlands as a whole atop Vhagar. As he continues to fume as to the neglected holdfast awaiting him, however, his anger soon dispels.

There is another neglected holdfast out there, one that contains a far greater treasure than any Strong prize that Harrenhal may house. Dragonstone stands to the east, bereft of all its capable dragons. To his count, there are ten dragons left to the Blacks following the Battle of the Gullet. The eight adults gather in King’s Landing. Tyraxes is off with Joffrey, wherever that may be. Moondancer still resides on Dragonstone with Baela, but the she-dragon is yet too small to bear his cousin’s weight.

Casting the letter onto a firepit, Aemond declares, “This host is to reverse and join its western brother, and it shall do so without me.” Picking up his sword, he strides from the tent and moves swiftly toward Vhagar.

Harried, the squire hurries after him. “What of Harrenhal, my prince?”

Darkly, he asserts, “If Daemon does not want Harrenhal, neither do I.”

Approaching his dragon, he leaves the man behind. Vhagar appears irritable at the prospect of rising when she has only just settled down after a long day of flying, but Aemond is inflexible, urging her up from the ground despite her rumbling protests. Together, they take to the air, and without a host of four-thousand men-at-arms with a long baggage train, they soon arrive at a similar camp near Acorn Hall.

The young Lord Roland Reyne meets him at the edge of the encampment. Before the man can speak a word in greeting, he orders, “Show me to Lord Lannister.”

“Lord Jason is dead, my prince,” reports Roland. Aemond stops in his tracks. A question must sit on his face, as Roland soon expands, “He was slain on the Red Fork.”

The Lannister host having set out so recently, Aemond is displeased in hearing that it has already lost its foremost commander. Nevertheless, he knows the Lannisters’ leal lords will carry on in his stead. “Very well. Where is Tarbeck?” Roland winces. Incredulous, Aemond deadpans, “You jest.”

“A hedge knight slew him some days past.” He points to a large tent, beside which rests an elaborate litter. “Lord Lefford leads us now.”

Sighing, Aemond makes his way over to the commander’s tent. Two soldiers pull back the tarpaulin for him as he approaches, and he and Roland march inside. Various lords and knights crowd around a table strewn with maps and battle plans. Nearby, Lord Humfrey Lefford reclines in a low chair, his aged body swathed in bandages and leaking blood and pus.

Aemond just barely represses a grimace. “Lord Lefford.” He nods shortly to the other highborn men in the room, and they return the gesture.

“My prince.” Humfrey tries in vain to rise from his seat, but after a full ten seconds of struggle, Aemond waves him off. “This is a welcome surprise.”

Aemond raises his chin. “I have decided that the advance on Harrenhal is no more. I require a thousand men from you so that I might take Dragonstone.” When he visited Dragonstone with Valaena two years past, the castle had hosted thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three-hundred men-at-arms. Should he turn up with a thousand men, he is confident that Criston will surrender Dragonstone to him without bloodshed, leaving less for Valaena to complain about when she makes her return to the castle.

Humfrey appears hesitant. “My prince, we have suffered many losses. I fear I cannot afford to lend you the men you need and continue to defend your brother’s claim.”

“My own host numbers four-thousand strong. I have ordered them to join you here,” he informs Humfrey, whose face clears in hearing so.

“In that case,” begins Humfrey, though he trails off as he thinks on the matter.

Zealously, Roland proffers, “It would be an honor for myself and mine house to join you in your quest, my prince. I have three-hundred-fifty men under my command, thirty of whom are knights and squires.”

Appreciative, Aemond takes the offer. With three-hundred-fifty men and Vhagar, he could take Dragonstone, though not without bloodshed, which he is loath to risk. As of now, Dragonstone is Valaena’s domain, and her siblings and their child reside there. After what transpired with Lucerys, he wishes neither to cause her anymore grief, nor incur any more rancor from her. He has enough to make up for already.

He looks back to Humfrey, who, thankfully, has come up with a proposal of his own. He addresses Lord Swyft. “Alastor, what say you? You’ve enough men to make up the difference.”

Alastor, who matches Humfrey in years but is far haler, contemplates the proposition. Aemond directs a menacing stare at the old man, hoping to incite his obedience, but he hardly seems swayed. Notwithstanding that, his agreement comes after a moment, and Aemond has the men he needs.

Nodding succinctly, he says, “Each man shall have his own horse and carry his own luggage. We will ride fast and arrive at Dragonstone before next week’s end. We leave at dawn.”

Keep Reading

[dameronology]

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 2

part two: a comprehensive study of how far you can push a cowboy before he breaks

summary: you continue to try and break jack’s ego, but nothing seems to be working - especially when you have to play a married couple, and his observant tendencies begin to break your confident facade instead 

song for this chapter: my friend by hayley williams

ok so this wasn’t gonna be out until december 1st but someone who donated to my ko-fi asked for part 2 and...i couldn’t resist. this also touches a little more on the reader + eggsy’s relationship and it’s background. enjoy!

- jamie

series masterlist

You had to give to the the Statesmen - the apartment they had leased you was fucking nice. 

It struck the balance between modern and homely, complete with a bath tub big enough for the whole damn agency and a bed to match. You knew that they had money, but not this much. The Kingsmen were wealthy but the Statesman put them to shame. It was a lifestyle you were happy to get used to, especially on the first morning. You’d woken up not long after 6AM - your body was still working on British time, after all - when it was still dark outside. The navy blue of the sky was pouring through the large windows, and paired with the remaining city lights, it lit up the bedroom in a cerulean glow. 

Blinking under the distant blue smoulder, you rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed. The bedroom itself was about the same size as your apartment back home and man, it was something you could have easily gotten used to. A bathtub the size of a swimming pool? Don’t mind if I do. A bed big enough to roll to your heart's content and not fall out? Fuck yeah. It made you wonder how rich some of your new colleagues were. You had noticed that Tequila drove an unusually expensive sports car. 

You frowned when you noticed that there was something heavy sprawled across your feet. It wasn’t necessarily in the bed, but rather strewn across the duvet. You rolled your eyes, letting out a sigh. 

‘Fuck’s sake, Eggsy!’ you raised your leg, kicking him front under the covers. ‘Why the bloody hell are you in here?’

Your friend suddenly jumped awake, almost falling off the mattress as you kicked him again. ‘Ow! Ribs!’

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘You haven’t tried to share a bed with me since we were ten!’ You tossed a pillow at him. ‘So I’ll ask again - why the bloody hell are you in here?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ He grumbled. 

Your frown softened, and you let out a sigh. ‘Have you been having nightmares about Galahad again? Because Merlin said he was making strides towards getting better-’

‘- That day from the church is still ingrained in my head.’ Eggsy cut you off, tucking his knees into his chest and under his chin. ‘It keeps playing over and over.’

It was something you sympathised with. Working as a Kingsman brought good days and bad days, but the latter would stick in your mind a thousand times more. You’d learnt to live with it by that point but then again, you were easier at separating your emotions from your professional life. You had a good rapport with your colleagues - minus the doofus at the foot of your bed, who might as well have been an annoying brother - but you tried not to become attached. It only made it harder when you lost them, 

‘Time, Eggsy.’ You leant over the bed to give his arm a squeeze. ‘You need time.’

‘It’s been almost a year-’

‘- recovery isn’t a race.’ You firmly interrupted. ‘And healing isn’t linear, for you or for Gala - for Harry.’ 

You’d become so accustomed to codenames that they felt personal. Harry was Galahad, and Amish was Merlin. You’d never called Roxy anything other than Lancelot. It just didn’t feel right. 

‘I hate when you make sense-’

Eggy’s rumbling was cut off by the sound of the front door and the fall of footsteps. You immediately leapt out of bed, tearing your gun from the bedside table. Pointing it out in front of you, you slowly kicked open the door and crept out in the hallway, weapon leading the way. 

‘Morning sunshine-’ Whiskey stopped in his tracks when he saw the pistol aimed in his direction. ‘Well that ain’t a very warm welcome is it, Percy?’

‘Percy?’ The words rolled off of your tongue with a tone of disbelief. Admittedly, the new nickname shouldn’t have been your first concern when you were a) wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas and b) pointing a gun at your new colleague, but priorities didn’t apply in this situation.

‘Short for Percival!’ Eggsy called from the bedroom.

‘Oh, I do apologise.’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Was I interrupting something-’

‘- Gross!’ You exclaimed. ‘No!’

‘Hey!’ Another call from the bedroom. ‘You would be lucky-’

You cut your friend off by slamming the bedroom door. ‘What do you want, Whiskey? It’s six in the fucking morning.’

‘And yet you’re up and pointing a gun at my head.’ The cowboy reasoned, complete with a small shrug. ‘Want to put the weapon down, pretty lady?’

Growling at the use of another nickname, you threw the gun onto one of the side-tables. That was when you realised you’d sprinted out the bedroom in cartoon pajamas, only to come face-to-face with Whiskey, who was in his usual leather jacket and hat. Frankly, you should have slapped it right off his head. That would have taught him to come bursting into your apartment at the crack of dawn. 

‘Maybe knock next time?’ You suggested, stalking through to the kitchen. ‘Especially considering that it’s not even light outside. A little bit predatorial, don’t you think?’

‘If you’d checked the schedule I emailed you, you would know that we have to be in the field in forty-five minutes.’ Jack shot back, leaning against the counter. ‘You should check your phone more often. I thought that most of your generation had their cell-phones glued to their hands.’

‘Okay, grandad.’ You snorted. His dark eyes followed you as you darted around the kitchen, piling together a cup of coffee on autopilot. ‘What’re we doing in the field?’

‘Recon.’ He said. ‘One of Calahan’s contacts has been spotted working a jewellery stand down at 30 Rock.’

‘Okay, give me thirty minutes.’ You tossed a piece of bread into the toaster.

‘Dress...touristy.’ 

--

‘That is not touristy.’

Usually, Jack Daniels would have been the last person to object to a woman wearing a dress and heels, but you were supposed to be blending in with crowds, not standing out. He clearly hadn’t got the memo that you didn’t do casual - not in a professional sense, at least. In some way, you were matching, because you too were wearing a leather jacket. It was a staple in your wardrobe. 

‘Would you rather I have stayed in the turtle pajamas?’ You glanced across the table at him, thinning your eyes. 

‘Tourists don’t wear Christian Louboutins.’ The cowboy muttered. 

‘I wear Christian Louboutins.’ You shot back. ‘But points for recognizing the brand.’ 

‘Here.’ Jack swiped a t-shirt off of a cart as they passed by, thrusting a fifty in the vendor’s hand. ‘Wear this.’ 

He shoved a t-shirt into your hand; it was about ten sizes too big for you with ‘I ❤️  NY’ blazoned across the front. For a minute, you thought he was kidding, but Jack’s serious expression barely faltered. You tried to counter the look, quirking your brow as if to say yeah, good one. 

‘I’m serious, Agent. We can’t blow our cover.’ 

‘What cover?’ You frowned. ‘You never said anything about a cover.’ 

‘Our guy works for a jewelry vendor.’ Jack flashed a grin at you, before pulling a pair of glasses out of his pocket. ‘We need to get inside and get footage of the shop for the agents coming in tonight. These babies will live stream it right back to Ginger HQ.’

‘So I have to go jewelry shopping?’ 

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘We are going ring shopping, Mrs Daniels.’ 

‘You’re not serious.’ Your eyebrows shot up. 

‘I think we would make a very attractive couple.’ He retorted. ‘A bright-eyed Brit falling in love with a cowboy, their feelings for each other spanning the Pacific-’

‘- Atlantic-’

‘- ocean.’ 

‘Whatever.’ You pulled off your jacket, yanking the t-shirt from his hands and tugging it over your head. The shirt ended up being longer than your dress, and with your tights and heels it worked in a way that it definitely shouldn’t have. ‘Let’s just get this over and done with. I’m tired.’

‘Incidentally, that’s something you would also say if you were my wife.’

You responded again with a groan, elongating it slightly when Jack wound an arm around your waist, as though somebody had just yelled action! 

How hard could it be? You’d been undercover as part of a couple before - admittedly, that had been with people you’d already had a rapport with, and ones who didn’t drive you up the wall as much as Whiskey. Eggsy was a close call, but having been your best friend for the better part of twenty years, it was easy to convince people you were a real couple. It had been a little awkward with Merlin and you had almost flat out refused to do it with Galahad, but there hadn’t been so much at risk then. If this recon went well, it could lead to leaps and strides in your bigger mission. Finding Calahan, proving yourself worthy of a promotion and eventual world domination (in a hero kinda way). 

‘Let’s go over the fine details.’ You murmured to him, glancing around as you entered the shopping strip inside 30 Rock. ‘Where did we meet?’

‘London. I was on a business trip.’ Whiskey quickly replied. ‘How did I propose?’

‘In front of the Eiffel Tower.’ You said. ‘And where do we live now?’

‘Kentucky, but we’re in New York because we plan on getting married here.’ He said. ‘You ready?’

‘Let’s go.’ You linked your arms with his, plastering on a fake grin as you entered the jewelry store.  ‘My glasses are recording this straight back to HQ.’

‘Hey there, cowboy!’ Calahan’s contact greeted you immediately. He wasn’t what you’d expected - the man was decked out in a suit and tie, complete with a dodgy looking spray tan and teeth so white they could probably reflect the fucking sun. ‘And pretty lady.’

It had been bad enough when Whiskey called you that. But this guy? Gross - and Jack couldn’t help but notice how you tensed up at the nickname. 

‘Watch it, pal.’ Jack joked. ‘That’s my fiancee you’re talking to.’

‘And I assume that’s what brings you in today?’ He flashed a grin at you. ‘I couldn’t help but notice she doesn’t have a ring.’

‘See if you can move closer to the case by the fire exit.’ Ginger’s voice came over your earpiece. 

‘These ones here look pretty!’ You suddenly exclaimed, grabbing Jack by the arm and yanking him in the direction that Ginger had requested. The cowboy let out a surprised yelp as you did, stumbling slightly as you dragged him across the store. 

‘Perfect. Thank you.’ She quietly said over the line. 

‘Any in particular catch your eye, Miss…’

‘It will be Mrs Jones when we get married.’ You plastered on the biggest shit-eating grin that you could muster. ‘And that one in the top corner is very pretty.’

‘That’s one of our most expensive rings.’ The jeweler’s grin was bigger than yours. ‘Is your event going to be as big? You know...price wise?’

‘Oh yeah!’ You chimed in, barely giving Jack a chance to think. ‘We’re renting out the Plaza Hotel. I’m wearing a vintage Emanuel dress inspired by the Princess of Wales and our honeymoon is three weeks in the Bahamas.’

You just had to ramble for a little bit longer whilst Jack looked around to get the footage. Luckily, it was something you were good at. You could talk somebody’s ear off if you had to and bullshit to the next degree; it had saved your ass on missions more times than you’d care to admit. If you ever retired from the Kingsman, you probably had a promising career as an actress. 

‘All this before you’ve chosen a ring?’ He raised his eyebrows at you. You’d been quick on your feet - so much so that you’d tripped and fallen. 

‘My baby’s been planning this thing since was a little girl.’ Whiskey quickly stepped in. ‘And it’s my job to make sure she gets it.’

‘He’s a lawyer.’ You went up on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek. ‘I’m marrying good.’

‘Oh!’ The jeweler glanced between the two of you. ‘This makes more sense now.’

‘Right, we’ve got enough footage.’ Merlin said. ‘You two can get the bloody hell out of there before I puke.’

After making an appointment to return the following day - which neither of you planned on going to, obviously - Jack took your hand and led you out the store. To keep up appearances, you kept your fingers intertwined as you walked back through the shopping mall. The fact you had managed to play a believable couple on such short notice was almost astounding. 

‘Oh my god.’ You murmured, glancing over your shoulder as you exited the mall and turned the corner. You pulled your hand back from Jack’s, stifling a laugh. ‘I can’t believe we actually managed to do it.’

‘Why are you so shocked?’ Whiskey peered down at you, a grin playing on his lips. ‘Like I said - we would make a very attractive couple, sugar.’

‘In your dreams, Daniels.’ You shot back. ‘But if I ever do end up in a relationship like that? Shoot me. I beg you.’

You kept strolling together, slowly heading for the Statesman headquarters - but neither of you were in a rush. Whatever the hell that was had just broken the initial tension between you, and you were actually enjoying one another’s company for the moment. 

‘What’s wrong with it?’ He asked. ‘Ain’t nothing bad about a man looking after his woman.’

‘That’s so outdated.’ You groaned. 

‘It’s not!’ Jack protested. ‘A man looks after his girl and his girl looks after him. Or a husband and husband, or wife and wife-’

‘- how progressive of you.’ You cut him off, rolling your eyes. ‘I don’t rely on anyone. Ever. I look after myself.’

It was probably a cultural difference. Jack had grown up in the south, in a household where his dad worked and his mum looked after the house. It had been the same with his late wife; had things not gone the way they had, he’d probably be the breadwinner whilst she stayed home with the kids. You, meanwhile, had grown up in a working class area of London where a majority of the households were headed by women - and most of the time, single women. If there was some unheard of future where you got married and had kids, like hell would you give up your career. Your job was your baby. 

‘We all need people to look after us sometimes.’ Jack nudged you with his elbow.

You shook your head. ‘Not me.’

‘Well you sound like a real heart-breaker, Miss Independent.’ 

‘It’s my speciality.’ 

--

Once you’d handed over the footage from your glasses to Ginger, you and Whiskey headed to the office. There was a comfortable silence between you - pretending to be a married couple had been one hell of an ice breaker. At least it was proof that you and Jack could work well together. You’d stayed on the same page for the entirety of your little improv love story, and it meant your first mission, however minor, had been a success. If working with him was going to like that for the rest of your time in New York, you might have been able to tolerate him and his ridiculous Southern drawl. 

(Not to mention the nicknames. It left you wondering if Jack had forgotten your actual name and was too afraid to ask.) 

Eggsy was waiting for you in the lobby outside the lift. He was leant against the wall, feet crossed in front of him as he tapped away on his phone. A frown came over your face when you realised that he had a bag beside him. He was scheduled to stay in the city with you until at least the following weekend. You had plans for a few days time to try and use your contacts to sneak into a filming of Saturday Night Live. 

‘Hey!’ Your best friend brightly greeted you. ‘Guess what? Tilde called!’

‘That’s great!’ You forced a smile. ‘So you’re heading back to London tonight?’

‘Yeah.’ His grin didn’t falter. ‘I figured since you two played a married couple successfully, you didn’t need me to stick around to babysit you and make sure you didn’t eat him alive.’

‘It’s still early days.’ You reasoned. ‘Are you sure you don’t wanna stay a couple more days? Adam Driver’s the guest on SNL this weekend.’

‘I gotta get back and fix things, man.’ Eggsy said. ‘I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.’

‘Right, of course.’ You held your arms out to him. 

He stepped forward and wrapped his own around you, lifting you off the ground and giving you a tight squeeze. If you had to choose one of your favourite things about Eggsy, it would have to be his hugs. The only reason you’d stopped calling him Hugsy was because he’d threatened to take them away entirely. They were far and few, usually when you were going to spend time apart, but you always appreciated them. 

‘I’ll see you in a few weeks, tops.’ He said, placing you back on the ground. ‘And I promise we’ll get into SNL then.’

‘You better.’ You poked his chest. ‘I’ll miss you, Egghead.’

‘I’ll miss you more.’

You let out a tiny sigh as Eggsy picked up his bags and headed for the lift. You weren’t mad at him for going home early - just disappointed. And not at him, just at the situation, It had been a long time since you’d got to properly spend time together outside of work. Above all, however, you knew you had to respect his relationship. What kind of friend would you be to stand in the way of him and love? 

Once he was out of sight, you regathered yourself and headed to the office. Jack was already inside, his feet propped up on the desk and a glass of his namesake whiskey in hand. It was the first time he’d taken off his hat in front of you, and his hair was a little ruffled from it. 

‘Don’t need anyone my ass’ was the greeting he offered you. 

‘What?’ You furrowed your brow. 

Jack pushed his feet back to the floor, handing you your own glass of...well, Jack.  ‘I saw the way you looked at your boy, Percy.’

‘I told you before!’ You snatched the glass from his hand, dropping into your chair. ‘Eggsy is not my boyfriend.’

‘Doesn’t have to be’.’ He shrugged. ‘You looked like you were losing your brother. Tweedle Dum ain’t nothing without Tweedle Dee.’ 

Eggsy was your brother, by all intents and purposes. Heck, he might as well have been your twin. Your fathers had been best friends when they were in Kingsman, and you and him were reflections of that. You’d gone through every high and low of your teenage years together, and eventually adulthood. As previously established, he often came to you and he often needed you, but you hated to consider how it might have gone the other way. He was the only exception to your needing no one rule. And, considering that not even your own mother had made the cut, it was actually quite complimentary. 

‘I don’t need Eggsy.’ You insisted. 

‘How long have you known each other?’ Jack ignored your statement, instead posing a question. ‘Since school?’

‘No. He’s six months older than me, so...my whole life.’

‘I rest my case.’

‘You know nothing, Whiskey!’ You exclaimed. ‘You can’t make massive assumptions about me when you’ve known me for two days.’

‘I’ve met a woman like you before.’ He replied. He pondered for a moment, and his eyes were almost...vacant. ‘She pretended she didn’t need a damn person either, but she did.’

‘And who was that?’ You thinned your eyes at me. ‘Because I can’t think of a single person who I need.’ 

‘She needed me.’ He casually shrugged. ‘And I needed her.’

‘Right. Naturally.’ You murmured. ‘It’s too early for this, Whiskey.’

‘Got too deep for you, Tea?’

‘The hell did you just call me?’

‘Tea.’ He offered you a shit eat grin. ‘Get it? Because you’re British-’

‘- this face isn’t because I didn’t get it.’ You cut him off. ‘And on that note, I am done here. I shall be working from home this evening and possibly for the rest of eternity.’ 

Swiping your glass up, you poured the entirety of its contents down your throat in one swig, before slamming it back on the table. The whiskey burnt for a split second, but it felt good - and you didn’t need to be skidding down that slippery slope at two in the afternoon. Gathering up your bag, you swung it over your shoulder and stood up. 

‘Oh, c’mon!’ Jack protested. ‘We were just starting to get along, sugar!’

‘We were!’ You shot back, pausing when you were half-way out the door. ‘Then you started therapising me.’

He grinned at you. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re contractually obliged!’

‘Fuuuck off!’ 

[horansqueen]

New Angel - Chapter 8

story masterlist [x]

chapter 1  ☆ chapter 2  ☆ chapter 3  ☆ chapter 4  ☆ chapter 5  ☆ chapter 6  ☆ chapter 7

NOTES

☆ written from Niall’s pov ☆ i don’t proofread, I never do, I hate it. ☆ AU comedy/fluff/smut/romance ☆ 2.7k ☆ i accept requests and ideas for this story, so message me in my inbox! ☆ if you want to be notified when this story is updated (or be taken off the update list) CLICK HERE

NIALL

"Your friends are nice."

I turned my head to look at Summer, laying next to me and my lips curled slightly on the left. Despite what happened between Millie and Louis, we still had a lot of fun together. It was something that always impressed me when it came to Millie and I had just realized it at that moment. I thought she was someone who didn't care much about anything but the truth was, she was just extremely good at hiding it. It was in the tone of her voice, in the fraction of a second when she hesitated, in the quick glances she'd send and in the way she played with the mood ring on her middle finger. I had never noticed that before, and I wondered if it was because I never cared to look or just because it never happened. Millie and Louis used to be happy together, even if they were not officially a couple, but in the span of a few weeks, everything had changed and somehow, it reminded me of my own relationship with Grace.

I thought it would last forever and reality had hit me so hard. I could see all the reactions and feelings I had been through in the weeks after Grace left through Millie's eyes, even if she was clearly better than me at hiding it. I knew I was probably the only one who noticed it but it didn't matter. I knew, and even if I wanted to take that pain away from her, I knew it was impossible, or at least, I had no idea how.

"Yea, they're great." I admitted with a fond smile. "I don't know what I'd do without them."

I turned on my side to face Summer who had her arms crossed on her chest, her naked breasts hidden by the sheets of my bed. I held my head with my hand, my upper arm against the mattress and sighed low. It was amazing to have someone to have sex with, and also someone who would just lay in bed with me for a while. We never really talked about anything deep or serious, but Summer was funny and sweet and it's definitely what I needed. I had been in the same relationship for a while and now I just wanted to have fun. I knew I wouldn't be able to get into a new romantic relationship before I'd stop thinking about Grace multiple times a day, or before I compared everything to her, or wondered what she would have said or how things would be if I was with her instead. I also knew it would take time, because that's what everyone says, right? Healing takes time.

"And what would you do without me?" she asked, her lips curling right before mine did too.

"Use my hand. And it would be a shame!" I joked, making her chuckle.

"A shame uh?"

"Oh yea," I insisted, shaking my head slightly and bringing my hand to the sheets, pulling on them a bit, trying to expose her. "Because that body is incredible darling."

She brought her shoulders up and closer to her face holding the sheets up. I gave up and chuckled again but when I realized how uncomfortable she was, I lost my smile.

"Sorry, I didn't want to upset you."

"No no, it's alright." she pointed out in a soft tone, sending me a fake smile. "So, Niall, tell me about your ex girlfriend."

My eyebrows raised up and I moved my head back slightly as my eyes left hers. I was surprised by her question, it was really something I didn't expect and I was not sure talking about my ex girlfriend with my current fuck buddy was a good idea.

"Uhm, there's not much to say." I admitted, bringing my hand up to scratch the back of my head. "I mean, I guess everything started very quickly between us. Sparkles and all that. And when it stopped, I didn't expect it at all."

"How is she like?"

"Pretty. Smart. She knows what she wants and what she's worth. Cheeky." I enumerated, making me realize that perhaps, Millie was right about my 'type' of girl. "She.. liked to be the center of attention. She's the kind of girl who needs all the eyes on her when she enters a room. And she gets what she wants."

"Okay, so, she's pretty much my opposite."

I thought she'd laugh but I finally looked down at Summer and I could see worries in her eyes. I knew that talking about Grace was a bad idea, and I didn't want Summer to compare herself to hers, even if secretly, I did it, too.

"Why do you say it like it's a bad thing?" I asked gently, making her raise her eyebrows. "It's not a competition, you know. She's not here. You are."

Her eyes ran on my face quickly and she finally sent me a small smile and nodded.

"Do you think you're ready to meet my friends now?"

I smiled more, happy that she decided to talk about something else, and slowly nodded. "Yea, why not?"

Her face illuminated and she licked her lips. "Great! So, tomorrow, 6pm, my place?"

"Alright." I bent down and kissed her lips gently. "What are we gonna tell them? I mean, did you tell them we were just friends or... did we also tell them we have sex?"

"No, I just... I said we were friends."

I was surprised her friends didn't ask more questions. After all, we had met in a bar, she had sent one of them my phone number and my address and we had ended up at my apartment. This isn't really how you make new friends. Still, Summer had mentioned she was not the kind of girl who had sex on the first night and her friends probably knew that.

Anyway, I didn't want to rush things and it was better this way. If Summer didn't want to tell her friend she was in a friends with benefits relationship with me, it was her business. Besides, we had made it clear we were not exclusive, which meant there was definitely no strings attached, at least for now.

"Okay, that works for me."

-----

When I got at Summer's apartment and walked in, I heard laughs coming from afar. We walked towards them and I couldn't help but let my eyes travel on Summer. Her hair was down, for once, slightly wavy and falling on her back. She was wearing a simple tank top and a pair of blue jeans but it made me want to get on top of her immediately.

"Okay so everyone, this is Niall." Summer said shyly, standing next to me. "Niall, this is Meredith, Kate, Lena and Andrew."

They all got up and walked closer to kiss my cheeks and we finally sat at the table together. Dinner went by really fast and we laughed all together. Meredith and Lena were funny and talkative, and reminded me a lot of Summer. I didn't know how to react to Kate's way with me, though. She was looking at me in a weird way and I could swear that at some point, I felt one of her foot slide on my leg under the table. I quickly brought my leg away but it's the small smile she sent me right after that made me feel bad. I knew Summer had mentioned we were just friends, but to have one of her friends flirt with me that way seemed uncalled for and I was not sure how to react. Andrew seemed to study me a lot and for some reason, I felt like he was trying to be funnier and more interesting than I was and I felt completely stupid when, after a few hours, I noticed how he was looking at Summer.

I thought about what had happened between Louis and Millie the day before and realized that tonight was just as awkward, if not more. We finally sat together in the living room with a glass of wine and I realized most of them were getting tipsy, which probably was not the best idea.

"Okay so Niall, d'you work?"

"Uhm, yea. I'm a cook, actually. Part time." I nodded, shrugging a shoulder. "And I give guitar lessons."

"Oh really? I was just thinking I wanted to learn an instrument."

My eyes found Kate's and I raised my eyebrows, not answering her smile. I knew she was important for Summer and that she thought we were only friends, but I didn't like the way she was talking to me and I was certainly not going to flirt back with her.

"I already have enough students for now, sorry."

I glanced at Summer who sighed low as a smile spread on her face and I knew my answer was the right one. I was not going to be impolite but at the same time, there was no way I would encourage her.

"Kate, you're annoying." Lena pointed out, rolling her eyes at her. "Can't you see he's not into you? Why do you always do that?"

"Mind your business, Len." she replied, her eyes never leaving me.

"Okay, enough, we're leaving. It's late." Meredith added, getting up quickly.

It took a few minutes or so of argumentation but Kate finally agreed to leave with the rest of them. They said their goodbyes and I tried not to react when her hand slid down my back slowly. I let out a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them and felt Summer's hand on my arm before turning my head her way.

"I'm so sorry about Kate." she apologized in a soft and guilty tone. "She really loves attention. Especially from men."

My eyes roamed on her face and I once again thought about Grace. I didn't mention it, obviously, but I knew Summer was thinking about the description I gave her of my ex girlfriend too and finally, I just licked my lips and shook my head.

"Not your fault, don't apologize."

She took a step closer and tilted her head before pressing her lips together. Her eyes dropped to my chest and she brought her hands against it, sliding them down a bit before gripping my shirt.

"Do you want to see my room again?"

I held my breath as I stared at her and my lips parted slightly. I wanted her, I really did, and it took everything out of me to let out the words I wanted to say.

"It's late, I should leave, too." I admitted in a whisper, making her pout. "Rain check?"

"You could stay the night, maybe?" she proposed, getting on her tiptoe.

I swallowed hard now that her lips were close to mine and blinked a few times. "You're being unfair right now, you know the puppy eyes are very hard to resist."

"That's the whole point."

I kept looking at her but my thoughts were back at home. Maybe Louis and Millie were together at the moment, or maybe Millie was sad and alone. Maybe Louis was gone or maybe he told her it was over between them. I couldn't help the thoughts running in my head and I didn't want to leave Millie to deal with it by herself, and if Louis hadn't talked to her yet, I wanted to knock at his door and remind him that he should do it as soon as possible. I couldn't stay and if I wanted to be honest with myself, I didn't want to stay either. I wanted to be there for my friends they way they had been there for me.

"I can't babe, I'm sorry." I repeated in a soft tone, grabbing her hands in mine and squeezing her fingers. "I'll text you tomorrow though, alright?"

When I walked back in my apartment, I heard yells coming from behind a door and sighed low, glad that I decided to come back. I knew it was none of my business but at the same time, I couldn't just pretend it didn't affect me. So many things were left unsaid between these two but even if I was happy they were finally sharing their thoughts, I would have hoped it would have been calmly with a drink or something like that. It was stupid of me to have expected something like that, though, knowing that both my friends had explosive and strong personalities.

I let my keys fall on the coffee table and walked slowly to the hall, leaning against the wall right in front of Louis' door.

"Really Louis? Really? You're serious?" Millie seemed angrier than I had ever heard her and I leaned my head against the wall.

"What now?" Louis yelled back. "What the fuck did you fucking expect Millie? That this stupid thing was gonna last forever?"

"Stupid? No you are stupid Louis Tomlinson!" she screamed again, her voice cracking slightly. I was sure Louis didn't notice, but I did. "What we have matters! It's important ok!"

"What we had, Millie! It's over!"

"Why? Because you found some new bitch that you wanna shag? Shag her as long as you want and then come back! What we have is stronger than just a fucking lust story!"

"Oh Mill..." I whispered very low, closing my eyes and shaking my head lightly.

"She's not just some girl okay! I... I have feelings for her!"

Silence. I waited a few more seconds and opened my eyes again, moving my head back to look at the door. I almost expected Millie to storm out but she didn't and I waited for what seemed like half an hour. All I could hear was the thumping of my heart in my chest.

"I thought you loved me." Millie let out softly. "You said you loved me..."

"I do Millie, I love you. You're my best friend. But I'm not in love with you." Louis explained, making me let out a low curse word. That must have hurt Millie so bad I had to swallow hard as it reminded me of my own pain. "Please, Millie."

"Don't touch me!"

"Come on, Millie, I don't want to lose you." Louis confessed, making my grimace and groan low. It was such a hurtful thing to say to someone you just broke the heart to, and I wanted to open the door and force Millie out so she wouldn't have to hear any more of his painful words.

"You should have thought about that before."

I held my breath and got back on my feet, my back straight, when the door opened. Millie came face to face with me, her eyes red but her head high and I was fucking impressed by her strength. We stared at each other for a while until Louis appeared behind her, holding the door, his eyes moving from me to Millie and then back to me.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me with a frown.

"I live here."

"Right here? In the hall?" Louis let out sarcastically.

I decided it was useless to answer and just looked back at him. I knew he was somehow right and that I probably shouldn't have listened to their fight but it's not like I wouldn't have been able to hear it from my room anyway.

"Okay, I'm going to bed." Millie let out rudely, throwing one of her hands up and shaking her head. Her voice became softer when her eyes met mine, though. "Good night, Niall."

"Good night, Mill." I replied gently, searching for her fingers and squeezing them.

She didn't look at me but walked past me and my eyes found Louis again. We glared at each other until we heard Millie's door close roughly and Louis finally sighed loud.

"I told her." he pointed out in an angry tone as if I didn't already know. "Happy now?"

I knew he was mad at me and I didn't really care. I still thought it was the right thing to do and I would never think otherwise.

"Very."

[alpacaparkaseok]

Mine

13. Agust D

Genre: Min Yoongi x oc

Warnings: none

Word Count: 4.2k

I have a surprise for you guys in this chapter!!! 😊😊 Aaaaand we’re all set up and ready to go for the finale! 

2 Months Later

Anacortes, Washington, USA

The distant sound of a bell pulls me back to reality, and I turn to face the wind. Waves are pushing their way onto the shore, the choppy water fighting for my attention.

I watch as the ferry grows ever closer before putting my earbuds into my ears to answer my incoming phone call.

“Funny, I was just thinking about you,” I smile as I close my eyes.

“Really? What a coincidence. What are you up to right now?”

“Just about to board the ferry. You?”

“I’m going to head to bed soon.”

“Wow, so early. You’ve become so disciplined!”

Yoongi’s breathy laugh fills my ears and I can almost picture him rolling his eyes if I close my eyes tightly enough. “I’m assuming you’re not available to facetime?”

Frowning, I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “No, too many people around. You’ll just have to deal with the beautiful sound of my voice.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

It’s been two months since I last saw Yoongi outside of Bong-cha’s apartment. The chill that comes with currently residing in the northwestern United States is almost the same as I felt that morning when we said goodbye.

‘Young Rising’ came out just over a month ago, and it’s received a lot of success. Thankfully it was just enough to help me land a role that is already receiving speculation for possibly being a critically acclaimed role.

It wasn’t the one I originally wanted, that role went to Bryce Dallas Howard. I suppose I’ll have to try for a 1700’s romance some other time. This time around I get to play the daughter of one of the first lighthouse keepers in the United States and all the crazy events that unfold. It’s fun, and getting to take the ferry out to the San Juan islands here in the state of Washington is an added bonus.

My favorite part of the role? Every morning I get to sit here and watch the ocean and talk to Yoongi.

“Rude, but I’m not surprised. Isn’t it barely midnight there? You really are heading off to bed early.”

“Yeah, it’s midnight. What can I say? It was a long day and I’m exhausted.”

Now that I listen closer, I notice the hint of tiredness in his tone. “Why? What happened today?”

Yoongi sighs as I get up to board the ferry. Another great thing about being here in Washington? It’s cold and rainy enough that nobody bats an eye at me. I’m decked out in my raincoat and my beanie is pulled down low. During this time of year there aren’t many tourists either, so most mornings it’s just the ferryman and I. Today there are a couple of small groups milling about, though.

All the better. It gives me an excuse to not facetime Yoongi and have him laugh at my bundled up state. Which, for the record, he finds hilarious.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Promise.”

There’s a second hesitation before he speaks up again. “I miss you.”

It’s a blow straight to the heart, and I cling to the railing so as to not fall overboard. We try not to dwell on our current state too much, things are complicated enough. Still, it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one struggling with this.

“Why would I laugh at that?”

“I don’t know, you like making fun of me and how weirdly sentimental I can get-”

“Soft. That’s the word you’re looking for.”

“...right. How could I forget.”

“I miss you too, Yoongs. A lot.”

It’s silent on the other end of the phone for a little while, so I just lean up against the railing and watch as the ferry begins to edge out to sea. Once again I close my eyes against the crashing waves and try to convince myself that I’m sitting in the genius lab or making a mess of things in the kitchen.

How could a span of less than a week affect me so much? It’s a question that I’ve come back to many times over the past couple of weeks. Occasionally I get a moment of understanding. Sometimes that understanding comes late at night as I cuddle up in bed, propping my phone up to chat with Yoongi as he sits at his desk in the genius lab and tells me about what he’s working on.

Just watching him mumble incoherent things under his breath and seeing his eyes flit back to his phone to check that I’m still there makes me realize that there’s so much going on here. So much going on whilst being so far apart.

At least the media frenzy has died down a bit. Sure, there’s still a lot of theories tumbling around, but the mobs of heartbroken fans seems to have lessened significantly.

“Are you sure that’s everything, though? What else have you got going on?”

“What, me missing you is not enough?”

I chuckle into the phone. “Nope.”

“Fine, you caught me. We’re finishing up the final touches on the mixtape and I always just get really stressed before a release, you know? Like you did the night before ‘Young Rising’ premiered?”

Shuddering at the memory I groan. “Ugh, don’t remind me. But what is it exactly about this mixtape that has you so nervous? I mean, this isn’t the first time you’ve released one. Maybe whatever helped you de-stress last time will help you this time around, too.”

There’s a long pause but I wait patiently for him to speak. The island is just coming into view now, I’ve probably got about fifteen more minutes before I’m officially on the clock and have to hang up.

I hate that part.

“I’m not so sure...it’s different this time around.”

I frown. “What’s so different? You’re even more loved?”

A wry laugh on his part. “No, not that. It’s just...this mixtape, these songs...they’re even more personal this time around. Sure, I’ve talked about some pretty personal things on my previous mixtapes, but this time around the entire mixtape is personal.”

That’s news to me. Ever since Yoongi changed the concept of the album he’s kept everything under lock and key. He told me he kept most of the tracks, ‘My First Mistake’ obviously being one of them. Other than that, though, I have no idea what to expect.

“Yoongs...I think that will make this mixtape your best one yet. Really. People will be able to relate to it, and they’ll love you even more for it. Just, get some sleep tonight. You’ve worked your hardest - don’t try to brush it all off, you’ve nearly worked yourself to the ground over this mixtape! - and that’s all you can do. I’m absolutely positive it’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Car. So what scenes are you doing today?”

We get lost in the conversation for the remainder of the ferry ride before suddenly the ferry is coming to a stop. I hurry off the boat, the tell-tale change of tone tipping Yoongi off to what I need to do.

“Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, sounds great. Get some sleep!”

Yoongi chuckles. “Will do. Have a great day.”

I sign off the phone and roll my shoulders. One of the producers, Melissa, is waiting for me in a little golf cart.

“Hey Cara, ready for the day?”

Grinning at her, I jump into the passenger seat. “Definitely.”

🌙

It’s the middle of the night when I’m awoken from my slumber, and I groan as I contemplate just turning my phone off. It was a late night, I’ve probably only been asleep for a couple of hours at this point.

When I see who’s calling, though, I pick up.

“Bong-cha?” I ask blearily. “What’s up?”

“Have you listened to it yet?!”

I hiss as Bong-cha screams into my ear. “What are you talking about? Did you and Jimin finally kiss or something?”

“No, you idiot. Yoongi’s mixtape!”

My eyes widen and suddenly I’m completely awake. “His mixtape? I-it’s out? When?”

“It just dropped like an hour ago! Didn’t he tell you? I mean, I get that he wanted to surprise everybody, but I thought he’d at least tell you.”

I’m already on my music app, searching for Agust D. When I finally hit search, I scream involuntarily.

“That little punk! He didn’t even tell me!”

“Wait, Cara!”

“What?”

“Just, listen to it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, weirdo.”

“No, but really listen to it. I mean, it’s about you.”

My chest stops rising as my air gets cut off. “What do you mean it’s about me? We already knew about ‘My First Mistake’-”

“No, not just that track. I mean it’s all about you. Just look at the name of it! Isn’t it a little weird that he didn’t stick to his m.o. and title it ‘D-3’?”

I was in such a rush to click on his profile that I didn’t even bother to look at the title. When I do, I come gasping up for air.

Mine.

Written there in big, bold letters is the word mine.

“That doesn’t mean any-”

“Nuh-uh, you listen to the mixtape and then we’ll hash out the details. Got it?”

“Fine. Call you in the morning?”

“Isn’t it already morning for you?”

“Yeah, 4!”

“Right. Yeah, call me later.”

Clicking off the call, I take a deep breath to steel myself before clicking on the album. 8 tracks stare back up at me, most of them I recognize from that first night in the genius lab. The leading track is ‘My First Mistake’, which makes me smile. When my eyes trail down to the final song, I can’t help but click on it.

My Last Mistake. Turning the volume up, I sit back against my headboard and listen. And then, note by note, I fall under his spell.

Yoongi’s heartbroken voice talks about details of his life, how he goes by many names. The world knows him by Suga. His true fans know his other name, August D. Min Yoongi controls the strings of those two personas. A heavy beat pounds out the words alongside him.

Then the music slows, becomes calmer. Clearer.

In the most tormented voice he can manage, Yoongi talks about a girl that called him Yoongs. He talks about a girl driving under the stars that called him Yoongs and how in that moment, he decided that none of the other names mattered anymore, just so long as he could hear her say it one more time.

As the song falls from its crescendo, Yoongi brings up his last mistake.

“What’s your last mistake, Yoongs?” I whisper, hoping for an answer.

He answers it a moment later, the same melody from ‘My First Mistake’ being played out, only this time it’s on the guitar rather than the piano.

He’s reminded of his last mistake every time a plane flies overhead and he can’t run fast enough to catch it.

🌙

The entire mixtape is hauntingly beautiful.

As I finish listening to “Naksan”, a song set Naksan park, and what I assume to be the gazebo that overlooked Seoul, I lean my head back and sigh.

There is so much we don’t say. There is so much that Yoongi has never said, but now I’m beginning to realize why he was so nervous about this mixtape.

Here, crammed into these eight songs that talk about everything from t-shirts to being oceans apart, Yoongi says everything he never could before. It’s obvious, painfully so. He didn’t try to cover anything up.

I am so dead.

Yet, I can’t find it in myself to care. The only thing I wish I could do right now is show up at his apartment and sit down on his couch. Maybe eat some food, and watch as he fumbles for an explanation to this mixtape that is no longer a mixtape but more a cry out into the void.

And of course, don’t even get me started on the title track. The song that the album is named after, “Mine”.

In it Yoongi recalls his dreams of having a big car and house, and how he gets to call all those things his now. He has it all, essentially. And yet, the one thing he wants more than anything is far from him.

‘I have it all, I hear them say it. I have it all, they chant over again. When will they realize that it means nothing to me, if I can’t call you mine?’

Dragging myself to check Twitter, I see what the number one trending topic is right now.

#Mine

And in second place?

#CaraisMine

Somehow, I can never quite make it to first place. How disappointing.

Groaning as I realize that the sun is about to come up, I linger over Yoongi’s contact information.

One call. That’s all it would take. A single phone call, and maybe everything would change. But what would I even say?

Hi, it’s the girl that’s ridiculously in love with you. Do you feel the same way? Great! Let’s end our careers and live in Fiji!

As enticing as that sounds as I watch the rain pouring down, I know that it’s unrealistic. I’m here, caught up in some strange, long-distance relationship that’s technically not a relationship.

And Yoongi’s there, hopefully receiving all the praise he deserves for coming out with yet another great mixtape.

So I just let the dim light from my phone fade out before slipping back down under the covers. I know what Yoong is thinking now.

Ball’s in my court. But how on earth do I return it?

🌙

Seoul, South Korea

“And she still hasn’t said anything about it?”

Yoongi knows that Taehyung is trying really hard to understand his current predicament, but if he asks him if he’s heard from Cara one more time, he’s going to lose his mind.

“No.”

“Have you reached out to her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Sighing, Yoongi rubs his hands over his face. “First, because it’s only 8 o’clock in the morning over there. Second, I basically just told the world about my feelings for her, I think I can give her a little space to breathe before jumping on her.”

Taehyung plops down beside Yoongi, his eyes wide. “You’re really stressed, aren’t you?”

Somehow the question makes Yoongi laugh. “You think?” He feels restless; he has for the past two months. He thought releasing the mixtape would diminish that feeling, but instead it’s been heightened to the point that he can’t hardly sit still anymore.

Which is saying a lot, because Yoongi loves sitting still.

“Hyung?”

“Hm.”

“I think you should borrow my car and go for a drive or something. Just get out for a while. You’ve been cooped up in this studio for weeks; it’s messing with your head.”

Sometimes Yoongi forgets how much everyone cares about him. It’s in times like these that he remembers. Without saying much else he takes Taehyung’s keys that he extends to him and heads out.

When he gets into the car, he doesn’t know where he’s going. His mind is filled with worry and doubts and worst of all, regret. Was he too blind in his feelings that he overlooked Cara’s? After all, maybe she’s listening to the mixtape right this very moment and wondering why he would write something like this.

Maybe she hasn’t called him yet because she’s trying to come up with a way to let him down easy.

Yoongi drives and drives, turning up the music so as to drown out the thoughts in his head. He drives on and on, clueless to the fact that it’s the middle of the night and he should really be heading back to the apartment now.

When he parks before a lit path that leads up, Yoongi realizes that his body knew this entire time where he was going.

Without questioning it further, he hops out of the car and shrugs on his coat and mask. It’s late enough that hopefully most people will have had the sense to go home.

As Yoongi climbs up the path he only passes a couple of people; a couple that are too tangled up in each other’s embrace to even notice him. The path continues ever upward until he’s panting, but he’s grateful for the burn in his lungs. For a brief moment, his mind isn’t consumed by the what ifs of his current situation.

As Yoongi clears the final steps, his gaze immediately turns to the gazebo just down a ways. It’s the same as before, the night a similar one to that night when he watched Cara from afar before mustering up the courage to go talk to her.

Tonight there is one major difference. As Yoongi edges closer, there’s a tightness in his chest. There’s some part of him that half-expects Cara to appear, leaning up against one of the pillars and looking out at the city.

As Yoongi steps into the gazebo, that wish vanishes into thin air.

It’s empty.

Cara is not here. Yoongi is, though. Which has proved to be the most miserable thing in the world over the past two months. Cara is gone, but somehow Yoongi is still here and seeing her everywhere he goes.

The songwriting and production process is enough to make anyone go a little insane. Usually, once the project is finished, Yoongi feels like he can finally breathe again. He’s able to enjoy the fruits of his labors.

Not tonight.

At first he laughed at himself, back when he’d first started learning about Cara from Bong-cha and curiosity overcame him. He thought it was silly of him to want to learn everything about her and what it was that made her tick. There was just something about her that made Yoongi dive right in.

Of course, the boys had noticed. Even Bong-cha, who hadn’t known him for very long, had noticed the difference Cara had made. That was before they even met. Before any of this had even started.

Yoongi knows his place. His place as one of the most famous stars in the world, his place in the group’s dynamic, his place among his family. His place among ARMY. Yet, when he met Cara, it was like the ground disappeared under his feet and he’s been falling ever since.

He used to come to Naksan park often and just think. He’s not one for hiking around outdoors, but something about the view and the beautiful architecture of the gazebo and old city walls that line the path have helped him think.

He used to stand where Cara stood, and think about everything. However there was one topic that he tried to avoid at all costs: love. It wasn’t because he didn’t believe in love or didn't want it; if he’s learned anything from his time with ARMY he’s learned about love. But there was always this giant, impenetrable wall that stood between him and love.

Yoongi knows his place, and because of that clear role he has also always known that him falling in love with someone other than his fans was off the table.

That night when he came to meet Cara, he was coming to tell her just that. He was coming to tell her that he was a horrible human being that was dangerously close to breaking that unspoken rule, and he needed to mark a clear line in the sand. Friends, he had thought We can still be friends.

Yet, as he’d watched Cara head to the same spot; the same pillar he had frequented so many times, his words had gotten caught in his throat. She’d looked out over the city and Yoongi would have given anything to know what she was thinking.

Instead, he’d just asked for what so many people had been unable to give him throughout his career.

Just someone to sit in silence with.

No demands, no questions, just be together.

And as Yoongi sat swimming in his feelings, Cara’s head resting on his shoulder, he learned something about himself.

Yoongi had avoided the topic of love for so long not because he didn’t think it was appropriate for his lifestyle, but because he’d known deep down that the chances of him finding someone he was willing give everything up for were nearly nonexistent.

Cara’s hand was wrapped up in his, sharing his pocket. Quiet breathing, feeling warm despite the oppressing chill. No demanding answers, just sitting together.

He had realized that while he was looking for someone to convince him to leave everything behind, he was sitting beside someone that already understood. Someone that would never tell him to abandon it all just to be together.

He was sitting beside someone that might just be open to the possibility of being together, and would be open to the chaos that would ensue. There was no need to change everything to be together, but there would be the need to fight for that privilege of calling Cara his.

As Yoongi now steps into the gazebo and rests on the bench opposite from where they had sat, he remembers when it all started.

The night after he’d watched ‘Under Nine’, he’d felt restless and wandered up here. It was the first time in over a year that he’d come here. He knew why he didn’t bother to anymore; he didn’t feel inspired anymore when he looked out over the city.

Yoongi had seen the world, and he’d fallen out of love with it.

It was a horrible, lying, cheating thing. He’d seen too much suffering, fought so hard against it just to see evil rise up again and again.

Yet when he came up here that night after watching Cara on screen and seeing that humanity can be beautiful even in all its flaws, something amazing had happened.  

He looked out over the city, and a little spark had jumped up in his heart. That night, Yoongi looked out over the world, and began to fall in love again.

Yoongi has never been very confrontational. Some may think he is simply due to his status as a rapper, but that’s never been the case. However, he is known for his undeniable work ethic. For his unending effort to obtain what he thinks he deserves.

When Yoongi placed a letter into the mail a few days ago, he was reminded of why he was going to do everything in his power to make this work.

When he looked at Cara, he thought that she deserved a chance at love, too.

Giving one last look out at the city, Yoongi gets up and stretches. There are a lot of uncertainties swirling about right now, but there is one thing he is completely certain of.

He is going to do everything in his power to give him and Cara a chance.

🌙

Anacortes, Washington, USA

I have mail.

It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve gotten mail, but I can’t fight the feeling of dread as I wonder if the awkward pleas from fans are about to start up again. There’s a single envelope addressed to me sitting on the ground in front of my hotel door, which I scoop up before heading back inside.

No work today; we’ll be taking a two week break to wait out the rainy season before picking things back up again. I’m grateful for the small reprieve, I would much rather stay cuddled up in my blankets today while I try to wrap my mind around everything.

I haven’t reached out to Yoongi yet. Granted, it’s only 10 am, but I still feel a little guilty. I just want to make sure I have my thoughts in order before I freak out, you know? After all, there’s still a chance the mixtape being about me is just a coincidence...right?

Stacey, my PR rep, just got off the phone with me. Nobody really knows where I am right now, which is good. There are perks to being holed up in a small town in the northwestern United States.

She gave me an earful on how many calls she’s received over the course of the last few hours from various magazines and gossip collectors. When she asked me if there was a statement she would like for me to relay, I blanked. Stacey just laughed and said she’d come up with some vague for the time being.

My attention returns to the item in my hand. Cautiously opening up the letter, my brows furrow as I take out a small slip of paper and a piece of thick cardstock.

Cara,

Hopefully this gets to you when it’s supposed to. I thought of just sending you an email but that seemed to detract from what I was going for. You understand, don’t you? When you told me about your break from work, I managed to pull some strings. Follow the directions on the back of this letter, I’ll be waiting for you. And no, I can’t do this over the phone. It’s an ‘in-person’ kind of thing.

Yours,

Yoongs

Flipping the letter over I frown when the directions are in French. Then, scrambling for the cardstock, my mouth drops open as I see just what Yoongi is talking about.

One boarding ticket for tomorrow morning, leaving at 10am.

Destination?

Paris.

Previous - Next

only one chapter left! 💛💛

taglist: @eusticenatalie @agustneeds​ @prdshobi​ @oceandeep​ @taylorroe3​ @dreamcatcherjiah​

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 01 | Context Switch | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst [later on], humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

Fic Summary: Jungkook wasn’t always like this. Or maybe he was and you don’t want to admit that he had you fooled. You quickly discover he has a lot more to offer than exchanging pleasantries and awkward small talk. In fact, he never seems to shut up.

For the better part of a year, he’s held your irritation hostage, never passing up an opportunity to deliver savage one-liners at your expense. When he discovers you’re on Tinder, he turns up the brattiness factor and intentionally seeks you out. Who knows? Maybe if you gave him a chance he could charm the pants right off of you. Then again, maybe he’s just a fuckboy.

Tags: Fuckboy Jungkook, like cannot stress enough Fuckboy Jungkook but gets soft later, dirty jokes, talk nerdy to me, PUNS, friendship feels, sexual tension, Jin being bad at copying Mario’s accent, Namjoon being bad at accents

CW:  panic attacks, filthy language, this whole chapter is setup so like nothing too bad i dont think???

Series: Activate your SIMCard Fic: Swipe Right (1/?- Ongoing) Do not repost. masterlist // next chapter

(A/N: This is part of my “Activate Your SIMcard” series. Each member of BTS has their own AU in which IT/TechSupport/NerdReader gets dating help/advice and ends up falling in love with them instead. As with a dating sim, the same characters are utilized--same professions, similar scenario placement-- but different interactions/pathways lead to different romances. ~Anyway here’s the Jungkook route.~ The Namjoon route, “Love Bytes” is currently in the works.)

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Nerves wrack your stomach as you make your way down the hall, clinging to the man beside you. His strides seem gigantic next to yours and you find yourself struggling to keep up with him. “Stop walking so fast, Namjoon.”

The man laughs, but slows his pace just enough to allow you to walk side-by-side. “Sorry. I’m just excited for you to meet them.”

Digging your fingernails into the flesh of his elbow, you swallow hard. It’s been a couple months since the young English professor stumbled into your life holding the pieces of some very expensive, very shattered college property. State of the art technology, brand new, busted in less than a week of his arrival. He’d get the biggest chew-out of his life if he presented it to your boss, and you were too sympathetic to let that happen.

While you’d willingly paid for the whole thing out of pocket to cover for the newbie, it had definitely put a strain on your finances and what little social life you had. Within a week he’d worked up a repayment plan than spanned the course of a year. He even started buying you a coffee every Friday as an apology for how long it was going to take.

After a few months of bonding over kung-fu movies, life before Namjoon’s friendship seemed like a distant past, a hazy dream. It was natural that your new bestie wanted to grow your pitiful social circle. But there was a reason you didn’t let people get close to you. The fact that Namjoon had slipped past your defenses so fast made him an anomaly worth dissecting for scientific discovery.

Just the thought of having to now socialize with people you don’t know has your temperature boiling and your head spinning.

He attempts to tug his elbow away from you, and you stumble forward, keeping your death grip on him. “I know, but talking to people isn’t exactly my strong suit. Are you sure it’s best I meet all six at once?”

“You’ve already met Jimin,” he begins, clawing at your hand with long, veiny fingers until you release your hold on him, “but he’s not coming tonight, so don’t worry... you can relax a little.”

Your face twists into a sour grimace as you try to sputter out a response. “I-Pfft. I mean. Jimin’s a model. His face is on billboards and shit. Like… how is that supposed to not be intimidating?”

“Jimin is the world’s biggest sweetheart,” he laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets as you continue down the hallway. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of. I have a feeling you two will get along fine once you stop being so shy.”

You huff and tick your jaw a few times before wringing your hands together. Maybe.

“Anyway. Taehyung is out of town on business, but you can meet him another time. He’s kind of quiet when meeting new people too. Hoseok and Yoongi texted they might be a little late. It’ll just be Jin and Jungkook you’re meeting now. And it’ll be just the four of us for a bit.”

A deep breath escapes you as you hook your elbow with his. “Okay. I just… I’m nervous.”

He stops at the door at the end of the hall and looks down at you. “Give them a chance. If you’re still feeling bad in an hour, then we’ll leave, and I’ll hang out with y’all separately from now on. Deal?”

You eye his extended palm peeking out from beneath the crook of your twined elbows before a smile creeps across your face. You shake his hand. He always knows what to say. “Deal.”

As Namjoon knocks, you leave the comfort of his side, realizing how your anxious clinging might be mistaken for a romantic gesture. You begin to shrink back, trying to hide in his shadow before the door opens. You’re about halfway there when a young, well-built man appears, prominent leg muscles bulging from beneath his basketball shorts as he props the door open with his foot. There’s a cup of instant noodles in his hands, and you’re pretty sure at least half of its contents are dangling from his mouth.

The scent of garlic and rosemary drifts into your nostrils, and you freeze as you cower behind Namjoon, realizing how long it’s been since you last had a decent home-cooked meal. You were promised free food so maybe it won't be so bad after all.

“Ah, Namjoon,” he greets and gestures with his head towards the domicile. “Come in--Oh!”

He chokes a chunk of noodles back into the paper cup as he notices your figure standing behind the tall man.

“Jungkook, this is Y/N,” Namjoon says, stepping to the side and pushing you out into the light of the apartment “I told you she was coming tonight, remember?”

Jungkook’s dark brown eyes widen and he pumps a fist into his chest a few times as he tries to get the remnants of spicy noodles dislodged from the back of his throat. Namjoon sent a bunch of texts this week making sure it was cool to bring someone to hangout night since he’d made a friend at work and wanted everyone to meet them. The way the texts were worded definitely didn’t give any indication that the friend he was bringing tonight was a woman. Maybe they did. Maybe he should have read more of them.

The muscular man before you holds the remaining food in his cheeks and waves bashfully with two fingers as he swallows. "Jungkook," he mumbles, as if the name itself is introduction enough and all but sprints from the room.

Seconds later, a new voice shrieks out from the other room. “What are you doing eating that?! Dinner will be ready soon! Jungkookie if you don’t put that down--!”

A dull smacking sound accompanies the clattering of silverware and plates. You swallow hard, trying to think about anything other than the way the young man had rushed out of the room at just the sight of you. Maybe you’re just that ugly.

“Hey! I’ll eat! I’ll eat! I promise!” Jungkook cries out. His voice drops an octave. “Namjoon is here.” Their conversation becomes indiscernible, but you can’t shake the feeling that you are definitely the subject of their quiet discussion.

You throw a worried glance in Namjoon's direction. "Did I do something wrong?" your voice is hushed as you work your sneakers off, trying to hold in the crazy amount of anxiety that threatens to unscrew the top of your head and send your brain exploding into the ceiling.

Namjoon shakes his head, unbothered by his friend’s odd behavior. "Honestly, I texted him a bunch this week to make sure it was cool and I got one-word replies so I'm wondering if he even read them." He bites his lip and spares a glance back at you, knowing he probably should have kept that to himself.

"Oh," your heart sinks into your stomach and threatens to fall out your butt as you straighten your spine. "If that's the case, should I... leave?"

"Leaf?!" A bright green piece of lettuce is thrust into your face. "How about a whole salad? You can't go before you try it! It's unbe-leaf-able."

You blink in rapid succession, trying to stifle a laugh at the cackle emanating from the man whose bony fingers are holding the lettuce. It sounds like a... windshield wiper? A giggle slips out, stronger than your will to keep it tucked behind your lips, and it only seems to make the grin on his face stretch impossibly wider. Heavy shoulders rise and fall with his laughter, causing the bright pink apron across his chest to wrinkle.

Namjoon groans. "This is--"

"Now do you smell that delicious flavor in the air? Because this just a taste of what you will find at my amazing restaurant 'Heart and Seoul'," he announces, cutting off the man beside you as he clutches the lettuce to his chest with eyes closed. "Where I give you a piece of my heart and soul... Some refer to me as Worldwide Handsome, others call me the God of Cookery. Some call me an angel and believe I fell from heaven." He bows with a flourish and takes your hand in his. "But you can call me..." He finally looks at you, a dark smoulder in his features that sets your cheeks on fire. "Later?"

He seals your fate with a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. Your jaw, which has been hanging open for some time, finally decides to snap itself shut.

"This is Seokjin, and he's going back into the kitchen to finish making dinner." Namjoon is already ushering his friend back towards the kitchen and chiding him as you purse your lips together to hide the smile spreading across your face. Did you just stumble into some alternate universe where all of the men you meet are ridiculously good-looking?

"It's nice to meet you, Seokjin," you call after them before letting your eyes wander around the room.

Paintings line the walls and photos sit on the bookshelf in the corner. As you approach the shelf to get a closer look, you realize those aren't books, but video games. There must be hundreds. Don't people use cloud storage for most of their games now? Your eyes curiously scan the photos on the top shelf. The man who had introduced himself as Jungkook is in all of them. There's another man in a couple that you don't recognize, but his gaze is piercing and cold when he's not smiling. You're able to pick Jimin and Namjoon out in a few, but it feels like looking at a family photo. Everyone seems so close; it makes you envious.

You lick your lips and can't help but admire the collection of video games underneath. You crouch to get a better look at the ones lining the bottom shelf. You're surprised to see there are games for all types of consoles: PS4, XboxOne, Switch, WiiU, Nintendo DS, SuperNintendo, PlaystationVita, PC... The list keeps going. Jealousy spikes your gut as you note a Mass Effect "SSV Normandy" ship figurine on the shelf above your head. You eye it with wonder and pride as your memories flood with the hours you spent playing the trilogy. Your fingers reach out to brush against the raised letters on the side of the ship.

"Have you played Mass Effect?" a quiet voice asks from behind you.

You jump in place and spin on the balls of your feet in a fluid motion that nearly sends you careening into the basketball shorts in front of you. Surprised by how close Jungkook is standing, you gasp and stumble back into the bookshelf, causing it to wobble and bring some of the frames filled with photos tumbling down onto your head. You wait for the impact but it never comes.

As you look up, Jungkook has several frames balanced on his arms and between his fingers, carefully maneuvering them away from you and back onto the shelf. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you! Namjoon told me you liked video games too and I saw you looking at the Normandy and I thought maybe you've played it. Ah, I'm sorry."

It's hard to miss the crestfallen way he rubs the back of his neck and stares at the floor once he places all the photos back on the shelf. You're still in shock that he caught everything before it smacked you in the head, but you force yourself to respond anyway. "No, it's okay. I'm just a jumpy person. It's my fault. I'm just glad I didn't break anything. I'm... asari? Get it? 'Cause like, I'm sorry... but also hot blue alien chicks, am I right?"

He smiles wide and laughs softly as he offers to help you up. As you take hold of his hand, you're quickly thrust to your feet with an ease you weren’t quite expecting. You steady yourself by reaching out to grip his arm, a movement you reverse the moment you feel the firm muscles beneath his t-shirt.

"Thanks," you mumble. Feeling his hand tense around yours, you take it back and twiddle your fingers. "So what decisions did you make? Renegade or Paragon? Rachni Queen? Samara's mission? Quarian and Geth dispute? Genophage?" You pause only to take a breath. "If you let Wrex die, we can't be friends."

He blinks at you a few times before breaking into a relaxed smile. “Of course not. What kind of monster do you think I am?”

You allow a relieved sigh to pass your lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be so painful after all.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You must have made a good impression that night. It’s been nearly a month and Namjoon’s friends have started pulling you into their group texts and Saturday night plans. This had been fine by you since you rarely had anything going on. Honestly it was kind of nice to be included.

While you still don’t exactly know everyone, you feel fairly comfortable talking with your new friends. Seokjin is absolutely hilarious. He’s so full of himself that his cockiness rides the line between charming and annoying; it’s hard to decide which aspect overwhelms his personality more. But you know that you find him irrefutably, irritatingly attractive because of it.

Jungkook is still polite and rather gentlemanly towards you. Your conversation about Mass Effect was enough to tide over any residual awkwardness regarding your initial meeting. He’s just a muscular, nerdy introvert who seems genuinely nice. However, Namjoon insists that Jungkook is still hiding a louder, brattier side when you’re around. He’s got this theory that since you’re a friend of a friend, Jungkook is holding back his usual antics for some reason. The harmless little crush you’ve developed on him has you secretly holding out hope that it’s because he wants to ask you to be his girlfriend. You’ve considered asking Jin what he thinks, but that man has no tact and honestly you’re afraid he’d just ask Jungkook with you standing right there.

Hoseok is a ball of smiling energy, one who has been begging you to visit his dance studio. It’s hard to say no, but you’ve managed for this long because of the very real possibility that you won’t be able to do anything but stare at the dazzling way he moves. He seems to take pride in his ability to make others feel good and absolutely beams when he’s the cause of his friends’ happiness. You can easily see yourself talking to him without Namjoon around to act as a buffer, which is amazing for someone with your level of social anxiety.

Yoongi is quiet, but when he speaks his words are sharp with purpose. Some people might mistake that for coldness, but you can tell he has good intentions and a soft heart underneath. His pointed remarks in the group interrogations have poked fun at you, but never in a condescending or cruel manner. And it’s certainly not in the way you see him absolutely roast the others. Maybe he’s taking it easy on you.

Jimin is still so beautiful to look at it devastates you, leaving a flustered, stuttering mess behind every time he leaves. Now that he’s become aware of the effect he has on you, he’s been testing the waters of your friendship with some teasing that borderlines flirtation. But you have a feeling he’s just screwing with you because he finds it funny to see you squirm. You’re hoping to build the confidence to dish it back some day.

Taehyung has been a little standoff-ish, but Namjoon had already warned you about that. You wonder if it’s because he’s a hundred times richer than you’ll ever be. Despite seeming like he’s in a different social class, he still seems deeply fond of his friends, and relatively down-to-earth. He’s a bit quirky, but he’s an artist, so you expect that kind of thing.

Namjoon says that he’s known almost all of them since college, so he’s been able to absorb most of the discomfort associated with meeting new people. He’s sweet, and more relatable than you originally would have thought for an English professor. He’s kind of like a pillar that you never knew your life had been missing. And now that he’s got your back, you can’t go back.

The smell of coffee pervades the air as you skim an article on your phone regarding the latest Halloween skins for Overwatch. You’re supposed to be meeting Namjoon here but Seokjin, and Jimin showed up and have been chatting about their plans for the weekend. Apparently they throw a Halloween party every year and it’s Jimin’s turn to host. Seokjin is supposedly in charge of planning the decorations due to his love for theatrics and has been discussing the possibility of a haunted house walkthrough. You smile at the thought of Seokjin popping out of the shadows to drop fake spiderwebs on people. It sounds like the kind of thing he’d get off to.

Namjoon flops down on the couch next to you. “You’re coming, right?”

You’re broken from your thoughts as you scroll further down the page. “E-Excuse me?”

“The Halloween party. You coming?”

You look up from your phone, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. “I mean… I don’t want to intrude on your group thing.”

“You’re not intruding!” Jimin, Jin, and Namjoon’s voices all stack upon each other and you’re taken aback by the sound.

Jin frantically scrambles to make you feel included. “Y/N, we just assumed you were coming. Of course you’re invited! You can help me get everything set up for the scary walkthrough. Please come.”

“Don’t give her work to do that you should have already figured out,” Jimin hisses before sending a warm smile your way. “I’ll text you the address later. It’s a costume party so make sure to dress up!”

Your bottom lip unconsciously protrudes in a pout as you pass a discouraging look Namjoon’s way. “What are you going as?”

He gives you a heartfelt, dimpled smile. “Sherlock Holmes,” he says with the worst british accent you’ve ever heard in your life. “World’s greatest detective.” He drops his accent and starts gushing. “The tweed suit is fairly iconic and most people will recognize the costume so I think it’s a safe option. Originally, I was going to go as Judge Di but Jimin kept telling me no one would get it. It would take some research to really get a feel for how he’d dress, but I’d be willing to put in the work.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Judge Dee? Like…. Judge... Ju...dy?” you trail off in confusion, immediately regretting your decision to ask.

Jimin throws his hands up as if this is the proof he’s needed to convince his friend that he’s wrong. “You see? I told you no one knows who that is.”

“Judge---! Really?!” Namjoon looks like he’s about to go off, but he shakes his head and sighs. “You know what? It’s okay. I look really good in a tweed suit. That’s all that matters.” He finished his statement by gesturing towards his chest.

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re such a dork.” You turn your attention to the others and raise your eyebrows at them. “What about you two?”

Jimin drags his teeth over his lip and shyly smiles. “I’m going as Iron Man. Tae’s been helping me build my costume for a while now.”

“Jungkookie and I are going as Luigi and Mario,” Jin proudly states he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while tenting his fingers. “I’m Mario, of course, since everyone knows he’s the best.”

You roll your eyes. “Sounds like you, Seokjin.”

“What will you come as?” he questions with a smirk, cocking a mischievous eyebrow at you.

“Well...” you hesitate, knowing that most costume shops will be sold out of anything interesting or slutty; at this point your options are limited unless you want to be a Crayola shit brown crayon. “I’m not sure yet,” you mumble, scratching your cheek sheepishly. “I only found out just now so I don’t have anything ready. I usually go over Jennie’s place, hand out candy in my pajamas and watch scary movies, so I don’t know if I should bail on her like that.”

Solid excuse. Great job, brain. Really. Can I sound like more of a loser?

“She can come too,” Jimin offers with a thoughtful tilt of his head and a warm smile. “It’s a very open party. Lots of people will be coming and going, so it’s no trouble if you want to invite more of your other friends, if that makes you comfortable.”

Other friends. Like you have more than this group and Jennie. You’re going to just pretend like you didn’t hear that part. You can already hear her shrieking at you to say you’ll be there. She loves dressing up and would be more than happy to exchange a night of handing out candy for a night of partying. You suppose you can always get some vampire teeth and dab some fake blood on your mouth, but it feels like a cop-out. It’s a solid back-up plan at the very least.

“Okay. I’ll think about it,” you murmur with a fleeting look of panic directed at Namjoon.

He offers a sympathetic smile and pats your shoulder. “It’s okay if you don’t come. I’m just saying there will be free food.”

Your spine straightens and you perk up.

“Free food?” The words on you’re about to utter spill from a different source. A chin drops into the space between Namjoon’s shoulder and yours. Jungkook’s hair is still wet, but thankfully it’s not long enough to brush against your skin. The soft, sweet, almost floral scent of his body wash wafts into your nose as you turn your head to look at him. You surmise he’s come directly from work if he’s showering in the late afternoon. You internally swat the butterflies playing with your ribcage, trying to remember how to act normal.

Jungkook smiles sweetly, his eyes nearly closing with how high his cheekbones have risen. “Where is this food?”

“At the Halloween party,” Namjoon comments with a dismissing wave of his hand. “I was just telling Y/N that she’ll miss out if she doesn’t come.”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows and drops his smile as his surprised stare pierces your periphery. “Oh, you’re not coming?”

“I was thinking about it.” You immediately feel the need to defend yourself. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“So don’t wear--” Jungkook catches himself before the word anything comes out. “A costume,” he finishes simply, straightening his spine and clearing his throat. “I mean we can make an exception. No one’s gonna kick you out.”

A devilish grin spreads across Seokjin’s features. “I’m sure I can help you find a pink dress and crown if you’d like to be our lovely Princess Peach. We can give each other items.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at his friend and Jin stares back with anticipation, waiting for him to make the mushroom joke he clearly set him up for. Jungkook purses his lips and quietly regards you. As the moment passes, Jin’s brow furrows and he crosses his arms in a huff, wishing that he’d said it instead. It’s been too long since you’ve blushed for his liking.

“Maybe I’ll show up in a leotard, spiked collar, and fishnets as Bowsette instead.” You nearly snort at your own joke.

Jungkook and Jin spill their surprise over one another.

“Whaa? Really?” Jin’s mouth hangs open, the image already permanently searing its way into his brain.

“You what?” Jungkook clamps his hands over the edge of the couch, hulking figure looming over you.

While Jimin and Namjoon are both oblivious what a Bowsette is, the words “spiked collar and fishnets” have certainly grabbed their attention as well.

You blink a few times, realizing how serious everyone has become as you sputter out a nervous laugh. “Kidding, guys. Kidding.”

Jin tuts in disappointment, slinking back into his chair. Jimin simply smiles. Namjoon breathes a relieved sigh. Jungkook starts walking away, distracted by the signage on the counter promoting a cinnamon chocolate chip milkshake.

“Besides, I’m more of a…” A lightbulb flicks on in your head and the thought comes spilling out your mouth before you can process it. “Oh, I have a cosplay from the gaming convention I went to a year ago. Maybe I can wear that.”

All three men lean forward, suddenly very interested in the concept of you using a cosplay as a Halloween costume. Jungkook’s head snaps in your direction just as he extends his hand to give his money to the cashier, but he drops it prematurely, sending coins scattering across the counter.

The sound causes all of you to look over at him and he quickly turns back to the cashier. She raises her eyebrows at him as he scrambles to recover all of the money for her. His ears turn bright red from the attention and you can’t help but put yourself in his shoes, cringing at the embarrassment coursing through your veins at the thought of swapping places.

Spinning back to face the others, you find Jin and Jimin on the edge of their seats, staring at you. Namjoon blinks at you and tilts his head expectantly. “You were saying?” he prods. “Something about an anime costume?”

Suddenly you’re embarrassed for yourself rather than Jungkook. “Don’t be weird, Joonie. It’s just a Princess Zelda cosplay.” You scratch your cheek in contemplation, murmuring, “Actually, I don’t even know if it still fits since I’ve gained some weight since then.”

Namjoon pats your shoulder assuringly. “Ah you’re fine. Don’t worry too much about it, ok?”

“He’s right. Just bring your smile, cutie,” Jimin says encouragingly.

You blush at the nickname and grin in response. He said it innocently enough, but you get the feeling that you reacted exactly as he had hoped because he exchanges a smug smirk with Seokjin. “See? Bring that.”

“Ah, you guys are embarrassing me,” you mumble, diving back into the article on your phone. “I’ll talk to Jennie about it later.”

Jungkook listens carefully as he tongues his cheek and waits for his drink to arrive at the counter. Are you really going to show up in that? He pulls out his phone and starts skimming amazon. There’s no way he can pass up the opportunity, regardless of what’s at stake.

A familiar veiny hand sets the drink down on the counter, and he outstretches his palm. “Service was good, yeah?”

Jungkook looks up from the checkout page and locks eyes with Yoongi. He scoops a large portion of whipped cream from beneath the lid and pops it in his mouth thoughtfully, smacking his lips as he washes it down with a sip through his straw. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at him expectantly, but remains silent.

“Hmm, I’ve had better. Maybe if I had some more whipped cream?” Jungkook suggests as he tilts his cup forward and gives it the tiniest shake, shit-eating grin strewn across his features.

Unblinking, Yoongi squirts a puff of cream into the top of the container before loudly setting the can on the counter. Satisfied, Jungkook reaches into his pocket and fishes out some money for a generous tip. “See this is why you’re my favorite barista. You always make it just how I like it.”

Yoongi forces a smile as he stuffs the cash into the half-filled tip jar. “The Java Stop values your patronage, customer.”

He catches a glimpse of Jungkook’s phone screen before the younger man snatches it from the counter and walks away. What the hell is he up to?

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You curse your past self for choosing Zelda’s outfit from Twilight Princess rather than Breath of the Wild; style over comfort rarely is a good choice, but it’s a choice you often repeat without forethought. It’s tighter than you remember, and not just because there’s a corset sewn into the chestpiece. As you sit in the passenger’s seat of Jennie’s Civic, you fidget with the hem of your dress. Without taking her eyes off the road, she reaches over and slaps your hand.

“Stop it. You look great.”

You rub the back of your wrist and pout, knowing it does nothing to change her mind. You eye her tattered dress, wishing you could pull off something so slutty with the same confidence she does. White contacts make her look even more ethereal than she normally does. Natural waves and curls poke out from beneath the bent witch’s hat atop her head and you can’t help but admire her beauty.

“I look like a nerd,” you say, feeling shittier the longer you compare yourself to her. It’s not her fault. You’re just insecure and wish that you could be more like her rather than the you that you are.

“You are a nerd,” she laughs. “What’s wrong with that?”

You smile. “Nothing, I guess. I don’t know why I’m so worried about it. It’s not like I’m gonna be getting laid any time soon. This costume solidifies it.” Negativity is something you’re used to dosing yourself with, but you know it’s an action you need to work at correcting.

“Hey if no one wants to fuck you in a Zelda costume, do they even deserve to fuck you?” Jennie asks, wagging her pointer at the ceiling as if scolding some invisible source above. “I don’t fucking think so.” She tuts for a second. “So speaking of… Which ones are off limits?”

You scoff and stiffen in your seat, trying to play dumb. “What? What’s off limits?”

“Y/N,” she starts in an accusatory tone. “I’m sure there will be lots of hot people there, but I’m talking about seven hot people in particular. Now if they came up to me and said ‘hey Jennie you so fine you wanna suck all seven of our dicks?’ I’d be like hell yeah I’ma suck all seven dicks. Get in a circle and let me at ‘em.”

You smack your hand to your forehead, wishing you could purge that image from your brain.

“Now I’m just saying in this hypothetical situation that I would never turn down going down on any of them if they asked. Unless I remembered that one time you told me you were crushing, maybe, just maybe I wouldn’t suck that particular dick.”

“We’re about to go see these people. I don’t want to be thinking about this while sipping my drinks across from Seokjin. That man can smell fear, shame, and insecurity,” you mumble, looking out the window at the trees lining the side of the road.

“So that’s why we get it out now before we get there. Can’t possibly slip out if you’ve already got it out of your system,” she explains with a confident smirk.

You cross your arms and give yourself a moment to truly think about the seven men. You certainly find all of them attractive, but crossing that line might make things weird. But maybe, hypothetically… “I don’t know… They’re all pretty hot in their own way…”

“You’ve got to be attracted to one more than the others,” she prods. “Come on, Y/N. Which one does it for you?”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth before you sigh. “I guess…” You subconsciously lick your lips and give it a few seconds before the memory of falling picture frames surfaces in your mind. An embarrassed smile flickers across your face as you give your quiet, honest answer. “J-Jeon… Jungkook.”

“The young one!” Her mouth falls open. She drums her fingers against the steering wheel excitedly and spares a delightful, yet surprised look at you for a fraction of a second before her eyes return to the road. “Really? I never would have guessed. But I haven’t talked to him much honestly. Doesn’t he work at that nerdy-looking gym you almost joined? What was it, Iron Kingdom? You could always sign up for personal training. Ya know, get some one-on-one time with those muscles...”

“He’ll think I’m dumb for not knowing how to do anything,” you mumble. “Besides that’s not why.”

You shake your head and pause to start counting the list on your fingers. “Okay so he’s got muscles, a cute laugh, he likes video games, he literally always smells so fucking good, he has a great smile, he’s nice, and like he’s so mature for his age. I’m so surprised.”

“I mean from the few times I’ve seen him, I thought for sure he’d be a tool and a major shithead,” she admits.

“I know, but seriously don’t judge a book by its cover. He’s been so chill and respectful and has made me feel so welcome over the last few weeks. None of that fuckboy shit you’d expect to get with younger guys like, he doesn’t talk over me, no mansplaining, he looks me in the eyes and not at my tits, and listens when I say something, even if it’s just me talking about my day.” You pause, registering the words you just said. “Wow, the bar is really low, isn’t it?”

“Sad, but true.” She nods, glancing at the GPS on the dashboard. It’s says you’re nearly there, but it’s kind of further out from the city than you’d both been expecting.

She laughs, mulling over everything you’ve said. “He seems kinda shy. You probably need to make the first move. Maybe you should tell him you have a big fat crush on him. Tell him you wanna hold his hand. Do you think he’d blush? I bet he would. I bet he has a cute flustered face. You should totally do it.”

Recalling the way his ears turned red at the cafe causes you to purse your lips, but the action can’t hide the smile curling at the corners of your mouth. So you have a little crush on Jungkook. Who wouldn’t? He’s practically flawless and totally swoon-worthy. Your heart races as you imagine his reaction to your outfit. Would he be taken aback by how good you look as one of the hottest, most iconic female characters in gaming history? He’s a huge geek so you know there’s a possibility that he could appreciate it. Sweaty fingers work their way down your wig, carefully smoothing out any loose strands. You hope he does.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Walking into Jimin’s place feels like entering a mansion. He told you that he lives with two other people from the same modeling agency, but you didn’t realize how big the place would be. Seokjin’s ability to gather this many decorations and display them with such attention to ambiance is certainly a feat worthy of praise. You find yourself lost in the orange and yellow lights that border each doorway and drape along the walls. Their soft glow is comforting as you walk down the dim hallway, exploring the house just enough to find the table filled with fruits and snacks.

Jungkook is nowhere to be seen and you find yourself breathing a sigh of relief as you sip punch out of a red plastic cup, filling a plate with an excessive amount of strawberries, peaches, and other sweet fruits. Contrary to your previous belief that admission would mean freedom from the thoughts swirling in your brain, uttering the words out loud has made you paranoid that everyone now knows about your secret crush. You’re hoping that drinking will remove the worry from your brain, so you do your best to down the liquid fast and refill your cup.

Jennie immediately hit it off with one of Jimin’s roommates moments after walking in. You’re envious because holy fuck that guy is tall and jacked, and he’s wearing a Captain America outfit. Jennie is about to make out with Captain America and you’re gulping down spiked punch from a little plastic cup. You appreciate being able to silently agree to split, but know that you have each other’s back if either of you were to suddenly express interest in leaving, even if Captain America is balls deep.

She’s an extrovert. She loves socializing. Tossing a strawberry into your mouth, you eye the table of snacks again. You don’t. You love food. Food or sex would be a tough toss-up for you depending on the menu, and in this situation food definitely wins. There’s a buffet table of appetizers looping around the room and into the kitchen. It doesn’t get much better than this, especially knowing it was catered by Seokjin’s restaurant.

You remove a glove and tuck it beneath your armpit as you stuff your face full of sweet treats and survey the amount of people on the dance-floor. There are a good amount of people here --some with ludicrous costumes-- and it makes you feel better about being able to blend in.

You had arrived fashionably late only because Jennie may have passed the house a few times, thinking this place couldn't possibly be it. A hand skates around the periphery of your vision and you frown as it attempts to surreptitiously claim a peach slice from your plate. Following the hand to its owner, you find a smile quickly claiming your mouth in place of the previous sour grimace.

"There's plenty of peaches left over there," you say, pointing to the table of snacks beside you.

"Mmm," Namjoon hums as he pockets the fruit in his cheek. "But this pile is better. I can deduce that you've already picked out the best pieces, Zelda."

You look him over from head to toe, examining the details of his tweed suit. You hate to admit he's looking dapper as fuck in this outfit. Despite often wearing three-piece suits to work, you rarely have time to stop and really appreciate just how flattering they are on his frame. Your eyes settle on the dark brown silk carefully knotted around his neck. "Don't you get sick of wearing ties?"

His eyes widen and he blinks at you as if you'd just told him that he sat in some gum. "Do you think I should have gone with the bow-tie? I spent hours weighing the pros and cons to both and which would be more quintessential to the whole ensemble. Did I make the wrong choice?"

You open your mouth to respond, meaning to allay his concerns and tell him that he looks fine, but he interrupts rather quickly. "You know what, don't say anything. I brought the bow-tie as a backup. It's upstairs in the guest bedroom. I'll go put it on."

You grab his arm just as he's about to leave, noting the plate full of chicken wings precariously balanced on one hand. "Namjoon. Chill. Your tie looks fine. I was only asking because I would strangle myself if I wore one all the time. Now gimme some of that chicken."

His eyes dart from you to the plate in his hand and his anxiety seems to visibly melt away, replaced with a soft smile. "I'm overthinking again, huh?"

The words have never come easier than they do now. "No shit, Sherlock."

At that he offers a laugh. "How about a trade? I share the wings for access to the princess's treasury of peaches."

"Deal," you agree with a smirk, wiggling your eyebrows up and down. "Wanna people-watch with me?"

He nods enthusiastically as he tosses a handful of fresh fruit directly from your plate into his mouth. "I was gonna wander aimlessly and socialize but this sounds way better."

"Glad we're on the same page," you murmur into the chicken wing at your lips, sucking the sauce off of it and scanning the room for any particular eye-catching costumes.

The flash of red, flowing satin catches your eye. Is someone wearing a bathrobe? Seriously? The taste of hot buffalo sauce causes your lips to tingle as you note the soft, fuzzy edges of the robe. It looks comfy, actually.

You elbow Namjoon in the ribs, directing his attention to the slender, black-haired figure gliding across the room. Namjoon opens his mouth as if to identify the stranger, but the flourish of the robe beats him to it. As the material spins, you catch a glimpse of tan skin peeking out from the chest, long legs exposed as he reaches for the sash at his waist.

The silk billows as it comes undone, cascading to the floor like a river of crimson. There's no mistaking it. You're now staring at the nearly nude, half-painted body of Kim Taehyung. You can't help the way you jaw drops open at the sight of so much skin being flaunted seemingly without a care in the world. Namjoon's hand flies up to cover your eyes, as if he's going to spare you the sight you've already taken in. Now that you've seen Taehyung in a thong, there's no going back.

Sauce-covered fingers pry his away from your eyes just in time to meet the piercing gaze of the man across the room. Is it mirth or anger that graces his features? It's hard to tell with a paintbrush trapped in the box his teeth make. He takes lazy strides across the room as you struggle to keep your eyes off the unforgiving fabric outlining every last curve of his dick. It's not until he's closer that you notice the thin belts crossing his hips, which appear to be holding six tubes of paint, three strapped to each side like gun-holsters. You have to admit they frame his crotch rather nicely.

It takes every ounce of willpower you possess to keep your eyes trained on his face. He carefully takes the paintbrush out from between his teeth and extends it to you. "Draw something pretty on me, Y/N. You too, Joon. Tonight I'm a human canvas on display for the universe."

Your eyebrow quirks as you exchange a look with Namjoon and set your plate down. "You know people are just going to draw a bunch of dicks on you, right?"

He scoffs, waving off your concerns. "Don't be so negative. I will have a beautiful mural by the end of the night. Mark my words."

"I think you're putting too much trust in the goodness of human nature," Namjoon comments, his lips pressing together in an attempt to hide the amused grin that is quickly spreading across his features.

Taehyung cocks his head to the side and leans forward with a lopsided grin. You're afraid he's about to get even closer and whisper some dirty secret into your ear. Instead he asks in a breathy, low tone, "Princess Zelda wouldn't draw such dirty things on me, would she?"

Twirling the thick handle of the paintbrush between your fingers, your eyes dip to the paints secured at his waist. His eyes chase the trail yours make down his side and his delight splits his mouth into a goofy grin. "Oh. Help yourself." He gestures to the colors available with a sweep of his hands just above his hips. "Feel free to use your fingers instead.” He pauses when your mouth falls open slightly. “You know, to paint... Just be careful what you grab, Princess," he jokes.

Removing your other glove with your teeth, you drape them over your shoulder and reach out for the tube of yellow paint, trying to hide the way your hand trembles. He looks down and smiles as the cold paint touches his skin. Before long you have the faint shape of 3 triangles at the center of his chest.

“How fitting,” he murmurs, offering an amused hum as you fill in the last triangle with a glob of yellow that threatens to run down his torso.

“Oops, sorry,” you apologize, moving to tap the brush against the excess, but he grabs your wrist before the bristles can make contact with his skin again.

“That’s alright. Let it do what it does. I like it like this,” he says, watching the clump of paint slowly slide down his midriff. “Besides I’m sure someone else can use it.”

“Like Sherlock!” you suggest, holding the paintbrush out for your companion.

Namjoon takes it begrudgingly and uses the excess yellow to draw a small smiley face beside the triforce symbol.

“Cute,” Taehyung laughs as he takes the paintbrush back from Namjoon. “I love it. Thanks guys.”

Just as he turns to find his next artist, a long object bars his path, pressing against his chest just above the collarbone. You follow the shape of the bar to its owner, revealing a grinning Hoseok clad in an officer’s uniform.

“That’s a bold choice Taehyungie,” he says, securing the faux nightstick into a loop at his waist. “Just make sure you keep that thing on…” He gestures to the small bit of material at Taehyung’s crotch and holds up a pair of handcuffs with his index finger before continuing, “or I’ll have to arrest you for indecent exposure.”

“Impersonating an officer is a crime, you know,” Namjoon says, even as he’s reaching out to touch the shiny metal. “Wait. Where did you get these? Are they real?”

You squint at the device in Namjoon’s hands, looking for the safety release latch like the cheap pair you bought to use with your ex. You don’t see it. That can only mean that these are the kind where losing the keys would have real consequences. But you’re not about to out yourself as the kinky freak you are, so you bring your nearly forgotten drink to your lips and guzzle what’s left in the cup.

As the empty plastic hits the table, your eyes happen to trail across the room and land on a crowd of people gathering around a very impressive, fully-lit Iron Man costume. Jimin seems to be soaking the attention up as the crowd grows ever larger. The massive room has begun to diminish in size, and it’s as though the once comforting lights are now wilting and closing in on you, threatening to strangle the air from your lungs. The adrenalin spiking your veins is telling you it’s time to seek the comfort of open space and solitude. Fast.

You duck beneath Namjoon and Hoseok’s arms, carefully sidestepping around Taehyung to avoid brushing against the wet paint on his skin. “I’m gonna get some air. Try not to get cuffed, Sherlock,” you manage to joke with a smile before turning on your heels and booking it from the room.

If anyone responds to your joke or even acknowledges your exit at all, it’s lost on your ears. Sweat beads on the back of your neck as you hastily attempt to make your way down the hall. If you can just get outside, you can breathe. You’ll be fine. You know it.

Warm bodies clutter the path to your freedom and you can’t help but feel more and more breathless by the never-ending apologies spewing from your mouth as you squeeze past each blockade. You don’t feel like yourself, even as you speak. Taking in sharp, greedy breaths like this isn’t helping. Why is this place so devoid of oxygen? Your body moves on autopilot, seeing the faces of the people you pass, but not feeling their eyes on you.

You float out of the front door, your head as light as a feather, but your eyelids feel like they’ve been anchored. You’re positive you’re about to gracefully glide down the front steps, legs becoming amorphous blobs beneath you that will surely allow you to fly. Just as you’re leaning into the momentum of gravity, two pairs of hands steady your shoulders and criss-cross around your midriff.

“Deep breaths,” Jennie’s voice briefly cuts through the ringing in your ears.

“Do you need to sit down?” The other voice spills into your eardrum as a rushed whisper, one that’s dripping with concern.

Huh? You work on steadying your breathing instead of trying to answer.

“What did she drink?” the familiar voice asks Jennie, the brief flicker of panic quashed by the evenness of his tone. “How much has she had?”

“Relax, Yoongi. Not even our lightweight champion gets drunk that fast,” Jennie reassures him as they help you seat yourself on the top step. “Are you familiar with panic attacks?”

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck and nods silently, backing up to give you some space.

“Jennie. I’m fine now. Thank you,” you mumble, shaking your head and regaining your sense of self. “I’m glad you have my back.”

“Of course. I saw you in the hall and I just knew.”

You jump when you meet the gaze of her white, eerie contacts, which causes both her and Yoongi to laugh. You look up at Yoongi. He shoves his hands into his pockets, long flowing shirt obscuring any flesh poking out from beneath it.

“Hey, you’re not dressed up,” you blurt, realizing he’s sporting a very goth, natural Yoongi look.

He scoffs before bending at the waist and baring his teeth. A single vampire fang is affixed to one of his canines.

You tilt your head like a dog hearing a strange noise. “What, only one fang?”

“Just as dangerous, princess,” he warns with a smirk, standing up straight.

You swear you see a wink, but then again maybe you’re imagining it. You have been known to exaggerate things in your head. Still your stomach somersaults and you focus your attention on Jennie. “I’m okay. I think I’m gonna chill out here for a bit. Get back in there and dance with… god what was his name? Jackson? Jae-beom?”

“Jin-young,” she corrects before biting her lip and glancing back towards the house.

“Go. Hottie McYoungie won’t wait forever,” you tease and point your thumb over at the man hovering above you. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine with toothless over here.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at the nickname but nods at Jennie. The answer seems to be satisfactory and she gifts you with a tight hug. “Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Love you. Now go get laid.” You whisper to her before playfully pushing her back. Before you know it she’s scrambling up the steps and slips back inside, tattered dress swinging wildly with the sway of her hips, revealing just enough of her fishnet-clad thighs to draw Yoongi’s attention. There’s a fraction of a second where he wets his lips as he watches her go, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye. You don’t have time to tease because his dark eyes fall to you.

“Is there anything I can do?” His face is stoic but you can hear the sincerity in his tone.

“Wanna take a walk with me? I’d like to keep away from the big crowd.”

“I know the perfect place,” he says, hopping down from the steps and offering you his hand.

You take it with a smile and rise to your feet, carefully moving down the steps as you dust off your butt. The night air is a bit chilly and you start to work your gloves back up your arms to fight the goosebumps forming there.

That’s when you hear it. You want to misread the sound for a flute, recorder, oboe, or even someone’s radio, but you know those are all incorrect assumptions. It’s an ocarina: an ocarina playing a crude rendition of the opening to ‘Gas Pedal.’

Turning slowly, nothing can prepare you for the sight before you. Jungkook stands on the top step of the porch dressed in a green cap and tunic, tan leggings, and the ugliest dark brown boots you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got the ocarina nestled between his lips, slowly descending each step with a roll of his hips that accentuates the definition of muscles behind the thin material hugging the shape of his legs.

Your eyes are wide, mouth falling open in surprise. “Jungkook?”

As he jumps down the last step he stops the tune and cups the ocarina in his hands, bowing slightly. “Princess.”

“What are you doing?” you ask, biting back the intimidated voice in your head that’s telling you you’re being picked on.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks in a low tone, a crooked smile crossing his features as he takes a few tempered steps towards you.

You swallow. How are you supposed to answer that? You take a deep breath, trying to drive off the urge to run as he advances on you. Yoongi takes a few steps back and folds an arm over his torso, cupping his elbow as he brings a knuckle to rest against his mouth with intrigue. He couldn’t hold out for one more day? Should I step in? He brings his weight to the front of his foot, ready to diffuse the situation.

“It looks like you’re trying to fuck with me.” You stand your ground, clasping your gloved fingers and calmly resting them against your dress in true Zelda fashion.

Yoongi’s weight shifts back, retracting the step he had taken. A direct accusation isn’t exactly something he would have expected from you, but he finds himself pleased nonetheless. He certainly chose a difficult target this time.

Jungkook gets close enough that you can see the tick of his jaw and the part of his lips as he drags his eyes across your form, settling on the cleavage created by your corset. “Some of those words were right.” He pauses, leaning to whisper against the shell of your ear. “Can you guess which ones, Princess?”

Heat consumes your face as his posture straightens. He doesn’t budge past the space he’s already claimed as his, but he doesn’t move forward again to invade yours. He watches, basking in the full on show your face puts on for his own entertainment. First comes the confusion, next realization, and then shame.

It’s hard to tell if he’s coming onto you or picking on you. You swallow, throat growing drier by the second. “You knew I was coming as Zelda. Weren’t you coming as something else?”

He throws his head back enough to feign exasperation while keeping his eyes trained on you. “Come on. You don’t like my costume?”

Instead of giving you time to answer, he brings the ocarina back to his lips and blows an obnoxious amount of air through the hollow space inside, producing a piercing rendition of ‘Talk Dirty to Me.’

Your shoulders raise as you inhale, suppressing the irritation bubbling within your belly. You wince, turning your head as a particularly shrill note escapes the instrument. Yoongi’s expression sours as he plugs both ears with his fingers.

Jungkook immediately stops playing and offers a sheepish grin. “Oops. I learned that one for you. Maybe I need more practice. Do you want to help me?” He briefly pauses to wet his lips, presenting the ocarina to you. “I can show you how to blow.”

You grind your teeth as your jaw ticks back and forth a few times before answering, “No thanks.”

Yoongi silently tents his fingers over his forehead and tries to massage the secondhand embarrassment from his skull. This is a trainwreck waiting to explode and at this point there’s no looking away.

Jungkook raises his eyebrows at you as he stuffs the ocarina into a small brown pouch hanging from the flimsy belt at his waist. “Ah. Sorry, Princess. I don’t mean to insult you. You’ve probably already mastered the art. Hah. Maybe you could show me a thing or two?”

Unable to form a proper response, your lips purse as the wheels in your head spin. Say something clever. Think of a comeback. Something. Come on. But here you stand, mind blanking for even the simplest of clapbacks. You’re having trouble coming to terms with the fact that your innocent little crush on the once “sweet” Kookie has come crumbling down with his facade, leaving your chest aching with the humiliation of your naivety.

He looks you over, admiring the artistry in the gown you’ve lovingly crafted. For a moment he’s lost in the embroidery stitched into the sash swaying in the breeze of a chilly October night. “I love your…” he trails off, eyes darting across your shape to capture every last detail of your attire.

He pays special mind to the gems adorned at your hips, and the heavy-looking chain belt which links the sash to your dress. He marvels over the color and velvet texture chosen for the purple corset at your torso. The sheer attention to detail and craftsmanship in your costume stuns him into silence for half a second.

His eyes reach the perky mounds of flesh peeking over the top of the corset. Miraculously his voice resurfaces. “...costume.”

The way his dark eyes linger on your chest isn’t lost on you. Your cheeks burn in the cool air, despite the goosebumps littering your arms. You cross your arms over your chest, higher than you normally would to combat his lurid gaze. The green hat atop his head folds over itself as he cocks to one side. Dark, hungry eyes snap to yours, voicelessly pouting at your blockade. For a split second a guilty excitement pulses through you, but you’ll be damned if you’re the cause of an obviously already inflated ego.

“You never said what you think of mine,” he prods. His eyebrows wiggle up and down as he slowly runs his hands along his torso, as if feeling himself up is going to sway your opinion.

You tell yourself not to fall for it, that he’s playing you for a fool right now. Still, your jaw is tight as your eyes helplessly follow the flow of his fingers down his body. His pinky purposefully catches on the flimsy pleather strap acting as the belt at his waist. An impish grin spreads across his face as he notes the way your chest stutters out the breath you’d unknowingly held. Satisfied, his hands continue their languid journey down his body. Your eyes are glued to the way he traces the contours of his thighs.

Finally his fingers dig into the meat of his those muscles and you feel the need to look away before answering. “I hate it.”

He sighs. “Hate is a strong word. Are you sure that’s how you really feel? Why don’t you look at me when you say that?”

Strengthening your resolve, you force your eyes back to his smug face. Stupid doesn’t even begin to cover how you’re feeling at this point. Biting back tears, you swallow hard and do your best to remain composed. Here he stands, a crooked smile amplifying the air of arrogance surrounding him. He’s playing you. He’s been playing you this whole time hasn’t he?

“I don’t even know who you really are, do I?” your voice cracks, only adding to your humiliation.

“I’m the bad guy. Duh.” With that he cackles as he pulls the ocarina from his pouch, proceeding to play the melody from ‘Bad Guy.’

You spin on your heels and storm past Yoongi, the blood rushing through your ears in a distraught rage, drowning out the bitter sound of the notes. A pang of guilt strikes the half-assed vampire as he stares at his friend. “One more day. You couldn’t make one more day?”

Jungkook shrugs, making his way back up the stairs. “If you see Hobi, tell him I’ll have his money tomorrow.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Dragging your hands across your face, you keep your gaze cast towards the ground.

How fucking idiotic, how self-absorbed have you been to assume that he’s been nice because he likes you and not because he was playing some game with you? He's probably just been waiting for an opportunity like this and you fell right into his trap. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder and you spin, ready to deck the person you assume to be Jungkook. Yoongi's eyebrows raise as you stand poised to punch. He ducks to the side just in time. As you realize your mistake, it's too late. The momentum brings you forward.

His arms come up around you in a soft embrace, one that you're quick to return. "It's just me," he mumbles, kneading his thumb against your back. "...Sorry."

You bury your face into his shoulder, allowing the tiara to slip from your head and hit the soft ground with a dull thud. Why is he apologizing? He didn't do anything wrong. You want to tell him that, but any sound you make might bring about a slew of tears you've been holding back. Instead you just squeeze your arms around him even tighter.

He awkwardly pats your back a few times, not quite knowing what to do with the hug that's lasting longer than anticipated. Sensing his discomfort, you pull away and adjust your wig as you offer an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

A figure approaches, bending down to pick up the forgotten adornment. Out of the corner of your eye you see him rub the dirt off the tiara. Jin carefully places it on your head. "A princess should have a crown."

You look him over, noting the giant overalls, red newsboy cap and hideous fake mustache. You can't help but laugh as he forces a hard blink and puckers his lips, alternating lifting sides of his mouth so the mustache comically tweaks itself in a seesaw motion. "I like your costume," you manage between giggles.

He grins back, donning an over-the-top Italian accent. "I a-like-a yours too! A beautiful costume for a beautiful a-woman."

"Please stop," Yoongi groans.

Jin ignores him, fiddling with the corner of his mustache. "I don't-a know where my brother went. I think he's a-scared of the haunted mansion."

You roll your eyes at the joke. That's right. Jungkook was supposed to be Luigi. "He's busy playing a dick for the night."

A look of realization washes over him and he nods, puffing out air through overly inflated cheeks. "Hmm. You know what might-a make you feel better? Helping me scare-a the pants off of people!"

He folds his elbow and holds it out for you, tempting you to lace yours around it. Channeling your bruised ego and hurt feelings into scaring people for fun? That might just work. You feed your elbow through the crook in his. "Zelda and Mario working together."

Jin laughs. "The dream-a team!" He makes a motion to skip towards the outer entrance to the basement that he's dressed up with spiderwebs and a large, hand-made sign that says "MARIO'S GHOST HOUSE." Beside the entrance is a giant blown-up decoration of King Boo, its pink tongue flapping in the breeze.

As you're tugged in the direction of his creation, he stops abruptly. "Oh, we haven't had that many people though. So we have to make the few that come through count!"

Yoongi's eyes light up. "Hey. I’ve got an idea. I’ll get you a the best customer. But you have to really scare him. I promise it will make your night."

Puzzled, you furrow your brows and tilt your head. “Okay…?”

Jin grins like a maniac as Yoongi makes his way towards the front of the house. “Come on. I’ll show you the best spots to hide.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

About twenty minutes have passed since Yoongi left in search of his promised customer. Only a few people have wandered in. You have to admit it’s therapeutic to watch people scream and jump when you bang on the false walls within the maze Jin has somehow constructed in this basement. Watching people run up the final stairs to safety leaves you with a feeling of satisfaction, always giving Jin a prideful high-five before returning to the beginning to await more guests.

“Ah! My-a new-a guests!” you hear Jin enthusiastically greet the latest people to stop at the entrance. “Are you a-ready to have fun?”

There’s some hushed whispering that you can’t quite make out from your hiding place within the set.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Yoongi chides loudly. “Seokjin made this. Do you really think it’s that scary?”

“P-Pussy?” Hoseok stares wide-eyed at his friend and scoffs. “Don’t be rude. I just know Seokjin. It will be worse than whatever I think”

Is that Hobi? You were kind of hoping Yoongi would get Jungkook to walk through. Knowing what you do now though, you have no doubt that Jungkook would be unphased by something like this. All you can hear in your head is the echo of his obnoxious laughter and a pang of hurt slices through your heart. God, you’re so stupid.

Yoongi points to the Boo’s tongue flapping in the wind. “It will be like that, probably. It’s silly to be so afraid.”

Hoseok bounces from foot to foot in uncertainty. Even a police uniform can’t steel his spine or guarantee safety. “Why should I do this to myself?”

Yoongi sighs. “I’ll help you look at new places and… help you move. I’ll even be your roommate if the rent is too high.”

Hoseok is beaming. How long has he been asking for help searching? Jin looks from one man to the other, hiding the subtle smile beneath his mustache. He knew Hoseok wouldn’t go in so easily, that something had to be offered up, but he really didn’t expect Yoongi to go so far.

Hoseok points at Jin. “You’re my witness. I go through this and he’s my roommate.”

“If the rent is too high only,” Yoongi tries to reason, but it’s too late. Hoseok has heard what he wants to hear. He grabs his friend and marches into the depths of the basement.

Immediately you bang the walls on their journey down, feeling Jin rush past you to set up for the next scare. Hobi screams. “Never mind! Never mind!”

Yoongi scoffs, dragging his friend forward. “Come on, officer.”

You listen for their footsteps as you circle the walls behind the maze. Hobi’s frantic yelling breaks through the room, slipping into loud curses. You pull your glove up and wait, peeking through the hole you’re hoping he’ll get close enough to. Even shrouded in shadows, Yoongi’s form peeks out from around the corner.

“Don’t think about the dark,” Yoongi says, slowly shuffling towards the wall with Hoseok crouched behind him, using him as a shield from any more scares. “Think about how you bet Jungkook he couldn’t stop himself from trying to get in Y/N’s pants, not even for one month.”

You freeze. Yoongi knows you can hear him, right? He has to know.

“Think about how well he was doing. You would have been cleaning his house tomorrow. Maid Hobi, bound by servitude.”

“I know…” Hoseok groans. “It would have been awful. He’s so messy! I wouldn’t even be getting paid! What was I thinking?”

“But instead, he bet you a month’s rent that he could,” Yoongi continues loudly. “He blew it tonight for the chance to dress up as Link and tease Zelda. He only had one more day.”

“He’s a dumbass,” Hobi comments with a nod, turning to look at the ceiling and making sure nothing is going to drop down on him.

You swallow, taking in the revelation Yoongi has just bestowed upon you. All this time you had spent thinking Jungkook was a sweet gentleman was actually due to Hoseok making a bet with him? You would rather have known Jungkook was a dick straight up because now the innocent, harmless crush you have on him feels so dirty and foul that you wish you could swipe it from existence.

It’s Jungkook’s fault. He lied. He pretended. You know this. But still you can’t help but partially blame Hobi for the bitter taste in your mouth. As Yoongi passes, you reach out, letting your fingers swipe down Hobi’s forearm and retract through the hole in the wall as he lets out a high-pitched scream.

“Hoseok, get off.” Yoongi tries to push away the man climbing onto his back.

“Something grabbed me! Something grabbed me!” Hoseok wraps his legs around Yoongi’s waist and huddles close to his neck pointing. “Over there! It grabbed me from over there!”

“Let’s keep moving, then.”

“No! No more! I’m standing right here until the sun comes up.”

“How is it standing if your feet aren’t touching the ground? I won’t carry you all night,” Yoongi says, adjusting his stance to compensate for the weight on his back.

“You will, too,” he pouts.

Jin helps you position a furry spider decoration above them, slowly dangling it lower until it finally hits Hoseok’s shoulder. The wail that escapes this grown ass man almost makes you feel bad. Almost. He swats the creature into darkness as he spurs Yoongi on by digging his heels into his belly. “Get me out of here! Please!”

Jin’s shoulders move up and down with the sound of his laughter as he slaps your hand in victory. Scaring Hobi made you feel a little better at least.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The party has died down quite a bit and at this point Jimin has been passing you far too many drinks as he and Namjoon regale you with tales from college. Namjoon is clearly feeling toasty, laughing like a dork at every memory Jimin brings up. Apparently they were roommates and Jimin has a liberal arts degree from four years of being undecided.

Your head lolls around to rest on Namjoon’s shoulder, your backs pressed against the bottom of the couch as Jimin sits cross-legged in sweats and a t-shirt on the floor before you, his costume laying discarded beside him. He’s spinning his latest story of how Namjoon had accidentally thrown up on some girl he really liked. Yoongi silently lays on the couch behind you, smirking with his eyes closed. You can’t tell if he’s sleeping or just relaxing as you struggle to stand, using Namjoon’s shoulder as leverage to prop yourself up.

“Bathroom?” you ask distractedly, searching the room like a door will appear if you look hard enough.

Jimin smiles pointing at the doorway across the room. “Go out that door, take a left down the hall. It’ll be on your right.”

Your head dips a bit as you try to take in the directions. Namjoon looks up at you as you stumble forward, clearly off-balance. “Do you need some help, geeksquad?”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, hating the nickname he’s given you from work. “I’ll be right back. Don’t drink my drink.” You narrow your eyes at Jimin and he blinks at you in surprise, like you’ve accused him of such a heinous, unthinkable crime.

Rounding the corner, you pass a grinning Taehyung being led upstairs by a cute girl in a red beret, black and white striped shirt, and miniskirt with suspenders. Art hoe? Mime? It’s hard to tell what her costume might be. While his skin is covered in a beautiful mess of colors, your tri-force symbol still stands untouched at the center of his chest. You smile as you watch him climb the steps, clearly distracted. But as his back is revealed, your eyes widen at the sight of a mural of painted dicks. Well. At least he can’t see them.

You walk down the hall for what feels like an eternity, passing a few closed doors on either side. Maybe you should try one? Knocking on the one closest to you once, the door swings in and you lose your balance, not expecting it to open.

“What took you so long? I almost came without you.” The voice is pouty and low, somewhat familiar. He gasps when he realizes you’re not the person he’s been waiting for.

You stumble forward, falling to your knees and catching the bed frame before your face smacks into the wood. As graceful as you can manage, you pull yourself up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to! I didn’t realize it was open and I was just looking for the---” The will to speak leaves you as soon as you see him.

A very sweaty, very naked Jungkook crosses his arms and he leans back expectantly, smushing the pillows behind him into the headboard. Your eyes take in the pleased expression on his face, quickly scanning the muscles of his folded arms, his chiseled abs, his bulging legs. The pointy green hat he had been wearing earlier tents across his sculpted hips and pelvis, thankfully obscuring any shape hidden beneath it.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again tonight,” he says, licking his lips as he watches your form tremble, practically falling apart in front of him before adding, “...Princess.”

A devilish grin overtakes him at the sight of you spinning around a little too fast, staggering towards the door and holding onto the frame for dear life. “I hoped I wouldn’t see you again tonight.”

“I can’t say it isn’t a nice surprise. You don’t have to leave,” he coaxes. “Do you wanna see my Master Sword?”

“Grow up!” You make sure to slam the door shut behind you. You hate him so fucking much it hurts.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“Jennie, how could I be so wrong about him?” you sigh, dropping your forehead against the kitchen table. It’s been three weeks since you’ve talked to him, but it’s still the only thing you can think about.

Jennie takes a sip from her beer. “Sweetie, you’re not good at reading liars. Maybe you should look at some dating apps. You could get good read quick.”

“But I don’t wanna,” you whine into the coated wood. “Why can’t people just be nice?”

“Because. People suck. Come on, Y/N. Jungkook ain’t worth the headache. Drink with me. I’ll show you how Tinder works. It’s not so bad.”

When you don’t say anything, she tugs your chair across the floor, dragging your form close to hers and setting her phone down on the table. You peek out at the screen as you raise your head and rest it on a lazy elbow.

“Swipe right on the hotties. Swipe left on the fuckboys and losers. Jungkook? He’s a swipe left. But look at all these good ones on here. These are all swipe righties.”

You nod as she goes through a few profiles and begin downloading the app on your phone. Maybe she’s onto something.

[kayte-overmoon]

"Slow Cherry" Chapter 4

(cross-posted on AO3)

Tags: Mild Depressive Episode, Drinking (everyone is of age; no alcohol abuse), drunk texting, accidental face reveal

Snippet: A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

Read Chapter 1 Here

Read Chapter 2 Here

Read Chapter 3 Here

No sexual content in this chapter.

Dream spent the next few weeks losing himself in his schoolwork.

Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of George, heard his voice, saw his smile. It was wreaking havoc on his attention span. His feelings toward the older man were confusing to say the least. It was easier to hyperfixate on school than to try and sort out why he felt this way about a man he’d never even met face-to-face.

Knowing they were only a few short weeks away from living not only in the same country, but the same city made it very, very hard to think about anything else.

Luckily, he had a hardcore coding assignment coming up, so he locked himself in his bedroom with the lights off and drowned himself in Python.

Sapnap noticed something was off and made sure to text Dream whenever he got food (conveniently always with a little more than one person could eat alone). On the rare occasions Dream emerged from his cave, Sapnap looked at him with concern written in every corner of his face, but he didn’t ask what was wrong. He just pushed a bottle of water or a granola bar across the counter to him and told him he looked like shit.

Dream was sure he was right. It was winter, so he hadn’t properly been in the sun in months—for a Florida boy, that was too long. He’d skipped a few showers, and the only time he’d eaten was when Sapnap made sure he did. He shuffled into the bathroom to scrutinize himself under the fluorescents. He squinted in the bright light, so used to the darkness of his room. His hair was a mess, several days overdue for a wash and unbrushed for longer than Dream could remember. He also needed to shave, not liking the scratchy growth around his jaw. There were dark circles around his blood-shot eyes and his skin was paler than it had been in years. He scoffed at himself before stripping and jumping in the shower.

The hot water burned his skin, but it was a religious experience. He hadn’t realized how far he’d pushed himself and how deep he’d let himself fall until it was over. His last final was the next morning, so he was almost done. Thank God.

As it usually did when he had a free moment, his mind strayed to George.

They had still been snapping back and forth, which soothed some of the ache. But it felt like he was looking down the barrel of addiction: he knew that taking one more hit, one more drink, would land him far beyond his limit, pushing him past the fabled Point of No Return. He considered ghosting George, but just thinking about that made his stomach turn. Sex workers got enough shit as it was without their clients pushing boundaries, trying to make something real out of their arrangements, or dropping them outright without warning.

Dream was so fucking pathetic.

He emerged from his shower scrubbed raw, physically and emotionally. He didn’t feel great in his head still, but at least he didn’t stink. He brushed his teeth to cover all his hygienic basics, put on a clean pair of pajamas, and went to bed.

And just like that his semester was over. He did well on his final—not as well as he’d hoped, considering how much time he’d spent studying, but well enough to stay on track to graduation.

He emerged from his final to find a snap from George waiting for him on his phone.

The older man was sitting on his bed, throwing a peace sign to the camera with a huge, cheesy grin. There were boxes stacked around the bed, the only thing left in the room being his bed.

Good luck on your final! Getting ready to put my stuff in the shipping container. Only a few more days.

Despite himself, Dream smiled at the message.

Dream and Sapnap celebrated the end of the semester that night in the only way college kids knew how: by buying as much beer as they could afford and inviting over as many people as they could fit into their apartment. Someone connected their phone to the sound system in the living room, blasting hip hop music over the subwoofer. Dream knew they were going to get a noise complaint from their neighbors, but he was too excited—and drunk—to care.

He got a few drinks in him and danced when he was pulled from the couch. Faces blurred before him, but he knew almost everybody there, so he didn’t mind whenever someone pressed up against him. Someone else pressed another beer into his hands. He was sweating, the heat in the apartment still fighting the December cold even with a few dozen people packed into the cramped space. His jacket came off at some point, so he was only in his beer-stained t-shirt and jeans.

He could happily say he had nothing on his mind. He was just happy, done with school for the next month and surrounded by his favorite people in the world.

But not his favorite person in the world.

No, that person wasn’t here.

He stumbled to the bathroom at one point to piss, wobbling a little and struggling to aim. He washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked much different than he had the previous night: he was flushed from the alcohol and dancing, for one, but he also felt lighter. Maybe it was the beer talking, but he felt good. He always liked life better when he wasn’t in school. And that message from George made him so, so happy.

Only a few more days.

George.

Just thinking about him made Dream smile.

He pulled out his phone just to look at the photo, which he’d screenshotted. They’d agreed they could save anything they sent each other except for nudes, which they had to get permission to keep. But innocent little messages like that one were free game. Dream was thankful for that, since it let him get a fix whenever he needed it. He found himself pulling out his phone to look at pictures of his camboy whenever he had a free moment to twiddle his thumbs.

He wrote a message to George, not really paying attention to what he said. Mainly he just wanted George to think of him while Dream was thinking of George. He sent the message and pocketed his phone. The music became unmuffled as he opened the bathroom door and someone immediately grabbed him and pulled him back into the fray.

Dream had… many regrets come morning.

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew how much of a doozy this hangover was. His head was pounding with the beat of his heart, his mouth felt packed with sand, and his stomach was turning. He felt like he needed to puke, but he was too numb to get up. Besides, he had a feeling he’d only end up dry heaving.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, debating going back to sleep. Something on the bed shifted next to him (much bigger than Patches), alerting him to the fact that he wasn’t alone.

After some coaxing, he squinted his eyes open and blinked against the scarce light peeking around the curtains—it wasn’t much light, but it was enough to make him want to die. He turned to see someone’s back facing him in the bed, a dude. Dream sent up a silent prayer of thanks that both the dude and Dream himself were fully clothed. He levered himself onto an elbow to see who was next to him. It was Skeppy, of all people, and he wasn't alone. Puffy was there too, curled up against Skeppy’s chest at the edge of the bed. Dream had no clue how neither of them had fallen off yet, so tightly wound together on the ledge. But they were there, snoozing happily.

Someone was snoring, but it wasn’t either of them. Dream sat up further and poked his head around to find Bad sprawled on the floor beside the bed. It seemed he’d wanted to get in with Skeppy and Puffy, but there hadn’t been enough room with Dream there as well. Skeppy’s hand was dangling off the side of the bed where Bad was; they must have fallen asleep holding hands. Despite his head and his stomach trying to remove themselves from his body, Dream smiled. They were all so sweet together.

He extracted himself from the bed slowly, not wanting to disturb them, and grabbed his phone charger from the power strip at his desk. He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself carefully. His phone was dead in his pocket, so he plugged it in at the bathroom counter as he set about cleaning himself up. He contemplated trying to throw up but decided against it. It might only make him even more sick. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. He definitely needed a shower and a change of clothes, but he didn’t have the energy for it yet.

A soft ding told him his phone was back on. He dried off his hands and picked it up. He had a couple of missed notifications. Karl left one saying he was taking Sapnap back to his place because someone had already taken Sapnap’s room. There was one from his next-door neighbor asking him to turn the music down or they would call the cops. Dream assumed that was a bluff, considering he didn’t remember the cops showing up at any point.

The last notification caught his eye.

It was a Snapchat message from George, received around 3 a.m.

Dream, call me when you get this. I don’t think you meant to send that. I need to talk to you.

Dream’s heart sunk.

What had he sent George? Had he drunk texted him? What had he said?

Oh God, he hadn't told him anything... incriminating, right? Had he said anything about wanting to be more than a sugar daddy, a friend with benefits, a casual observer?

There wasn’t anything saved in their chats above George’s most recent messages. The last message before that was Dream’s response to George’s “good luck with finals” message.

Wait. No it wasn’t.

The time stamp was wrong.

Dream had sent George a picture around 2:30 last night, when he was several drinks deep. He remembered going to the bathroom and texting George, but he couldn’t remember what he’d said no matter how hard he’d tried. He thought it had been a typed message in chat, not a picture.

Maybe he’d sent a dick pic? He hoped not. He had been too drunk to get it up at that point. If that’s what it was, it had to be horribly unflattering. And if not a dick pic, what had he taken a picture of?

His blood ran cold.

He was hitting the “call” button before he could overthink it.

George answered a few rings later. “Dream?”

“What did I send?” His voice was rough. He was trying to keep quiet so he didn’t bother his guests, and his mouth was dry even after brushing his teeth. He sounded like shit.

George sounded uncomfortable when he spoke. “Dream, I’m sorry. I don’t think you meant to—“

“What did I send, George?”

He knew the answer in the silence before George spoke. His stomach dropped when he said it anyway. “You—you sent me a picture of your face.”

Dream hung his head. Perfect. Of course. He’d had grand plans to pick George up from the airport and reveal his face then, or he’d at least make it sexy over their video calls or something. He wanted to make it a spectacle. Instead he’d drunk texted him a selfie.

“It wasn’t bad,” George tried to reassure him. “I couldn’t see it too clearly anyway. It was in the mirror, and you were very drunk. You were a little blurry.”

“What was I doing?”

“You were, like, leaning on the counter. You were smiling. You had a, uh…”

Dream frowned harder. “I had a what?”

“You had—have—a hickey on your neck.”

“What?” Dream stood up straight and pulled the collar of his shirt. Sure enough, there was a dark red mark on his neck, barely hidden by his shirt. “Huh. How the hell did that get there?”

George snorted. “Sounds like you had a fun night.” There was something bitter in his tone.

Dream scrambled for a response that wouldn't put him in the metaphorical dog house. “I don’t—I didn’t sleep with anyone. I would know. It just—my friends are super touchy. One of them probably did it while we were dancing.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Dream,” George said softly. “I’m a big boy. I know I’m not the only person in your life.”

“I do have to explain myself, though.” Dream ran his hand through his hair. “I care what you think about me. I don’t want you to think I sleep around. I don’t. Not really. Not anymore, at least. And I wanted to surprise you when you saw my face. I wanted it to be a thing.”

“Dream, calm down.” There was something calming about the British man’s voice, especially when he used that tone, like he was soothing a spooked animal. Which, for all intents and purposes, Dream was. “It’s okay. I’m not upset. I was just worried about you. I know it’s a thing for you, people seeing your face.”

“Oh.” Dream’s heart was thundering in his chest. It was making his head throb harder, but he didn’t particularly care at that moment. “Thank you. That’s—you’re really considerate. And did you—I mean, did…”

“You’re very handsome, Dream.”

Dream was dumbfounded. That wasn’t what he was going to ask, but he’s glad George said it. He wasn’t really concerned about that particular aspect of this whole ordeal, but it was nice to know. “Oh. Thanks. That’s… you too. I mean, I think you’re—fuck.”

George’s laugh echoed across the line, settling Dream’s frazzled nerves. “I know, honey. You’ve told me before. But let's continue this conversation when you’re not so hungover, yeah?”

Dream hummed in agreement. “You can tell?”

“You were sloshed last night. I could tell just by looking at you. Partied hard, hmm?”

Dream snorted. “Just a little. I don't even want to see the state of my living room right now. And there’s, like, two-thirds of a thruple in my bed right now.”

“Oh?” Amusement and interest tinged the older man’s voice.

“No, not like that,” Dream laughed. “They passed out in there. Their third is on the floor. They’re good friends of mine. No clue when we all fell asleep though.”

“Sounds like you need to get started making coffee for everyone, then. Be a good host.”

“Probably. I thought about ordering pizza. I have no clue how many people stayed over though.”

“Celebrating the end of term, then?”

A yawn worked its way out of Dream. “Yeah,” he said. “We all finished up yesterday so we just bought a bunch of beer and invited folks over.”

“Sounds fun.”

“We’ll invite you next time,” Dream said, his tongue loose from his hangover. Oh well. “I think you’d like my friends. They’re all… absolutely insane. But they’re the coolest, nicest people you’ll ever meet.”

A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[sailtoafarawayland]

The Things We Don’t Say - Ch 2 (modern AU - actors)

Summary:  No one is perfect, and sometimes, two people are just so perfectly flawed that those pieces fit together and make something beautiful. When sparks fly between two leads of a new hit show, is there a happy ending in sight, or will their own mistakes overshadow any chance they had at something worth fighting for.

Rated: Explicit    

Warnings:   This is a joyfully Captain Swan story, but there are a few warnings. It does start with Emma/Neal and Killian/Milah. I don't write non-CS, so there won't be any sexual anything happening 'on screen', so to speak, between those couples, but I won't guarantee there may not be a mention. This story contains numerous episodes of cheating. If any of these things make you squick or are not your bag, carry on.

AO3 - FF

- or read below the cut -

As always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged (or removed) for further updates.

Tag list: @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @teamhook @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @kmomof4​ 

Chapter Two

Killian sighed into the hard press of his fingers against his tired eyes, listening to the soft hum of the elevator as it climbed to his floor. He’d look like a drunken raccoon by the time he got into the apartment, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. An early morning shoot that had dragged late into the day left him feeling more dead than alive, and he hadn’t bothered with his normal clean up on set. The time saved getting back to his bed was the bright side—the downside was a few fans had recognized him when he jumped out of his uber, his trademark eyeliner and messily styled hair a giveaway. He’d managed a few weak smiles as they snapped pictures and hurried on his way, taking a few strange turns and slipping a spare beanie he kept in his pocket over his head. That, a popped collar, and hunched shoulders normally did the trick. Being famous certainly had its perks, but crazed fans knowing where he lived certainly wasn’t one of them.

It was usually simpler to drive to set, but lately he’d been to worn out to trust himself behind the wheel. The past two weeks had been a nightmare of last minute reshoots and publicity, and he couldn’t wait for it to all be over.

The elevator doors slid open, Killian staring at them for a moment before he realized her was staring at the familiar artwork that spanned the hall outside his condo. Desperately trying to blink away sleep, he trudged down the hall, leaning his forehead against the cool metal door for a brief second before unlocking it and heading in.  

God, he hoped Milah was content to have a quiet night in.

Everything was blessedly dark and quiet when he stepped into the entryway, shrugging his leather jacket off and hanging it on the waiting hook, his boots next as he eased them off his aching feet and lined them up neatly below the jacket. He rolled his neck and stretched, wrinkling his nose as he realized a fifteen-hour day filming had left him less than fresh.

A hot shower and bed—that was the plan. With any luck, and the darkened apartment seemed to be on his side, Milah would already be stretched beneath the covers and he could slip in behind her and fall asleep pressed to her warmth. It would be the perfect start to a weekend otherwise free of engagements and obligations.

“Milah?” he whispered, not wanting to startle her if she was relaxing in the living area.

There was always the chance she’d gone out with friends earlier and wouldn’t be home until late. It was a Friday, after all.

His back ached as he stretched his shirt over his head, balling it up and launching it toward the hamper as he walked into the bedroom. A glaring light greeted him from around the corner and he realized that Milah was indeed home, but not where he’d hoped. It looked as if a tornado had blown through the walk-in closet—every pair of heels she owned were tossed onto the floor and the chaise was covered with a haphazard pile of glittering dresses. Milah was standing in front of the mirrored wall, a sequined, black strapless number pulled over her body but left unzipped as she adjusted a pair of large earrings, her brow furrowed.

“Oh, thank god your home,” she huffed, flashing an annoyed smile over her shoulder as she slid her second earring in. “This zipper is absolutely impossible.”

He smiled and stepped into the closet, taking care to avoid the dresses that had sloughed onto the carpeting.

“I’m happy to help, darling,” he assured, catching the nearly invisibly zipper and easing it up her back. There were certainly nights he would have coaxed her into agreement that off was the far better option, but tonight he was more than happy to get her dressed and out the door if that was what she so desired. “Headed anywhere special?”

“It’s that opening of the new club—you know, the one with the glass ceiling that everyone has been going on about. I mentioned it the other night—good lord, Killian, you positively reek.”

Killian flashed a tired smile in the mirror, but her frown only deepened.

“Honestly, Killian, you can’t go out like that. You’ll need to have a quick shower.”

Killian’s brows echoed her own displeasure as he realized what she was implying.

“Did you want my company, as well?”

“Do you even listen when I speak? Sometimes I wonder. I told you two nights ago that Lara and William were expecting us. They’ve barely seen you.”

Killian couldn’t remember a Lara, but he seemed to recall a bright, friendly man with reddish-blond hair who may have been a William. No matter who they were, he had no interest in spending the evening with them, and even less in spending the evening on his feet in an obnoxious club.

“It’s been a long day, Milah—every day for the past couple weeks has, and I’m exhausted—”

“You’re absolutely right, Killian, it has been a long day, a long few weeks, and I’m sorry that I thought I might get to spend some time with you at the end of all of it. How foolish of me,” she snapped, and Killian felt the words like a slap to his face.

“No, you’re right. It’s—I’m sorry. I’ll have a quick rinse and get dressed.”

Milah beamed at him, adjusting her hair and checking that everything was just as she wanted it to be in the mirror. Killian pressed a soft kiss to her bare shoulder, the warmth of her smile washing away a bit of his exhaustion.

He wanted her to be happy, and perhaps the past few weeks had been more difficult for her than she let on.

“It will be a lovely night, I promise,” she said, shoving him gently toward the bathroom as she turned to reappraise the pile of heels.

* * * 

Despite Milah’s initial enthusiasm that he’d agreed to join her and two people he most definitely did not remember—apparently William had brown hair and was quite pretentious—it was not a lovely night. The hot shower and the warmth of Milah’s arm in his had been enough to fool him into think it might be the tiniest bit enjoyable—after all, it had been some time since he’d been to a club—but he’d been wrong, very wrong.

Everything from the moving lights to the music to the stench of hot bodies pressed against one another was giving him a pounding headache, and he slid down further into his chair, nursing a rum and casting about for Milah, wherever she’d gone. He’d wanted to give her a nice evening at his side, but he hadn’t been able to find it in him to join her on the dance floor—probably because his feet had blisters from filming in his costume boots all day—and she hadn’t been able to find it in her to forgive him.

He’d been able to keep track of her at first, but soon she was lost in the crush of bodies and he was lost in his rum—at least it helped dull the sounds a bit.

He didn’t know if it was the insane schedule he was booked to finish shooting for his latest movie, or just the lack of free time, but nothing felt quite right lately, and he was worried a change was needed. Milah was clearly unhappy with his schedule, with how much distance it put between them. He found himself wondering if perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad time to step back a bit, to get away and really dedicate some time to the two of them.

It was a question he’d come back to more than once in the past few months, and as much as he wanted to feel that doing so was the right answer, his gut kept telling him it wasn’t.

He loved her, he certainly didn’t want her to be miserable, but the thought of missing out on opportunities at the high point of his career, it did worry him. Liam had worked more than any person should have to help put him through school, and he’d only ever wanted happiness for his little brother. Liam was a big enough man to know that for Killian that meant acting, even if it was a hard path. If Killian were to step back now, would that be doing justice to his brother’s sacrifice. What if he started turning down offers and never bounced back from it?

He searched the dance floor once more, but there was no sign of his Milah. Knowing she was probably hurt enough to ignore him for the rest of the night, he whipped out his phone and started scrolling through emails, most of them simply things his manager had already spoken with him about over the phone. It wasn’t until he scrolled farther back, nearly hypnotized by the small boxes flying along the screen, that a flagged email came to his attention and he stopped. The details were familiar, and he only just remembered the conversation he’d had with Cora.

It had been an offer for the lead role in a new series, but he’d turned it down due to the filming location. He’d been worried about having to uproot Milah, but scanning through everything once more, he found himself second-guessing his first decision. Perhaps it would be the answer they needed, and the more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him personally.

Maine was certainly quiet and would allow for more quality time together—and the pay was bloody obscene, which never hurt. According to Cora, the role had been written specifically for him. He wondered how the showrunners had taken it when he declined.

His finger hovered over reply.

He should probably discuss it will Milah first, but then thoughts of Liam tugged at his tired mind and he reread the arc for the lead role, each sentence making him more inclined to see if taking it on was still a possibility.

He’d earned his name and place in Hollywood by becoming the face of playboys and scoundrels, all of his characters well-known for their rakish appeal, but to be honest, he was starting to become concerned he may not be offered anything more diverse if he didn’t branch out soon. This role—this would be something different, something Liam would be proud of. The series treaded water somewhere between a fantasy show and a piece that examined the very fabric of what is real, the main character a man who suffered great personal tragedy and loss only to have his independence and health rocked.

The more Killian looked at it, the more he knew it was for him, the words swimming with possibility...or rum. He didn't know what about his previous roles had drawn the showrunners to him of all their choices, but for the first time in a while, he really wanted something.

He really wanted this.

A feeling of certainty settled in his gut and he shot off a reply to Cora.

K: I want this, do what you need to do.

The message sent and he almost expected to look up and see Milah hovering over him, a flushed smile on her cheeks from dancing, her hair falling in tendrils around her face, but his table is still empty and the dance floor is still a writhing mass of faceless people.

Raising his glass in a lonely toast, he took another drag of rum and closed his eyes.

He wants to dream that she’ll be as happy as he is, that’s all he wants for her.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 1/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: For @silver-colour

Written for the @tricketyboo2020 prompt "Creepypasta format story (like a found footage or witness statement kind of thing)" by silver-colour. It is a mild reworking of an older fanfic of mine, but that goes tongue in cheek with the ending of this story sort of. XD I would put this between Spooky Level 2 and 3, with 3 being "major and minor character death, disturbing images or concepts, major dark themes, major violence, etc." But there's only minor mentions of blood/body horror. But the whole undead thing is a trigger for some people and I lean into that imagery a bit. I wanted this to be a sort of leveled up Goosebumps tale. Tl;dr proceed with caution <3

Chapter 1

 I am going to die.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

I have to keep repeating it because I have to come to grips with it.

I am going to die.

Not in sixty years.

More like sixty minutes.

Oh, Amanda. I am sorry.

If you ever hear this … I never meant for this to happen.

My name is Warlock Dowling and I am 34 years-old. Devoted son and husband, I’ve spent over a decade working towards achieving my dream of following in my father’s footsteps and entering politics one day.

It’s a dream I don’t think I’ll be seeing through to the end.

I am telling you this because after reading what I’ve just read … and hearing what I’ve just heard … I am not certain I’m going to make it through the night.

I broke the rules.

There were four. Only four. And I broke them.

I didn’t break them by accident. I absolutely did it on purpose. I’m not suicidal or anything, but you only live once - am I right?

For the record, I don’t regret a single thing.

…

That’s not entirely true.

I’ll regret dying before morning if that’s the way things play out.

Today happens to be October 31st - Halloween night. I’d been tasked with clearing out the attic above a cottage in The South Downs which once belonged to a pair of old family friends. Technically, they were ex-employees of my parents from back when I was young, but I thought of them as surrogates. They practically raised me, educated me, taught me everything I know about coping in this cruel, pathetic world.

I held them in the highest regard.

They were the only people in my life who treated me as if I could become more than what I had been born into, that fate had something else in store for me. Because of them, I met the best friends a boy could ever have.

I will forever be grateful for that.

Cleaning out this attic was the least I could do to repay them, but to be honest, I don’t know who summoned me here. I assumed it was the executor of their estate, but now I’m not so sure. Looking over the letter in my hands, there is no legible signature. And the gold embossed emblem at the top that I took for granted as belonging to some upscale legal firm is, on closer inspection, gibberish - a mess of fleur-de-lis underscored by Latin words that roughly translate to “the cows shall rise”.

Ludicrous, right?

How did I miss that?

But more ludicrous - and confusing - are the rules.

I had been given rules about cleaning this attic.

The first rule on the list was to touch only what I could see. Under no circumstances was I to open any of the boxes or chests.

So, naturally, I opened every single one.

The second rule was not to put anything on. Fine by me. The only clothes up here are old lady outfits and a pair of white satin shoes.

But …

There was an awesome vintage leather jacket hanging on a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner and … well … it had my name written all over it! I had to try it on, see if it fit.

And it does.

Rule number three - keep to my torch. Don’t light any candles.

Nuh-uh! It’s Halloween! And torches are lame. So on the candles went. Jeez, there are a lot of them. Enough to burn down the whole place if I’m not careful. It actually seems like they’ve multiplied since I’ve been up here.

I won’t lie - it’s unsettling.

But according to the list, rule number four is the most important:

Don’t read any books I find. And definitely not out loud.

The first thing I saw when I entered the attic was a stack of leather-bound books. I scoffed at the sight of them, piled up to my chin, right inside the entryway. Isn’t that a bit like putting a huge bowl of candy front and center on your dining room table in the middle of dinner with a huge sign saying, “Do not eat?” If the most important rule about going into the attic is, “Don’t read anything!” why not put all the books on a high shelf?

Or the moon?

I’m not a book lover. I read hundreds of pages a day for work. I definitely don’t do it for fun. So this shouldn’t have been a hard one for me to follow.

But they looked like diaries.

And diaries hold secrets.

That made them a different matter all together.

I couldn’t resist.

But once I opened the top one, I knew I’d made a mistake.

These weren’t just any diaries.

They were the diaries of my two friends - Aziraphale and Crowley.

There had always been something odd about those two. I didn’t believe for a second that they were a proper nanny or gardener, not even when I was a young, impressionable child. But they were funny - a distraction from the dull as dishwater life of an attache’s son.

Yes, I was a spoiled little rich kid with everything I could ever ask for handed to me and, on top of that, diplomatic immunity.

Woe was me.

I realize how much of a douche whining about that makes me sound.

My life was still dull.

I was still lonely.

I never knew for sure what happened to them after they left us. I made assumptions - erroneous assumptions. I thought they lived happily ever after at least.

Now I know … that wasn’t the case.

I’m recording this in the hopes that someone will find it, so that you might know the true story of what happened to them …

… and why you might not be hearing from me again.

***

The Diary of Aziraphale Fell - Reluctant Widower

January 14th-

“Please, sir,” the decrepit woman hissed, but not unkindly. She came about her speech impediment by a mixture of symptoms - her thick accent coupled with her indeterminable old age caused her to talk that way. “Please, reconsider this decision.”

I glared at her regardless. I knew my eyes were bloodshot; my hair a mass of tangled, wayward strands; my lips quivered from constant, unrelenting crying.

“You said you had it!” I screamed, bypassing her arguments. “You said you would sell it to me! Wh---why else would I come here!?”

“You need to understand,” the woman implored, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. She fixed me with one clear blue eye, the other eye clouded – a useless, milky white lump of tissue bulging inside its socket, “what you ask for … it is unnatural.”

“But your granddaughter said it was a done deal!” I persisted, shooting a steely glare at the simpering young woman who ducked behind her grandmother to hide from my volatile stare. I wasn’t about to leave without the item I came for. At this point, I was willing to tear the place apart and everything inside - including the two of them - to get it.

They must have sensed that.

Even as the woman continued to defy me, she looked slightly more afraid than she had a minute ago.

“My granddaughter is foolish!” The woman directed the comment over her shoulder to the girl cowering there. “But she means well. We need the money. She was thinking with her head and not her heart.”

“I can pay you twice what you’re asking!” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “Three times! I’ll give you whatever you want!”

The girl, intrigued by my proposal, peeked over her grandmother’s shoulder, but the woman turned and barked sharply at her in a language I could not understand.

That was when I began to think I might be in danger.

I’d spent my entire life studying languages, so hearing one I didn’t comprehend, not even an inch, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mr. Fell …” The old woman reached out, I presumed to comfort me, and took my shaking hand in hers “… your husband is dead. And I am more sorry than I can ever express at your loss. You carry your love for him like a beacon. I see it in your eyes. It shines from every part of you. With him gone, it is up to you to carry it. It will never fade as long as you remember him.”

Those were, without a doubt, the kindest words anyone had said to me since my husband passed. I crumbled, new tears falling hot down my cheeks. But regardless of her sympathy, sincere though it might be, I refused to relent.

I refused!

“I don’t want to remember him!” I whimpered, my anger renewed at the sound of my voice fracturing. “I want him here with me! I need you to help me bring him back!”

The woman sighed in pity but shook her head.

“The effects of life are varied, Mr. Fell. Our fate … it changes every day, with every choice that we make. But the effects of death should remain permanent.”

I flinched at that word as if she’d struck me across the face.

Permanent.

Crowley dead … my husband gone … and nothing for me to look forward to in life but emptiness. We’d had every moment of our lives planned together.

One arsehole drunk driver later and now I was alone.

I literally had no one.

I had lost contact with my mum early in life, never knew my father, didn’t have children of my own. My boss and mentor was an abusive prick who tormented me throughout the span of my career until I found a way out from under his thumb.

Until Crowley helped me discover a life where I didn’t need the man’s guidance or control.

But now I was going to lose him!? The only one who had stuck by me, who defended me, loved me through thick and thin!?

No! That was beyond cruel! And I wasn’t going to roll over and accept it!

I let the sorrow within me curdle, turn sour as I yanked my hand out of the old woman’s grasp.

“Your granddaughter said there are other methods of getting what I want!” I snarled. “Dangerous methods. Methods that might require payment in sacrifice … even blood. And not necessarily my blood. Innocent blood, if you catch my meaning.”

Both women gasped.

Despite the conversation at hand, I smiled.

Good, I thought. We were finally all on the same page.

Up until a few days ago, I never considered violence to be the answer to anything. But I had since come to a crossroads where an exception had made itself clear.

I was prepared to annihilate my humanity to get my husband back.

The old woman snapped her head over her shoulder, scolding her granddaughter in a harsh, guttural voice. The girl, who had started to brave coming out of hiding, shrank down once again.

“Be reasonable,” the woman begged, “please, and think about what you are saying. What you are willing to do.”

“No,” I said, my calm more potent than my anger … or so my husband used to say. “The time for me being reasonable is over. I will get what I want, no matter what the cost. The question is whether or not you will be the one to give it to me.”

The woman looked down at her gnarled hands and sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright, Mr. Fell. I will sell the potion to you at the promised price.”

I stared at her for a moment in shock. I was relieved, of course. I hadn’t thought I would get this far. It frightened me how much I had begun looking forward to throttling her with my bare hands, imagined her neck snapping within my grasp, effortlessly like a twig.

That couldn’t be me though. I wasn’t that kind of person. It was this place - this shop and all of its trinkets, their age and professed magical abilities amplifying my grief, turning every rational thought I had into rage.

I had to get out of here and fast before I did something I might regret.

I opened my wallet with the onset of happier tears and thumbed through the bills, pulling out extra for the joy of getting what I wanted. I handed the money over, but the woman refused to touch it. She waved it away, her granddaughter popping up long enough to grab the money and then scurry off again. The woman reached into the folds of her skirts and retrieved a leather pouch that hung from a thin belt around her waist. From it she fished out a tiny blue bottle with a cork stopper sealing the mouth. She gave it a long, troubled look, then handed it to me.

For the first time, her hand trembled.

“Pour the contents of this bottle into your husband’s mouth, Mr. Fell,” she instructed, “and your husband will return.”

I held the bottle up to the dim candlelight of the musty Soho shop. The blue glass glimmered, a thick liquid inside swaying back and forth, shimmering like sun-tossed sparkles across a dark, foreboding sea.

“There are some rules that go along with that potion,” the woman said, her voice weeding into my head, summoning me back from my momentary trance, “and a few warnings you must heed as well.”

I sighed. I had hoped it would be a simple matter of giving my husband the liquid and living happily ever after, but I knew in my heart that nothing was ever that simple.

“Okay,” I said, slipping the bottle carefully into my pocket and patting over it twice to ensure its safety. “Tell me. What are the rules?”

“First of all, you will give that to your husband, but what will come back …” she paused, swallowed hard “… will not entirely be your husband.”

I nodded. I had expected her to say something along those lines, like a scene straight from an old time-y horror movie.

The woman locked both eyes, one clear and one clouded, on my face as I waited for her to finish her speech, eager to go back home and get on with my life. She realized, with regret, that I had every intention of going through with this, and took on the heavy burden of allowing this to continue.

“Be there to look into his eyes when he wakes,” she said.

I hadn’t dreamed of leaving his side, but since the woman made such a point of it, I asked, “Why?”

“He is being reborn, in a sense. And like other simple-minded creatures, he will imprint on the first person he sees.” She took my hands and squeezed them. “That person needs to be you!”

My gulp was audible, the weight of her words and of my plan suddenly settling within me. They pressed in on me, like that moment when the police came to my door. Their words – “Mr. Fell? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s about your husband …” had turned me inside out, left my heart out in the cold.

I felt that cold now.

“Once the potion absorbs into his tissues, it will restart his heart,” she continued. “Then the potion will replicate. It will begin to take the place of his blood. It will make him calm, easier for you to control.”

I nodded again. I wanted to say something, assure the woman that I understood, but she didn’t pause long enough for me to speak. It wouldn’t have mattered. I saw the trepidation in her one, clear eye. I had no clue what to say to make this better.

“It will be a slow process, and you must learn to be a patient man!” She raised her voice, letting go of one hand to waggle an emphatic finger in front of my face. “You will be teaching him, raising him as you would a child. Remember, even if only a small portion of his soul returns, that soul belongs to your husband, and you must love him or this will not work!”

The woman stepped back, out of breath from her outburst, and her granddaughter (whom I had forgotten about) returned, pushing forward an ornate but dusty antique chair to catch her in. I held the woman’s arms gently and helped her into it, feeling strangely protective. The woman sat and waved us both off, not wanting us to make a fuss when she still had more to say.

“But most importantly,” she labored on, barely missing a beat in her speech, “do not let him taste blood.” I knelt down so that she didn’t feel the need to yell for her words to reach me. “He cannot eat meat, but most of all, don’t let him bite you or lick your wounds. Or anyone else’s – human or animal.”

“Will … will I become a zombie? If he does bite me?”

I’m not quite sure why the word ‘zombie’ leapt to my mind. In every interaction I had had with the woman’s granddaughter before tonight, she had been so careful not to use that term. She used other, more romantic euphemisms such as ‘bring back to the land of the living’, ‘re-associate with life’, and the most used - ‘rebirth’. But that’s what he would be, right? When we moved past the flowery vernacular and got right down to it? This potion I had pocketed would turn my husband into the walking dead, - a simple-minded creature that was once deposed from this Earth.

And that meant ‘zombie’.

As if I had nothing more pressing at hand, I suddenly recalled the Walking Dead marathon Crowley had convinced me to watch (against my better judgement). Crowley thought the show was hilarious, but I could barely make it to the middle of the first season. I had started watching with my hands over my eyes, then with my arm locked around Crowley’s, anxiously smacking his shoulder, and finally with most of my body lying over his lap and my face buried in his shirt.

It wasn’t just the gore in the show that skewered me, made me nauseous, unable to breathe. It was the fear and the pain those characters felt, being chased by a relentless enemy that needed no rest, constantly running into people they couldn’t trust, people who were so out for themselves they no longer believed in the sanctity of life, with nowhere to hide, nowhere safe at all, even behind thick, concrete and metal walls.

Watching your loved ones get turned into soulless monsters - still there, but everything about them that you had once loved out of reach.

And this ‘illness’ or whatever these people had - it spared no one. Even children had become zombies. And in the game that was survival for the remaining uninfected, children had become pawns.

Everything about it seemed so horrendous.

And while I suffered through my existential crisis, Crowley laughed at my antics.

I fought not to smile at the sound of his teasing voice.

“Uh … a little squeamish there, are you, angel?”

Angel.

From the first day we met, that’s what he called me.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear him call me that again!

The old woman chuckled, bringing me reluctantly back from my daydream. “No. Not in this case. That’s not the nature of this spell. No, blood will give him back his memories.”

I looked at the woman, bug-eyed, and shook my head. “I … I don’t …”

“It will ignite his brain. He will begin to feel. In many ways, he will become more the man you married than in any other.”

“Wha---?“ I stuttered, baffled as to how that could be a bad thing. If drinking blood could make Crowley more Crowley, I’d set up an IV drip the minute I got home! I would serve him cups of blood with every meal! I’d make donating blood a requirement for entrance into my bookshop! (That one would definitely kill two birds with one stone. In fact, I might consider doing that anyhow.) “And why wouldn’t I want that again?” I asked, trying not to sound like turning my husband into a blood-sipping fiend was the greatest idea in known history.

The old woman smiled, but it wasn’t fond. It was shrewd, as if she could read every one of my thoughts.

And she didn’t approve.

“Once he has his memories back, he will start to crave it. Soon, drinking blood won’t be enough for him. It won’t work as well. It won’t keep the memories as fresh. He will have to go further, do more. He will become a killer.”

My face must have gone as green as I felt because the woman laughed again, this time with a touch of wickedness. A killer? My Crowley? My sweet, kind, compassionate Crowley?

Okay, maybe I was going too far with the endearments. He’d been a bit of a bastard, after all. Which was why I could picture Crowley becoming a full-fledged bad boy. With that leather jacket he wore like a second skin and his gleaming classic car, he’d been well on his way.

But a killer? No.

Then again, I was willing to become one myself a second ago, so maybe I wasn’t in the best position to judge.

“You are playing with the laws of nature, Mr. Fell,” she said, patting me on the cheek. “You are responsible not only for your own life, but for the lives of those around you.” The woman leaned in close, those eyes – one alive, one dead - more menacing than when I had walked into the shop; her face no longer that of a frail old woman but of a powerful witch.

This time, it was my turn to feel afraid.

“So don’t fuck it up.”

[honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s]

Golden |Drew Soulmate AU| Two|

A/n lowkey ngl im like really proud of this chapter. i really hope y’all like it. also idk if i wanna write a smutty chapter for the next part. i’d love to hear your opinion on if i should or not because ive never written smut before so itd probably be trash so...... whatcha think?

Warning: Swearing, kinda fast paced (wish it was slow burn but i dont have the attention span for that), mentions of vomit (at the end)

Word Count: Approx 1.9 k

APRIL 22ND 2020 12:32PM

“I’m going to shit myself.” Y/n said, moving the same strand of hair out of her face.

“Well that’s a really cute dress, you better fucking not.” Naya tutted from her position leaning against her bedroom wall.

“Okay. I’ve got this, right?”

“Yes! Now go get yo man! He’s still outside waiting for you.”

Y/n smiled at her reflection and let Naya drag her out into the hall. Naya walked over to the door and looked out the peephole.

“You didn’t tell me that he was that hot.”

Y/n pushed her out of the way to look through the peephole. Drew was leaning against a street pole and damn did he look good.

“Go get him girly.”

Y/n opened the door, Drew standing up straight at the sound of the door being opened. Drew’s heart stopped. She looked gorgeous and damn red was definitely her colour.

“Wow, you look, wow, you’re gorgeous.” Drew smiled as Y/n did a little twirl in response.

Y/n giggled and linked her arm through his. They walked down the street together to a small coffee shop that Drew said sold “chocolate chip cookies so good you’ll never be able to eat another cookie again”.

“The outside of your apartment looks nice.” Drew teased as they rounded the corner together.

Y/n blushed, sputtering out an apology. Naya hated having guests in their apartment even if it was for a few minutes.

“You’re cute when you blush.” Drew smiled down at Y/n, his hair flopping down against his forehead.

“You’re cute.” Y/n stated, spinning around so she was facing him while she walked backwards in front of Drew.

Drew reached out and took Y/n’s hands in his to make sure she wouldn’t fall over. Y/n’s skin tingled as their fingers interlocked. Damn, she could get used to this.

“Am I now?” Drew chewed on his lower lip as a rosy blush grew across his cheekbones. Drew chewing on his bottom lip when he got complimented made Y/n wanna compliment him for the rest of eternity.

“I suppose.” Y/n shrugged.

Drew gently tugged Y/n’s hands in protest, laughing along with her.

"How long have you been living in LA?" Drew asked, still holding Y/n’s hand.

"About a year or so. Naya, my roommate, we went to high school together and we were best friends. She wants to sing and well her dream brought us here."

"What about you?" Drew asked, tilting his head to look at her.

"What about me?"

"You told me why Naya's here, why are you here?"

"I wanna write. Or paint. I don't really know. Naya knew what she wanted, I'm just along for the ride." She shook her head in embarrassment. "What are you doing here?"

Drew smiled. "I'm an actor. I moved here from North Carolina to find my big break." Drew chuckled.

“Have you found it yet?” Y/n looked up at him as Drew stopped outside the coffee shop. It was a small building on the corner of the street, with window boxes filled with artificial blue carnations.

“I don’t know.” Drew smiled a sad smile before reaching forward and opening the door to the coffee shop, the smell of freshly baked cookies hitting Y/n instantly. Although the place was small, the inside felt bigger than it actually was. There were an elderly couple sitting in the corner beside the door and a young woman sat in the far corner working on a laptop with a forgotten cup of coffee beside her.

“This place is beautiful.” Y/n sighed in pleasure, Drew grinning as he took her hand and pulled her over to a table in the left hand corner beside a small window. Drew pulled out Y/n’s chair for her, she laughed.

“And who said chivalry is dead?” Drew sat down across from her, trying to focus so much on how beautiful she looked when she laughed.

“It’s easy to be chivalrous when it comes to you.” Drew shrugged, looking down at the table trying to ignore the rising blush on his cheeks. He had never felt like this about anyone before, they barely knew each other but already he craved to be closer to her. He needed to know everything about her, he needed to touch every inch of her skin, he needed her like an alcoholic needed a shot of whiskey. And with every passing second it just got worse. He was addicted. And so was she.

APRIL 22ND 2020 2:56PM

They walked out of the café, giggling and talking about everything and nothing at all. All they knew was that this date couldn’t end, not yet anyway.

“Wanna go to the beach? My car is parked around the corner.” Drew asked standing in front of Y/n, basking in her presence, their fingers still interlocked.

Y/n couldn't agree fast enough. Drew’s car was parked just a few feet down the street from the coffee shop, “I might have gone in before our date to ask them to save that table for us.”

Y/n climbed into the passenger seat and Drew drove them to the beach. Y/n reached over intertwining her pinky finger in his as he drove.

She stared out the window, hypnotised by the passing trees. Drew sneaked glances at her, hypnotised by Y/n.

From the Dining Table softly played in the background of their moment. Y/n basking in the presence of her soulmate, Drew basking in the presence of a girl he wished to know. So far from each other despite their interlocked pinky fingers all because of a bond meant to bring them together.

APRIL 22ND 2020 5:57PM

“You’re so golden.” Y/n muttered at Drew as she ran her fingers through his hair. They lay beside each other on an old ratty blanket Drew found in the trunk of his car. Drew’s hands were placed firmly on her waist, rubbing small circles on her still slightly damp skin from when he chased her along the shore.

Drew stared longingly at her lips, trying to tear his gaze away. He was not one to kiss on the first date and the last thing he wanted was to scare her off.

“Am I now?” Drew teased, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth.

Without thinking Y/n reached out and removed his lip from between his teeth. Him chewing his bottom lip did unholy things to her.

Drew swallowed as Y/n kept her thumb on his lip, carefully rubbing it before moving her hand to rest on his jaw.

Drew’s voice was hoarse, sending shivers down her spine as he said, “I really fucking want to kiss you right now.”

Y/n licked her lips, as Drew’s hand made their way to rest on her hips. “Please,” she whispered, taking in shallow breaths, “kiss me.”

Drew pulled her into him as he pressed his lips to hers, her hands instantly found their place in his hair. The kiss was slow and soft, all movements gentle and cautious despite the hunger in both of their chests.

Drew slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against Y/n’s as the both tried to collect their breaths. It was pointless as the more they tried to catch their breath, all they could smell was each other and before they knew it their lips were crashing back together.

This was needier but slow and sensual. Drew lay on his back, pulling Y/n on top of him to straddle his waist.

One of her hands was under his chin, ensuring that his lips never left hers. Drew’s hands were on the small of her back until one slowly crept up to her hair and the other under her jacket, pressing her even closer to his chest.

Drew slowly pulled away, taking Y/n’s bottom lip in between his teeth, drawing a moan from her as she devoured his lips again.

The connection between them, their soulmate connection, tugged at Y/n until they separated, Drew held her close to his chest. As he told her a story about his time in college, Y/n couldn’t ignore the fear that he’d never realise they were soulmates. Remembering the address that Naya wrote in her phone, Y/n swallowed her fear and enjoyed this moment with Drew.

APRIL 25TH 2020 1:28PM

“Mrs Lopez, I’m Y/n L/n, I’m Naya’s best friend. I need your help.” Y/n stood on the steps outside of a two storey house with vines growing on the walls and an arch of flowers over the front gate.

An elderly woman of average height opened the door, she had dark skin which was wrinkled with age although she held a youthful aura about her.

“Of course, soulmate problems eh? Come on in Chiquita.”

Y/n walked into her house, silently wondering how she knew that she had soulmate problems. Mrs Lopez led her into a small room at the front of the house that smelt of incense. Mrs Lopez gestured to Y/n to sit down at a small table as she took a seat across from her.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I, well I, I think I found my soulmate.” Y/n stuttered, she felt foolish but she was desperate.

“Bonita that’s wonderful. What’s worrying you?” Mrs Lopez reached over and took Y/n hands in hers.

“He doesn’t know. He has no clue we’re soulmates and it’s killing me.” Y/n groaned, the pain in her chest returning.

“Oh you poor thing. That is unusual.” Mrs Lopez clicked her tongue, she released Y/n’s hands and poured her cup of hot chamomile tea.

“Are you sure that he’s yours? Sometimes emotions can cloud our spiritual judgements.”

“Yes. I know. He’s just, I know Mrs Lopez.” Mrs Lopez smiled a sad smile when her nose scrunched up suddenly.

“What age is he? When’s his birthday?”

“Em, November fourth, I believe. He’ll be turning 27.”

“Oh Amor.” Mrs Lopez shook her head as she stood up and started rummaging in her drawers.

“What? What’s wrong?” Y/n sat up, watching as Mrs Lopez walked around the room with surprising grace for her age.

Mrs Lopez didn’t respond as she walked back over to Y/n, a small bottle in her hand.

“We have the same soulmate through every lifetime. We may have different bodies, but the soul remembers. Something must have happened to him in his past life that is blocking him from remembering you in this life. You need to get him to remember what happened.” Mrs Lopez handed Y/n the bottle, “A few drops of this in a drink or in food until the memory returns should do the trick. It should take about three months to work. It’s just a herbal remedy, so it’s perfectly safe.”

Y/n held the bottle in her hands, she could solve this.

“Sometimes, the universe is wrong. Make sure you actually want this, you have the choice to choose if you want him to remember you. Some people don’t get that luxury.” Mrs Lopez sounded like she spoke from experience.

“But what did you need to know his birthday for?” Y/n watched as Mrs Lopez’s face fell in melancholy.

“Have you ever heard of the 27 club?”

“You mean the conspiracy about a bunch of celebrities dying at 27?” Y/n chuckled in confusion.

“There’s a reason. Soulmates are precious and rare so you only have so long to form the bond with them.” Y/n felt sick, “You have until their 27th birthday. But sometimes we run out of time and sometimes people can’t handle it.”

“Why? What happens if I can’t get Drew to remember me before his 27th birthday?”

“Amor,”

“Please. Mrs Lopez tell me.”

“You’ll forget. Both of you will forget that you ever met each other and every memory you have together, will leave you. You’ll only be left with a feeling that something is missing.”

Now Y/n was going to be sick.

Taglist: @butterfliesinthenightsky @netflix-imagines @copper-boom @starrystarkey93 @drew-starkey @maybanksbaby @poguequeen @prejudic3 @nxsmss @ilovejjmaybank

AHH!! did you like it??? i really hope you enjoyed. thank you so much for reading and feedback is VERY appreciated!! thank you and stay safe!

[darriness]

Klaine Fic - You’ll Always Be The Home - Chapter 1

Author: darriness

Fic Summary: Everything is finally settled in Kurt and Blaine's life...right?

Rating: T

Link to: Prologue

Chapter Word Count: 3172

Chapter Summary: A wedding.

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, or just read the prologue to this. Here’s chapter 1! As always thank you to my amazing beta @darrenismydarcy

AO3 Link

Four years is a long time. A lot can happen in four years. A lot can change. In one four year span for example, Kurt and Blaine met, became friends, became boyfriends, graduated high school, broke up, and got back together again. 

In the four years since their reunion, Blaine and Kurt have moved in together, graduated college, gotten engaged, started careers, and planned a wedding.

But if you ask Kurt and Blaine? The past four years have felt like both a lifetime and a milli-second in equal measure.

Blaine adjusts his cuffs and fidgets with his lapels as he stands behind the rows of chairs in front of him. Before he can once again reach for his lapels, his hand is grabbed and he turns to smile sheepishly at Bethany.

“Sorry.” He mumbles.

Bethany smirks and squeezes the hand she has in her own, “You’re adorable.” Her eyes soften as Blaine’s eyes flit around the room, “I am so happy for you...you know that right?”

Blaine’s eyes train back on his little sister and he smiles, “I do know that.” He says, softly, squeezing her hand in return.

*Four Years Ago*

“Can I paint my room any colour I want?” Bethany asks as Blaine fumbles for with the keys in the lock.

“Hmm?” Blaine hums distracted as he tries not to drop the bags in his hands.

“I said, can I paint my room any colour I want?” Bethany repeats.

“Oh uh, I don’t know. We’ll have to ask Kurt, I guess.” Blaine responds, finally getting the key in the lock and opening the door to the small apartment for only the second time. He hasn’t been back since he and Kurt got back together and now he and Bethany are going to be living here.

Bethany sighs as she pushes past Blaine in the unrefined way of a 12-year-old who wants to be the first one in, “We live here now. Can’t you make the decision? Or are we going to have to ask Kurt for everything now?”

Blaine sighs as he drops the bags he’s been carrying just inside the door. The apartment is empty, Kurt is at class. The pair had decided it might be easier to move in when Kurt wasn’t home.

“Just…” He doesn’t know how to answer. He’s never lived with anyone beside his family which means he’s never moved into someone else’s house. He’s not sure what the ‘rules’ are, or even if there are any.

Bethany rolls her eyes and flops down on the couch, letting the backpack she had been carrying fall on the ground next to her, “You said this would be a good thing for us.” She says with a raised eyebrow.

“It is.” Blaine says with a surety he doesn’t really feel. He knows Bethany was fine with moving and happy that Kurt was back in their lives but she’s also twelve...who knows if this really makes her happy.

*Present Day*

Music starts to play and Blaine takes a deep breath as he realizes that’s his and Bethany’s cue to walk down the aisle. He feels Bethany shake his hand in hers and he looks over at her with a smile. She smiles back at him before the pair begin to slowly make their way down the aisle.

He tries not to look over the crowd but can’t help but cast his gaze quickly over the faces. Friends and family all with beaming faces but unlike the former that is a mixture of friends they have as a couple and separately, the latter is all Kurt’s. Blaine threads Bethany’s arm more tightly in his own and keeps walking with a polite smile on his face.

When he and Bethany are finally at the altar he lets go of her hand and takes his place in front of the officiant as she takes hers just behind him as his ‘best woman’. He reaches to fidget with his suit jacket one more time as the music changes to signal it’s Kurt’s turn to make the walk he and Bethany just made.

He turns, like the audience in front of him does, to look at the back of the room and takes a deep breath when he sees Kurt standing arm in arm with his father. He feels Bethany nudge him in the back and he would turn to look at her if he wasn’t so transfixed. He has a feeling she would be beaming at him and maybe winking, anyway. 

*Three Years Ago*

Blaine gets home from class with a tired but happy sigh. He loves New York, he loves school, he loves everything about his life right now.

“Bethany I said no!” He hears Kurt say from the direction of the kitchen and pouts his lips thoughtfully, pausing as he takes off his scarf.

“You’re not my dad!” Bethany shouts back at Kurt and Blaine hisses in a breath.

There’s quiet for a moment and Blaine is wondering who is going to blow first. Since moving in, Bethany and Kurt’s relationship has changed slightly. They’ve gone from partners in crime, so to speak, to something more resembling father/daughter, or at the very least, caregiver/child. Blaine knows Kurt tries not to act that way but it’s unavoidable when living under the same roof. Blaine isn’t necessarily surprised but there have been times, like the one right now, when he wishes they could go back to the way they were before.

Finally, Bethany lets out an unintelligible growl and stomps off toward her bedroom, not even realizing Blaine is there when she huffs through the living room.

Kurt follows a moment later but at a slower pace and doesn’t appear to want to actually follow her as her bedroom door slams. He sighs when the slam happens and swings his gaze to Blaine - fixing him with a resigned expression.

“She wanted to take the subway, by herself I might add, to a concert in the park.” Kurt recounts.

Blaine’s eyebrows shoot up, “Well, thank you for saying no.”

Now Kurt’s glance is slightly withering, “Of course I said no.” He says before sighing and looking back at Bethany’s door, “I honestly never imagined I’d be a parental figure to a teenager in my early 20s.”

It sounds more like he’s saying it to himself than Blaine but Blaine’s stomach still clenches with anxiety, “I’m so sorry, Kurt. I’ll talk to her.” He swallows thickly.

Kurt does a double take before he seems to realize what he said and he moves quickly to Blaine’s side and puts his arms around his waist and his forehead to his temple, “Hey, no. That’s not what I meant.” He says before sighing, “Just because I didn’t think my life would be this way doesn’t mean I don’t love it.” It’s Blaine’s turn to give Kurt a withering glance. Kurt shakes his arms around Blaine, “I’m serious! In a few minutes I’m going to go in there and talk with Annie and everything will be fine. Just because she and I fight now doesn’t mean I’m not happy with our life.”

The sincerity in Kurt’s voice makes Blaine breathe a little easier.

*Present Day*

When Kurt and his dad finally, after what feels like the longest walk down the aisle ever (definitely longer than Blaine and Bethany’s was), make it to the altar Blaine can barely contain himself. He tries to wait as patiently as possible for Kurt to hug his dad and then take his place in front of Blaine but the wait for that to happen feels almost as long as the walk did.

Finally, FINALLY, Kurt is smiling at Blaine and reaching forward to grab his hands. Blaine feels like he can truly breathe for the first time all day. He is so ready to marry this man.

*One Year Ago*

“Are you sure I can’t film this?” Bethany asks.

Blaine chuckles nervously, “No, you cannot film this! I’m already nervous enough as it is.”

Bethany smirks, “Yeah but don’t you want to remember this for all of eternity? I mean, unless he says no or you get a divorce or…”

“Annie!” Blaine exclaims, making Bethany giggle in a way she doesn’t usually do anymore. Blaine’s learning there are a lot of things 15-year-old girls ‘don’t do anymore’.

“He’s here!” Bethany squeals, pointing over Blaine’s shoulder.

Blaine turns around in his seat to watch Kurt talk to the hostess before getting shown to the table where Blaine and Bethany currently sit. It’s a fancy restaurant where the hostess even pulls out Kurt’s chair for him before he sits down.

“Oh, thanks!” Kurt says with an amused chuckle at the gesture as he takes his seat, “Hey!” Kurt enthuses, reaching forward to grab Blaine’s hand and smiling at Bethany.

“Hey!” Blaine smiles back as Bethany waves.

“So, what’s the special occasion? I mean, not that I don’t love fine dining and a chance to wear one of my fancier outfits…” Kurt asks, looking back and forth between the siblings.

Blaine swallows. He had originally wanted to wait to do this until later in the meal but…

“Kurt,” He starts and he can feel Bethany’s eyes on him. She had also been under the impression this would come later and obviously understands the tone he’s using. Kurt seems to understand something big is coming too because he sits a little straighter and he tilts his head in interest. Blaine swallows one more time, “Kurt, when you came into our lives my only focus was Annie. And while I love her to death and have never for a second regretted becoming her primary caregiver...I wasn’t really living.” Kurt’s eyes have widened in seeming shock but he stays quiet, “And then you came into our lives and...everything got more colourful. You opened my eyes and my heart to a love I don’t think I could ever even imagine and I am so thankful to you for that.” 

Blaine sends one more glance at Bethany who is beaming at him and nodding before he takes a deep breath and gets down on one knee. The tables closest to them are looking on but Blaine only has eyes for Kurt - who is currently staring down at him with wide glistening eyes.

“I love you more than words can say, Kurt, and you would make me the happiest man in the world if you would agree to become my husband.” He produces a velvet box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a platinum band with inset diamonds. Kurt gasps, “Kurt, will you marry me?”

Kurt is nodding before he even finishes speaking, “Yes.” He whispers breathlessly.

Kurt pulls Blaine to his feet and into a kiss as the tables closest to them begin to clap. The loudest cheers are, of course, from Bethany, who makes the pair laugh as she whoops and hollers.

*Present Day*

The ceremony is simple and yet perfect. They debated writing their own vows but decided, instead, to go the traditional route; saying ‘traditional’ words in a ‘non-traditional’ situation really appealed to both of them.

It turns out Blaine cries more than Kurt, but Bethany cries more than both of them to the point where Blaine pauses and asks the officiant to wait before turning and hugging Bethany to him for a brief moment. She cries into his shoulder and their photographer captures the moment forever. 

When it comes to their first kiss as husbands, Kurt goes off script just a little bit and bends Blaine in a dip to press their lips together. The room cheers around them at the action and the pair come up laughing - Blaine slightly embarrassed but overjoyed, and Kurt exceedingly proud...and also slightly embarrassed.

As they walk back up the aisle hand-in-hand, they smile at their family and friends who are all beaming back at them.

*One Year Ago*

“Kurt, why are we still doing this? You’re already engaged!” Bethany exclaims as she helps Kurt move the coffee table.

Kurt grunts as he shifts the table into its final resting place against the wall and out of the way, “Because I have been planning this for weeks and Blaine deserves to be proposed to.”

Bethany smiles, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

It was no surprise that Bethany had been in on Blaine’s proposal but she had been surprised and ecstatic when Kurt had come to her the month before to enlist her help in his own proposal. Bethany had to keep both secrets for the month while inside she had been bubbling over with excitement.

Kurt takes a deep breath and looks around one more time, “So...is everything ready?”

Bethany also looks around before looking back at Kurt, “All we did was move the coffee table and put out champagne. You know, for someone as dramatic as you...this proposal is super low key.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “Because this proposal is for Blaine.”

Bethany pouts her lips like she hadn’t thought of that before nodding, “Okay, that makes sense.”

They hear keys jingling in the hallway and both of them jump. Kurt shoos Bethany toward the door and she goes with a skip, making sure to wink at Kurt first.

She opens the door before Blaine can get his keys in and he looks up in surprise before smiling, “Thanks Annie.” He says.

Bethany rocks back and forth once, trying to contain her smile, before sweeping her arm into the apartment, “Right this way.”

Blaine quirks an eyebrow as he toes off his shoes, chuckling at the formal gesture, “What’s going on?”

“Would you just come?” Bethany asks with an eye roll, hooking her arm into Blaine’s and pulling him along.

When they get to the living room Kurt is standing where the coffee table usually sits. Blaine looks back and forth between the pair, “What’s going on?” He asks again.

“Blaine,” Kurt starts and Bethany unhooks her arm and shoves Blaine forward a little. When Blaine is standing in front of Kurt, Kurt grabs both of his hands in his own and continues, “You have brought so much into my life - love, laughter, joy,...Annie.” He winks at Bethany who is standing just behind Blaine and the teenager giggles softly before quieting, “And I know you already proposed to me and technically we’re already engaged but you deserved a proposal as much as I did.” He takes a deep breath and goes down on one knee. Blaine, inhales sharply and his eyes are already moist with tears, “You are the love of my life, you are my everything, and I would be forever grateful if you agreed to marry me.” 

He opens a ring box to reveal a simple platinum band. Blaine stares at it for a long moment, silence ringing in the room before Bethany breaks in, “Would you mind saying yes? Kurt said I could have some champagne after.”

Blaine and Kurt chuckle from their position. Blaine shakes his head and bites his lips together as they quiet before kneeling on the ground in front of Kurt, “I will, of course, marry you.” He whispers before pulling Kurt into a kiss. 

There is clapping this time, too, but only from Bethany as the pair pull apart and Kurt slips the ring onto Blaine’s finger. They beam at each other like they are the only two in the room before Bethany coughs behind them.

They chuckle again, “Did you really tell her she could have champagne?” Blaine whispers.

Kurt smirks, “One glass.” He says.

*Present Day*

“Bethany!” Blaine exclaims.

Bethany freezes with her glass halfway to her mouth and gives her brother a sheepish smile, “Uh….Kurt let me?”

Blaine rolls his eyes and holds up his index finger, “One.” He says as Bethany cheers and takes a sip of wine from her glass.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to be trouble with this whole drinking thing.” Blaine asks, leaning against the bar next to her. The reception has been raging for hours now, dinner long since over, and Blaine is slightly alcohol loose, a lot in love loose, and thoroughly enjoying himself.

Bethany rolls her eyes, “I’m not stupid.” She says and Blaine nods, leaving it at that for now.

“Wanna dance?” He asks, gesturing to the dance floor as a slower song plays over the speakers.

Bethany takes another sip of wine and jerks her head behind her, “Go dance with your husband. He told me half an hour ago that he’s sad you guys haven’t been able to dance as much together with all the entertaining and hosting. I’ll finish my wine and cut in later. Maybe after I ask Finn to dance.” She winks at him and Blaine chuckles as he scans the room for Kurt, who is looking at him from across the room where he’s talking to one of his relatives.

They smile at each other before Kurt pleads, wordlessly, with his eyes and Blaine chuckles before kissing Bethany’s cheek and heading over.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt.” He says when he’s close enough and Kurt’s relative coos at him, “I was wondering if I could steal my husband for a dance.”

The relative, who Blaine is sure he’s been introduced to but can’t remember her name to save his life, agrees easily and Blaine leads Kurt to the dance floor. They settle quickly into each other's arms and Kurt sighs in relief, “Thank you.” He breathes as they start to sway, “My Aunt Jenny is lovely if not a little...over the top.”

Blaine chuckles, “Well, that’s my job now. To save you from well meaning but exhausting relatives. It’s in the contract.”

Kurt’s face suddenly goes somber as they continue to sway and Blaine tilts his head slightly, “What’s wrong?”

Kurt sighs, “I just…” He pauses and cups Blaine’s cheek softly. Blaine looks at him curiously, “Are you upset your parents aren’t here? Were you...expecting them to show up?”

Blaine’s eyes widen in surprise slightly before he chuckles, “Well, considering we didn’t invite them, it would be very strange for them to show up now.”

Kurt sighs again, “Blaine…” He starts.

Blaine sobers before sighing himself and looking off to the side slightly. He notices Finn and Bethany dancing and smiles slightly before turning back to Kurt with one scrunched closed eye, “Maybe...part of me was hoping they might actually show up.”

Kurt’s heart breaks a little at the admission even though he’s the one who asked about it and he’d assumed that was going to be the answer. His heart breaks for Blaine who may never fully heal from the trauma of his past.

He puts his hands on either side of Blaine’s neck and leans in to kiss him softly. He can’t magically make everything okay for Blaine, but he can love him and remind him of how loved he really is.

He plans on spending the rest of his life making sure that happens.

[imaginingsoftly]

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time Pt. 11 - Morgan Rielly

Type: roommates to lovers, Y/N insert shorts

Requested: No

Warnings: none

(Y/N = Your name)

A/N: This is it! This is the last chapter. It’s kind of a written version of an ending montage, and spans a couple of years. I hope you enjoy, and I’d love to hear suggestions for a new series.

That fall:

“You know,” Y/N said as she helped Morgan move into his new apartment, “I still think you should live with me again.” She understood where Morgan was coming from, deciding that having their own space for at least the beginning of their relationship was a good idea, but that didn’t mean she liked it. It was nice to have him sitting on the balcony when she got up in the morning or sitting on the counter while she made a snack after work. She had grown to rely on his presence in the apartment, especially when she was feeling especially anxious. Morgan huffed from in front of her, a nonverbal response to her suggestion, and she sighed. “I know, I know. Just also know I’ll be here a lot taking advantage of your balcony.” His balcony had a view of the city lights, rather than a courtyard, and she was wicked jealous. 

They came out of the elevator and were at the door of Morgan’s top-floor apartment before he finally responded. “I look forward to sitting out there with you.” He put down the box he was carrying, turning to face Y/N. “I’m not getting my own place because I don’t want to live with you. I just think a little bit of space could be good for us, since we were living together before we even started dating.” Morgan stared intently into Y/N’s eyes as he spoke, and she could see how sincere he was. Honestly, he was right. Space would definitely be good for them, at least for a little while. She pressed up onto her tiptoes to kiss Morgan, and he wrapped his arms around her waist without hesitation. It was awkward with the box and lamp she was carrying, and Morgan broke away from her with a laugh before unlocking the apartment and stepping inside.

The apartment really was beautiful, she did have to admit that. It was bright, much like her own place, but larger and more open. The entire wall open to the outside was glass, and a balcony took up the length of the room plus some, and she knew there was another entrance to the outdoors in the main bedroom. Morgan dropped his box just inside the entrance, rubbing his back with a groan. He’d thrown out his back the week before, getting a little too enthusiastic as he threw Y/N’s little cousins off the dock of the family lake house, and she knew it still wasn’t quite right. “You know,” she said with a laugh, “one of the biggest signs of age is throwing out your back. I think your body is trying to tell you something.”

Y/N knew that was the wrong thing to say when Morgan turned around with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh yeah?” He stalked towards her with a smirk on his face, and she cocked a hip at him with a nod. “I bet I could prove you wrong.” he surged forward, scooping Y/N up and over his shoulder. She laughed, weakly pushing his back. Morgan turned and began walking towards the main bedroom, squeezing Y/N’s calf gently. “I’ll show you old.” He threw her onto the mattress sitting in the middle of the room, a pile of wood that would eventually be his bed laying in piles around it. Y/N laughed as he did, though she stopped when Morgan caged her in. He pushed Y/N’s hair out of her face gently and leaned in for a kiss, and she pulled him down on top of her. 

Later, Y/N traced her fingers over where Morgan’s hand sat just over her right collarbone. His arms were wrapped around her waist and her shoulders, and they watched the sun set from their spot in the middle of the mattress. It was perfect. 

The next June:

They did it. The clock counted down to zero and Y/N stood frozen next to Kat, though the rest of the families were freaking out around them. Mrs. Rielly was yelling to her left, and Dougie’s parents were hugging in front of her.

Dougie was grabbing at Morgan down on the ice, and Y/N could see from where she sat that Morgan was crying. So was she. The guys were huddled around Andrei, who’d just scored the game-winner, and Petr was grabbing at Coach Brind'Amour, though the poor goalie looked like his legs were barely supporting his weight after the onslaught he’d faced at the beginning of the 3rd overtime period. The box began to clear around them, and Y/N and Kat finally came back to reality to hug each other fiercely. “They did it, Kat,” Y/N whispered into her friend’s ear, “holy shit they did it.” Kat rubbed a hand over her growing stomach, where Y/N knew her and Andrei’s daughter was more than likely kicking. She loved the rink even more than her father. 

The wait to get onto the ice with the boys felt like it took a million years. The energy around the group was incredible, and Y/N was pretty sure she’d hugged more people in the last hour than she had her entire life. She could swear PNC was shaking, and Y/N took a second to close her eyes and listen to the crowd. They were chanting Andrei’s name as he accepted the Conn Smyth, and Kat squeezed Y/N’s hand even tighter. Andrei’s mother was on Kat’s other side, and Evgeny stood next to Y/N. It didn’t feel real.

Morgan was in the middle of an interview when Y/N spotted him. He stopped in the middle of a sentence when he saw her, his smile somehow growing larger. “Red Sox!” Y/N saw the camera shift onto her out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored it as she slid over to Morgan. He caught her with a laugh, spinning them in a circle. The reporter caught his attention again, but Morgan kept an arm wound tightly around Y/N’s shoulders as he continued to talk. 

The next few hours were a flurry of movement and photos, and Y/N was hugged by more people she didn’t know than people she did. Andrei pulled Y/N and Morgan away from his parents long enough to take a “family photo” with him and Kat, and Y/N made a mental note to get that framed for her and Morgan’s apartment. By the time they made it out to the club the team decided on, Y/N was already a few beers and some champagne in and she knew Morgan was the same way. It felt like half the city was there to celebrate with the boys, and Y/N spent more time taking videos and pictures of them interacting with the crowd than she’d ever done on Instagram stories before. Kat left early, tired from the baby and a little irritated with the drunkenness around her, and Andrei followed not long after with an impressive speech about how much he loved Kat, made even more impressive by the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. 

Y/N and Morgan made it home eventually, though convincing Dougie that sleep was a good idea and to let them go home proved to be difficult. Dougie eventually relented, and Morgan had to help Dougie from the Uber and into his place on the way back to his and Y/N’s shared apartment. They made it to bed as the sun began rising over the city, and Morgan held Y/N close as they fell asleep and the world turned gold around them.

July 1st, the following year:

“So we’re doing this, then?” Morgan held his finger over the number typed into his phone, and Y/N squeezed his other hand. Free agency day had come, and they were about to change their entire world. Morgan was ready to go home, and Y/N was ready for an adventure. Besides, home was wherever Morgan was. Y/N nodded, and Morgan hit the call button. The GM on the other end of the line picked up, and Morgan spoke one sentence that began the change. “I’m about to sign the paperwork.” His smile was infectious, and Y/N smiled widely back at him. The paperwork felt endless, and she found herself playing photographer so that there was proof of the signing and for the social media page to post wherever they decided to. 

Morgan finally said his goodbyes to the GM, and he barely hit the end call button before he was leaping up to wrap Y/N in a hug. “I love you.” She hugged him back tightly, and whispered the same. They stood like that for a moment, and then Morgan’s phone lit up with a call. And so it began. Y/N slipped away to grab them both beers, and Morgan clinked his appreciatively against hers as he talked with Elias. Y/N stepped out onto the balcony of the Vancouver apartment and smiled. This would be her new view every day. Canada was new, and the thought of changing everything to move to a new country scared her shitless, but there would be time to worry about that later. 

She stood there until the sun began sinking in front of her, and Morgan joined her outside. “I think that’s the last of them, at least for now.” He slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her close. “I’ve got something to show you, if you’re up for a nighttime drive.” Y/N threw a look up at him, and he laughed. Of course she was up for a nighttime drive. “Okay, I know, c’mon.” He turned and headed back inside, grabbing his keys from the sweatshirt lying over the back of the couch. 

They drove for almost a half an hour, singing quietly to the bluetooth as the sights of the city flew past them. The water came into a more consistent view as they drove, and Y/N made a mental note to drive this road again the next time she couldn’t sleep. The air was cool as it filtered through the sunroof and she shivered slightly. Morgan pulled into a driveway suddenly, and Y/N stared up at the house in front of them. It was newer, full of windows and what she thought was a rooftop deck sitting just at the tip of her viewpoint. She turned to Morgan in confusion, and he smiled. “When we decided on Vancouver a few days ago, I started thinking about how we could really get a proper restart. I was thinking we could put an offer in on this place if you liked it.” 

He opened his car door and climbed out after that, and Y/N slowly did the same. Morgan punched in the code for the lock and held the door open, gesturing for Y/N to enter first. It took her breath away. Even in the growing darkness the house was bright. Moonlight filtered in from the windows covering most of the walls she could see. They were black-trimmed, standing out neatly against the white of the walls. The place was empty, but it still felt homey. Morgan reached out and grabbed Y/N’s hand, tugging her further into the house. “You’ve gotta see the kitchen. It has my favorite views other than the roof.” 

The view was incredible. Windows over the sink looked out onto the bay, and Y/N could see a dock leading down to the water from the deck outside the living room. Morgan brushed a finger over her left cheek, and Y/N realized she was crying. “Morgan, this place is incredible.” He cupped her face gently, smiling. “I know,” he said cheekily, “that’s why I picked it out.” Y/N stared at him incredulously, though the effect was slightly ruined by the tears still sitting in her eyes. Morgan nodded his head back in the direction they had come from. 

“You’ve got to see the best part of the house.” The upstairs was just as beautiful as the downstairs, though Morgan didn’t give Y/N a chance to appreciate it the way he had the kitchen. He kept moving, pulling her towards another set of stairs. The outside hit her suddenly, and the smell of the water was carried along the breeze up to them. If the view from the kitchen was perfect, the view from the roof was otherworldly. Y/N walked towards the railing in an almost trancelike state, and she only stopped when the railing hit her midsection. She felt tears welling in her eyes again, and she didn’t have the will to swipe them away. This view alone was reason to buy the house. The city lights sparkled from across the dark bay, and lights from a ferry shone even further away. The sky was a dark purple now, almost completely black, and a full moon was rising over the water and the city. 

Y/N leaned back into Morgan, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “I want to do forever with you, sweetheart, and I think this is a good place to start.” He leaned down to rest his head on Y/N’s shoulder, and she sighed contentedly. “Marry me?” Y/N jerked, turning quickly in Morgan’s arms. He was smiling down at her nervously, and she felt her face break into a wide smile. She nodded, not quite trusting her voice. “Yeah?” Morgan reached up to cup Y/N’s face as he spoke. 

“Yeah,” she responded, grabbing the front of his shirt to pull him down to her. They were smiling too big to properly kiss, and Y/N broke away to lean her forehead on Morgan. “I love you, Hotshot.” Morgan laughed, pecking her lips again. “I love you too, Red Sox.”

They were home again and sitting on the couch when Morgan blanched, jumping up with a muffled “shit” and running out of the room. Y/N sat there confusedly, trying to decide if she should follow him, when Morgan came skidding back into the room. “I forgot about this.” He held out a velvet box, and Y/N began to laugh. The laugh grew until she was clutching her sides, sliding down the couch until she was lying back. Morgan joined in eventually, and they held each other as they laughed. It took a few minutes until they were composed enough to speak again, and Morgan slid the ring out of the box and onto her finger. It was simple, small and perfect, and Y/N laughed quietly as she leaned in to kiss Morgan again. “I love you, Morgan Reilly.” 

They waited until the next morning to tell anyone, calling their families as soon as it was an acceptable time. Around noon Morgan posted a picture of Y/N drinking coffee onto his Instagram, the coffee cup and her left hand the only things in the photo in focus. A simple caption followed that led to an animated conversation with Kat and a lecture from Andrei about the proper way to announce big news. 

So about last night…

October, Vancouver’s Opening Night: 

To say opening night was exciting would be an understatement. Morgan’s mother had been texting Y/N all day to confirm their pre-game plans, and Y/N finally understood where Morgan’s energy came from. They had gotten dinner together at a place Mrs. Rielly swore by, and then had settled into seats in the family box to watch Morgan make his debut for his hometown team. The arena was giddy, especially as their team came out swinging. They won, and by the end of the game Morgan had scored his first goal as a Canuck. The goal and a fantastic play to save the game in the third gave him first star of the game, and the arena roared as he skated out for a lap. He raised his stick in appreciation before settling onto the bench to talk to the crowd.

“So Morgan, I have to ask you about your summer. It was quite eventful, yes?” The in-arena interviewer smiled at Morgan expectantly, and Y/N laughed because she knew what was coming. “I hear you got engaged to a former roommate?”

Morgan smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Well I had just gotten traded to Carolina, and I needed a place to stay. Dougie Hamilton told me he knew of a girl who needed someone to rent the other room in her apartment, and it seemed like a good idea at the time…”

[dailyaudiobible]

04/30/2021 DAB Transcript

Judges 11:1-12:15, John 1:1-28, Psalms 101:1-8, Proverbs 14:13-14

Today is the 30th day of April welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it's great to be here with you today, it being the 30th day of April. That makes it the last day of April. So, here we are, the last day of the fourth month of our 12-month journey. We are well underway. Today is the 120th day of the year. So, we've taken 120 steps out of 365 steps. We are well underway way, out in the deep now as we sail across the year and through the Scriptures. So, in the Old Testament we’re in the book of Judges right now. Yesterday in the New Testament, we concluded the gospel of Luke, which will bring us once we get to the New Testament today to the final gospel, the gospel of John. And we’ll talk about that when we get there. But first Judges chapters 11 and 12

Introduction to the Gospel of John:

Okay, as we talked about at the beginning today, we have now reached the New Testament, which leads us into some brand-new territory, the final gospel, the gospel of John. And as we talked about before the gospel of John is different than Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Matthew, Mark, and Luke are the first three Gospels in the New Testament and they’re known as the synoptic Gospels because even…even though they are written to be read by different audiences they have a lot of the same material, a lot of the same stories. The gospel of John is very different than the first three, the synoptic Gospels. It’s like it has some things that are similar but it’s like 90% different from the other Gospels. And, so, this brings us a completely different perspective for Jesus’ life and ministry. It actually even looks at Jesus differently. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke we…we see Jesus being a human being, doing His earthly ministry. And it’s not that we won’t see that in the gospel of John. It’s just that John's conclusions, his Christology, right, his view of Jesus is…is a very elevated. So, the gospel of John we will perceive Jesus as divine, as God in these stories a little bit more explicitly than we see in the synoptic Gospels. And the thing is, John…this is this is John, the apostle…the apostle John that we’re…that we’re talking about here. And, so, he would've been aware. This is the final gospel to be written, the last of the Gospels in time to be written, probably roughly 30 years maybe after the gospel of Mark. So, you now, Mark comes first and then Matthew and Luke and then you and then John and there's a span of about 30-ish years there roughly and all of these writings all of the gospel narratives were written after the letters of Paul. Paul's writings are the…the earliest Christian documents that are preserved. But we’ll talk about that when we get to Paul and we’ve got a ways to go. But whereas Matthew, Mark, and Luke are written to be compelling descriptions of Jesus and His life and His sacrifice and what His purpose was, they were written to compel a person to believe whereas John is writing aware of the other Gospels already. He knows the parts of the stories that have been told. He knows the whole story because he was there in the ministry with Jesus watching Jesus do His ministry. And, so, John is writing to people who already do believe. He wrote it to build up their faith, to strengthen them that they might come to know Jesus in a deeper, more profound way. And, so, with that we begin the final gospel. John chapter 1 verses 1 through 28.

Commentary:

Okay. So, we have entered into the gospel of John and, you know, we’re just taking our first step in and just getting our toes wet. And our toes are wet by the Jordan River. That's where we find ourselves today, with John baptizing. And, so, that's the lay of the land there and we’ve kind of talked about where were going as we go into this final gospel.

But in the book of Judges today we are in this story that's so disconcerting. It’s like so disruptive. Like what is going on here with the story of Jephthah one of the judges of Israel who makes a vow to God that if God does what he wants, and what he wants is to be victorious in battle, but if God gives him what he wants that he's gonna sacrifice the first thing that comes out his front door to God. And that's…I mean…that's probably gonna be a person, right? If you think, “the first thing that comes out my front door” I mean…that…that’s likely to not be an animal. Like, it could be but like what kind of vow is that? Can you imagine, “Lord, you know, if you give me a raise this week, I’ll sacrifice the first thing that comes out my front door. So, we’re upside down even as we begin. Jephthah is victorious in battle and when he comes home it's his daughter that comes out the front door and his heart is broken as we see from the narrative in the Scriptures that now he's made a vow to God that he can't break a vow to God. Now he regrets the vow he made. And, so, when the daughter really understands that it's…it's her…like she's gonna die, she asks for a couple months. And there's all kinds of ways to try to make this story different than the story is. Like, he didn’t really sacrifice her. She didn’t really die. She just had to remain like childless. Like, there’s…there's ways that we try to make things different than they are when they're not how we…how we want them to be. And this is a story that we wouldn't like…we’d rather this be a different kind of story. But that's just not how it reads. And, so, we have to just read it as it reads. She goes away for two months, she comes back. Her father sacrifices her to God and then a tradition is born from that point forward that moves on throughout Israel where some days are spent each year kind of reliving that story and wandering around. We look at that and it's like I head scratcher, it's confusing. What's going on here? Why is this in the Bible? Here’s another one of these encounters with a story that's just a tragedy. The thing that…that we have to see is that God didn't ask Jephthah for that kind of vow in any way in any shape. Jephthah made this vow and then once everything came to fruition, he kept his vow. God didn't ask for the vow. God didn't send his angel and say, “Jephthah, I will give you victory in battle if you will sacrifice the first thing that comes out of your door” and then Jephthah makes an agreement, and this is all on God. This is all on Jephthah. When it comes to human sacrifice, God's pretty explicit in the Bible, that He had never asked for any of that from anyone. In fact, God says in the Scriptures that it had never entered His mind. Like He never even thought of that. So, we have to understand the time that we are in. Moses is dead. Joshua is dead. The entire generation that walked with Joshua is dead. We have moved centuries forward. Everyone is doing what is right in their own eyes. Israel has fallen away to worship all kinds of other gods, the God's of the regions around them, precisely what they were warned against. And, so, now they are a convoluted mess. That's how “something like the first person that walks out my front door will be a sacrifice to God” could even happen. It's not in the Mosaic law. It's never a commandment anywhere in the Bible. This is what doing what's right in your own eyes leads to. The people have become tribal even toward each other. They aren't a cohesive unit. They are fragmenting the underpinning of what held them together, which is the law, which is not being adhered to and they are committing spiritual adultery by giving themselves, giving their hearts in worship to another God. This is idolatry. It was God who rescued them and came to them and said, “I am your God. I am the only. There is no other.” And yet, here they are chasing after false gods. That's how things get the way that they are. So, we can look at this story and it can turn our stomach, or it can tip us upside down or it can tip us sideways and we’re like blaming God for all this. We have to understand, God didn't do this, didn't ask for this, has no part in this. And from here we just keep watching. We just keep watching what the children of Israel did. We wandered in the wilderness with them. We came out of slavery with them. We've been with them all along and we saw how they were knit together to be a people. But they are completely a fragmented tribal society at this point. It's falling apart and there are judges that come, and they bring people back and then there are judges that do things like Jephthah and then there are judges that are just simply mentioned. We don’t know anything about them or what they did. What we do know is that this tight unit of people that were on the same page, following their God across the Jordan River, we’re not gonna see anything like that again. The slide that we begin to see here in the book of Judges continues all the way until we get to the place where these very same people that have been rescued from slavery kill the one who rescued them and didn't even see it. That’s how blind. And, so, we’re watching this slide from here in Judges and it will continue forward. It’s a back-and-forth. There will be definitely generations that return to God with all kinds of vigor and God will bless them. But it's this kind of continual downward slide where two steps forward, one step back toward their own destruction.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We don’t like disruptive stories. But we thank You that we…we can engage, we can learn, we can look into those stories because some of the reasons that we don't like them is that they’re in the Bible. And, so, it makes us feel weird, like why would You want this in there? It's so that we can see how bad things can get. It's a warning to us not to follow the same pathways because they only lead to destruction. And, so, come Holy Spirit. Probably not any one of us have made any kind of vow like Jephthah and we never will but we do have all kinds of expectations and we need to reset those. We need to align our expectations with Yours instead of trying to fit You into our expectations. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

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[riverboundao3ff]

Riverbound, Chapter 21

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS and you can’t stop thinking of that video John showed you that one time with the human gamer yelling “CAPTAIN! LOOOOOK!” even though this is very much real life and there is a fucking enormous pirate ship barrelling right at you.

You barely have your sickles out before Vriska comes barging out of her cabin in full pirate ensemble, sword strapped to her waist and fangs bared. “Eridan, take the lead with me! Aradia, Terezi, and Karkat follow. Try not to get yourselves killed. Micah, up to the crow’s nest and see what the enemy is doing. Feferi, keep us at full clip in a circle.”

“I’m not a very good captain!” Feferi yelps as she almost snaps the wheel in half.

“Don’t worry about it, the 8rigantine’s been through some serious shit. She can take a rookie at the wheel!”

Micah zaps up to the crow’s nest with the eyepiece and trains it on the enemy ship. Despite your bloodpusher hammering away in your chest cavity, your feet carry you over to Aradia and Terezi, both grinning ear-to-ear like the maniacs they are. Both are amazing fighters, and you are… very small. Small, and not very strong.

If Crabdad could see you right now you know the old guy would shit himself on the spot.

“Why am I here,” you mutter, gripping your sickles for all they’re worth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck--”

“Shouldn’t Feferi be giving the orders?” Eridan mutters to Vriska, scowling.

Vriska sneers back at him. “My ship, my rules. If you don’t like it you can swim back to shore.”

“I’ll throw you overboard first, bitch.”

“Good to see some things never change,” Aradia snickers, but you can’t bring yourself to rib Eridan for his black crush as you watch the other ship pull right up against the 8rigantine.

“What’s it look like?” Terezi asks.

“Big. Probably one-and-a-half times the size of the 8rigantine…” You trail off as you see the hostages on board and do a quick count. “There’s about fifteen lowbloods on board. Most of them are rusts and bronzes. I see one gold.”

“A psionic?”

“Yep.”

“Dibs,” Aradia calls.

“He’s all yours,” you mumble, beginning to regret being hatched.

Well, it’s too late to back out now. Aradia lays out the plank with her telekinesis and sends a massive shockwave across to the other ship before the terrified hostages can so much as try to rally together.

“Aradia! Don’t hurt them!” Micah wails in protest.

“Sorry!”

She doesn’t look very sorry, but Vriska and Eridan are already charging across the plank together with fearsome battle cries, Terezi right behind them with swords drawn and Aradia bringing up the rear. From the crow’s nest, Micah yells something about the violetblood captain being in his cabin.

“Oh, I am so getting grounded for this,” you tell nobody in particular, and then you bound across the plank in four quick strides, ignoring the dark, churning waters below, and fling yourself into the fray.

Some bronzeblood takes a swing at you the second your feet hit the deck, but you can tell her bloodpusher really isn’t in it when she scrambles back as you knick her cheek with one of your blades. You dodge around a pair of unarmed rustbloods, sweep the feet out from underneath another bronze, and end up back-to-back with Terezi.

Not too long ago you would have been losing your mind at the thought of fighting alongside the girl you crushed on for a pretty sizable amount of your miserable existence, but at the moment you kind of want to smack her upside the head for letting Vriska drag you guys into this. “Where’s your crazy-ass moirail?”

“Looking for our target! Micah said he’s in his cabin,” she yells over a rustblood girl’s furious screeches as Terezi is able to deflect every blow.

You swipe at a boy who tries to lunge for your arm. “Well I wish she’d hurry--”

A shockwave knocks your flat on your ass before you can finish that sentence. Your ears ring, and you roll over with a groan to see Aradia and the goldblood psionic circling each other, both crackling with invisible energy.

“Back off! Back!” the psionic shrieks, blasting yellow sparks at Aradia. “He’ll kill us all if we lose the session!”

“Nobody’s dying today,” Aradia tells him calmly.

“What?!”

“Just keep fighting. We’re here to help.”

Some of the other hostages obviously overheard the whole thing, because you see several stop circling a hissing Eridan to turn and stare at her. None of them have even tried to attack him. He uses the opportunity to break free and roundhouse the psionic into the mast, knocking him out cold and sending cracks up the wood.

A nearby zap alerts you to the cavalry’s arrival. “Eridan!”

“He was attacking Aradia-!”

“Micahlookout!”

The mast splinters apart at the base and comes down through the deck, before toppling over towards your alien friend. They teleport out of the way just in time, reappearing to grab the unconscious goldblood and disappearing again.

The bronzeblood boy you’ve been swatting at scrubs furiously at his ganderbulbs. “What the-- did I just-?”

“Yeah, they do that,” you explain.

“I wanna go home.”

“Same.”

The sound of glass breaking has everybody jumping back as Vriska and the violetblood dude come tumbling out of the cabin window, screaming and clawing each other up with no mercy whatsoever. Serket’s metal arm is making progress in tearing a gash in the violetblood’s side, but he’s still way stronger than her and just as angry.

“You fucking bitch! This isn’t how you play the game!” he snarls, kneeing her in the gut so hard you hear something snap.

She spits blue blood into his face. “This isn’t a game anymore.”

He kicks her off him and springs to his feet, only for a blast of energy to carve a perfect hole through the center of his chest before he can so much as cuss her out again. There’s no blood, no bits of flesh dangling down into the gap. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eridan lower his rifle, brows drawn together in concentration.

You stare in shock as Vriska kicks the still-standing corpse overboard.

The following splash is the only sound to be heard for the next couple of moments. You and Micah make eye contact and stare at each other for a little bit. Eridan and Vriska high-five and start ushering the hostages across the plank to the 8rigantine. Aradia just shrugs and helps a bronze girl with a bad knee to her feet so they can go, guiding Terezi along with her other hand.

“Well, that was quick,” you mumble, making your way over to Micah.

They don’t show any outward signs of distress, but the way their gaze doesn’t focus on anything in particular once you both make it to the other side tells you everything you need to know. You want to throw Serket overboard as well; for fuck’s sake, she knows humans are fragile about these sort of things!

They look over at you. “Guess that’s one way to do it.”

“Yeah.” You look out at the horizon, where a pod of skywhales are surfacing to breathe. “I’ll be honest. This rebellion stuff is way less fun than I thought it was gonna be.”

“Me too. Wanna get out of here once we get the hostages back to shore?”

Oh, fuck yes. “Sure. Can we get some of your weird human food?”

“Ask Dave, my guy. I’m broke as hell.”

“Fine.”

You wait impatiently as Micah helps the others down to the beach once the 8rigantine makes it to shore, but you can’t help but feel a surge of warmth when you see the dawning realization on the former prisoners’ faces when they realize that they’ll be going home. You’re smiling as a few of the younger kids grow brave enough to give Micah hugs, which is understandable given that the alien is very soft and huggable. It’s no surprise to you that they’ve managed to land in somebody’s diamond.

“Nothing like trauma to help bring people together,” they say as you watch the group walk off together towards town. “One of them said that they’re gonna make a group chat and call it ‘Hostage Gang’.”

Everybody gets a good chuckle out of that, and most of the tension leaves as you guys head back to Vriska’s hive. Terezi and Aradia start arguing about what blood caste has the thickest skull bone, with Terezi in favor of seadwellers and Aradia insisting it’s the indigos.

Micah bumps your arm. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. Lemme grab my backpack.”

They zap away and are back in the span of two seconds, backpack slung over their shoulder. You have to tell yourself not to stare, even if you’re still definitely not used to your weird alien friend’s wacky spacetime powers.

Vriska’s face falls. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna bring Karkat to Earth to hang out. I’ll be back soon,” Micah tells her.

“... Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Aw, missing your lusus already?” Eridan taunts, before hightailing it back up the path to Vriska’s hive with a furious pirate girl on his heels. Terezi takes off after them with a shriek of delight, with Feferi begging them not to start a fight and Aradia waving back at you as she pelts sand at the back of Eridan’s head.

“Good god,” you mutter.

“Love those assholes,” Micah says, every word laced with affection. They hold out their hand, and with a lot less caution than you used to, you take it.

In the blink of an eye, the both of you are outside Dave’s apartment building with the sun going down behind the skyscrapers in the west. It’s hot as fuck, even for you, and teleporting never fails to make you a little dizzy.

You look up and down the alleyway. Cool, no other humans around.

Taking a running start, you kick off the dumpster underneath the fire escape and grab on to the last rung of the rusty ladder. You pull yourself up with a grunt and start hiking on up to the top floor, concentrating on the horizon to calm down your tilting vision. A bang of boot against metal lets you know Micah is right behind you.

“Why don’t you just teleport up?” you ask.

“Do you want me to take you up?”

“No. It makes me dizzy.”

“Sorry, dude.” They yank off their hoodie with a huff. “I need the exercise.”

“Don’t let Equius hear you say anything like that. For my wriggling day last sweep he gave me an exercise regime and video-called me to personally ensure that I was doing it. It was fucking terrible. Every time I see a stretching mat my ass clenches up so hard I taste shit.”

“... Do you think he’ll come around?” they ask.

You snort. “Who knows. I like the guy, don’t get me wrong, but… he’s pretty set in his ways about the authority of the Empire and the hemospectrum. If Nepeta can’t get through to him, nobody can.”

“Eridan decided he wants to change. So did Vriska.”

You bite your tongue before you can tell Micah that they unwittingly became the lusus-figure of those two jackasses the second they waltzed into their lives. “Yeah, well. Equius is a whole other hoofbeast, pun intended.”

By the time you reach the top level, your thighs are burning, you’re out of breath, and Micah has to brace themselves on their knees while sucking in air like an upright mechanical cleaning device. The usually pale skin is flushed red, and they’re making absolutely no attempt to cover themselves.

All humans have red blood, dumbass. Get over yourself. “How come you can go for three hours straight on Just Dance but get winded going up a few flights of stairs?”

“Man, shut up. You’re breathing heavy, too,” they wheeze.

“Barely.” You pull out your palmhusk and shoot a quick text to Dave, telling him to check the fire escape. Your palmhusk is barely back inside your sweatpants pocket before the window you and Micah are under slides open.

A messy head of blonde hair pokes out, and your gastric tract does a flip when a smirk lifts up the corners of Dave’s mouth. “Two aliens, chillin’ on my fire escape, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay.”

“I regret ever letting you in on the incredible gift that awaits this world that is Vine,” Micah sighs. “All those iconic seven-second videos, all those memes that have yet to define Gen Z as a culture… and some greasy millennial Texas kid gets the first crack at it?”

“Micah. Mickey. Mickaroonie. Gen Z was born at the start of 1995. I was born in 1996. I barely made it, but I made it. Slipped right in there like the intruder through Annie’s window, RIP Michael Jackson. Vine is my birthright, same as yours.”

“It will be your birthright.”

“What the fuck is a Vine?” you demand. Stupid humans and their stupid human culture. You still have difficulty believing that their planet is divided up into thousands of different sectors, each with their own laws and languages and governments. How come they just can’t pick one thing and go with it?

“Hush up and get inside, Karkles, both of you are letting all the cold air out,” Dave drawls, backing away from the window so you and Micah can hop in.

You do so and almost immediately eat shit when you land on a pile of comic books that slip out from underneath your feet. “Fuck!”

“Keep it down, bro, the walls are thin.” Dave chucks an empty juice bottle into the trash can across the room. “Thin as a rin-tin-tin, gotta keep on silencin’, can’t let the haters in from the world that keeps on burnin’--”

“If you shut up we’ll tell you about the rebellion that’s happening on Alternia. Past Alternia, that is,” you offer.

That gets his attention. He turns to you, brows drawing tightly together. “A revolution? On your hellhole of a planet? Isn’t that, I dunno, really frickin’ risky? You’re not in danger, are you?”

“Not in my time period, dummy,” you say, crossing your arms to block out the surge of warmth inside of you that has nothing to do with the Texas heat. He cares about your safety. “It’s like, ten sweeps ago? Fifteen? I dunno, Micah’s the one who’s actually in it.”

“Yeah… I don’t know, either. Alternian measurements of time are confusing. But yeah. Me and a bunch of my friends are gonna overthrow the government,” Micah explains.

“Hell yeah, stick it to the man. But, like, be careful.”

“I will. Time shenanigans are kind of my thing.”

“Can we get food now?” you demand.

“Hell yeah we can.” Dave glances behind him, but there’s nobody there. “Yeah… let’s see, Bro’s not gonna be back until Saturday, so we’re good.”

Micah glances over at the calendar on the wall and frowns. It’s Tuesday. You’re not sure what Tuesday is in relation to Saturday, but they don’t seem happy about it.

The three of you end up sneaking around downtown Houston until you locate a McDonald’s. It’s weird, how much safer you feel on Earth in comparison to Alternia. These aren’t your people, and this isn’t your planet, and yet when a group of teenagers pass under the tree you and Micah hide in while Dave goes inside to order you don’t even flinch. It helps that the sun has gone down and you know that humans can’t see in the dark.

“So…” they say, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Do you want me to leave you guys alone? You know, city lights, fast food, two teenagers sitting together under the stars…”

FUCK. You slap at them with a furious hiss. “No! I-- what, no! Who told you? Was it Sollux? It was fucking Sollux.”

“It wasn’t Sollux. You’re pretty obvious, dude,” they remark.

You scrub your face with your hands. “I… he’s just so great, which is stupid because he pisses me off, and he’s an alien, and it’s just impossible. A-And he’s human-heterosexual!”

“Hey. Look at me.”

You look at them.

They smile at you, and your racing bloodpusher calms as you remember that this person is one of the few you can trust with your life. “No relationship is ever easy. You know this. But what you don’t know is that people always find ways to come together. My moirail is an oliveblood assassin, and she’s easily one of the top three things that’s ever happened to me.”

You can’t help it: you smile a little. “What are the other two things?”

“Rice bowls at Chipotle. Meeting you guys.”

“You’re a sappy fuck,” you tell them, even as you snort into the crook of your elbow.

“I sure am, hotshot. Oh, hey, here’s Dave--”

“--eeeeeEEEEEE here it is! Help me up,” a familiar voice announces. You look over the branch you’re stretched out on and reach down to help Dave up while Micah grabs the bags of food from him. His palm is just as warm and sweaty as yours, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once everybody is settled in and munching away on shitty, delicious human food you break out the big guns. “Micah has a moirail.”

“Which one is that?”

“They have a girlfriend. Ew, can’t believe I’m resorting to highblood slang.”

That gets his attention. “Oh, real shit? Is she hot?”

“Yes, Dave. She is hot.”

“What’s she like?”

“Kind. Shredded as all hell. Loves sappy romance novels. Lowkey murders people for a living. Gets embarrassed easily. Like, I’ll say something like ‘I’m gonna shooshpap the anxiety right out of your soul, honey-bunches’ and she absolutely loses her goddamn mind--”

You shriek and slam your hands over your ears, trying to not blush and give yourself away. “No, no, noooooooooo, Micah I’m under nine sweeps old please-!”

“I don’t get it! Why is talking about feelings so sexy?” they yell, throwing their hands up while Dave loses his mind. “Damn! I touched my friend’s cheek the other night ‘cause he was messed up about my ribs being broken and he just about exploded.”

“Slut,” you wheeze.

“Your ribs are broken?” Dave stops laughing and starts poking at the other human. “What? Are you okay? How did you even climb this tree?”

“I’m fine now, buddy, Alternian medical tech is pretty great,” they assure him, ruffling his hair as he swats at them.

“Wack. One time I was in the ER ‘cause I needed stitches and the nurse didn’t even numb me up, she just frickin’ went for it. Big-ass needle, big-ass thread, screaming six-year-old, I think I scared the whole McFrickin’ clinic half to death--”

You want to hear everything about Dave’s bravery in the face of a mediculler, but before you can ask for more details a beam of bright light hits Micah right in the face, making them reel back with an arm thrown over their face.

“What are you kids doing up there, huh?” a deep voice calls.

You look down and almost shit yourself.

Underneath the tree are four fully-grown adult males, all big and with guns strapped to their belts (seriously, why the fuck do humans run around with so many weapons on them when they’re so stupid?) and wearing blue uniforms.

Oh, shit. Dave told you to never trust the ones with the blue uniforms.

“We’re eating McDonald’s in a tree, officer,” Micah explains cheerfully.

“Can I ask why?” The one in the front glares up at you. You shrink back into the foliage as much as you can. Dave grabs your hand, squeezing tightly, and you squeeze back.

“Why not?”

“Can I see some I.D?”

“No. We’re not breaking any laws. This is public property.”

You stare in disbelief as Micah pulls out a fry and munches on it without a care in the world. Were they really not afraid? Did humans just… not fear their authority figures?

They can teleport. Of course they’re not afraid, you remind yourself.

“How many of you are up there?” another one asks.

“Three.”

“Are any of you armed?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you come down, please?”

“No, thanks. We’re fine where we are.”

“You guys want a cheeseburger? The lady who took our order gave me an extra,” Dave offers. “It’s got onions, though. Onions are nasty.”

The one farthest to the left says something into his walkie-talkie. Micah grins.

You know that grin. “What are you--”

“Hey, officers! Wanna see something cool?” they yell. “Watch this!”

They push off the branch they’re leaning on and lunge towards you and Dave. You barely have time to yelp before they’re grabbing your arm and zapping you guys out of there.

Delighted peals of laughter fills the whole apartment as you land face-first into Dave’s bed. You spit out a dirty sock that somehow ended up in your mouth and shove them off the end of the mattress, but you’re laughing too. You’ve never seen anything like that.

Dave looks over at you, gorgeous red eyes twinkling behind his shades and a big smile lighting up his respiteblock, and just for a moment, everything is perfect.

[always5hineee]

Infallible - Chapter 13: Entry

Word count: 1071

Chapter warnings: None

-----

       "I promise you this is the right place."

       "And I'm telling you it's not." Minho and Jisung were arguing, as per usual. This time, though, Chan was too concerned to bother breaking it up. Jisung, using his control over Y/N's- or rather, the mixed Y/N-Hyunjin soul- managed to lead them to this place. The problem, was, there was no way Hyunjin was here.

       Of course, Y/N had no clue what was going on. She was still disoriented from all the angelic energy she had been put through in just a couple days. However, the other angels seemed to know what was going on, and it didn't look good. The building in front of her was decrepit to say the least, practically falling apart at every seam. The windows were boarded and the doors were chained, although she had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't be too much of a problem. Walking up to the door, Minho was trying to explain.

       "There's no angelic energy here, we'd be able to feel them." Minho argued. "This is a waste of time."

       "I'm telling you, her soul is coming here, so even if Hyunjin isn't here, she has some ties to this place that are worth investigating."

       "So you admit you don't think he's here!"

       "I didn't say that!" Without even giving them a second glance, Bang Chan walked up to the door, placing a hand on it so that the chains disintegrated and clanked to the pavement. When he moved to push in on the door, though, it was as if it was stuck.

       "Y/N, open the door, would you?" He asked. Tilting her head in confusion, she argued,

       "If you aren't able to open it, I definitely can't."

       "Just trust me." Shrugging, she walked over, not expecting much to happen. However, the door was incredibly easy to open. She didn't even have to push at all- it was like the swinging door of an office building, no knob or latch that she could see.

       "Uh... what?" She asked in confusion, not sure exactly what to think.

       "There's warding." Changbin muttered in annoyance, as well as a hint of concern. "Someone knows exactly what they're dealing with.

       "Warding?"

       "It's like a spell, almost." Minho explained. "You know how in horror movies they always draw those creepy circles and symbols to keep demons away? Well, that's a real thing you can do." So he knew about horror movies, but not about paying in stores? Strange.

       "Okay, but I thought you guys were angels." She pointed out, worried that something was amiss.

       "We are," Chan quelled her fears. "There's different types of warding for all kinds of supernatural things. Demons, angels, spirits, everything."        

       "But it doesn't affect you," Minho added. "Because you're human."

       "I'm surprised it didn't reject her because of Hyunjin's soul." Jisung narrowed his eyes. "Almost as if..."

       "They specifically warded it so that she could get in." Felix finished, eyes darting between the other members looking for some form of direction.

       "Well, then, I guess I'm going in." She said, moving to walk through the door.

       "Wait!" Felix said, grabbing her arm. "You can't!"

       "Why not? I'm meant to, so-"

       "It's got to be a trap, they're after Hyunjin's soul, and they won't be as nice trying to get it out of you as Jisung was."

       "Well, if you can't go in, I'm not seeing many options, here." She glared. "Can you break warding?"

       "For most angels, no," Bang Chan said. "As an archangel, I have a significantly different power, as well as a good bit of strength, so I may be able to do something, but it'll take time."

       "We don't have time." She argued.

       "We had time enough to go goof off in the store." Minho muttered under his breath.

       "I'm not taking suggestions, I'm going to go get my guardian angel." She growled. He had looked after her for years without her even knowing, and she wasn't about to just leave him to die. Felix looked almost hurt as she said this, but she didn't have the mental capacity or the attention span to deal with it. As she walked through the doorway, he tried to stop her, but he was pushed back by some invisible force. It was entrancing to watch.

       "I'll be fine." She said. "Just let Chan work on the warding and come in as soon as you can." At first she was sprinting down the halls, but eventually she settled for walking. She was taking in the crumbling walls and bent support beams as she went, wondering who in their right mind chose this place to reside. She could hear water leaking onto a metallic surface, although she didn't exactly know from where. It all had a musty smell, air stagnating around her. She guessed this place didn't get much of a breeze.

       Eventually, she came to a large, open room. There were stairs on the far wall- some leading up, others down. She had seen enough bad American television to know that descending was a poor choice, so she chose to go up the stairs first. When she reached the top, she found herself in an observation box looking out over the large room. Did this used to be some sort of distribution center or packaging facility? It was clearly equipped for management... It couldn't have been the reason for this setting, though, as no one was there.

       She considered going back out to check on the angels, silently hoping that they were able to break through. As hot-headed as she had been just moments ago, she was quickly realizing that she did not want to deal with whatever was going on by herself. There was no way Hyunjin was just... chilling here by himself. There had to be a threat. Not only that, but she had never met him. What if he despised her for unwittingly enslaving him? Or he left for some other reason and didn't want to be found? There were endless factors that she couldn't predict as she descended the stairs and turned towards those of the lower level. Taking a deep breath, she took one step into the darkness.

       "What a surprise, I didn't expect you to actually arrive here at any point in the near future." She heard a deep voice from behind her, spinning, she saw two stomach-turning, familiar frames. Seungmin and Jeongin.

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