#how do I keep my wedding decor cheap

[balloon-decorations]

Budget Bliss: 10 Creative Ways to Personalize Your Bangalore Wedding Reception with Pro-Balloon-Pro Decorators

Discover the art of personalized wedding magic without breaking the bank! Explore 10 budget-friendly ideas to infuse your Decorators in Bangalore wedding reception with unique charm, brought to life by Pro-Balloon-Pro Decorators. From whimsical balloon arrangements to thoughtful DIY touches, elevate your celebration with these cost-effective and unforgettable decor tips tailored to the vibrant spirit of Bangalore. It's time to turn your dream wedding into a reality without compromising on style or your budget.

Know More: https://balloonpro.in/10-ways-to-personalize-your-wedding-reception-on-a-budget/

[christinebloodwrittings]

Die in your arms

Chapter 3.

Taglist: @littlebluefishtail @maxlynn17 @vxllys @modifiedmonster @sirens-and-moonflowers @qardasngan

Warnings: Allusions of SA, torture, imprisonment.

Proofing by @littlebluefishtail

Last week of November, 1913. New Orleans, Louisiana.

Ten days later, Rosemary was aiding you in adjusting the wedding dress to conceal your bandages, all while you were nearly numb watching yourself in the mirror.

Howard spared no expense, just so you wouldn't feel like it was a cheap, quick wedding. It was - quick -, yet the handmade lace, the high neck, the long sleeves with the cuffs decorated with little white beads, took your mind off that fact.

The skirt covered all the way down to your ankles, to not only hide the bite marks but also the hand prints still pressed against your nerve endings. It also covered the sensual white-laced lingerie Rosemary got for you for the feared ‘Wedding night’ certainly won’t be happening. But it was a nice gesture, and she looked so happy when she saw it on - and wrapped your bandages under it. 

“Oh I remember my wedding day, I was so nervous” reminisced Rosemary in between giggles as she took a strand of your hair to braid, then she felt the hay texture. “Have you been using the conditioner I gave you?” you hummed a tired yes, of course your hair was horribly tangled, dry and greasy at the same time, and with a burnt meat smell, it was unattended for five years. With no other moisture than semen and blood. 

“Let’s hope one day your hair can be soft again” she was very hopeful. Hair was known as a symbol of femininity, style, status, etc. 1910 was the decade for curly or ringlet hair flowing down and held with accessories like beaded headbands, bows, hats, fancy pins, and other accessories. In the mid 1910s the bob cut gained popularity, but you couldn’t have your neck to the sight, given the bandages.  

“That'll be quite a milestone” you rolled your eyes, trying to keep down a smile. While you patted your cut side, she nuzzled against your opposite side, “Stress talk?”, you got caught,  “Insomnia and coffee deprived talk” one of your best discoveries in the world when you hit the ranks, coffee.  

“Have you been using moisturizer?” the subtle ‘uhm’ and your dry skin gave you up again, she sighed and applied some cream to your face. “Without touching my own skin, no” hands, too many hands and the soap didn't make the feeling go away. You had an episode when Rosemary first started taking care of you, where in the first showers you tried to shave your skin off with your nails. She had to take your hands off your skin and patch you up afterwards. 

“I know it’s hard for you but it needs-” your skin needed treatment, - you knew her speech by heart -  especially around the gray scars on your legs, but there was no way, not again. “Promise you’ll try eventually” you agreed with that promise, “Eventually”. 

“Maybe you can ask your future husband to do it…” the disapproving look cut her sentence like an ax would to a log, fast and heavily. “I think I'd rather do opium” for the stare and the joke you got a playful - soft- touch to your forehead, she learned the bad way not to hit you, even if it is playfully.  

“Alright, cover the dress with a robe and go get your caffeine” you slip on the cotton robe before walking downstairs, barefoot.   

Wedding vows, wedding night, reception and celebration. Do all girls dream of the same thing? White and purple flowers, a long dress that looks like swan feathers, lots of warm and smiley faces.

Did you? At some point, being a wife was all you hoped to be, not like you could be anything else.

Gardening was like a second nature, also bandaging and sewing. But those are survival skills.

Cooking, cleaning, ironing, tending to someone else, how could you do it? Your mom wasn't a good example of nurturing nature. She always had this look, close lidded eyes, a grimace on her lips, as if anything she saw was sickening.

Never once did you see a smile on her face.

There you were, coffee cup in hand, watching the garden where your cousin had placed a white clothed table with a few decorations. Some ‘wedding altar’, and all that just to sign a piece of paper.

“Good afternoon Miss Y/n” Alastor had arrived about ten minutes ago, he was lucky enough to see you walk easily down the stairs and watch you sketch a small smile after making yourself a coffee. The sight made him feel warm.

“Define good” You quipped, “Say, isn't it bad luck to see the bride with the dress on before the wedding?” Alastor scoffed in response, stopping his advance towards you at a proper distance. “I don’t believe in superstitions” he lowered his eyes to the colorful cup, “Rum?” he joked, noticing your fingertips pressed against the ceramic. 

“I wish, It’s just coffee with an unsafe amount of sugar, how do you take yours?” he felt seen, somehow your interest was refreshing, even with such a mundane question. “Black, sometimes I go crazy and add a little cream” you chuckled in response, “How adventurous, want a cup?” he shook his head at your offering, “Thank you darling, but I had one before coming”.

Alastor then followed your gaze to the garden, sighing.

"I wish we had something a little more sophisticated" Alastor rested his shoulder against the rim of the door, rubbing the short curls up his neck. "What for? It's not like we had a lot of family members to entertain" you didn't bother inviting anyone, and Alastor didn't have any relatives left alive.

"I just wanted something more...memorable" you thought he meant nicer, as in a catalog-like wedding, "Look, we are to be legally married in less than two hours, don't make it harder than it already is" at least you were in a pretty dress, one that unfortunately you wouldn’t be able to pass on to your daughter. 

What a sad thought to have on a ‘happy day’. 

"How did you picture it? Your wedding day" he interrupted your thinking. Violet, is all you could think of, a white and purple wedding. Instead of answering truthfully, you shook your head, "Can't remember, how about you?" He took a moment to think about it. Based on his experience with couples and marriage, his own family, he never desired to form a family of his own, as not to become the very thing he hated. 

"I never thought I'd marry anyone" he was candid, and didn’t mean it as anything else than that, it unnerved you either way. "At least you have that choice" your words cut into a reality he knew well.

There was a second of silence. And then what seemed another thousand. 

"Did you read the file?" you added from your own thoughts. "I haven't".

"Why not? There’s still time, you could easily slip away and no one would blame you" What was he waiting for? Howard had handed him the bundle of documents and recommended he read it before planning any ceremony. Then he would’ve known what you were capable of and, hopefully, would’ve chickened out.

"I won't, we have a deal, besides, I choose to believe whatever you deem pertinent to disclose" He saw how your eyes opened and locked with his as he spoke, he thought about how wonderful the color was, it matched the color of your hair in a wonderful way, as if you had been painted from a dream.

"Even if it's an absurd lie?" Alastor offered his hand to you before answering. "Whatever you think pertinent to tell me, my dear" he saw through your doubts, he saw your fear and the need to keep yourself alive, he wanted to dispel some of that fear.

"I won't lie if you don't" you hesitated, as your hand was covered with a thin material, he might be able to feel the relief of the scars. He smiled softly, his hand not moving from the space between you. "I don't see the point in lying to my wife" you finally took his hand, even through the satin you could tell it was rough and calloused.

"Good" like you predicted, Alastor felt the irregularities in the palm of your hand, not quite like the normal lines, these were deeper. You saw the small change in his brow, which made you let go of his hand.  

“This is so depressing,” you sighed, the sky was gray and looked like it was going to rain. “I agree, we should have something to… add some sparkle,” Alastor snapped his fingers theatrically, “Like music or arson?” Alastor couldn’t help but laugh at the idea, “We could start by burning your cousin’s country music collection,” you laughed too, not being able to stand another day of those cloying tunes.

“I’m curious, with this happening so fast, what do you have in your mind?” His eyes scanned you from top to bottom, searching for some reaction, something that would give him an opening of your mind. All he saw was a subtle but involuntary movement of your arm.

And oh, the self-control it took for you not to hit him was immeasurable, hence the arm movement. “Wow, I didn’t know I was going to marry Dr. William James*” Alastor rolled his eyes, shifting sides in the narrow hallway so he was leaning next to you.

“If it were a crime to try to get to know my wife, please have one of the officers outside take me away” he felt intimidated by the police car outside, they were supposed to escort you to his house after the ‘ceremony’, just to make sure you didn’t go on a killing spree, but of course that wasn’t his first thought. “I see your annoyance and sarcasm, I’m sorry, this whole thing has me tense” you pointed to the sad altar. 

“You don’t say” he earned a hard look from you, “Can it”.

“How can you be so…” you made hand signals at him but you failed to come up with the exact word, so you gave up with a sigh. The words you were searching for were somewhere between  calm and collected, mixed with ridiculous and imbecilic.

“Because you look beautiful” he took your hand and left a soft kiss on your knuckles. Your arm trembled in his hands, something that was impossible to hide, he brushed it under the rug - in a way - “And it’s fun to know that I’m not the only one who’s nervous” he added, thinking it was just pre-wedding jitters.

It was your turn to make him uncomfortable, as soon as he let go of your arm you brushed his Clarke Gable mustache. “Very avant-garde, by the way” you cupped his cheek in the process, but you saw no reaction, nothing at all, just a higher smile and a glint in his eye. 

In his point of view, it burned. There was no easy way to explain it. The satin was soft but the warmth of your skin against his cold existence touched ten years of loneliness, banal entertainment, and a painfully monotonous life, giving him a violent jolt accompanied by a scorching heat.

“Oh, you don’t like it?” He successfully made it seem as if he was okay, despite the fact his whole skin was threatening to rip apart. “It’s okay, but please don’t grow a goatee” He was slapped by the comfortable cold again when your hand softly left his cheek, “Deal” he smiled, the corners of his lips trembling. 

You noticed that. He knew you did.  

Eventually Rosemary came down to get you to finish getting ready, saving you from an awkward silence. Later the reverend and the notary arrived looking gloomy and unfriendly. The ceremony began with Rosemary as your witness and Howard as Alastor's witness, for lack of anyone better - or appropriate-.

“I understand that the groom wrote his vows” you shot your eyes to him, he only smiled while taking a folded paper out of his suit, “I did”. Howard looked over to you, as if wordlessly asking if you had done the same, which you shook your head and made the fakest laugh of the century, “You didn’t had to” as if saying ‘the fuck you’re doing? this is far too much for a fake relationship’. he caught the underlying message, but he was far too entertained messing with your nerve, “That’s why, my dear, it's called a surprise”.

He started reading off the paper. 

“Y/n Desmond, I would’ve started with the phrase 'if someone had told me a month ago that I would be getting married today, I wouldn't have believed them' but there is no phrase more trite than that.” that cracked a smile in the reverend. 

“I want to tell you that I hope this relationship doesn't end with 'until death do us part', so I would like to change it to 'in this life and the next' if you allow me. I promise to cherish you, adore you, respect you, and be yours, body and soul, in this life and the next” everyone else swooned with his speech, alas you couldn’t give two fucks, but had to pair with his charade.

Then the reverend proceeded to cue in the regular vows before the pronunciation.

“I, Alastor Heartfield, take you Y/n Desmond, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you in this life and the next.” he slid the golden band on your left ring finger. 

“I, Y/n Desmond, take you Alastor Heartfield, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you… in this life and the next.” then you slid his golden band in his ring finger. 

“With the power vested in me, I pronounce you, husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride” it was mandatory, the seal of the whole ceremony, you both were socially obligated to do so. 

He traced the scar from the side smile with his thumb as he cupped your cheek. The heat again burned his and your skin with the contact. By the time your lips connected with his, it was like any of the horrible men who forced themselves on you, just not as messy or slobbery. Just pressure, soft and he kept his distance to allow you the choice to get close or not.  

Then it was over, there was clapping, the legal signing, a couple photos just for the hell of it, and then the officer with the shackles in hand - and a not so friendly mug -. “Now we will escort the happy couple to their home” Alastor handed him a piece of paper with the new address.

“So this means kissing the honeymoon goodbye?” he jested, to which you pinched his arm with a smile, “How romantic, follow us close” he nodded as he watched the officer pull on your shackles, “Will do, darling”.

It took thirty minutes by car to reach a suburban area near Coronel Lafayette avenue. Howard did raise Alastor’s salary so he could indulge your request for a second bedroom, but for that he had to (force himself) move out of his mother’s house. He couldn’t even begin to describe how much it hurt leaving so many good experiences and memories, but oddly enough, was relieved to be out of the bad ones. 

It was a two story house, cream colored with white trim on the windows. Black metal fence around the front yard and wood towards the back garden. "Wow, you seem to be very lucky" you noticed the displeasure in the officer's voice, but you didn't give it any importance.

Once inside, after Alastor opened the door for you, you saw that it was already furnished.

"You didn't waste your time this past week" Alastor stepped back as you walked around the living room with one of the three suitcases you had. He was the one carrying the other two.

Once inside, the officer took off your restraints with reluctance, making an unnecessary strong tug at them while at it. He definitely missed the death glare you shot him when he turned. 

Alastor saw it, so he suggested you go into the kitchen and open the door at the end of it. There was a small room for the laundry and then another door, the one that led to the garden. “A deal is a deal” he walked behind you, reaching for a basket on top of a shelf. 

It was unexpected, the heat that rose from his stomach to his face after seeing a small sparkle in your eyes as you looked at the green canvas. It was strange but pleasant.

"I'm going to have to brush up my cooking skills," you received the basket, looking through the various seeds, thinking it would be best to start treating the soil in the spring. There was also an envelope with money. Your cut, as per the deal.

Your eyes went back to the void, as Alastor dreadingly called it. The moment another set of steps were heard, your lids hooded your eyes and the spark he previously saw died. 

"Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Heartfield, here is the judge's order stating that on this date, November 28, 1914, your arrest will be concluded” the officer handed Alastor the sheet of paper. 

With that, the clock had restarted, and on the day of your first anniversary you would leave him. 

While Alastor was stuck in a conversation with the officer, you climbed up the wooden stairs to the second floor. The first bedroom on the right was Alastor's, his things already seemed to be unpacked, save for a couple of boxes. How could he get an entire house ready in a week?

There was a bathroom in front of his room and then a third door to the right of the hallway.

You twisted the doorknob, the room was equally furnished, with a private bathroom inside the room. The master bedroom, you realized upon sight that he had left the largest room to you. 

"The vanity arrives on Monday" He had ordered his mother's mahogany dressing table to be moved to the new house, thinking it would be better to put it to some use rather than let it rot in the damp and dust.

When did Alastor come up? You had no idea, but it certainly startled you. How come he didn’t make a sound? "You shouldn't have, I don't need that much space" The windows were large and clean, the evening light reflecting off the cream-colored walls, unlike the cell or the soldier’s quarters. 

"You asked for privacy, I think it's appropriate" he walked up to the bed and he left the suitcases at the foot. “I will get paid on the first day of the month, we can make the grocery list tomorrow,  please add anything you may need as well” he smiled your way, 

“Sounds good, thank you” you forced a softer tone out, capturing his attention, “For what?” he followed your hand pointing to everything around both, “All of this”. 

Alastor felt strangely pleased with himself, he had managed to make a complete change of address in less than ten days, and best of all, there was not a single complaint from you.

Looking at you in that white dress, long hair arranged with white clips, satin gloves falling down your elbows revealing the bandages, gave him a strange feeling. He couldn't take his eyes off you caressing the soft duvet, assimilating the softness of the cotton. “You’re most certainly welcome” he spoke as he walked out. 

As soon as he made his way back to his room you jumped, diving onto the bed. Compared to the mattress at Howard’s guest room, the one Alastor had set up in your room was a cloud. The blue duvet was soft and fluffy, as were the pillows. You couldn’t help but let out a soft moan of satisfaction, one that Alastor had the pleasure of hearing.

“Y/n dear, can you come down for a second?” he called for you after an hour. The living room was dimly lit with candles and there was the soft sound of jazz in the background, one of Alastor’s favorites. 

“What is this?” He extended you a flute glass of champagne, which you received suspiciously. “The tradition is to seal the marriage with the wedding night, but we have no need for that, right?” with his now free hand he motioned you to sit beside him in the one of sofa chairs in front of the lit fireplace. There were two chairs, angled so they were facing each other, and a table of charcuterie in the center. “So, how about a drink and a dance?” he continued, sitting in the one on the right. 

“You should’ve told me, can I go change?” you left the glass on the table, taking a few steps back. Alastor’s first instinct was to get up but he refrained. “But you look beautiful” he pouted, then changed his demeanor when you shot him a ‘be serious’ glare, “I mean it” he truthfully raised his free hand in defeat.

“So” he swirled the champagne, looking ever so amused at the bubbles.“So?” As soon as you took a piece of cheese from the table he started laughing. “I’m sorry, I mean we don’t know each other yet we got married, it’s funny isn’t it?” he continued chuckling. 

“Hilarious” you acknowledged, rather nonchalantly so. 

“I noticed you don’t have much luggage.” How awful, how long had it been since he felt so nervous to talk? On the other hand, you put aside the bitter liquor, to continue eating cheese. “Howard paid someone to take my measurements and then he went out to buy essentials.” He laughed again, visualizing his boss buying underwear, “I can’t imagine Howard looking at women’s clothes.”

You hummed, catching sight of his disappointed glance.

“I saw how the officer looked at you” Alastor felt self conscious, he didn’t know you saw that. “If you ask me, the whole skin color issue is ridiculous, we all bleed the same” at your words he raised up his head at you. “You don’t mind it?” Seeing him so surprised offended you, did he really think that was the problem? 

“Why would I? It’s bullshit to hate someone over race” he knew he wouldn’t get bored of your bluntness, your sincerity reached your eyes. “I thought that was the reason you looked at me like a pest” never, you thought. You’ve seen more kindness in the eyes of dark-skinned people than white ones. 

“Poor thing, you must be starving” you remembered his hand being dark like the night, and larger than your face, he was gentle nonetheless, cradling your cheek to look up. His skin smelled like coal and burnt wood. “Here, it’s not much, but it will calm down the pain” he pushed your lips apart with his thumb to slip the porridge into your mouth, it wasn’t hard, you were far too beaten up to stop him. 

“I’m sorry I cannot do more for you” he whispered, leaving a kiss to the crown of your head, before leaving. 

You shook your head, pushing the memory away. “The reason doesn’t matter, you’re not a pest” you reassured him, and that was enough. “Must be awful, living while always being seen as a threat” It wasn’t his fault…not completely.

“Success makes it disappear, a little” respect is earned by merit, but it didn’t matter, not until he completed his plan. 

“Do you have more opinions on the matter?” He wanted you to open your mind to him, allow him to study you, understand you. 

“I just think it’s stupid, but I haven’t been very involved in society to get a proper opinion” for how long? he asked himself.

“So the color doesn’t matter, but perhaps it is because I’m…” a man, you thought. He completed his question, “A stranger?”.  

“Perhaps” you repeated. “Well” he stood up from his seat, kneeled in front of you “Let’s get to know each other better” he smiled. 

There was something familiar in the air, something sinister. It was strangely comforting and menacing at the same time. That was a thought that plagued both your minds.

—

*-William James (January 11, 1842 – August 26, 1910) was an American philosopher and psychologist, and the first educator to offer a psychology course in the United States.-

[iris-of-bliss]

Healing I: Absence

Summary: Your fiancé hasn’t arrived home for days. Thoughts began to worry about his fate. You would soon find out about what was going on his entire time being away. Giving him love and affection was more important on your to-do list.

Pairing(s): Kabal/F!Reader

Warning(s): Angst

A/N: My first ever angst fic. I hope you enjoy <3

Today has been quiet as usual, remaining alone at home in bed once again. It has been three days in a row of Kabal being absent. Your stomach felt like it was tied in a hefty knot. You remember him talking about a job he needed to handle with Stryker. There were monsters wrecking havoc through the city a few days back. You prayed that he made it through okay instead of ending up dead. Your patience was running thin as you sent text message after text message and stared at one of the photographs you took with Kabal. Your finger traces across his face, heart aching for his return to bed. The atmosphere doesn’t feel the same without your lover. Enjoying the sweet comfort from him by a warm embrace and kisses being peppered all over you. You two settled down well in your new home after the engagement. You couldn’t wait to finally become his wife sooner or later. There weren’t any wedding plans just yet. This might have to hold off for a while.

You recall the memory after his proposal, “I’m so fucking happy you’re in my life, baby. I will always protect you until the day I die…”

You two were holding each other in a tight hug, cherishing this precious moment.

“You really mean that, don’t you Kabal?” you look up to him. Kabal lifts a hand up to caress your face gently.

“Trust me, I never forget to keep my word.”

The treasured memory made you sigh with a hint of sadness. You miss Kabal so much. Getting out for some fresh air in the start of the weekend might help out, but not completely. After getting up to change your clothes, you head out and drive into a town nearby. The place wasn’t too crowded with some residents doing their usual routine. It sounded pretty quiet around here. After stopping at the right parking spot, you wander across a sidewalk while sightseeing. You try your best not to get thoughts about Kabal in the way, yet this would prove difficult.

After some minutes of walking, you rest your back against the wall of a convenience store. You pull out your cell again to send your fiancé another text, telling how much you miss him.

You worriedly look into your surroundings, hoping for him to pop up any second. The heel of your shoe taps along the concrete. You never dealt with Kabal being gone for more than a day, unless it was for an urgent mission. He always reminded you when he comes home, and it was supposed to be a day after he left to work in the afternoon.

Your thoughts snap after you soon recognized a familiar downtown alley across the street. It held special memories of you and Kabal with its cute decorations of lights and plants hanging across the building walls. Plant vases and valuable trinkets gave the alley a nice touch along the path. You remember hanging out to chat next to one of the restaurants within the alley, admiring each other’s company. This was most often planned during the night since the scenery would feel more romantic. It was the right time for each other to get flirty. You manage to cross the street to examine the empty place. Your eyes caught the small dining table made for the outdoors. This was you and your fiancé’s favorite spot. The table was cheap and made of steel along with the seats, but they at least felt comfortable thanks to the cushioning. You sat in one of them before your memories appear once again.

“So uh, how do you like the place? Pretty romantic, right?” Kabal asked nervously, hoping for a positive answer.

You answer happily, “Oh Kabal, I actually like the atmosphere. It feels nice, and it isn’t too open. We’re sitting in an alley and are about to eat together. It is romantic.”

Your hand rested atop of his. One finger traces the back of his. Kabal then holds into yours to circle his thumb around your knuckles. It was a moment of tenderness during the dinner date. Enjoying a date in an alley for the first time was a new experience for the both of you. His expectations were kept low by how you would react to the surprise. He did a great job making you happy though. Why wouldn’t you settle down in a finely decorated alley for dinner? This will end up being forever treasured in your memory. Your fiancé leans in to kiss you. He pulls back so he could stare into your eyes softly. He loved you so much, and he never chose to waste that.

“That’s good to hear, doll face.”

Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by a faint cry of a man from the town’s plaza. It sounded as if he was about to die. Your body began to startle from the abrupt situation. The man finds his way into the alley until he recognized you. He looked to be a criminal, but there was something else more questionable: was he wearing Red Dragon attire? There was some blood splatter covering his outfit.

“You,” he announced while panting for air, “I’ve been trying to look for you. Kabal’s little whore I assume?”

You didn’t know how to react. You were hesitant on running the hell out of the alley, but the guy might kill you easy. Your voice shook, “W-what do you want from me? What did you do to Kabal?”

Your response made him raise an eyebrow. Before he makes a move, a burst of purple ran into the man, pinning him against a wall by his neck. The guy was unrecognizable with burnt scars over his skin while also wearing a mask. His clothes looked somewhat similar to what your fiancé has worn before leaving the Black Dragon. He also had hooks words with him. Your mind soon took in the realization. Could this strange individual be Kabal all along?

“If I ever see any of your punk asses around here again, I’d be more than welcome to track you all down just like your buddy! Got it!?”

Your heart dropped. His voice. It had to be Kabal. It was sort of muffled by the mask, but it indeed sounded like him. The Red Dragon member was let go to run off from the area, never to come back again. Your face stirred with worry as you couldn’t believe it was your fiancé. How did his body get burnt up so badly? You rose from your seat to approach the man. He wiped off some blood splatter from his arm after a piece of work he handled. You began to question, “Kabal, is that you?”

He quickly looks up at your face before turning against you, attempting to walk away. You soon grab him by the wrist to stop him, but he pulls away from you. You grip him again by his arm this time. It’s doesn’t matter how hard you try. Kabal keeps resisting you.

“What happened to you? Answer me, please!”

Kabal roughly pulls away from your grip and turns to you, “Get the fuck off me!”

Your body remained still with eyes widening. You have never seen him act like this towards you before. He treated you with love and respect constantly as you were a couple. The joy of him being able to see you again was all gone. Something must have affected him greatly.

“Kabal…talk to me. What’s gotten into you? I never heard from you since you left to work with Stryker,” your words began to stumble, “I…I miss you…”

You rushed in to hug him with tears streaming in your eyes. Your fiancé tries his best to push you off him. It didn’t matter though. You care about Kabal. You wished to comfort him from whatever caused him to earn body scars. All you want was for him to come home with you and talk.

“I said. Get. Off.”

He manages to push you back aggressively. Kabal was an entirely different man now. This can’t be real, right?

His voice raised heavily, “It isn’t worth being around you anymore. Ever since the shit show this four-armed freak made, I’ve got other things to worry about than some engagement.”

You slowly back away from him as he turns against you. You hope to the Elder Gods this engagement never came to an end, but it apparently would be.

“We’re best off not seeing each other again. Goodbye, Y/N.”

With that, he rushes off elsewhere distant from you. You immediately fell to your knees sobbing. You feel your stomach tied to a knot due to what happened just now. There was no way Kabal chooses to throw this all away. The wonderful dates, his protection given to you, those precious reminders about how much he loves you. Hell, even the wedding proposal was there, too. They will never come into fruition anymore after his departure. There is a strong indication of him returning to the Black Dragon, which was ran by that one-eyed scumbag Kano. Still, your heart aches for him. You wanted him to return for comfort, but now all you feel is emptiness. You had nobody by your side. Only time will tell what could possibly happen next.

[mushroomwillow]

Something that I guess is trivial but bothers me a lot about my mother inlaw:

Thrifting. She freaks over thrifting. When I told her my favorite pair of shoes I got from goodwill she got so upset she actually took me out and got me new boots. I only wear them when there’s snow out, because I still love the ones I thrifted, and I can wear them all year round.

I cannot tell her when I thrift clothes. She freaks. And by freaks, I mean she does the grossed out face, starts talking about how gross it is to wear clothes that someone wore before. And honestly even more wild to me is she does the same with furniture? Like wood furniture? The idea that we’re keeping an eye on getting new kitchen chairs/table has sent her off on a strange rant about how gross it is? As if she hasn’t owned her table and chairs for years… that has seated dozens of people… some of which they don’t talk too anymore… and like, she’s cleaned it… so why can’t I clean a used one?

It makes no sense??? Idk I’m very pro thrifting. Especially clothes. My body shape has changed a lot over even the last 4 years. I had a baby, I had surgery, I’ve lost and gained weight multiple times, buying brand new clothes just isn’t financially feasible for me. That and the quality of clothes is usually shit anyway and the new stuff falls apart super fast.

It’s almost 1am idk this is bothering me rn because I had to leave everything behind when I moved out here away from my abusive ex. I brought all my daughters clothes and for myself I packed just enough to keep me warm during the winter. So I have to rebuild my wardrobe as I have the money to do so. So I thrift, look for deals, and I’ve never had an issue with used clothes etc. personally I don’t get like, underwear or bras thrifted. However if someone can only afford too, why tf can’t they???

Omg and I mentioned finding a wedding dress that I love and wished I had grabbed the moment I found it. Instantly she was online looking for dresses. All of them weren’t me, nothing I wanted, and her version of a “cheap” dress was $500+. I can’t afford that?? Never have been able too? And like??? I can completely personalize a basics used dress for probably half the cost if I buy a used dress? She’ll really freak when she finds out I’m going to thrift/make decor.

Anyway, good night.

[ashwhowrites]

Nothing I'd change

Finally a fluff song fic to ease our hearts

This will make you feel good, I promise

We used to spend our Friday nights

Underneath them downtown lights

You with your friends and me with mine

Shooting shots and getting gone

Well, that all changed with that first kiss

Yeah, one of them things that you can't forget

Eddie was drowning shot after shot with his band when he first met her. She was underneath the downtown lights as she danced with her friends. Carefree and gorgeous. He stumbled his way to her, drunk off his ass. She was tipsy too, grabbing his hips and grinding into him without a second thought. They danced, got drunk, and fell in love.

Eddie was dying to kiss her. The way her lips moved as she yelled over the music. The way her perfume made her sweat smell so inviting. He was craving her with many parts of his body. His drunk eyes made it obvious. Looking down at her lips any time she talked. Her eyes were gorgeous too. His eyes snapping between the two features fast.

"do you want to kiss me or something? You keep staring at my mouth" she laughed

"yeah I do" he chuckled, connecting their lips. And it was a kiss Eddie knew fucked him for life and he loved it. He loved the way her hands ran over his chest before lacing together behind his head. He loved the way her body melted into his. The way she kissed him back had butterflies in his stomach. Feeling shit that Dustin talks about. A bunch of new things he knew, he wouldn't ever forget.

Settled on downand you moved in

Made this house more like a home

Now it's champagne kissing

While I spin you 'round the kitchen

It's as good as good is getting kinda thing

His apartment felt like a real home when her final box was unpacked.

Eddie could and will never forget when she moved into his apartment. She's been staying with him every night anyway. She had her own clothes in his closet and small things she left around his apartment. But Eddie liked to imagine a world where she didn't have a home to go home to. That when she slept in his bed, she would already be home.

Before her, his apartment was a place to sleep. He never bothered to decorate or make it feel like a home. Just a place where he ended a long day.

But,

Now he loved nothing more than having her around all the time. Cheap beers, wine, and bubbly champagne. Giggling and laughing on the kitchen counter as they drank their night away.

Eddie just kept falling deeper and deeper into her. The way she talked. The way she smelled. The way she loved him. The way she moaned. The way she laughed. The way she adores Wayne and Dustin. The way she embraced everything about Eddie and loved him even more for it. He loved every single thing he learned about her and he loves learning more.

"dance with me" she said, sliding off and almost falling as she laughed

"you are drunk! Sit down!" He laughed. Catching her swaying hips and moving in between his legs

"no I want to dance with you. Come on." She yanked his arm. Slurring her words but determination in her eyes.

He also had trouble saying no to her. She knew how to tug his strings to get what she wanted. But he honestly loved being wrapped around her finger.

"there's no music" Eddie whined, but still cuddled her into his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Swaying their bodies back and forth in the small kitchen. A kitchen where her favorite mugs filled the cabinets, photos of them covered their fridge. Dustin's graduation photo taped up. Wayne and his new wife on their wedding day with Eddie as the best man. Eddie loved no matter where he looked in their home, there was a memory.

"we can dance to the sound of our heartbeats. Just listen"

The silence was calming and relaxing. He smiled and kissed her head. He tried to focus on what her heart would sound like. Moving with her as she moved based off of his

"we can't slow dance if your heart is racing!" She teased, smacking his chest as she leaned her head up to kiss his chin

"I CAN'T HELP THAT!"

Now it's Sunday morning tangled up

Under covers making love

In rhythm with the tin roof rain

There ain't nothin', nothin', nothin'

Went from yours and mine and now it's ours

Nothin' 'bout loving you I'd change

Eddie was a respectful man. He'd list a million different things that he loved about his girlfriend before he got to the sex....but the sex? Oh god

"feel good gorgeous?" Eddie moaned as he felt her clench around him. Their bodies covered by the covers as he pounded into her, slow and deep.

Waking up just minutes ago and already craving each other. Breathlessly gasping and feeling every inch of skin possible.

It was lazy, slow, but deep and passionate

"yes...fuck baby" she whined. Nothing was better than feeling how deep Eddie could go. Feeling just how far in her he could fill. Fucking Eddie was hot and reckless.

But making love with Eddie was beautiful and desperate.

"you close?" His eyes clenching as he felt his body tighten

"yeah. So close. Just a little bit more" she edged on. Loving the way his forehead was pressed into hers, his nose bumping hers when he'd thrust deep into her, his lips catching hers in a small kiss. She desired the way his chest was smashed completely against hers. No space in between their bodies for anything. Barely even a feather.

"cum with me" he moaned. His brown eyes refusing to look away from hers as she clawed at his back. Her eyes staring into his as she let herself go. Their moans mix in the air as they orgasm together. She could feel him filling her completely. He shivered at the way she milked him, feeling her soak him in her cum

"that's it. Ride it out with me" she whispered. Her breath hitting his lips as she moved her hips with his. Hands clenching on his ass as she worked through it.

"god I love you" he said breathless, kissing her lips softly, still inside of her growing soft

And I wouldn't trade it for nothin'

Even if I hardly see my friends

And they hit me up like, "Where you been?"

"I'm sorry guys, I'm staying in"

And honestly I love it

"this is yours" she muttered as she tossed Eddie's his clean sweatshirt. Throwing around his clean laundry as she dug through the basket, she left something here that she needed

"and that's yours" he said, throwing a bra at her face

"you sure? Swear it was yours"

He rolled her eyes and faked laughed at her joke

~~

But now everything he has is hers and vice versa. It's all theirs together. His bed became their bed. The shower? It's theirs. The couch? Theirs.

There was something about her owning things with him that made him giddy. He loved her small additions to his apartment. The flowers on the kitchen table. The rockstar posters she allowed in the bedroom just for him.

It was a home they built together and it was theirs.

"baby phone" she said, passing Eddie the phone as she ran back to the stove, stirring the pasta.

"Eddie" he said, eyes watching as she leaned over the stove to turn down the burner. His eyes dipping lower to her ass, holding back a moan

"hey Eddie! Where have you been? Boys and I are going to get drinks tonight. You and your girl in?" Gareth spoke on the other side

"um hold on" he said, placing the phone on the counter as he walked over to her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, swaying her body

"the boys want to get drinks. You want to go?" He whispered, pecking her neck softly as she hummed

"I had a long day. I think I'll eat, take a bath and sleep. But you have fun baby. I know they miss you" turning her head to kiss his cheek

"okay baby"

Turning back to walk to the phone, picking it up just to say,

There you were walking in

"I'm sorry guys, I'm staying in" he hung up before he heard the groans of disappointment.

"Eddie I said to go!"

"yeah but then you said you were going to be hot, wet and naked in a bath so I figured that sounds way better" he teased, rubbing his cock against her ass. Moaning as he could feel himself getting hard.

"definitely not how I described my bath. But I would never turn down the company" she winked, turning her head to kiss his lips

Perfect strangers when we met

Turned to lovers as the time moved on

We were wild, we were crazy

We were reckless, we were babies

Now we're out here raising up one of our own

~~~

Eddie tried to hold back his tears as she walked down the aisle but he failed in seconds.

Her white dress and huge smile took his breath away. She was walking towards him, towards their future and he didn't know how the hell he did it.

He failed senior year three times

Falsely accused of murder

The town freak

Left by his mother

Abused by his father

But in the end, he got her. And he felt like he never suffered a day in his life.

From strangers in a bar to dancing on their wedding night.

~~

Wild and reckless young adults. Too scared to no longer be teenagers. Grasping on to the young life to avoid being a real adult. Doing every foolish thing in the book. Breaking laws, making out in cars, dancing on tables and being dumb together.

Now, being married

Holding a baby boy in his arms as his wife slept peacefully on the hospital bed.

In ways him and her grew up together. Young adults to real adults

With their biggest task at hand, being parents.

But there was no one Eddie would rather do it with.

There's nothing about their love he'd change.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @slightlyvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergent @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616

[u1tr4vio1ence]

EYE OF THE STORM

CHAPTER II: FOUR BIRDS AND TWO STONES

PAIRING(S) - Dion Agriche x (Fem.) Reader

DISCLAIMERS - Same as the first chapter.

CONTENT WARNINGS (CONTENT MAY CHANGE OVERTIME) - Same as the first chapter.

BEFORE YOU READ - Here is a link to the masterlist.

NOTES - Initially, this chapter was supposed to be double its current length but I decided to split it. There were some things that needed to be built up and established in this chapter, the burn is horribly slow but I hope y'all will trust me with this story's direction :,)

“My sincerest apologies, my lady!”

The maid quickly bowed her head after making an error of pulling your hair too hard. You wordlessly close your eyes and lean back, a signal to continue styling your hair.

Though you lived your life being fed with a silver spoon, this is a bit much. You weren’t the type to force the manor servants to wake up at the crack of dawn to pamper and dress you for the day; but quite frankly you didn’t care anymore, if your father wanted you to complete this suicide mission, then you are going to indulge for as long as you can. Indulging is the only thing you can do to keep the harrowing truth from killing you from the inside out. Just the flashing image of the note you received the night before makes you feel like bile will come up your throat.

In the words of your father, Lante Agriche agreed to the marriage out of pride and satisfaction– killing two birds with one stone. His ego was stroked seeing the house of Vespertine offering to wed one of their daughters away, a sign of yielding power and submission; as well as having a brittle new toy who his family could bend and break. Your father knew that he sent you away to die. 

But he also gave you a proposal.

If you manage to not make a single mistake, if you manage to provide nothing but utmost perfection, if you manage to do the impossible and impress Lante Agriche… then you might just survive long enough for the house of Vespertine to consider taking you back. You’ll receive aid to escape, but only to be expected to crawl back to your father and play the informant. Two birds with one stone were what your father wrote in the note. He can relieve conflict and warfare temporarily with the marriage, and dispose of his deadweight daughter or make her come back with useful information. It was a win-win for him.

The heads of Agriche and Vespertine were playing with your life, with your existence, like a chess set. They carelessly throw you through all of this, like your life was as cheap and disposable as a wooden pawn piece. 

“We have finished your requested preparation, my lady.”

Good. You need air.

Opening your eyes and taking a quick look at the mirror, your lips twitch into a frown. Not horrible, but not impressive; the maids fixed you up beautifully, but beautiful is not enough. You need to look bewitching at all times. You make a quick mental note to tell the maids to let you handle your own eyeshadow from now on before rising from your seat.

“You ladies are dismissed.”

The maids excused themselves quickly, resulting in you standing in front of your vanity mirror alone. You feel so hollow. You feel so lost.

What are you going to do?

A sigh left your nose as your feet dragged themself outside.

–––––

–––––

–––––

–––––

–––––

Though you have your complaints about the Agriche’s choice of interior decorations, you cannot lie about the garden, it was stunning. You’re not sure how much time has passed but dawn is no longer and the sun is high in the sky. The weather and the flowers in such nice lighting would have normally calmed you, but it did not. In fact, the knot of anxiety in your chest grew and now you started to feel lightheaded. You can feel the nausea coming up as well.

You don’t want to die, but you can’t stand to associate with your father any longer. You hate this, you hate them all. How in the world are you going to survive all on your own? Escaping the Agriche manor and being on the run from the Vespertines? It is an impossibility, how long do you even have? There’s no way Lante Agriche will allow you to be killed within the first couple of months right? It’ll be bad publicity and even he is not insane enough to cause an uproar after something as historic as a wedding between two of the six ruling houses happened.

Before you can think any longer you hear an unnerving giggle. You whip your head around to look directly into the eyes of an older woman whose smile makes your sweat cold. There was something uncanny about her beauty, from how her short brown hair is so cutely styled yet the jolly expression on her face doesn’t quite make you think she was happy. But the feature that made you the most nervous was her round violet eyes, they look unhinged in a way.

“My goodness, this is such a surprise! I was never told that you were an absolute beauty!”

You attempt to open your mouth to respond but quickly shut it when you notice the woman beginning to walk towards you at an alarming speed. You take a step back, but she grabs both of your hands into hers.

“You are such a pretty thing my dear, I’m ecstatic to call you my daughter.”

If it weren’t for the blush the maids applied on you earlier, the woman could’ve seen the color of your face draining.

“You are… my mother in law?” 

“Correct,” she said with a chuckle, amused at the bafflement of your voice. She lets go of your hands to stand up straight with a daunting grin.

“My name is Maria, third wife of Lante Agriche, but please call me mother. I insist!”

Third wife. Out of all ten wives that Lante has, your mother in law was the rumored corpse maker that you intended to avoid the moment you set foot on the grounds of this manor. Your head was reeling, the anxiety in your chest and the nausea in your stomach hits a peak. You are taking this in too strongly. This situation is stressful, but you were never one to lose your cool. Get it together, get it together.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you… mother. If I may ask, were you at the wedding ceremony? It seems like this is your first time seeing me.”

That was a start, but you need to do better. But how can you when you feel worst every second? Emotional distress can cause bad reactions from the body but is it possible for it to be this drastic?

“Ahaha! I was not at the wedding, no. I felt no need to, I have no interest in whatever activities that son of mine takes in,” Maria says, “but of course if I knew you were such a doll, I would’ve attended!”

You were not able to process the scornful way Maria spoke about her own son, your brain feels muffled and your legs feel like gelatin. You drop to your knees

“However, it’s a little bit of a shame that you aren’t more quick-witted. I thought Vespertines knew more about Agriche’s operations but I suppose not,” Maria said while giving you a small close-eyed smile.

“But since you are one of us now, I bet it won't hurt if I let you in on a family secret.”

Your vision was turning dark, but you manage to see her small smile growing into a crescent moon grin and her eyes opening with a sadistically entertained look in them.

“The flowers of this garden were artificially designed to be poisonous, and I'm afraid it's rather lethal!”

Your vision blacks out.

[dragonmuse]

Are there any Revenge-family siblings we haven’t met or heard about? We’ve seen the Hands siblings and the Boodhari siblings and obviously Alma and Charlie, but does anyone else have siblings who haven’t shown up in the stories yet? There are a lot of confirmed only children and the only sibling I can think of off the top of my head who has been alluded to but not shown up is Faith’s sister who was the one who gave Izzy her ring after she died.

( There may be, but they haven't made themselves known to me yet! But in the meantime, here's someone I never thought I'd write about)

Pru Morris was walking away.  It wasn’t the first time. At eighteen, she’d walked away from her parents' house with just the contents of her carefully packed messenger bag in boots that belonged to a dead girl. Those boots had carried her to her first three dead end jobs and then, at last, to a big accounting firm where an executive called her ‘assistant’ and meant ‘surrogate wife’. 

For three years, Pru handled everything in the man’s life, including his actual wife. She never slept with him, but it was a close thing once or twice. The second winter, the boots had died at last with the sole slipping from the right one. She probably could’ve fixed them, but it felt right to put away childish things. She’d never even liked them really. But she didn’t throw them away, just tucked them in her closet and forgot about them. 

Then the man got promoted and got a new assistant. Pru was handed over to the new man without ceremony. It was a silent divorce that she felt in bones, and she forced herself to start dating again to make up for it. 

Drew Morris was fine. He had a good job, a good car, and he took her to nice dinners. He wasn’t flashy, but he was steady. When he proposed a few months later, it was with a decent ring and she said yes without much further thought. 

The honeymoon was beautiful. Days in the sun and he held her hand and Pru felt loved for the first time in a long time. But then they got back and the handholding stopped. For a while, she was sure she’d done better than her mother at least. Drew never raised his hand to her,  rarely yelled. 

But he also barely looked at her, barely spoke to her at all. On her birthday, every year he had a bouquet sent to her at work and every year, the card was the same tucked among the blooms. Pru knew his assistant had ordered them. It was the same message she had chosen for her executives a dozen times. 

“How pretty!” One of the other girls at worked cooed. “You’re so lucky!” 

“Lucky that someone else keeps his calendar,” she said flatly. It was year four. 

Pru Morris was twenty-nine years old. She was sitting in her bedroom which was meant to be theirs, but Drew was away a lot. He told her to decorate it however she wanted, then wrinkled his nose when he’d seen what she’d done. ‘A little gaudy, isn’t it?” he’d said and all the pretty things she’d picked out became cheap and tatty all at once. 

Maybe that was what she needed. A fresh take on the bedroom. She could redo it, get it right this time and maybe he’d want to linger. With a renewed sense of purpose, Pru got a garbage bag and started pulling things out of her closet that she hadn’t worn in a while. She’d do a purge, donate some things and get started on a fresh vision. 

At the back of the closet, she found a pair of black boots. The right heel had come away on one. Pru fell to her knees and drew them out. Without any thought, she pulled them to her chest and started crying. The tears shocked her. Pru was not a weeper. She hadn’t cried on her wedding day or the day her executive dumped her. But today she wept over the broken leather and rubber, holding the boots to her as tenderly as a baby. 

“Fuck him,” she realized as she held them tight to her. Pru didn’t swear, crisp memory of her father shoving soap into her mouth had ripped all that away. Even she said ‘heck’ she’d remember the horrible taste and his hand fisted in her hair. 

But she didn’t taste soap right now. Just her own ears. “FUCK HIM!” she stood abruptly, letting the shoes cascade down. Then she went and got her suitcase and filled it with the few thing she cared about, some clothes and her toiletries. She ripped off her perfectly nice ring and left it on top of a note that was much politer than she wanted to be. She had her own money, carefully hoarded. Drew had been so afraid of her siphoning off his money that he insisted on separate accounts. Asshole. 

She got a studio a few blocks from work. Cramped, but her own again. She put the boots by the front door as a reminder.  For good luck, she’d tap her toes against them as she went out the door to meet her lawyer. 

In the end there was no fight and she got plenty of Drew’s money anyway. Enough that she could sustain herself in the studio for as long as she liked. For a few months, she stayed at work, talked like everything was normal and only mentioned the divorce if asked where her ring had gone. People fussed like she should be melting down, made sympathetic noises, asked if he had cheated. 

She just shook her head and said, “Just went our separate ways.”  A few of the women stopped talking to her, but Jenny from the front desk and had groaned and said, “I KNOW that feeling.” 

They went out for drinks. Jenny was raw and funny and Pru had no idea why they’d never talked before. She was divorced too and was happy to talk to Pru about every dating service under the sun. They went speed dating together and laughed over the awkwardness afterwards. Pru had had a lot of ‘friends’ over the years, but Jenny felt like a real friend. 

“Hey, there’s a three bedroom opening up in my building, what do you think?” Jenny offered. “Get you out of that bachelorette special and me away from my horrible roommate?” 

The apartment got a lot of light and Jenny was a good roommate. They hung out a lot, but also gave each other space. And the first birthday Pru had in the apartment, Jenny gave her a framed print of the poster for A Walk to Remember, Pru’s favorite movie. Pru had cried for the second time in as many years. Jenny had hugged her and not judged. 

“Hey, is it okay if I move these?” Jenny asked when they were both on a cleaning kick. The boots sat by the door still. 

“No!” Pru said then winced.

“I don’t mean away,” Jenny assured her. “I got us a shoe rack. Is that okay” 

“You did?” 

“Mhm, so we don’t have the water dripping onto the hardwood, there’s a mat that goes under it.”

“Yeah okay.” 

Jenny set the boots on the lower rack, noticed the broken sole. 

“They were my sister’s,” Pru blurted, the words no longer able to stay behind her teeth. 

“You have a sister?” Jenny’s eyes went wide. 

“She died. When we were still kids.” 

“Oh wow, that must’ve been awful.” 

“We didn’t get along,” Pru twisted her hands together in front of her. “Fought all the time like everyone else in that house, but I figured we were sisters, you know? It’d work out. It always did on tv. And then she just died. Mom and Dad tried to toss all her things, but I got a few. I didn’t even know why...I was fifteen. Just seemed wrong to make her disappear like that. She had his thug boyfriend, took her ring from me. My parents took her bedding, her cassettes, most of her clothes and just tossed them. I hid her boots under my bed. Grabbed her hair brush too, but I lost it somewhere along the way.” 

“Oh, Pru,” Jenny hugged her and she hugged back. The boots stayed on the shoe rack. 

Dead at seventeen. Pru was thirty-one. It could happen, she thought as she tapped the boots with her toe each morning. She tapped them the day she changed back her name. She tapped them the day she saw the poster for an interior design class. She tapped them the day she got her certificate and the day she headed out to meet her first client. 

No one ever called her work gaudy.  

“You’re a miracle worker,” Patrick said when he walked into his new kitchen. “This is exactly what I wanted.”

“You had a really clear vision,” she told him eagerly. Patrick was on the short side, closer to her height and his hair was thinning a little. He dressed beautifully though and had poured over samples with her just as invested as some of her female clients. 

He was divorced too, pictures of a daughter scattered around the apartment and a bedroom set aside for her visits. 

“You’re great at visions, Pru,” he told her eagerly. He paid her and as soon as the check was in her walled, he said, “This is probably really inappropriate and I hope I’m not putting you on the spot, but would you...get dinner with me some time?” 

“I’d like that,” she beamed and she did like it. They both kept their places and Jenny teased her about being ‘the other woman’. 

“You’ve got it wrong. He’s the other woman,” Pru announced and then Jenny cried on her, which made things feel a little more even. 

Pru Callahan wasn’t walking away from her past  any more. She was running towards the future. And she’d need some sturdy boots for that. With her heart in her throat, she brought them to be repaired and re-soled. That winter she spent every day in fashionable outfits, accessorized with vintage Docs.

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

HELLO i’m back and i’m bringing some more concepts (sorry in advance if i repeat some btw 😭)

- ok so like imagine if yall went to a concert and like he would be DANCING SO HARD and u would basically whisper-shout bc it’s loud (lol) what the artist/band is doing on stage to him… he would be so grateful for that ????

- omg also can we PLS imagine him as a dad to be trying his veryyyy best to build a crib and like help decorate the room??? trips to ikea!!! and harry feeling material on blankets to see which is best for his bubba!

- speaking to dad to be harry… HIM AT A ULTRASOUND appointment!!!! y/n would count all the babies toes for him!!!!!!! and he would so sob when he finds out the gender 🥰 and would be holding ur hand so hand bc he’s so lucky ????

- ok wait this is a but random but i can imagine him being a best man one day for like his best friends wedding and you would whisper in his ear that he looked beautiful ( him with his suit and colourful tie HE picked out 🥲) and he would blush like crazy… also would defo dance with you all dance night… conga? yeah. chicken dance thing? he’s doing that for an hour straight… and hearing ur laugh?? hes DEAD.

- alsooooo night routines would be so cuteee!! he can hear you taking ur makeup off and would go to the counter of ur bathroom and sleepily ask if you could do his moisturiser or something… or he would sit on the counter and wait for you, ask abt ur day, would get some snacks for ur night movie or something. but random but hey ho!

- small dates are a must btw!!! walk on the pier? yup! just harry feeling the wind on this face makes him so happy! and he doesn’t feel self conscious around you or anything… and if someone gave him a funny look you would be SO close to punching them in the damnnn face!! he’s very lucky to have u lol

sorry if these are bad! it’s evening in the uk so i’m tired lol. watch me come back tomorrow 💞 have a lovely day and hope u like these lol!!!!!! xxx

NO THESE ARE SO GOOD OH MY GOD

I NEED TO TAKE A WHILE TO RESPOND TO ALL OF THEM AND WRITE A GOOD CHUNK FOR ALL OF THEM SO I WILL EDIT THIS LATER AND TAG YOU ONCE I RESPOND TO IT ALLLLL!!!! 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍 THANK YOU SO MUCH 🥺

Okay they are done babyyyy @sunflowerstyles-6

Concert:

“oh my god, Harry he just fell!” Y/n giggles, watching the concert they caught at last minute. They didn’t even really know the band but they have heard a few songs and the band wasn’t very well known so pit tickets were pretty cheap. “What?!” Harry asks, stilling his dance moves and snapping his head toward his girlfriend. Y/n laughs loudly, “He almost fell off of the stage!” Y/n giggles, clinging to Harry. “Is he okay?!”

y/n nods, kissing harrys cheek. “Keep on dancing, baby! I want to get some videos of you!” Y/n yells over the music, pulling away from his and stepping back to take videos of his crazy head banging and jumping.

Building a crib:

“Honey, it’s okay. I can get someone else to build it.” Y/n says, rubbing her eight month bump while standing in the nursery that belongs to their second baby. “Hush, lovie. I’ve got this. Just let me take my time.” He says, growing frustrated with his pregnant wife but he still kept a smile on his face while talking to her.

“Okayyy, I’m going to watch ******. Yell for me if you need us.” She says, letting her man do what he needed to do.

Soon enough Harry yells her name, Y/n was selling up the stairs with their first born. She smiles while she leans against the door frame, breathless from hauling her big belly up the stairs. “You did it, baby.” She smiles, patting his cheek. “So proud of you.”

Yeah… you guys don’t get to know the name until a blurb comes out 😎 me also using they/ them pronouns so you don’t know the gender yet HAHAHAH

Ultrasound:

“Bubby, stay on my lap.” Harry whispers to his baby, hugging them while their mummy gets an ultrasound. “Okay… one second and I’ll be able to tell you the sex!” The woman standing in pink scrubs smiles, rubbing the wand over Y/n’s swollen belly.

“Okay, you’ve got a (YOU WISH YOU KNEW HAHAHAHA) in your belly!” The kind lady announces with a warm, excited smile on her face. Y/n jaw drop while Harry and ****** squeal. “ANOTHER?” Y/n cries, making Harry giggle. “Hush, you are gonna love it, baby.”

Best man:

“Don’t be nervous, silly.” Y/n giggles to her fiancé while she fixes his bow tie. They were at Harry’s best friends wedding. Mitch and Sarah had gotten engaged just a couple months before Harry and Y/n had, Harry now being his best man and Mitch going to their wedding as harrys best man.

“Hush it! I’ve got to walk in-front of all of those people.” Harry whisper yells, pointing to the door where people are slowly trickling in behind.

“Baby.” Y/n says, grabbing his face and looking straight into his eyes- he can instantly senses the eye contact and it makes his cheeks burn. “You look fucking beautiful. You are a dream. After the ceremony is over we are gonna go dance out asses off, and have the time of our lives. You aren’t Gonna have a worry in your mind so don’t get worked up now.” She says, hushing him with a firm kiss to his lips before he can even speak. “Thank you,” he cups her jaw. “I needed that.”

Soon enough Harry is screaming at the top of his lungs while doing the cha-cha slide- his suit jacket slipped off and shirt almost completely unbuttoned.

Night routine:

“Are y’ taking off your makeup, beautiful?” Harry asks from the bed, his voice tired and croaky. Y/n nods from the sink in the bathroom- “yup!” Harry groans, rubbing over his face. “Come take mine off, beauty.”

Y/n laughs at her husband, rolling her eyes while she pats her face dry with a towel. “Baby, you don’t wear makeup!” She yells back, stepping into the door way between their bathroom and bedroom. “Yeah but… come make me pretty. Wanna talk to you.” Y/n rolls her eyes but grabs a sheet mask and other things to doll up her husband nonetheless.

“You don’t need this, you’re pretty enough.” She says, swinging a leg over him and straddling his hips while he relaxes his head down into his pillow while she slides the slimy mask onto his face. “Yeah, yeah. How was your day?”

“It was fine, ****** was a little crazy today, but they went down so good for me during nap time.” Y/n hums. Harry smiles, “good.”

“How the company going?” Y/n giggles on-top of her husband, watching him lips form back into a smile. “It was good, sales are still going up!”

“Was it a good day?”

“Never when I’m away from you.”

Small date- at the fair!:

“No, H, come on! Give me a pretty face.” Y/n giggles, trying to take a Polaroid of him while he makes silly faces, pulling at his cheeks and lips to make himself look crazy. “Okay, okay, I swear. This one I will smile.” Harry makes a pretty face, closing his eyes while he smiles, pulling up his shoulders shyly while he does it. “Awe, you are so pretty.” Y/n coos at her fiancé,. Pulling up the camera to her eye.

As soon as the photo is shot harry is switching poses and shoving his corn dog into his mouth like a mad man. “Damn it Harry!” Y/n yells at her fiancé, making her erupt into giggles, almost making himself fall on the ground.

OKAYYY THATS ALL I HAVE :)

I realized that I spoiled that part about Harry eventually starting his own company… at least you don’t know what the company is 😭

[sweetbunnykook]

Only You (9)

Word Count: 13,197 // [SPOILER IN WARNINGS] angst (mention of double homicide, gore/blood, miscarriage, mistreatment of a corpse, panic attack), smut (period sex, cunnilungus, blowjob, throatpie, body worship, mommy kink), brief fluff, toxic relationship, manipulation

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.  

A/N: If you are still reading this series, I wish you the best of luck. Please leave a review if you can and let me know your thoughts. - 🐰

You were every mother’s blessing – kind, caring, intelligent, obedient. She watched you stumble and fall many times but you manage to catch your footing with a smile. Despite your yearning for independence, your mother kept you in her embrace as all mothers do. In some ways, it would be loving; things like helping you choose the venue for your wedding and holding your hand while you inquire about using chiffon instead of silk for your veil. You were such a wonderful daughter that she didn’t wish for a son even when you decided to carve your own path rather than follow your father’s footsteps into medicine and entrepreneurship.

It’s why your mother sits in the parking lot of your apartment complex, dumbfounded beyond belief, teeth gritted. She looks up at your window to see Jungkook staring back down at her, unable to read him. She holds his steel hard gaze, daring him to look away or pull the curtains close.

He doesn’t take the bait.  

Pulling the shifting gear and rolling out of the parking lot, she peels her eyes away and takes several deep breaths.

There is no way on God’s green Earth that you fell in love with a middle-class photographer. Of all people, of all the men in your circle, affluent men coming from money both new and old, you couldn’t have fallen for a lowly photographer who doesn’t care about you enough to know his place and leave you be. How could Jungkook not know that you aren’t meant to live like this? How could he be so selfish as to hope for marriage when he could barely afford the ring he wants to slip onto your finger?

Your mother throws back her head and cackles. The only reason you were able to study abroad during college, the only reason why you could walk into an upscale neighborhood and look like you belong there, is because she followed the natural way. She never loved your father, not even once, but he was a good husband and an even better financial asset. Not only did she not have to lift a finger after tying the knot, but she also became part of the untouchables.

There’s a sense of power and invincibility that comes with wealth. It comes softly, like a whisper of wind that keeps a dandelion intact; it’s invisible to the eyes but she can feel it when she shakes hands with politicians, celebrities, businessmen and women, important people doing important things.

It took nearly twenty years of work. Getting close to the Kims, making sure you attend the same school as their children, running into Namjoon when you visit their vacation home, and letting his parents witness what a great wife you would be for him – it was all going so well. Puberty treated you well enough too that she didn’t need to consider getting you minor cosmetic procedures when you graduated high school. Sure, you could lose a few more pounds, but you were healthy and fit to give the Kims, and her, the grandchildren who will guarantee a new generation of wealth and prosperity. Gone are the days when she could only dream about creating the perfect family, respected by the social circle and the general public. You, her lifelong project, made it all come true.

Yet, life proves to be cruel once again.

As soon as she set her eyes on Yori she knew she was trouble. She didn’t object when you stayed out later and wore a bit more makeup than what was deemed graceful for a woman of your age. She knew that if she’d raised her voice, you would be compelled to rebel (it didn’t help that you were as stubborn and thick-skinned as your father). However, she wanted to warn you, just a tiny bit, that Yori is the kind of girl whose eyes strayed to find a new target and you were a hair away from standing right in the middle of that mark. She knew, because Yori had the kind of eyes she had as a twenty-year-old woman who climbed that very same social ladder.  

You were such a good daughter, so intelligent and transparent, that she believed you would have the backbone to come into your mother’s arms at the first sign of danger. It looks like you were just as clueless as the rest of the sheep you called your bridesmaids.

A Jeep honks from the next lane as she swerves into the street and bangs on the steering wheel with the heel of her hand, her Cartier bracelets clanking together in unity. The light turns yellow and she stomps on the accelerator, lurching the vehicle forward.

At the end of the day, she knew it was her fault. She could have warned you earlier, planted seeds of doubt in your mind, even pull Namjoon back into your arms if you realized soon enough; but alas, your day was chosen to be one of desolation and misfortune. Her poor daughter, the apple of her eye, the one precious gem of a person who would propel the family into royalty, whisked right away from under her nose.

She shakes her head, tires screaming as she veers into the next semi-busy lane, watching the sun disappear into the horizon as the familiar roads darken.

Letting you mourn on your own terms was the biggest mistake of her life, second to not following her gut feeling and keeping Yori away from you. She knew about this photographer lover of yours who has the face of an angel and seem to follow you like a puppy wherever you go. From a distance, she’d watched you wrap your arms around him and kiss him with such fervor in a public space she felt bile rise for the first time looking at you – her most precious creation acting like a hussy for all to see.

The boy seemed to be in love with you as much as you depended on him. She waited until you would be sick of him like the ones you took to bed after the wedding night (yes, she knew about your shameful conquests). She waited countless nights, praying that you would come to your senses, that you won’t refuse her advances, until months later she sees you living with him and sharing meals and completely forgetting about her. Yes, she had been mainly focused on making sure the investors haven’t pulled out and that you still had a name for yourself after the wedding. It wasn’t an ideal response as a mother because you needed help and she knew you’d throw a hissy fit but you must understand that while you had been taking men to bed, she had been busting her ass saving what’s left of the family pride.

The Kims also attempted to salvage your reputation, but they won’t do so at the cost of Namjoon’s name. The true reality is that parents will only care for their own blood in the end.

It’s why she finds herself confused and drenched with sweat when the car halts in front of the white villa lined with jasmine bushes. There’s a new gate installed, probably to keep away reporters during the first few weeks after the wedding incident hit the papers, and it momentarily angered her that she must now ask an intercom to enter a space that should have been a gift to you from the Kims.

Her hands tighten around the steering wheel with the intent to squeeze something warm and pulsing. She still remembered the day Yori knelt on the floor of your dressing room and she still remembered the strands of hair that squeezed her fingertips as she tore the whore’s flower hair clip off her head. The yelling, the panic, the uproar, the whispers that came from the guests – it was humiliation to the tenth degree.

Wiping the bead of sweat off her temples with the back of her hand, your mother hushes the engine and places the key in her coat. She steps out of the vehicle and marches up to the gate and buzzes in, huffing when her heels wobble on the cobblestone steps.

A few heartbeats later, Yori’s voice pours through her ears and reached into the crevices of her scalp like a dull headache.

“Hello?”

She leans forward. “It’s me.”

There’s a long pause before the gates click open and the stone stairway up to the front door reveals itself with a moist gleam. The garden sprinklers die down just as she steps onto the platform and makes her way up to the front door where Yori is leaning against, one hand on her stomach, the other hand tucking her fringe away from her face. She notes that the knitted silk dress, tied above the swell of her belly, is from the latest Prada collection.

“What a pleasant surprise,” she smiles. “Come in. Welcome to my home. I apologize for the mess…I had a baby shower earlier today and help is gone for the rest of the week.”

Your mother wanted to rip that smug grin off her face but she kept her eyebrows still and her lips soft.

“Excuse my intrusion.”

She walks into the spacious living room, eyes quickly glancing at the stacks of presents on the couch and the empty bottles of sparkling water and champagne sitting on the coffee table. She can recognize, just from the color of the boxes, that the gifts were not cheap. Had you married Namjoon, this would have been your palace.

“I’m in the middle of decorating the nursery. If you don’t mind…” Yori says, not bothering to look back as she makes her way up the stairs. She didn’t have to turn around to see that steam is coming out of your mother’s ears. “Can you help me with unrolling the mat in the hallway? I can’t bend over very well.”

Your mother trails behind in place of answering, watching Yori’s hip swing side to side as she makes her way up the stairs and then turn to leer down at the older woman. It’s a bit laughable, Yori thinks, as your mother pretends not to ogle at the stacks of Tiffany blue boxes tucked beside the living room couch like shoeboxes. Her face flushes when she meets Yori’s eyes once more but she doesn’t comment as she follows the young woman into the hallway just a few feet away from the stairs. Her head turns at the smell of fresh paint to see the nursery on her left, the door left open as if the room expected her arrival.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Yori fixes her fringe once more. “He needed to attend a conference in Ginza. I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

“There’s no need.” She leers at the stacks of presents next to the crib. More aquamarine boxes, all neatly stacked according to size with the smallest at the top.

The younger woman leans against the tall, heavy vase next to the wall leading into the hallway to the East wing. “If you say so.”

There’s no reason for your mother to be here. It should be you instead, coming back to tie loose ends and perhaps inquire about Namjoon’s injuries if you cared enough. Compared to your mother, you didn’t have much of a backbone when it comes to relationships and it makes it so easy for men to take what they want and go. It’s what made you a bore, what gave Yori the power to pull Namjoon right into her bed and have him calling her name like a prayer.  

“Did you forget basic manners?” Your mother finally snaps, beady eyes darting from side to side to admire the nursery that could have been a snapshot from a furniture magazine. “Not even offering a glass of water?”

Yori only smiles, motioning to the unrolled mat slumped against the wall, adjacent from the staircase.

“I assumed whatever you wanted say would be quick as you came uninvited. You’d probably think the water is poisoned even if I offered any way.”

The older woman glances at the rug – no doubt imported from Dubai with its elegant coloring and silk touch – then walks over to it before tracing her fingers around the rolled edges. She shouldn’t have accepted to do such demeaning housework but given how she pulled into the driveway unannounced and that the woman is heavily pregnant with no help around, it was only fair. She may have left behind her patience with Jungkook but not her manners.  

“Why did you have to pick that day to tell her?”

Yori’s eyebrows raised just slightly before falling back down to its former position. She puts a hand over her stomach and walks towards the giant vase again, rubbing her fingers over the cool lacquered surface. Namjoon’s parents had a thing for porcelain she just couldn’t wrap her head around.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you wait until the marriage ceremony to tell her you were screwing her husband?”

“Husband?” She cocks her head to the side with an incredulous widening of her pupils. “Last time I checked he only had a fiancée he rarely saw who ran away with some pretty photographer the first chance she got. I’d say that’s far from married.”

Your mother shakes her head. “Answer the question,” she looks down, chin trembling. The world is falling apart, her dreams are nothing but a pebble in quicksand, and you no longer cared. “Please.”

Yori watches, in a way one watches a fly buzzing around a piece of fruit, the older woman bring her hands together in front of her like it has taken all her energy to ask such a question. Maybe for a moment she considers telling the woman the truth. She considers telling her that you broke her heart first, that you had the world succumbing to your every need, that your mother’s greed doesn’t only belong to her but you too because you made Seokjin your lap dog while Namjoon promised you a future. She considers telling her about the night she saw you laying like a swooning damsel in distress as Seokjin – the only man she had to beg for attention – suckle your tits like you were getting paid for it. She considers telling your mother that her daughter is the two-faced whore here, not her. She considers telling her that you touched what belonged to someone else first.

But what difference would it make? What would it change? The baby is still due in a handful of weeks, Namjoon is set to take over the company once he gets his shit together and his nose heals, and you’re perfectly happy with a new and exciting boyfriend of yours. The truth doesn’t set anyone free, it just makes sure the shackles aren’t too tight.

Yori turns her moist eyes away towards the living room downstairs. She walks over to the railing, resting her wrist on the copper before she stares down at the half-eaten cake on the coffee table with utmost disgust, as if she can still smell the overly sweet frosting with too much blue and pink dye. Catching her voice, she brings the smile back onto her face.

“I picked that day,” she turns her head, just slightly to catch your mother’s expression. “Just because I wanted to watch her look as pathetic as you do now.”

Your mother’s lips part, hands falling to her sides.

“It just happened. That’s all there is to it.”

“That’s…all?”

Yori chuckles, her empty gaze falling back down to the cake. “That’s all.”

Years of planning, years of giving you the best education the country has to offer, years of making sure you never have to suffer as she had, years of shaking hands and kissing the ground the Kims walk on, only for this girl without new or old money to come and…

Before your mother can think, she lunges forward and grabs Yori by the ends of her hair, twisting the locks around her wrist as the younger woman gasps and shrieks. Her swollen stomach hits your mother’s side as she screeches and uses both hands to grab at her taught hair, pulling away to place as much distance she can. The heel of her ankle catches the edge of the first step and she watches the older woman’s eyes widen as she slams, back first, into the steps and then bounce off the next step as her jaw and skull slams into the copper pipe railing. Yori’s stomach hits the corners of the last several steps before the swell of her belly squeezes inwards, the final gurgling scream ripping out of her throat as her vision turns black and the house falls in silence.

It all happened so fast. Your mother watches with her hands over her ears, chest pounding and bracelets clattering as her limbs turn cold and her knees buckle.  

Her eyes widen, more and more, as the pool of blood around Yori’s head expands until there lays maroon halo around her crown. She’s lying flat on her stomach and it takes another moment for the trembling woman to realize that, in the silence save for her own labored breathing, the bump is no longer there.

“Oh my god…”

Curling over to the side, your mother’s jaw falls open and the remnants of her early lunch spills over one of Yori’s shoes ledged between the railing and the first step. She empties her stomach until there is nothing left, her knuckles white as she grips the railing for support. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she descends down the staircase, back pressed against the wall and eyes darting from the body to the tinted windows with burgundy curtains tied to the side. When she reaches the body, she trips over Yori’s limp feet as she quickly dashes to the living room to draw the curtains close, her neck craning from side to side as she finds any opening where an imaginary eye might witness the ultimate sin. It was only when she finds herself in the kitchen, washing her hands that she realized she had, in fact, stolen two lives.

Yori, and the baby who never had the chance to see daylight.

…

You’re sitting in a bathroom stall, turning over the small flash drive between your fingers when you hear the clattering of heels against polished tile and the sound of handbags slumping on the counter. One of the women walks into the stall next to yours, undoing the tampon wrapper as if she were scouring for the winning lottery number written on the string.

“Did you see Jin with her again?” The woman outside of the stall says and you recognize her by voice. She works for the accounting department and regularly walks into your office for weekly reports.

“I was keeping an eye of him. It’s annoying that they work together now so he’s always all over her.”

No doubt this conversation is about you.

“Tell me about it. I bet they’re fucking, you saw how he looked at her.”

“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” The toilet flushes and you can hear her shrugging her skirt back up to her thighs.

You hear a gasp. “Oh my god, you’re right. It’s that young guy who keep bringing her lunch, right? She didn’t break up with him?”

The stall opens and both women are in front of the counter. You’re stuck in your seat, not knowing whether to kick open the door or to interrupt the conversation but with Seokjin’s flash drive in your clammy hands, you struggle to even breathe.

“They’re still together. Looks like that photographer dick is too good to give up for the office hunk.”

They laugh like hyenas – that high, shrieking kind of laugh that makes their red lipstick bleed onto the corners of their mouths.

“They’re so out of her league. What do they even see in her? She’s painfully average. The only thing she’s got going on is a good wardrobe.”

You keep your head lowered when they walk past your stall as if they could see you. They pull on the paper towel lever until they can rip a generous piece and wipe their hands.

“She’s rich. She’s probably only working here because it keeps her humble or some bullshit like that. You know how girls with daddy’s money are, thinking they’re doing charity for working like the rest of us-”

You don’t hear the rest of their conversation, glad that your face no longer feels hot but you’re angered all the same. Jungkook’s visits, for this reason, had made you nervous in the beginning because you know they’ll talk and come up with their own little villain fantasy about you. It doesn’t bother you as you keep work separate from life (something Jungkook had been interrupting much to your discomfort) but hearing it in person ignited the kind of angry tears that has you cursing at yourself for letting yourself be disturbed by it.

You grab your handbag off the hook, place the flash drive back in your pocket, and unlock the stall before pushing the door open. You wash your hands in haste as the air had become suffocating in the aftermath of the two women. Wiping your wet hands down your black slacks, you let your wavy hair down and let it frame your face to hide your flushed cheeks, making sure that your eyes are no longer moist and your nose isn’t pink. What a way to end a workday.

When you arrive back at the office, most of your coworkers are gone except for the new interns organizing papers for tomorrow and the occasional workaholics making coffee in the makeshift cafeteria. You just hope you won’t run into the two women if they choose to swing by for whatever reason but, thankfully, it was never a common occurrence. They never did above the bare minimum any way.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you slump back down your office chair, squeezing your nose bridge as a wave of exhaustion wracks havoc in your pulsing head.

“There are some more sandwiches in the fridge, please help yourself if you’d like.” A student intern says as she carries a crumpled file under one arm, peering from above your divider.

“Oh!” You exclaim, your head darting towards the room Sora left in a mess before turning back to the girl. “Thank you, I’ll help myself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She gives a short nod before leaving, the glass door squeaking as the office once again is filled with the sound of coffee machines whirring and papers shredding.

The USB flash drive sits heavy in your pocket as you wave goodbye to the last person leaving your department with a cup of coffee. She nods, smiling, and pushes out the heavy glass door and you silently hope she won’t forget to return the mug before leaving the building. You listen to the clacking of her heels fading before turning back to the work computer still logged into your account. The saturated blue screen is harsh on your vision and you find yourself squeezing your eyes shut, turning to look at the clock on the wall momentarily to keep yourself grounded.

Jungkook can call at any minute as your shift is coming to an end.

Maybe it would be easier to do this with your phone turned off but knowing him, he would worry enough to drive over to make sure you’re safe.

Within the gray walls that surround your cubicle, you should feel secure. Yet, some part of you wonders if he would suddenly appear behind you and wrap you in his arms before asking you what you’re up to. In this nightmare of a scenario, you can also feel the antagonizing gaze of the two women.

Looking back down at the USB, you’ve come to realize that you have bigger things to worry about. Some part of you feels just as disgusting as a cheater taking off her ring in the presence of another man.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

You’ve rehearsed the same mantra in your head at least a hundred times within the same hour (before you had the unfortunate chance to overhear that unpleasant conversation) and it sickens you that this is a phrase that Namjoon would have used to justify his time with Yori. It’s a cheater’s mentality – a cowardly way of shifting responsibility away from themselves without considering the consequences when the truth comes to light.  

With a sigh, you pull the flash drive out of your pocket and flip the black casing open until the lid hangs off its hinges to reveal the silver end. You look around once more, taking a deep breath, and push the end into the appropriate slot of the system unit. The USB flashes a neon green light, pulsing as it loads, before it dims and a small ping pulls your attention back to the screen.

The file explorer window expands, showing a ZIP file among an array of photos that had you squinting to observe. You jolt straight from the seat as your phone rings. Cursing under your breath as you note an incoming call. You’re just about to turn back to the screen when you recognize that the number flashing across your screen isn’t Jungkook’s but your mother’s. She never called at this time and if she did, she would have texted you first to make sure you weren’t in a meeting.

Just as you reach for the phone, it stops ringing and you contemplate turning it off. But something tells you you should have taken the call. When the phone rings again, causing you to flinch, you let it vibrate twice before swiping across the screen.

In exactly five minutes, you will regret ever picking up the call. In ten minutes, you’re running for your life.

…

Jungkook paces back and forth with his thumb between his teeth. If he bit his nails any shorter, he would pierce through skin. Your voice still rings in his ear as you cry into the phone, your tires screaming through the speaker as you speed through the streets back to the apartment. He’s sick with worry, wondering if you crashed into a tree of if you decided – on a whim – to handle this situation yourself. Because you called him immediately after you left work, he has a feeling you wouldn’t do anything stupid but today has been especially unpredictable.

First, your mother coming to meet him. Second, the same woman pushing Yori down the stairs and threatening you to take care of it. If he’d heard you correctly, the old wench even mentioned she would make his life a living hell if you don’t head over immediately. Some mother you are. It pisses him off to no end that you had to live with her for half of your life but it makes him even more upset that you’ve been hiding your mother’s behavior, throwing excuses about how much she worries when she’d call in the mornings and leave voicemails that you delete without listening.

He changes into a pair of jeans and an old university sweatshirt that is a bit too tight on the cuffs. When he hears the sound of your heels clack on the other side of the door, he barely had the time to wrap his head around such a God-given opportunity.

As soon as the door swings open you’re falling into his arms, wracked with sobs as he engulfs your entire torso in his arms. He presses your head further below his neck, reaching behind you to grab his coat off the hanger and wrap it around you before kicking the door close in case a neighbor passes by. You can’t bear to lift your head, trembling as your teeth chatter and your pupils are wide with fear. He’s never seen you like this – not even during the wedding night – and it makes his insides squeeze as if someone had reached in him and pressed a hand against his organs.

“I-I don’t know w-” you sob, “I don’t know w-what to do. I can’t breathe. Jungkook-”

He hushes you softly, threading his fingers through your hair with his thumbs curling around your ear. He tilts your head up towards his gaze, watching your tears trail down your face and onto the coat. Between gasps, you’re wailing, your throat tightened to the point that even his name sounds like nails on chalkboard on your lips.

“Noona, you have to breathe for me. Inhale,” he brings air into his nostrils as demonstration, “and exhale. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, swallowing first before you mimic and close your eyes. Jungkook brings a hand up to your chest, digging underneath the coat to feel it pounding against your ribcage.

“Keep breathing, noona. It’s going to be okay, keep breathing.” He rubs his warm palm over the chiffon and you find yourself leaning your forehead against his chest in exhaustion.

You wish you could stay in his embrace forever. Locked inside this warm and unassuming apartment, away from your mother, away from the past that has now resurfaced in the worst way imaginable – you wish you can curl into his arms and never leave. That…or you just want the world to swallow you in a deep well and leave you to starve.

“We have to tell the police.” You tremble. You can’t imagine the repercussions, not to mention the heartache of seeing your mother behind bars. She’d rather hang herself than end up in prison, you know that much. You’d sworn to your father before his passing that you’d keep her safe and you’re already thinking of running away.

“Noona…”

“We do. We…I have to. I-I mean it was an accident,” you’re suddenly peeling yourself away from him, bringing your hands up to rub your face. “They’ll give her m-maybe three or four years at most, right? If it was an accident it won’t be…”

Jungkook comes up behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and rubbing up and down. You’re shaking again, tears streaming even quicker than before and the nausea is causing you to falter from side to side.

“Kookie, I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do, I’m going crazy. I don’t know what to do.”

He places his forehead against the crown of your head, staring into the distance. You feel his fingers tighten around your arm before he’s wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his weight upon your collarbones.

“Do you trust me, noona?” He whispers.

The fridge hums in the distance. You nod.

“Yes…I trust you. With my life.”

When he doesn’t reply, you turn your body, slowly, as if you were anticipating a monster and not a man, until you can look up at his face. He’s rubs his thumbs over your tears and moves down to your chapped lips, swollen and pink from your incessant gnawing. Your lips part just slightly as you exhale, keeping your eyes locked onto his loving eyes. He looks so angelic under the kitchen lights, the yellow bulbs blurred by the moisture in your eyes to form a halo around his long fringe. His hair is parted in the middle to form a curtain around his structured face, casting a shadow over his eyes in the semi-darkness. You can’t see him clearly with the lights behind him but you can sense his confidence, his reassuring grip on your cheeks; he’s no longer the boy from the night before but a man who is willing to keep the promise he made to you.

“I can help you.” He whispers softly once more, his voice lowered. “If you take me to the body…I can help you, noona.”

He holds your gaze, his thumbs still rubbing softly over your cheeks as if to coax the words into your skin. The implication isn’t lost on you but your body reacts first, fingers shaking as a fresh wave of sweat prickles down your back.

“W-What do you…” you trail off as your breathing grows heavy. Jungkook puts a hand on your chest once more as he did before, rubbing softly over your chest to calm your pounding heart.

He holds you close, breathing in your skin once more as his own eyes sting with unshed tears. Fate is a terrible thing and for every moment of bliss with you, he must pay the price; except, this price is a new opportunity to secure you by his side and earn your mother’s silent approval. It’s okay, Jungkook thinks, he can do this for you. He has the resources, the will, the strength, the plans – the only thing he can’t predict is your mental well-being in the aftermath.

Will you lose respect for him? Will you still love him? One thing he was sure of was that this was the only chance to keep your mother from arranging a marriage partner for you. He must go through it to not only save your sanity, your mother, but your answer when he puts one knee on the ground and opens the velvet box he keeps on top of the fridge for the perfect time. Oh how the universe responded so quickly to the day’s worries.

“Back then…when you said you would…”

Kill

“…You would do that for me. You really meant it, baby?”

Jungkook brings your head back under his chin and keeps you there, rocking from side to side as if to lull you to sleep.

“I meant every word. I’m not afraid, noona, not if it means I can protect you and your family.” His eyes darken as he tangles his fingers into your hair, twirling the ends of your waves between his fingers. “You love me, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then I need you to listen to me.”

With great reluctance, he pulls you away and holds your palm in both of his larger hands. Your eyes are closed, whether from fatigue or concentration he doesn’t know until your brows scrunch when he speaks.  

“Call your mother when I tell you to and tell her you’re on your way over. If she asks why you didn’t answer her previous calls, tell her you had an emergency at work. Reassure her and make sure she doesn’t touch anything more than she’s probably already touched by now. Don’t mention that I’m coming with you, understand? She might panic and bring attention to herself if there’s any witnesses.”

You nod continuously, creating a mental checklist. Call, inform, excuse, reassure, move.

“And noona?”

You look back up into his eyes.

“You…you won’t hate me after tonight…would you?”

How could you fathom it? With his warm, sincere stare and willingness to walk to the ends of earth for someone as plain and unlovable as you, you should be on your knees worshipping him. You don’t understand how he can think of you hating him when he had so willingly put his entire life at risk without reluctance. You aren’t asking him to fetch a forgotten carton of milk at the corner store. You’re asking him to clean up the mess your mother made, a mess that can tear your entire world apart, a mess that has nothing to do with your boyfriend who has no boundaries to prove his devotion.

You shake your head. “I could never,” you breathe.

You hold him this time, letting his body bow towards your trembling figure as he breathes in the scent of sweat and perfume on your neck. You give him a moment of peace. You wanted him to remember this touch as after this night is over, you don’t know if you’ll be the same person. You don’t know if he’ll be either.

He goes over the plan once more and leads you to his car. When Jungkook straps you into the passenger seat and turns the ignition key, you curl your fingers around your shaking knees. He notices your anxiety and takes the closest hand in his before letting your palm rest over the gear shift. He places his own hand on top of yours, gripping tightly when he shifts and maneuvers the car out of the parking lot and onto the road before unclenching.

The sky is pitch black and the moon stalks from behind. You count every tree, read every sign, tense at every sign of a police car passing by, and sniffle when your burning eyes refuse to calm. You don’t register where you are until Jungkook lets go of your hand on the shifting gear and undo his seatbelt. You’re inside the garage of his studio, surrounded by wires, cardboard boxes, plastic bins, and office supplies. When you grasp his arm, letting out a small cry, he hushes you instantly, bringing your hand up to his lips to place a tender kiss on your knuckles.

“I’ll be quick, noona. I just need to get some things, okay? I’ll be right there-” he points to the very back of the car – “in view.”

You swallow, nodding before uncurling your grip from his arm.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint for Jungkook not to coo at your desperation. He missed this dependency of yours (he had only seen it during the wedding night and the necklace argument) and for once he wonders if he went a bit too far with his role as the sweet and needy boyfriend. He’s not acting in a way that he doesn’t want to but he is guilty of dramatizing some of his pleas and affectionate touches. He knows, in his head, that he is a man. He’s stronger, taller, capable of committing a crime and not just cleaning its aftermath, and will eventually be the father of your children. He’ll tug his collar open to expose his vulnerabilities, but he will show you his strength too. Tonight is a blessing from the universe that will, finally, keep you where you belong: at his side, looking at him, and needing only him.

You watch as Jungkook swings open the trunk of his car and load three large plastic bins and pile photography equipment – tripods, developer fluids, camera bags, lighting equipment, and even a small monitor. And then you see the last box of supplies: rope, black plastic bags, gloves, masks, bleach, towels, and tape. When his eyes meet yours, he flashes you a small smile between his labored breaths, the kind you’re used to seeing after you make love to him and he’s spent, sprawled on the sheets with an arm over his perspired forehead. The car jolts slightly as pushes the back door shut and hop back into the driver seat, adjusting the temperature in the car, muttering something under his breath, and latching his seat belt back on.

He keeps both hands on the wheel. “Noona…make the call now.”

You’re frozen, hands clasped together on your lap.

“Kookie…”

You’re having doubts. He can see it in the way you can’t even bear to look at him. He digs through your pocket and presses your cell phone on your lap. When the lockscreen awakens to the photo of you two, you feel your heart anchor to the bottom of your stomach.

“I-I can’t do it.” You shake your head. “We have to go to the police. I can’t live without you, I can’t live without mom, we’ll get caught and I-” You press your hands to your face, your hoarse sobs lodged deep in your throat before it rips from your chest in the kind of wailing that makes Jungkook’s own heart squeeze. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Yori either e-even if it means my family…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

He sees himself in you. He sees himself as the teen boy who let Taehyung drag his scalpel across his father, then his mother, before encouraging him to give it a try. You’re a virgin. Even if tonight worked out perfectly according to his plans, you’d still be a crime virgin. It was your mother who pushed Yori, not you. Knowing how empathetic you are, how tender you are, it might as well be you who pushed the woman down the stairs. He knows your fear all too well and he knows just how quick your hummingbird heartbeat is underneath his coat that you’re wearing. You’re just like him.

“You’re beautiful, noona.” He places a palm over your clasped hands and brings his other hand up to your face, tucking your hair behind your ears and strumming your cheeks with the back of his fingers.

“No one deserves your kindness. It fucking upsets me,” he swallows, allowing his eyes to water, “that even a mother will take advantage of that kindness.”

You sob into his hand, leaning your temple against the head rest. He’s right. How many times have your mother, before Jungkook came into your life, morphed you into something you’re not? The days you spent trying to please her, comparing yourself to other children she would complement to get a reaction out of you, letting yourself be a pawn for when she wanted something from your father that either required money or the right handshake. You still love her above all because she’s your mother but there’s no denying how much it still touches every part of your life from your relationships to your career. Moving away from her and letting her fade into the background was a true feat and it pains you that all that effort crumbled away and you’re left in a bigger mess to clean than before. If only you hadn’t taken the fucking call.

Maybe this was your fault. Maybe, if you hadn’t been such a hard-headed person, she would never had driven over to Yori’s place and none of this wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have to get Jungkook involved either, as willing as he is.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Jungkook slouches back into his seat, putting his hands back onto the steering wheel. “Don’t you, noona?”

You nod, keeping your head lowered.

“Then be good for me and call. I’ll take care of you and I’ll take care of everything else. I’ve never broken that promise, not now, not ever.”

Jungkook hopes that’ll work. He’s rather annoyed but not at you, never at you. Why couldn’t she tumble down those stairs too instead of giving you such unnecessary stress? This kind of stain would be terrible for the baby had you been pregnant. It’s tearing him apart watching how different you are now compared to this morning, leaving the apartment in comfort only to come falling into his arms in tears. He came to the conclusion that you’re simply too pure for the world.

Oh how romantic tonight would be if you were honest with yourself all along. Claiming to loathe your mother with the strength of a thousand suns only to act like this when she shows up with baggage. Jungkook can’t blame you for you shared a majority of your life with the wench, but he finds it exasperating that you can’t see how little of your pity people like her deserve. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t be the love of his life if you weren’t so sensitive and caring.

It was with great relief that you mustered the courage to swipe across the phone screen and type your mother’s number.

He clicks open the garage door and the vehicle begins to descend down the elevated lot.

“M-mom? I’m on my way now…c-can you tell me where you are? It’ll be okay…I know mom, I-I’ll be there soon…”

…

You feel eerily calm as Jungkook drives past your mother’s car parked in the front of the gate to circle around the perimeter of the fence. He doesn’t recognize the new gate but he’d climbed over the old ones many times to watch you on the balcony. The metal may have changed but the level of security should be the same given that the villas are built a good distance apart between trees and the residents – people with mostly new money – keep to themselves. Lodged between a large tree and a partial opening in the back gate that is no doubt left ajar by your mother, Jungkook step out of the vehicle and press the door close before coming over to your side.

He’s relieved that you’re no longer in tears but your hands are still freezing cold despite the heat turned to the max inside. Your eyes are wandering and your breaths are labored as you press your body close to Jungkook’s.

Your mother is waiting near the door, her head poking out just slightly in the darkness and you can see the familiar row of bracelets on her wrist. She seems to have aged several years in just the last few months and the reason for her demise is standing next to you.

“Are you insane?” She seethes as she pulls you by the arm into the dark house and keep her eyes on Jungkook whose gaze bore into her skull. “How could you bring another-”

Jungkook barely had the time to secure your grip on his arm when you gasp, flinching back to hit the chess table next to where he’s standing when you see Yori’s pale arm stretched out from beneath a mat. The deep crimson shade of blood had congealed on the marble, partially smudged by the mat above her weighing her corpse down. Deep inside you had hoped that at least the baby could be saved, by some miracle, but the damage is far too great. Accident or not, a police officer finding this scene would not consider a light sentence if you mother decided to confess.

The older woman’s jaw is clenched, no doubt suppressing the panic she too feels hammering inside her as you hang off of Jungkook arm, trembling still. She looks up to your boyfriend and finds herself jolting awake when his eyes are peering down at her. He looks kind, sympathetic, soft, as if he is still sitting across her on your couch, eager to prove that he can be the son-in-law she’s been looking for all along.

“You should head home for the night. I’ll handle the rest.”

She scratches at her bracelets, her nails tugging the gold free from her skin. “B-But…where are you taking her? Anyone will find it if she’s buried in the yard.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer the question.

“Please go home and make sure there are no witnesses. I know you didn’t inform anyone before coming here,” he turns his head towards the body, “so go home as if you were never here. I promise I’ll take care of it.”

It’s evident the older woman is relieved by the way her shoulders slump but her gaze is still firm as she measures her trust into the young man who is in full control of your heart. Your eyes are still on the body when your mother takes your hands in hers and gives a squeeze.

“Sweetheart…” she croaks. She knew she gave birth to such a dependable, obedient daughter. You’re every mother’s dream and she makes a mental note to come back to your apartment with more boxes of food and perhaps make amends. There are far too many misunderstandings and miscommunication; it’s no way for a mother and child to live.

However, when you rip your hands away and take Jungkook’s hand in yours, her face crumbles.

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” You hiss, your voice straining. You’ve never spoken to her like this and didn’t think about doing so until you saw the body, the mess your boyfriend has to clean. “You did this to us.”

“Wh-”

“Leave me alone. Please, mom. Get out of here, okay?” Your eyes glisten and you wipe away the droplets before they have the chance to fall. “It’s…we’re putting our lives on the line for you. It’s the least you can do now…so please…”

Between your pleas and Jungkook’s silence, your mother bites the inside of her cheek from saying anything more and turns back the way you came in. You watch her figure recede into the darkness, her shoes clacking softly on the cobblestone path. She turns back to look at you before the door closes and for once, you earn the most genuine apology you’ve ever received and this time she didn’t even need to open her mouth.

When the door falls back into place, Jungkook gives your shoulders a comforting rub and leads you towards the staircase, reminding you to breathe. He feels a bit more relieved that your mother didn’t raise too much of a ruckus. How could she when he’s the one getting his hands dirty? It’s what the perfect son-in-law will do and after this night is over, he’ll no longer have doubts about her approval. She wouldn’t have a valid argument anyway – not when he had just proved that he’s willing to go to the ends of Earth for your family and stability.

You’re too cute, Jungkook thinks, as you breathe through your nose and exhale through your lips. You’re a mirror image of his virgin self coated in blood, panicked but euphoric, angered but more than relieved to be rid of the parasites that kept him in the sewers.

“H-how are we going to do this?” You breathe, looking up the stairs as if you were expecting Namjoon to be standing there.

“I’ll handle the body. You can help me wipe down the stairs, okay?”

And handle it he did. He first fetched the supplies from the car, making sure once more that there are no witnesses while also keeping you within sight. Even without a severe puncture wound, Yori made quite a mess.

The terror didn’t come from seeing your former friend of years lay in a puddle of her own secretions. Nor did it come from seeing how calm and collected your boyfriend is peering down at the body with something akin to annoyance. No, terror came from how easily your mind and body adapted to helping Jungkook. You had no more tears left to shed when he lifted the mat from the body and placed a plastic covering next to her before rolling her body onto it. The sheet rustles beneath her weight and the stench of iron and urine fills your nostrils, prompting you to place your gloved hand over your nose.

Jungkook seems to know just what to do. He orders for you to wipe the railings first, which you do so with the slowness of a snail climbing a brick wall. The smell of bleach kept the nausea at bay and prompted you to focus on the smaller tasks because you can feel your heart already beginning to race with the sound of your boyfriend dragging Yori by the feet to straighten her posture. When you risked a glance back, you catch yourself feeling irked by the way Jungkook places her fingers so tenderly on her flattened stomach. Even when he’s wearing gloves, you catch yourself glaring at his touch on her skin, at the way his fingers brush over the ring on her finger. It makes you clench your jaw harder, pour more bleach onto the staircase, and wipe down each step with vigor.

She’s dead, she can’t take him from you.

You spray the bleach onto the top step, scrubbing with the heel of your palm as your shoulder fights through aches and pressure. You can do this. If Jungkook kept his promise, you must too. You will never find another man who will devote his entire life to you and for that you must not be too forgiving to those who don’t deserve your kindness, not this time.

All your life it’s one person after another coming to take what they want and leave. This is your lesson to finally take yourself back from them all, to come to terms with how much you gave and how little you received, see that Jungkook was the catalyst you desperately needed. It was no coincidence that when the elevator doors opened that very night of your wedding, he was the person standing in front of you. He was meant to be there holding your shoes as he rescues you away from those who would eventually suck the life out of you. He’s not someone you should be afraid of – no – because he’s your savior.

When you turn back again, Jungkook is slipping Yori’s legs into a large, black plastic bag identical to the one she’s laying on. He uses the bag beneath her to fight friction as he slides her body forward, careful not to bend her body before the duct tape comes into play.

And suddenly, your shoulder doesn’t ache anymore. Your heartbeat slows as you take another deep breath, this time through your lips, and watch his shoulders hunch over and forearm veins protrude.

“Kookie?”

He looks up, hair damp with sweat as it falls over his eyes. The lights from the front lawn, as it filter through dark maroon curtains, casts a red glow on your lover’s skin. When he meets your eyes he’s filled with glee, seeing that you’re no longer panicking and your eyes are clouded with a kind of protective apathy that lets him know you’ve gotten stronger. You’re dipping a toe into his world.

“Yes, noona?” He huffs, straightening his spine and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.

“Nothing will happen to us after tonight…right?”

He physically melts at your saccharine voice. You’re worried about him, about whether he’ll still want you after this and if he’ll want you forever. “Of course not, noona. Are you feeling okay? Do you need to rest?” He asks if he hadn’t been the one packing the corpse into a bag.

You shake your head with a sniffle. “…I’m fine.” You’re not sure what to say, so you rub the cleaning cloth between your fingers and shy away from his eyes. “J just wanted to hear you say that.”

A smile spreads across his face, slow but bright as if he had just heard the most amazing thing. You can’t smile back and instead focus back on the floors and the last few inches of the railing.

You make sure to wipe the decorations nearby, in case your mother left any fingerprints on the lacquered surfaces. She can be rather careless in dire situations. You’re lifting yourself off the floor when something catches your eye: a large crib with layers and layers of blankets and fuzzy cloud and star plushies.

“What kind of bedtime stories should we tell our kids?”

Namjoon puts his head on your lap, sighing in relief when his neck is elevated at just the right position to depressurize the knot.

“What about myths? About the constellations and such.”

You giggle, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Isn’t that a little too mature for babies?”

When he doesn’t answer, you wave you hand in front of his eyes. He squints, chuckling. So this is what marriage life is going to be like – he can get used to it. “You’re right, that is a bit too much. Then…hm…they’ll learn about the types of clouds in the sky and we can go from there.”

“Joonie, I love you, but don’t come crying when our kids prefer mama’s stories over papa’s boring myths and random science facts.”

“We’ll see when we get to that point. Either way, you’re stuck with me.”

Asshole.

A fucking good-for-nothing lying asshole.

Gifting the same toys he promised to give to your future children to the same bitch who ruined your life, your family, and your sanity; they deserved each other, you think, and they both deserve to disappear as if they had never existed. The unborn baby inside Yori is innocent but a part of you is elated that he’ll never experience the kind of fatherhood he wanted. You silently wished Namjoon would tumble down the very same staircase you cleaned and joined Yori in a happy couple’s embrace to…

“Kookie?” You call out to your boyfriend who had duct taped the body in a semi-mummified state and used a shibari knot with his jute rope for easy carrying. He’d dragged the body next to the railing and leaned it against one of the stair planks in an upright position so that after he inspects the house for any evidence, he can bring the corpse easily over his shoulder.

“Yes, noona?”

“Where are we going to bury her?”

Jungkook wets his lips. He can’t possibly tell you the process of disposing a body or else you’ll surely fall back into panic so he gives you the simplest answer he can. “I’ll have to keep her body in the freezer in my studio. I’ll look for a place to burn it soon.”

You nod, swallowing as your throat tightens uncomfortably once more. The waves of anxiety come and goes. Jungkook knows how you’re feeling all too well and he wishes he could just hold you in your arms until tomorrow comes. Much to his distain, he knows you’re partly living your fantasy of making Yori pay for her involvement with Namjoon. You no longer love the man but anyone in your shoes wouldn’t deny there is a sense of satisfaction in seeking vengeance after a lifetime of humiliation that dampened your reputation in both your personal and professional sphere. Jungkook prays that getting rid of Yori will eliminate your mind of their presence although he highly doubts it; you’re not always rainbows and flowers. It’s only natural for you to be curious about taking another life when anger consumes logic. Most of these thoughts are fleeting ,which is why you had surprised Jungkook by your composure. He expected screaming at the very least but all you could do was cry.

He understands.

After he watched the life drain out of his parents, Taehyung had watched him cry for the longest time and when the next day came, it was like the world had turned its back while he washed the blood off his hands. The anxiety was terrible – at least for the first month or two – and then it was as if nothing had happened.

Like he learned before and like you’re learning now, it didn’t take much to get rid of a person. Over time, it just became muscle memory, kind of like making your morning coffee half-asleep. Now that you’ve gotten your first taste of the power, he wonders how you’ll cope. Will you fall into despair and regret it all in the morning? Will you be hungry for more? How will you return his most tiresome display of affection? These are questions he can’t answer. But what he does know is that you finally understand what love is in his world.

Love isn’t just about a ring on the finger or a baby in the crib. Love has to hurt. It has to infest your dreams and turn them into nightmares, wreak havoc on your heart, rip off the magnet in your moral compass. It’s why the human heart is caged behind ribs – it can hardly be tamed.

…

As the car lurches behind trees and between unpaved roads, Jungkook notifies your mother about what to do next. It would not raise suspicion for her to leave the country for a few weeks, especially since she had been traveling to speak to investors abroad. It would take some of the burden off his shoulders too; your mother is a cunning woman who fears losing money more than losing you so he had no trouble alluding to her demise if she disobeys. While you look away, he quickly sends a notification to Jimin to make sure the older man will take care of the rest. When he receives an immediate response back, his shoulders slump in relief and he pockets the phone back into his jeans.

When he takes your hand in his again, the other gripping the wheel, you give him the smallest of smiles through the silence.

Three is a crowd. The body folded and hidden in the rear space between his photography equipment makes your head turn every now and then to make sure it doesn’t escape somehow. You’re exhausted beyond belief but Jungkook is here, his palm over your hand on the shifting gear once more, to keep you grounded. The night feels like it might go on forever.

The streets pass by in a blur – nightlife still alive and pulsing with neon signs – and there’s a kind of peace enclosed in the car that you can’t find anywhere else. It’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook has always been and will always be there for you. Whether to take you from somewhere or bring you to some place, he’s the only person in your life left that you could depend on. As he expertly drives through tight alleyways where gas station surveillance cameras can’t reach him, you’re dozing off with your head against the window.  

“We’re almost there.” He says while running his thumb over your knuckles. There’s blood on his shirt and your neck but you’re too tired to care.

You awaken with a gasp when Jungkook swings the door open; he had been careful not to wake you but you feel enough residual adrenaline to jolt awake at the smallest of sounds. It takes a moment for you to recognize the inside of his garage, the bright LED lightbulb hanging above causing you to squint as your eyes adjust.

Unaware that you’re awake, Jungkook quickly moves to the rear of the car and swing Yori’s body over his shoulders, tightening the ropes around where her neck and feet are to secure his grip. He carries the wrapped body towards the door next to the shelves and kicks it open to reveal several more stocked shelves before coming to a halt at the buzzing freezer. With a free hand, he lifts the lid open and removes several bags of seafood and miscellaneous food items you can’t quite make out before rolling the body inside the interior. He places the bags on top of the body and latches the freezer shut, securing it with a combination lock from one of his bins.

When he steps back and shut the storage door before turning, he’s surprised to see you standing in the doorway, your hair a mess, his coat hanging loose off one shoulder.  

“Do you remember the night after you took my engagement photos? The ones at that same house?”

His brows scrunch slightly in confusion as he nods. There’s a noticeable flush on your cheeks as you breath in and out from your lips, a puff forming in the chill of the garage. You’re half-asleep, the exhaustion resting well deep in your bones but you can’t bring yourself to find your way towards his bed.

“I left my bedroom door open for you. I-I watched you from the balcony and waited for you to come back.”

Jungkook’s lips part, something foreign stirring in his stomach as the coat weighs down your shoulders and you don’t stop it from sliding down your arms, letting it pool around your feet. You don’t know why you wanted to confess but it felt right. It felt right to confess to something that isn’t about being an accessory in a crime.  

“Why didn’t you say anything, noona?”

You close the distance, putting both of your hands on his chest, over the blood stains on the university sweatshirt. He exhales loudly when you bring him down to your level by a tug of his collar, your lips just a mere centimeter apart.

“Because I wanted you then just as much as I want you now.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to close the gap between your lips, slamming your body onto the car behind you as he brings one of your legs over his waist to press himself against your heat. Your fingers curl around the nape of his neck and he listens to your squeal as he lifts you fully off the ground and lets you wrap both your legs around him this time. You break the kiss and pepper sweet kisses over the mole on his neck and the smears of dried blood that caked onto his sweatshirt.

“I love you so much,” you whisper, moving your head to the other side of his neck to suckle on his warm skin and feel his pulse through the jugular.

Jungkook quickly throws open the door to the studio and steps into the darkness, his memory allowing him to lead you towards the bathroom without his eyes adjusting. Your eyes burn once more when he reaches behind you to shut the bathroom door close and turn on the yellowed lights with the back of his elbow. When your face comes into view, he sits you on the counter next to the sink and pushes his tongue back in your mouth, your name leaving his lips with a whimper.

He’s terribly hard against your thighs, his length straining through his jeans. You tug him forward by the belt as you break the kiss once more and let him rip open your blood and bleach-stained blouse.

“God, you’re so beautiful, noona. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

He moans as you press the heel of your feet up his erection, his voice muffled by skin filling his mouth as he takes the top your left breast spilling from the brassiere on his tongue. You arch to chase the heat of his tongue, back of your head leaning on the mirror behind.

“My good boy…such a good boy…”

The effect your praise has on him is immediate. Jungkook reaches behind his neck and pulls the sweatshirt over his head, ruffling his hair in the process. You watch him unbuckle and tug his belt free from the hoops before unclasping the front of his jeans. Impatient, he circles his arms around you to undo the brassiere, leaning down to kiss the indents on your skin as you slip your blouse off your shoulders and pull the straps down your arms. The coolness of the counter causes a hiss to leave your lips and Jungkook drinks in your state of orgasmic delirium like an aphrodisiac.

It’s a blessing for you to have worn a less difficult pair of pants to shimmy out of. With a short tug, Jungkook slides the waistband of your wool slacks and cotton panties down your ankles. When he pauses, chest rising and falling steadily, you follow his gaze to see a streak of blood in the middle of the light pink fabric.

In the time between your mother’s call and your boyfriend dumping your former best friend’s body in a freezer, your period makes an early appearance. The streak of blood is bright and vibrant, unlike Yori’s blood that oxidized into a deep maroon shade on his tanned skin. Jungkook tugs your pants down your ankles but takes your panties into one hand, his doe eyes coming to rest on the blood before something snaps within him.

He throws the fabric on the floor and hooks his arms beneath your shin, prompting you to gasp as he spreads your thighs apart. He stares down at your dark pubic hair before tracing two fingers up your slit and into the curls. His fingers reappear with your blood, seeping underneath his short nails and the crevices of his nailbed.

“Can I taste you, noona?” He breathes, chest rising and falling even faster. His cheeks are flaming red, the flush reaching his earlobes as his lips part for more air. He feels like he can’t breathe, seeing how beautiful, fertile, and red you are for him.

You’re hesitant, the blood reminding you of what you just done – what he just done – yet the burning in your belly proves that you want this just as much as he does. You barely had the chance to nod before Jungkook pushes his face into your pussy, his tongue lapping the blood on your vulva and clit as his nose buries in your trimmed curls. You taste metallic, as if he’s sucking on a penny, but it’s light and the syrupy texture allows him to take all of your juices in his mouth. When his tongue draws circles around your clit and he presses his lips around the nub like a suction, your fingers immediately grasp his hair from the roots, begging his tongue to fuck your weeping pussy.

Jungkook laps your folds like a starving puppy until you’re arching for him once more, thighs trapping his head where it belongs as your cum gushes out of you with traces with red. Between your blood and your juices, he can’t decide which one tastes better. The metallic tang disappears, leaving a fragrant aftertaste that he can only indulge when he inhales through his nose after swallowing what remains on his teeth. When your knees twitch, Jungkook pulls back to come up for air, watching your expression as your eyes fall to his wet crimson lips, the mess reaching his chin and jaw.

It takes a minute for you to gather yourself together and in your exhaustion a slow but soft smile reaches your lips.

“Does it taste good, baby?”

“Heavenly,” he whispers as he traps your body between his arms and gives you a taste, twisting his tongue deep inside your warm mouth. Your hands stroke the contours of his biceps and triceps, core aching as he groans when you lick your remainings from his chin.

You can tell he’s tired, having to do most of the manual labor. He winces as you knead his shoulders and it makes your chest ache. Even when he’s hurting, he takes care of you first. Your precious boy.

“Turn on the shower for me.”

Jungkook is aching to be inside you but he obeys, turning away to step inside the shower and twist the silver handle lodged into the tile. You stand behind him, moving away just slightly when the water – steadily turning hot – sprays over his hair and onto your breasts. Just as he’s about to turn around you circle your arms around his waist and reach into his jeans, palming his throbbing cock before pulling his jeans and briefs down his ankles. He steps out of the tight fabric, watching the remnants of Yori’s blood spiral down the drain as you kick the fabric in front of his toes.

The shower hose is harsh on his head but he can’t seem to pull away, one arm holding onto the wall for purchase, when you cushion your knees with his wet, blood-stained jeans. He can’t get any harder watching water drip from the ends of his hair down to your erect nipples, sliding down between the valley of your breasts and onto your soft stomach.

You’re delighted to see his cock twitch, taking your bottom lip under your teeth as you look up at him.

“You want mommy to take care of you, Kookie?”

He nods, exhaling as his abdomen clenches.

“You want to cum all over mommy’s tits, yeah? Make me proud?”

“Unng…” He moans in response, hips bucking forward to slide his leaking tip across your lips. He whimpers when you pull away, your smile twisting when his stomach clenches again.

You massage his firm thighs, gliding over every ripple of his muscles and over to the patch of pubic hair above his cock. When you pass your hands over his belly button, you stretch a palm up towards his face.

“Spit.”

The mole beneath his lips appear as he gathers as much saliva as he can produce on his tongue and spits into your palm. There are some traces of blood in your palm but you pay no attention to it as you place your saliva-coated palm over his cock and make a fist around the length.

“Mo-mmy,” he throws his head back, the shower head coming down his flushed pecs. Your fist begins to move slow but tight around his hardness. “It feels so good. Fuck…unng, mommy…please…”

Jungkook can cum just from your warm breath hitting his leaking tip but he doesn’t. When you lean forward and take his entire length in your mouth, tongue stretched as far as you can as you press your nose against his pubes, his jaw drops. You’re warm, wet, and fuck, so tight.

His other hand combs through your hair, reaching underneath the nape to pull your head back until your half-lidded eyes can watch his skin glisten.

With your hands back on his thighs, Jungkook expects you to move. What he doesn’t expect was you to tighten your throat before swallowing with his entire length in your mouth.

“Fuck!”

You gag around him but repeats, breathing through your nose before letting your whimpers and cries vibrate his cock. He’s about to lose it, his tightening grip causing your scalp to burn.

“You’re so pretty, mommy,” he pulls his length back just slightly to let you suction him back inside. When his entire length is warm and pulsing in the back of your throat, you swallow once more and begin moving up and down, your eyes closing as Jungkook backs your head to the tile and fucks your mouth at a steady pace.

“Wanna cum in your throat, all over you, inside you. God, you’re so perfect.” He chants, abdomen clenching when your throat tightens just right over his pink tip.

You hum, hands trailing behind his thighs and up to his firm cheeks to push him forward. His grip tightens once more when he whimpers your name, over and over again, his cock driving into your mouth with a vigor that’s bound to leave your throat sore in the morning.

The first spurt of his warm cum hits your uvula and you cough just as he slides out of your mouth and pumps himself into his fist. Watching his creamy cum dripping down the corner of his mouth intensifies his high, prompting him to burst onto your shoulder blades and over your wet breasts. He doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath before he pushes you down onto the tile, moving away the wet jeans to a corner before finding safety between your legs. His arms, on either side of your head, allows him to prop himself up to lead his tip towards your entrance.

He’d forgotten all about cleaning the blood on your neck when you’re spread for him, your hands cupping his face in admiration. Your eyes and nose are still puffy and red, but he knows the blush on your cheeks come from your need to have him deep inside until you can feel him against your cervix.

“I love you, noona. So, so much.”

You hiss slightly when he pushes inside, your snug velvet walls engulfing his cock and keeping him where he belongs. His body bows in servitude to the goddess that is you.

“I love you too,” you huff, brushing your fingers over his sculped cheekbones and mandible. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You let him take you there despite how painful it was to bear him pounding into your walls with the intent to ruin. You’re not sure how long you lay on the tile, how many times he came inside, how sore and painful your insides will be when he’s done. It was never-ending – how Jungkook muffles your wails and whines, how he pumps his cocks while pressing your shoulders down to bury himself deep, how exhausted you are by the time he’s pushing his cum back into your swollen hole. The last orgasm triggers tears to seep from the corner of his eyes which Jungkook kisses away as he reaches up to the shower cloth and waits for you to fall limp before running the soapy cloth along your body.

You’re freezing cold despite the hot water still coming down onto your boyfriend’s body and, from there, onto you. He’s quick to clean you up and wrap you in the same towel he had laid over you the first time you used his studio shower. You can barely move as he carries you to the bed and lays your damp body on the fresh linen. You can hear the sound of him ripping open a thin menstrual pad and placing it in a pair of fresh panties he fished from the shared armoire closet. He slips the panties up your legs, lifting your hips to pull the fabric over your buttocks, flashing his usual charming grin when you murmur a thank you.

He pulls the towel from your body and squeeze out as much water as he can from your long tresses, careful not to tug. It wasn’t ideal to him that you’ll be sleeping with wet hair but you’re beyond exhausted and, to be frank, he is as well. At least he’s heading to bed satiated.

Jungkook slides under the blankets and brings your body closer by your waist. He groans into your neck, his body immediately softening as the warmth of your skin and the blanket brings him the peace and comfort he craved.

“Kookie?”

“Hm?”

It takes a heartbeat for him to sense your sudden anxiety. “…I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared?” He manages to ask although sleep is weighing heavy on his eyelids.

“I don’t know.” You murmur.

Jungkook is too tired to remember if you said anything afterwards for he falls deep into slumber. As for you, your head won’t let you sleep despite your body pleading for rest. Every part of you can feel Yori’s heavy body in the freezer just several feet away. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about tonight or if tonight should have happened in the first place but in Jungkook’s arms, you can’t find the smallest ounce of pity for the woman.

You close your eyes, snuggle closer into his firm chest, and try your best to pretend nothing will change. You try to forget the flash drive sitting in your bag, the possible evidence your mother may have left behind in the villa, the corpse in the garage. Most of all, you try to forget how Jungkook looked at the bottom of the staircase, slipping the corpse inside the black plastic trash bag with such ease that makes you wonder if he had done this before. He surely must have, that voice inside of your head says but you wave it away.

I don’t know.

You lied to him. For the first time in your relationship, you lied without guilt. You do know why you’re scared and it’s not because after tonight every knock on the door will cause your heart to pound.

No. It’s because you know your boyfriend – your sweet, loving boyfriend who cries watching romantic comedies on Sundays – is truly capable of murder.

[realcube]

CELEBRATING YOUR BIRTHDAY 

characters ♡ bokuto, tendō, matsukawa & suna

tw ♡ gn! reader, timeskip! bokuto (all sfw tho), swearing, reader wears makeup (matsukawa), swearing, mentions of death & food 

cred ♡ thanks to anon for this request <3

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO

♡ he was literally counting down the days to your birthday, he even took the day off practise to celebrate it with you so imagine his surprise when the special day finally rolls around and he wakes up to an empty bed

♡ at first, he thought that perhaps you were just around the house somewhere but nope, the place was completely empty and even worse, all signs pointed to his theory that you had gone to work/school on your birthday 

♡ outraged. he was absolutely outraged. 

♡ firstly, he tried calling you but you wouldn’t pick up, even after his many attempts so his next resort to call your place of work/school reception 

♡ obviously he managed to get a hold of you then-

♡ he was originally gonna yell about how you lied to him about taking the day off on your birthday but there was no way he could be angry at you — almost ever — so instead, he made the quick decision of telling you to have a nice day before hanging up 

♡ you were kinda pissed that he wasted your time like that but how could you stay mad at him? he’s fkn adorable! he blew you audible kisses over the phone for good luck!

♡ you laboured your way through the day, putting in great effort yet through it all, the only thing on your mind was how much you wanted to just pass out on the couch with bokuto as soon as you got home. you weren’t even sure if you had the energy to change into your pjyamas.

♡ however, when you finally did arrive home, there was no need to put yourself through the onerous task of changing clothes as the first thing you were greeted by when you stepped foot in your own home was a chorus of cheers of ‘surprise!’ followed by people spilling out into the foyer from the kitchen and living room 

♡ then there was bokuto, the loudest of them all leading the crowd, blowing into the party horn while dashing up to, throwing his arms around your shoulders to pull you into a tight hug, ‘happy birthday, sweetie!’

♡ a light gasp escaped your lips at the sudden hoots, and the unfamiliar — and frankly uncomfortable — sight of many friends swarm towards you had you on edge but when you felt bokuto wrap you in his warm embrace, you knew you were home

♡ he held you close until you were forced apart by many guests tearing you away to personally wish you a happy birthday

♡ now that the initial shock had died down, you noticed that there wasn’t as many people present as you thought, it was a humble gathering of all your closest friends 

♡ there was a massive pile of bright-colored gifts lying on the stairs, and it was hard not to immediately acknowledge them as the sheer mass and number of the presents scattered across the steps prevented anyone from being able to go upstairs

♡ the following day, you were made aware of the fact 90% of those presents were addressed from ‘your best ace husband ;)’ which was pretty straight-forward considering you only have one husband; kiyoomi sakusa. 

♡ jokes, you married bokuto but sakusa was also at the party. he originally just wanted to drop off his gift then leave but bokuto persuaded him to stay, though he seemed to be regretting it now as almost everyone at the party now shared an unspoken goal to slam sakusa’s face into one of the cupcakes that decorated the circumference of your cake

♡ speaking of the cake, bokuto remembered what type of cake was your favorite from the wedding planning and he was so chuffed with himself. in fact, he was so confident in his cake picking ability that he ordered a massive 3-tier monster of a dessert 

♡ neither of you would be able to finish it before it goes bad so you ended up cutting it up into pieces  and sending each guest away with a little goody-bag with a slice of cake inside lmao 

♡ once you had finished your goodbyes and everyone had filed out of your home, you flopped onto the couch and let out a deep sigh of relief. well, it was only a sigh for a few moment as it became a wheeze when bokuto laid down on top of you 

♡ ‘happy birthday, (y/n). i’m sorry if i tired you out.’ he hummed, fiddling with your fingers as his lips curled into a shaky smile

♡ ‘i’m a bit sleepy but i had an amazing time. thank you so much, kō.’

♡ bokuto smiled, his heavy lid falling shut as he finally rested his neck, being able to fall asleep comfortably now that you’ve told him that you had fun

SATORI TENDŌ

♡ unlike bokuto, he’ll actually mention your birthday a few weeks prior to the celebration so he can plan the perfect date :3

♡ ‘so do you wanna go to the aquarium or the theme park? because i know we’ve went to the park before but they remodelled it apparently. plus, maybe the aquarium is a bit underwhelming for such a special day, but it’s up to yo--’

♡ ‘we won’t really get to spend much time in either. if you consider the time school finishes, the train ride and the time the aquarium and park closes so maybe we could just chill at my house instead.’

♡ tendō deadpanned for a moment, the most unamused look taking over his features until he suddenly burst out laughing, cackling as if you just told the joke of the century, ‘seriously, (y/n)? you’re gonna go to school on your birthday.’

♡ ‘yes, of course.’ you replied in all seriousness, resulting in tendō awkwardly beginning to stifle his chuckles.

♡ he frowned, slumping back into the seat beside you, ‘c’mon, it’s your birthday, though! you deserve the day off.’

♡ you shook your head, kindly declining his suggestion, ‘i have a test on that day.’

♡ ‘all the more reason to ditch!’

♡ now it was your turn to deadpan

♡ tendō tossed his head back while letting out a sigh  of defeat, draping his arm around your shoulder to lovingly pull you to his chest, ‘alright, then. whatever you want, dear.’

♡ you smiled, glad that you didn’t need to disagree with him any longer — and you were even happier on the day. even though you insisted that he keeps things small on your birthday, he still managed to find a way to make things extra asf by getting you a massive plush that was about half the size of your stature and a hamper of homemade chocolates ><

ISSEI MATSUKAWA 

♡ honestly, he’s never been the best at giving gifts but he tries extra hard for you 

♡ like if you off-handedly say that you are cold during class, he’ll buy you a bunch of new jackets, jumpers and gloves

♡ or if you say you need more mascara, he’ll buy you exact same one you usually wear 

♡ he’s observant enough to notice and remember the exact shade and brands of all your cosmetic products but he’s not observant enough to pick up on the subtle hints you drop as to what you want for your birthday 

♡ you can never guess what he’s gonna get you and that adds to your anticipation for the day 

♡ if your birthday is on a school day, he’ll bring in a batch of homemade cupcakes (which hanamaki helped him with) and stick a candle in one of them for you to blow out 

♡ he offers you one but they are all pretty stale- just smile and nod while your teeth feel like they are being shattered trying to bite down on the cupcake 

♡ it might set off the fire alarm but oh well, just count that as another present

♡ oikawa will probably get you something like a bouquet and try flirt with you so at that point, matsukawa and hanamaki begin using the cupcakes as weapons 

♡ they are a two for one deal so you’re going to be spending the day with both of them tailing you like lost puppies

platonic RINTARŌ SUNA

♡ (requester specified) your birthday is on the same day as his so ofc he’s going to be a little salty abt it 

♡ you both created a game to see who receives the most birthday wishes and whoever won gets ¥1500 from the loser’s birthday money

♡ for the past few years, he’s usually been the winner by just a few but this year, you made it a point to befriend all him teammates in order to ensure victory 

♡ having to pretend to be friendly with atsumu — who wasn’t very good at hiding his massive crush —was definitely a challenge but you powered through 

♡ in fact, you may have played the role too well as both the miya twins gave you a gift 

♡ osamu gave both you and suna a plastic bag filled with some food he made and water bottles

♡ as for atsumu, his gift to you was a massive hamper filled with an assortment of many different luxury confectionary which didn’t look cheap at all but it didn’t feel appropriate to question the price so you simply took it from him with a bright smile

♡ of course, suna was excited (and very hungry) as he expected the same gift but he was more than disappointed when all he received was a bag of chips and a slap on the back

♡ he goes out of his way to tell every teacher it’s your birthday in hopes that they’ll make the class sing happy birthday to you 

♡ but it pisses him off to no end when you add that it’s his birthday too so he ends up getting roped into your misery 

♡ also your thumbs are going to be sore at night swiping through all the various candid pics that suna took of you throughout the day (in less than flattering poses) which he uplaoded to almost all of his social media stories with stupid ass captions 

♡ but dw bc he’ll eventually post a nice photo of you with a sweet message

♡ ‘happy birthday to @(y/n) . i would die for you, bitch (even though you annoy the hell out of me every single day 🤠).’ 

[you-are-so-much-better-than-that]

Gonna be a brat and ask you about your wedding “opiniona”s. 😂

LOL! This ask still makes me laugh! Ok, listen. I have never been married. I have never had a wedding. But I have been to what feels like seven thousand weddings (I have six weddings this year), have been a bridesmaid seven times, a maid of honour twice, hosted numerous showers, and have helped friends plan their weddings, diy decorations for their weddings, meet wedding vendors, etc etc. I really do love weddings, but I have a lot of opinions about them. The most controversial of which is the following:

Wedding cakes and physical invitations are a waste of fucking money!! More under the cut because I assume no one else wants to hear me ramble about weddings.

The whole wedding industry is wild, but you wanna know what I'm going to do with your wedding invitation? Put the date in my calendar, snap a picture so I know where to go that day, and throw it away because what am I gonna do with fancy card stock? Or velum paper? Or, my least favourite, invitations that come laser printed on a slab of acrylic?? That's like $10 an invite!! Insanity! Just send me a fucking evite! Or text! I'm happy to be invited by text.

As for cake! Listen. I love a cake cutting moment. Sugar Sugar or How Sweet It Is or Cake By the Ocean if you wanna get spicy playing in the background as you cut into an insane piece of art work that you and your partner feed each other? Love it! Yes! Please gimmie that! BUT the PROBLEM my dear friend, is NO ONE EATS THE FUCKING CAKE!!

When my sister got married, she had a 250ish person wedding, just under even, which by Egyptian standards is a small wedding. She got a three tier cake, which is not an outrageous cake. She told her cake vendor to make one for 125 people because you don't expect your guests to actually eat much cake. It cost $550. The first tier they took home to sit in their freezer for a year to later be thrown out after they each took one bite of their nasty ass one year old frozen then defrosted cake because tradition. The second tier is the one they cut into for the cute cake cutting moment. It was adorable. They have a picture of it on their wall. I don't remember the song I was probably crying. Anyway. The hall cut up the rest of that second tier for guests They said they'll cut up the final tier if necessary. It was NOT necessary. In fact, I witnessed them throw away at least half of the second tier slices they had cut up. And they gave me the final tier to take home. I would cut out large slices and give them to friends. I took a piece to work with me. I tried so hard. And yet, I threw away about half of that last tier. So let's review: top tier--thrown away after two bites, middle tier--50% thrown away, final tier 50% thrown away, possibly more as I am not responsible for what I gave away. I basically threw away at least $400.

No one eats cake when they've just had dessert and theirs a waffle/crepe and ice cream bar at the end of the night! If you must, get a tiny two tier cake, cut into the one, keep the top for tradition. Save your money. Like three of your guests will miss the cake.

Other opinions I have: don't cheap out on a photographer, don't give a favour with your name/wedding date (in fact, the best wedding favour is one I can eat later like jam or honey or tea, extra points if local, double extra points if it also supports a cause--I once got jam from a local farm that gave half their proceeds to a women's shelter and it was the best!), and, if you're asked to give a speech, don't roast the bride(s)/groom(s) /newly married couple. It's their day. You can be super hilarious in the group chat, not in front of their grandmother.

[justasparkwritings]

Troll In Luv: Part 2

Previous: Troll in Luv Pt. 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers; Non-Idol AU, Angst eventual Fluff

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Swearing, Making Out, Kissing

Summary: Your hand is forced, and the only way to come out on top is to reckon with your ex and apologize for past transgressions... er tweets.  

Note: This fic is dedicated to, written for, the incomparable @xjoonchildx​, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it it’s totally trash... jk. mostly. 

This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange!

Banner by me.

Tag List (is this how you do it no ones ever asked before): @unicornbabylover​

Thursday: Jimin’s Apartment

           Jimin hadn’t just moved on up, he’s leveled up completely. Gone were the Ikea pieces that he’d spent hours assembling, only to realize they’d given him the wrong part and he’d had to trek back to the store to rectify it. Gone were the plastic plates and cups he’d collected from Penny Pitchers at the bar across campus. Gone were the free t-shirts and dance company sweats he’d torn or cut to make them more comfortable for practice.

          In their place, Jimin had picked out custom fabrics to cover his chairs, found small batch glass plates and bowls to line his open kitchen shelves. He’d sourced a Persian rug from a little hole in the wall shop that had been in the neighborhood for seventy years and had runners made from their remnants. He’d curated his space, and his wardrobe, to fit the Jimin he’d always been. Each piece made up for the times that he could only hold onto cheap knock offs, embarrassed when someone noticed a shirt he was wearing from a bag they’d donated to Goodwill.

          Stepping into his space, it was hard not to gawk. Every inch of this apartment screamed maturity, knocking you off your feet. Had you been missing out on this for years? This Jimin, adult Jimin, was far more impressive than you’d realized. It was hard not to feel your heart hurting, yearning for the years you had been together, the moments shared, the love that had blossomed in your youth.

          This was going to be more devastating than you realized.

          “Can I get you something to drink?” Jimin asked. He took your jacket and purse, hanging them on the steampunk inspired coat rack.

          “Um, water would be good, thanks,” You said, moving through the entry way to the kitchen. “How long have you lived here?”

          “Uh, two years? But I just finished decorating maybe a month ago,”

          “It’s incredible,”

          “Thanks, how’s the magazine?”

          “A fucking shit show,” You took the glass from his hands, careful not to let his fingers brush against yours.

          “Hoseok mentioned that things have been getting more, challenging?”

          “Yeah, that’s the nice way of putting it.”

          “Hm,” Jimin hummed, sipping his own water.

          “How’s your job? I don’t, I know Hoseok and Tae and Jungkook have told me about what you do, but, what do you do?” You phrased your question carefully, knowing precisely what he has been up to. You’ve seen his campaigns, his work on water bottles and stickers around the city, not to mention his designs being picked up by Target and thrown onto pillows, blankets and beach towels. He’d won an award last year for his artwork that had been picked up and used as the home screen on the most recent Mac Book, Mac Book Pro and Mac Book Air. He was being considered as a new graphic artist for Penguin Publishing, working on new book jackets as well as negotiating a seven-figure deal with Target, only to be outbid by Costco.

          Jimin was everywhere, but he absolutely didn’t need to know that you knew that. He didn’t need to know how angry you were that neither of you actually ‘won’ your breakup.

          “Well, I graduated with a degree in graphic design and a minor in dance. After I discovered I didn’t want to dance professionally, I got a job in graphics. I kept working on projects and three years ago started my own company. My work has been in a lot of different places, which, I’m sure you’ve seen,” Jimin sipped his water, pouted lips glistening as the liquid graced over them.

          “Awfully cocky,” You smirked, long lasting Charlotte Tilbury, Glastonberry purple lipstick marking the glass.  

          “Or I know you well enough to know that you’ve been keeping tabs on me,” Jimin had no need to be cocky, he knew he was right. All he had to do was be confident.

          “That’s an awfully big assumption for you to make. But it’s cool, it explains why your apartment is Architectural Digest ready. Unless, you have a girlfriend with excellent taste who designed it all,” You were baiting him, and in the internal monologue that never shut the fuck up, you were beating yourself up over the fact that Erin had been correct.

          Jimin rolled his eyes, “Why don’t you just ask if I’m seeing someone?”

          “Now why would I be that direct?” You questioned.

           “You’ve been sitting behind a computer screen, trolling me for years instead of just talking to me. I should’ve expected you to find some roundabout way to ask if I’m single,” Jimin set his glass on the countertop and crossed his arms over his chest, defiance brooding in his dark eyes.

           “Look, I know it’s fucked up, that I’m fucked up. It is the sole purpose of me going to therapy,” You explained.

           “I would hope so,” Jimin scoffed. He’d never been indifferent to you, but you supposed you couldn’t expect anything less than anger after years of unwarranted harassment. Mentally, you kicked yourself over the fact that Claire had been right.

           “Jimin,” You sighed.

           “What?” He snapped.

           “I’m sorry,” You stared into his softening eyes, the ones you’d spent years trying to replace, burning the memories into your retinas once again.

           “Sorry for what?”

           “For everything,”

           “Care to be more specific?” He moved towards you, gliding from the far side of the kitchen to stand opposite you, elbows leaning against the cool granite of the countertop he custom ordered.

           “I have loved you since we were fifteen, okay? When you left, when I left,” You sighed, there was never going to be a poetic or graceful way to lay out your tumultuous feelings, but you owed it to yourself to try. “I never told you how much I loved you, or how much it hurt when you just, you moved on so quickly, and I didn’t know how to tell you that I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want to break up, I didn’t want to fall into another cliché of high school sweethearts preemptively breaking each other into pieces because of college. I wanted us to be the cliché that lasted, that worked. But you just, I’ve been hurting for years and I didn’t think you’d care, because you didn’t back then, so why would you now?”

           “So, you harassed me on the internet?” Jimin asked.

           You rolled your eyes. “It didn’t start out that way,”

           “How did it start?”

           “Someone sent me a link to your profile, and I just, retweeted with a stupid comment and you responded. In my gut, I thought, I felt, that you knew it was me. Why else would you engage with it? You didn’t engage with anyone else,” Your rehearsed explanation made perfect sense, you’d spent years crafting it, tweaking the language, ensuring there were no loopholes.

           “You checked?” Jimin’s smirk was back. Fuck him, it looked good against his angelic eyes.

           “I’m a journalist, Jimin,”

           “Still, you checked,”

           “The point is, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been needling you for years. I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you how much I loved you, I’m sorry I’ve been a massive bitch, rivaling only Heather Chandler. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, and I’m sorry Claire wrapped you up in this stupid article that I am no longer participating in. I’m sorry that even after I changed my fucking Twitter handle and you knew it was me, that I kept being a mythic bitch. I’m sorry for being the villain in your life.”

           “I’m sorry too,” Jimin rushed to say.

           “What do you have to be sorry for?”

           “I was a coward back then, too scared by what Yoongi and Namjoon said about dating in college. I should’ve, I should’ve fought for us more than I did.” He admitted.

          It hadn’t taken him long to realize the colossal mistake he had made, but by then Yoongi and Joon had planted the seeds in his mind that no one in their right mind makes it with their high school sweetheart. What a naïve notion, to stay with the same person you’ve loved since puberty.

           “Remember when you came back for my dad’s wedding?” You asked.

           “I regret that,” Jimin told you.

           “I cried for two days,”

           “I’m sorry,” He couldn’t look at you, his years of unsaid apologies waiting behind his pouting lips.

           “It was such a dick move.”

           Jimin smiled softly, he had missed the way you over exaggerated your speech, adding emphasis to superlatives, the slight way your eyes rolled when you were trying to make a point. A habit you’d developed in high school, he was glad to see you hadn’t replaced it with a new inane ritual. He still very much liked this one, found it endearing even after years of missing out on it.

           “I know,” He conceded.

           “I can only assume it was on purpose.”

           “It, yeah, yeah, Hoseok said you were getting cozy with Seokjin,” He explained.

           “I was,” You nodded.

           “Was?”

           “He broke my heart, sometime after you showed up to New Years with what’s her name on your arm and proceeded to make the after-hours dance party in Dirty Dancing look like the Russian Ballet. Oh, and can’t forget you nearly fucking her in the kitchen as the ball dropped, which Yoongi made a very dirty joke about it.”

          You hadn’t kept a list of all his transgressions… but you had kept a list of all his transgressions, all his missteps, all his calculated moves, only to plan your own counterstrike. Erin had been right, you had started the Twitter battle, but Jimin had poisoned the blood between you long before you tweeted about it.

           “I was drunk,” He excused.

           “You did it on purpose,” You rolled your eyes, Jimin had forgotten how cute that was too.

           “I did,” He conceded.

           “I wasn’t fucking Seokjin on the dance floor for everyone to see,” You tossed back the rest of your water, eyes glancing at the living room where a framed photo remained. Prom, you in his arms, Hoseok beside you, Namjoon eyeing Caitlin Anderson, his date that you had made a point to not allow in the photo. She wasn’t sticking around, why ruin your group pic? (Namjoon still was pissed about this, though he hadn’t spoken to her since he left for college.) You were all too preoccupied with rules to drink, do drugs or smoke, so while your classmates were getting wrecked, you went bowling until 2AM. Jimin had climbed into your bedroom, after supposedly dropping you off, and you’d promised each other the world.

          It didn’t last through summer.

           Jimin sighed, a hand running through his bleached locks, tugging gently at the ends. “You weren’t.”

           “You didn’t have anything to prove, Jimin. I had already gotten the message. Too fucking loud and too fucking clear.” Your voice became small, the heart of your hurt, the source of your pain, bubbling up to the surface.

           “What was that message?” Jimin noted the change in your dynamic, your hand moving to play with the earring in your top hole, twirling it thoughtlessly as your eyes drug themselves from your prom photo back to him.

           “That you didn’t want me,” You whispered.

           Jimin let it sit in the air, the real reason you had harassed him, the real reason you were sitting in his kitchen, tears forming, lip trembling. This entire time, you had thought he didn’t want you anymore, didn’t love you, didn’t think you were his sun and moon.

           “Is that why Seokjin broke up with you?” He asked.

           “That he didn’t want me?” You questioned. He was toeing the line, danger signs would’ve been flashing, horns and sirens wailing telling Jimin to back the fuck off.

           “No, that you still wanted me,” He clarified.

           “Yeah, something like that,” You mumbled.

           “I wanted you too,” Jimin admitted.

           “Bullshit,”

           “You think I would bring around random girls if I didn’t think you would be there? That I would parade around, embarrassing myself, just to show off whoever was on my arm? Do you really think that little of me?” Jimin demanded, his anger that he’d long thought he’d worked through coming back to the surface. He was no longer calm, no longer sympathetic to your puppy dog eyes.

           “Jimin, I don’t know what to think of you! You broke my heart because of something Yoongi said, Yoongi, who doesn’t date let alone love anyone other than Jungkook, and then proceeded to what, listen to Namjoon?” Standing from your seat, you pushed the stool back under the immaculate white countertop. “What the fuck did they know about our relationship that I didn’t? Why were they making decisions about us, us, you and me, Jimin? Why did they have power and I had none?”

           “I was, I was scared,” He admitted, his voice meek against your thunderous admissions.

           “Bullshit! I was scared, you were cavalier.”

           “You don’t meet your person when you’re fifteen!” He yelled, anger coming to a head.

           “Are you fucking kidding me?” You’re yelling back, returning decibel for decibel. Stool pushed back, hand through your hair, blazer coming off to reveal the cheetah print blouse underneath. It was too hot in his apartment, too hot to have this conversation sober, too hot to be staring at him, the man who knew everything, everything, about you. It was too much for him to be confessing that he was a pussy.

           “No, I’m not,”

           “Park Jimin, you fucking asshole.”

           “I’m so-

           “No, no you’re not. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me, trying to pawn off your emotions as fodder in some naïve fallacy that says you can’t grow and mature with the person you love at fifteen. You are absolutely fucking unbelievable Jimin.” Untucking your shirt, you moved towards the living room and the open window.

           “I’m so-

           “Shut up! You don’t get it, do you?” You asked, the tears stinging your eyes begging to be released.

           “Get what?” He muttered. You hear him plop down on the couch, and you know he’s slumped back, legs resting against the reclaimed wood coffee table, hands tucked behind his head, watching you.

           “You, Jimin! Do you understand who you are?” You turned, the cool air soothing against your shoulders.

           “I thought I did but apparently not, so enlighten me,” He requested.

           “You love harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You crave love, you seek it out from your friends and family and yes, your girlfriends. You remember every detail, every expression, every glance carries weight in your eyes. You love the hardest, you hurt the deepest, and when you said you didn’t think we’d make it, what else was I supposed to do other than believe you?”

           “I was an idiot! I was a child!” Jimin ran an unsteady hand through his locks, again, his nervous habit coming out in full force. “I was 18 and all I wanted was to elope, but I couldn’t because I had to make a name for myself. My parents demanded it from me, what was I to do, get lost in you? I was already drowning Y/N! All I breathed was you and fuck me if I wasn’t ready to commit to you but I knew you didn’t want to be the Topanga to my Cory so what could I do?”

           “There are a lot of things you could’ve done! You could’ve said something to me. You could’ve been amicable. You could’ve shared your fears and your hopes with me, Jimin. You didn’t have to parade around with girlfriend after girlfriend and tell me you didn’t want us anymore!”

           “I thought you were falling in love with someone else!” Jimin said.

           “Why does it matter what I was doing? Whenever you saw me, did you see me flaunting my new relationship in your face? Why did you, why would you think that I was ever over you?”

           “You were with Seokjin for two years,” Jimin answered, it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

           “Oh, so I have a stable relationship and you assume it’s okay to be a dick?” You quipped. Sitting on the couch, your body relishes in the ease with which you let off a little tension.

           “No, you had someone else,” Jimin turned, arm propped on the back of the couch, body facing yours.

           “Doesn’t mean you had the right to treat me the way you did,” You hadn’t been this close to him in years, his breath mingling with yours. You could see the crinkles near his eyes, from moments when his laughter was the only thing on his mind.

           “I wanted to marry you,” Jimin reached his hand towards yours, intertwining your fingers, still a perfect fit.

           “But you didn’t,” You remind him.

           “I haven’t,” Jimin’s eyes were set your hand, your ring finger naked, heated gaze willing a diamond to be made out of the hair around you.

           “Jimin,”

           “We’ve been here for hours, we’ve rehashed the past, but not once have you said why you kept trolling me,” He turned his eyes back to yours, pleading softly for you to tell him that what he thinks you mean is truth, not willful thinking.

           “Because, Jimin. You’re so fucking dense sometimes,” You rolled your eyes, how did he not get it?

           “Because isn’t an-

           “I love you! You fucking asshole. I love you. I keep tabs on you because I’m still harboring some insanely poetic, pathetic, sociopathic love for you, Jimin. My first love, my only love. I know I’ve been a massive twat, I know it, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ruining the last five or so years of your life, I’m sorry for tweeting at you and about you. I’m sorry that I never said anything to you during college. I’m sorry I asked your mom not to tell you that we still talk. I’m sorry that I can’t seem to let you go. I’m sorry that I still love you.”

          The tears fell freely, cascading down your cheeks and neck, path only interfered when Jimin brought your face into his hands, thumbs moving meticulously to wipe the falling droplets. He’d always loved cupping your cheeks, holding your face delicately between his hands. He loved the intimacy, the care, the inability to hide anything from each other.

           “Marry me,” Jimin said, voice clear over your sobs.

           “What?”

           “Let’s go to city hall, get a license, let’s just, get married. Now, right now,”

           “Jimin, we’ve hardly-

           “I know my mom talks to you, she told me. She’s always told me. I still, I still talk to your dad, too. He texts me like once a week,” Jimin confessed.

           “You do?” You couldn’t believe it, your parents knew too?

           “I’ve always loved you, always. I knew-

           “You asshole! You fucking suck! Why did you make me pour out my heart like this only to tell me you fucking knew? Was this a ruse? Oh my god, are you The Duke? Am I Daphne? Quick, make haste to the gallery wall in your hallway so we can stare at the photos of your years without me and pretend that our hands touching isn’t the sexiest thing to happen since Regé Jean Page boxed shirtless,” You rambled in between wiping your dripping nose against your blouse sleeve. Words spilled from you, tumbled out from your lips at a speed you hadn’t reached in years. Jimin always knew how to get you so worked up air seemed like a luxury.  

           Jimin stood to retrieve a tissue box from the bathroom.

           “This wasn’t a ruse; I didn’t know you’d come over to talk about our relationship, our past. I was going to reach out I just, I thought you hated me.”

           He sat back down, this time closer, knee bumping against yours, leaning in to speak in docile tones.

           “When have I ever hated you?” You questioned.

           “I can think of at least one hundred occasions where you’ve said that you have,”

           “Such an-

           “And you keep calling me names,” Jimin rolled his eyes. You’ve always loved how he rolled his eyes, subtle and gentle, but deadly and effective.

           “I love you means you don’t have to say you’re sorry, so I won’t say it again,” You countered. You couldn’t hide the smile on your lips.

           “But I’ll say it, because while you’ve been angrily tweeting me, a poor attempt at showing your feelings,” Jimin braced for the contact of your hand against his shoulder, a gentle hit, accompanied by your own eyeroll and scoff. “Listen, I too have been an asshole. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I do accept your apologies, and I do forgive you. I love you, always have,” Jimin had taken both your hands in his, and gently, he placed kisses on each of your knuckles.

           “Jimin,” You murmured.

           “What Y/N?”

           “I accept your apologies. I love you, so much, and I’m sorry I wasted the last few years instead of just saying that I wanted us to try again.” You turned your hands over, mimicking his gesture by placing lingering kisses across the back of his hand.

           “I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us during college. I’m sorry I brought girlfriends to family events, I’m sorry my actions made you think I stopped loving you.”

           “You didn’t, right?” You peered up at him, lips leaving the palm of his left hand.

           “Never,” Jimin held your gaze, watching as you sat up.  

           “Even when you were dating skanky girl number three, with the nose ring and the summer house in Montauk? That you brought home for spring break and asked if you could bring to Namjoon’s parent’s anniversary?” You questioned.

           “You really want to rehash everything, don’t you?” Jimin chuckled, your ridiculousness knew no bounds.

           “I mean, we don’t have to right now we-

           “Can I kiss you?” Jimin leaned forward, cherry lips finding purchase on the delicate flesh on the inside of your wrists, a sensation that specialized in making your toes curl.

           “You think that’s wise?” Your voice, a breathy groan embarrassingly needy, seemed to belong to someone other than you. Someone who needed Jimin to toss them over his shoulder and fuck into his $2,000 sheets.

           Jimin laughed, “You were my first kiss, my first time, my first everything. You think now, as adults, kissing is going to ruin us getting back together?”

           “I just mean that, do we need to let this simmer before we, you know,” You bobbled your head, hair moving around to match the giddiness bubbling inside of you.

           “We don’t have to have sex,”

           “Yeah,” You sighed, “but don’t you like, really want to?”

           “And you call yourself a journalist!”

          “Shut up!”

          “You’re being ridiculous! Of course, I want to,” Jimin’s docile laugh sent a shiver down your spine.

          “I am being cautious, I need to know that you, that you want this,” You reiterated.

          It hurt to have to ask Jimin to give you something he already had, to give you his love again, to give you his trust. But it wasn’t you who ended this relationship, it wasn’t you who thought your relationship wouldn’t last through college. You knew you could work through it all; it was Jimin that walked away shattering your heart and your trust. It was Jimin who was scared of being with you, Jimin who needed to prove he was going to make this work. Jimin who had lost it all and needed to fight for you again.

          “You’re asking me if I want to have sex with the love of my life, after years of not being able to touch her, to kiss her, to love her the way she’s earned?” Jimin asked.

           “Yes,”

           “To borrow a phrase from you, fuck you for thinking either one of us has any self-control. Especially when it comes to each other. How many tweets have we exchanged? How many times have you asked Hoseok about me, or my mother?” Jimin cupped your cheeks again, eyes darting from you slightly parted, purple stained lips to your eyes. “I’m in this, for good, and I will tell you every day until you believe me again.”

           “Me too, though you should know I’ve picked up a few new habits I’m sure Taehyung has told you about,” You leaned into his touch, cheek warming at the light callouses that remained from his overeager workouts, and mic twirls he mastered in too many nights singing karaoke with Jungkook.

           “Yeah?”

           “Yeah, I’ve started wrapping my hair. And I’m also still allergic to kiwi,” You reminded him.

           “Good, who needs a slimy green fruit with too many seeds?”

           “Truly no one, except Australians,” You laughed and your pun.  

           “Remember that day before senior year, when we got smoothies, but they didn’t tell you that they’d put kiwi in it, and you had to go the emergency room?” Jimin’s hands have dropped from your face, instead clapping together, head tossing back as his laughter overtook his body.

           “Or the time after watching Friends, Joon decided he wanted to make a kiwi-lime pie despite the fact we told him not to put kiwi, and he did anyway?” You laughed with him, head leaning against the arm that he had extended across the back of the couch.

           “You wanted to kill him,” Jimin agreed.

           “He forgot he had put it in! Then forced me to try it! I still hear his voice, ‘Y/N, please just a bite. Please, I worked really hard on it, come on, just a taste, please’. I swear to you, Sara Bareilles heard him and saved it for the Waitressmusical,” You laughed.

          “I don’t remember who was more pissed, your mom or you,” Jimin added.

          “He offered to pay for my hospital visit,”

          “He paid it all off, didn’t he?”

          “Before the month had ended, he didn’t even work out a payment plan, and bought me a new EpiPen,” You couldn’t stop laughing. Namjoon, the ever-lovable oaf, had never stopped apologizing for badgering you into eating his fucking pie. You couldn’t even tell if it was good, the minute the kiwi hit your tongue, your body reacted.

          “He’s always been, responsible,” Jimin was calming down, high pitched squeaks on longer radiating off his vocal cords.

          “To a fault,” You sighed. “My mom gave it all back to him, she saved it for the day he graduated college and got into med school.”

          “Was he shocked?”

          “Pleasantly so,”

          Jimin hummed in agreement, his arm moving to drape across your shoulders, your body relaxing back into him. Your head found its way to his shoulder, and slowly you breathed in his scent. He’d changed colognes since the last time you’d been this close, this vulnerable with him. You liked it, fresh and crisp, with undertones of sandalwood and something that smelled like Kimchi, though you knew Jimin enough to know he’d probably eaten some for lunch. You liked it, his warmth pulling you to him, the safety of his embrace reminding you of all the days and nights you’d spent just like this.

           “Jimin?”

           “Yes?”

           “Did you, after we broke up did you ever, fall in love again?” You craned your neck to try and catch his expression.

           “No, I got close, but I never did. Did you fall in love with Seokjin?”

           “It’s complicated. I loved him, I did, but I wasn’t in love with him,” You moved ever so slowly out of his grasp, trying to gage his expression.

           “Did you think you’d get married?” Jimin leaned closer. His movement, calculated and timid, hatched the cocoons in your stomach into full butterflies, beating wings against your insides.

           “No, well,” You tilted your head, a habit from Hoseok, and licked your bottom lip. You should’ve remembered to put Aquaphor on your lips before leaving the cab. “One time I thought maybe we might work out, maybe we’d find a way through, well, you. But he never, he always kind of knew that my heart was still tied up with yours.”

           Jimin watched as you wet your bottom lip, tongue gracefully moving to swipe across your flesh, hoping to take the place of your tongue with his own.

           “Did he, did he bring me up when he-

           “Dumped me?”

           “Yeah,”

           “Kind of,” You blinked quickly, eyes trying to discern if Jimin was in fact moving closer, or if your vision was playing tricks on you and trying to zoom in on him while he moved way.

           “I’m sorry that I, that I was used against you. I’m -

          “Jimin, as much as I would love to iron out the details of Seokjin dumping me, and I’m sure negotiating the terms of us getting back together, and naturally filling each other in on the last few years we’ve been apart…” You licked your lips again, “Your lips keep getting farther away from mine and I really, really need to kiss you.”

          Jimin didn’t need to be told twice, and lunged forward, pinning you beneath him, hips pressing into yours, pressure of his body against you, holding you to him.

           “I missed you,” Jimin said before closing the space between you, plump, soft and supple lips pressing aggressively against yours. You knew he’d be stained purple, the thought of him walking into whatever We-Work adjacent workspace his office was in, with purple tinted lips and bruised flesh, thrilled you.

           Jimin had always been your favorite person to kiss. Tasting like nostalgia and 7/11 Slurpee’s that you’d split on summer days, half blue raspberry, half cherry, two large straws and a sugar hangover that almost always led to naps on the hammock in your mom’s backyard. Kissing adult Jimin, experienced Jimin, Jimin who had slept with other people besides you, was intoxicating. Skilled in the way he used his tongue against yours, nibbling your bottom lip before diving in, he’d learned a few new tricks that had you moaning underneath him.

           “You know,” You started, his lips gnawing at the flesh of your neck, hot kisses and love bites decorating you a shade of purple you wished Charlotte Tilbury sold. “I still haven’t seen your bedroom.”

           Jimin laughed, “Oh so now you’re going to be direct?”

           “When have I ever been subtle?”

           “Clearly not in your Tw-

           “Jimin,” You interrupted, index finger silencing his lips. “Just, take me to your bed and make love to me. I promise, I swear, I won’t troll you on the internet ever again, okay?”

           “Okay,” Jimin couldn’t stop smiling as he stood, adjusted the waistband of his flat front chinos, and reached for your hand. “Come on, we’ve got five and a half years and a shit ton of tweets to make up for.”

           Rolling your eyes, you stood, hand in his and followed him down the hallway, past the gallery wall and into his bedroom, where you clocked another photo from high school, this time just you and Jimin, his parents and brother, smiling at high school graduation. You turned to him, ready to comment but cut off by his lips again, hands pulling you towards him, arms wrapping you in his embrace.

           As you drowned in Jimin, in the way his bare skin felt against yours, how his hands moved, tender and lovingly on your skin, relearning routes and maps he’d written many moons ago, it was easy to remember why you’d fallen love with him, and even easier to remember why you’d never gotten the love you shared. Jimin was attentive, passionate, loving, giving… he took his time with you, waited for you to be ready, brought out the best in you in every situation. With his voice in your ear, his sounds overriding the previous iteration you’d had on lock from your teen years, his hips grinding into yours, reclaiming what he had once lost, Jimin rewrote the future you hadn’t been able to imagine since he broke your heart.

          In his ministrations on your body, his love personified in how he made your toes curl, your mind blank, your body his, Jimin vowed to love you, to stand by you, to hate who you hate and love who you love. To feed your every obsession and call you on your bullshit. He promised to protect you, to ensure you never eat kiwi, and to tell you he loves you at least three times every day, beyond earning your trust, beyond you believing him, beyond putting a ring on your finger and giving you his last name (if you wanted to take it). He vowed to never leave, not when it gets tough, not when he is scared, not when you spew that you hate him, which you inevitably will. In return, you promised to give him the world, which he admittedly had whenever you were with him.

           Love was complicated and messy… and it pissed you off to no end to know that all it took was a few years of dragging Jimin on Twitter to get the love of your life back.

[ushidoux]

Look at Me, Senpai - Hinata x Reader x Daichi (Pt. 2)

Summary: Reader starts to see Hinata in a different light once he returns from Brazil. It turns out Hinata’s inability to give up isn’t just something restricted to the court. (~1.9k words)

Warnings: fem!reader, nsfw, infidelity, a touch of the yandere

A/N: Man even my evil heart was a little bothered by this lmfao. Turns out it needs another part, so expect that sometime this week?

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

“You can stay if you’d like to.”

You paused for a split second in the middle of redressing yourself, your gaze settling on Hinata’s impressive body, now glowing with the thinnest layer of sweat and perched on the edge of the bed, maybe a little bit too eagerly. While his voice remained steady and neutral, his eyes showed just a hint of pleading, the sentiment also threaded in the way his knuckles whitened as he steadied himself in place. He appeared as though he were holding himself back from saying more or doing more. 

For a moment you were almost angry - in fact, furious that he would suggest that you’d stay over on the very first night, almost like he thought he was somebody important to you, like you weren’t simply taking out some sort of repressed frustration out on him.

However, the extremely recent memory of being folded and pressed into the plush hotel mattress, legs dangled over his shoulders, fingers tangled in his wild hair, filled so wide and so deep that you knew you’d probably think about it for the rest of your life if all of this somehow miraculously blew over, flashed in your mind and your irritation was replaced with another wave of guilt. 

No wonder he spoke with this sort of unchecked boldness. You had allowed it. He probably could smell the lust on you from the very moment he lay eyes on you at the restaurant.

You left the hotel without another word, but when he sent you a message to see if you had gotten back okay, you begrudgingly accepted that you would see him again. You couldn’t help it.

And so you continued to meet, with the securing of your engagement ring in a tiny pocket in your purse a new routine before you entered Hinata’s warm embrace for a couple of hours many more nights than not. Hinata, as usual, was all too happy to receive you, his brown eyes lighting up the night. In the dark, whenever he closed his eyes and let himself focus on your staccato breaths as he pulsed inside you, you were his and his only.

Soon your encounters progressed beyond you ending up crumpled up in an overstimulated mess to candid conversations over earnestly made and surprisingly decent meals. Hinata was a very good listener and hung on every word you said, making you realize how little you expressed yourself in the daytime.

Even creating art was different when he was around. You started to bring your sketchbook with you when you visited now that you didn’t solely leave under the cover of night, doodling quietly in the setting sun that matched the locks of his hair as you sat on his couch. The first time you’d decided to do something other than fuck for hours, he’d asked you what you did for a living. 

“I, uh, draw.”

The shout of genuine awe Shoyo let out was almost overwhelmingly embarrassing.

“What??? You get to do that all day?! Incredible! Do you paint too? What do you draw? Still life? Scenes? Can you draw me?” As Shoyo asked these questions, he only inched closer and closer to the couch, crowding your space and while you still retreated from him naturally, you could feel your heart drawing closer.

It had been literal years since someone was excited about what you produced, and while Daichi appreciated your creations around the house, you could tell he thought of them nothing more than decoration, not expressions of your soul.

Everything you make is beautiful, was your fiance’s compliment of choice but what you would have preferred to hear was Everything you make is meaningful.

But you were Daichi’s little housewife, not an artist.

Like his little pet, Daichi continued to kiss you on the forehead before the crack of dawn before he went off to work and drape a protective arm over you late into the night once he returned, and you continued to pretend you never ever took off your engagement ring and work through wedding planning as though you weren’t making a mockery of your wedding vows night after night.

The ninth - or maybe eleventh time (?), you’d lost count - you met with Hinata, you asked him a bold question of your own.

“S-Shoyo..,” you started, trying your very best to ignore the winding coil in your belly as you tried to talk past Hinata’s deft fingers pumping in and out of your quivering cunt. 

“Mm?” His eyes were on you but his fingers continued to move, making it hard for you to remember how to formulate what you wanted to say, and it didn’t help that his other arm hooked around your waist pressed you against him just a little too firmly as usual.

“Why-,” your breath halted as he found the correct spot and you closed your eyes and bit your lip, but you pushed through the pleasure to speak, “why did, or.. why do you like me?”

“I don’t know.” His answer was both shocking and unsurprisingly candid. “I don’t think it matters, though.”

The glint in his eyes and the wide grin as he took in your varied expressions of pleasure reminded you that it truly didn’t matter why, and especially not for someone like him.

“Stay still for me, ____,” he whispered, diverting the subject, as he kissed your mouth softly to put your questions to rest then planted kisses in a trail down your belly to your lower lips.

---

A few months pass and your wedding preparations slow almost to a halt.

You don’t admit to yourself that it’s because you know now that you are falling out of love with Daichi and you ignore the fact that Hinata continues to permeate your mind almost all the time. You can’t exactly say that you’re in love with him because you aren’t. After all, you have enough self-awareness to understand what it means to be in love with the idea of someone new and to be seen as somebody different. 

When Hinata lets you know he’ll now be traveling for matches, he kisses your forehead, caresses your face and assures you he’ll be back soon to see you. He sends sweet texts and pictures as if he really is your boyfriend, and it’s sick how quickly you react to your phone every time it buzzes or how you now wake up as early as Daichi to walk around your neighborhood as the sun rises just so you can hear Hinata’s voice on the phone.

You’re not in love with him though. You could never fall that quickly.

As you start a pot of coffee before putting on your running shoes, Daichi cups your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours, pulling back to look at you with adoration.

“What could I do without you?” He says before he goes. Your heart wrenches.

Your frustration mounts when you find yourself recreating Hinata’s features on paper and considering the complements of colors that would best convey his spirit. You tear out the sketch, crumpling up the paper in a ball before you toss it across the room and now you are crying because what the fuck are you actually doing?

Were you really this fickle?

You were - when your front door knocks in the early evening and it’s Hinata, not Daichi at your doorstep (because of course he wouldn’t knock to enter his own home), your first impulse is to hiss Whythefuckareyouhereareyouaninsanepersonleaveimmediately but when he says he missed you, you instead find yourself melting into strong, anxious arms.

And you forget that Daichi sometimes comes home before 7pm when Hinata hoists you up so that your legs wrap around his waist. You forget that this is your and Daichi’s living space while you are entirely consumed in Hinata’s kiss. You forget that the dining room is a place where you and your fiancé share meals together when Hinata bends you over the oak table, drags down your pants and panties so quickly you hear them tear, and enters you impatiently at full length and girth. He lets out a sigh as he settles inside you, and as you feel his cock pulsate within you, you forget the fact that Hinata is now pounding into you with reckless abandon like a cheap whore and that the legs of the table are slowly scraping along your wood floors, threatening to leave marks.

You can’t come up with the last movie you watched on the living room couch with Daichi when Hinata is laid across it, his face contorted in pleasure as your head bobs up and down his saliva coated shaft.

When Hinata is fucking you against the wall just beside your bedroom door, you’re unable to think about what it would mean for Daichi to find you and Hinata marking up every part of your home with your infidelity. All you can hear are his soft grunts with every upward thrust and all you focus on is the way you are filled so completely by him, how warm you feel and how it feels to hold on to him for dear life.

“You feel so, so good, ___,” Hinata whispers as his forehead presses to the hard surface behind you and he pushes even deeper, forcing another moan out of you that intensifies when he bites down on the soft flesh of your shoulder.

“S-Shoyo…”

“P-please be mine,” he suddenly begs, and you’re horrified, but at that very moment your coil snaps and your entire body clenches around him, your arms, legs, the walls of your vagina, your fingers, your desires… and then he comes as well and you can feel him with every jet that coats your insides.

You’re limp in his arms and he leans further in to keep you even steadier against the wall so that you don’t slip out of his grasp. His face is sweaty and sticky and he’s no longer smiling. His eyes are dark and desperate and you truly don’t understand why he wants you so badly but you know he won’t tell you because really does it matter?

Your heart all but stops.

This is wrong and evil and all types of awful but his eyes…

“Please, ___?”

Your mouth falters. Your breathing is heavy and even though there’s a haze clouding your thoughts, you still have enough panic to cut through the dizziness of it all as your heart now thumps rapidly in your chest, fueled by the adrenaline running through your veins.

What could you even promise him? You didn’t have time to take your ring off this time, and you weren’t completely sure you wanted to. It would mean a sort of defeat, that you really were this type of woman who played with others’ feelings to fill her own emptying heart.

You could feel Hinata growing soft inside you and him inching even closer to you as though he couldn’t bear to feel your body rejecting his.

You were still at a loss for words, and your eyes finally flitted over to the front door and maybe for a split second, you actually hoped Daichi would see you and make the decision, any decision for you. Anything that would end this nightmare of watching Hinata’s façade start to crumble before you.

“Dammit, ____.” Hinata’s voice suddenly breaks, and he pulls back to you and you steadily find yourself standing alone on your own two feet and look at him to see those eyes shining bright with tears.

He knows what you’re going to say before you say it, and you don’t want to break his heart, but you have anyway.

“Shoyo, I’m getting married.”

[cherryfinolahobbes]

ONE HARMLESS DANCE

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything other than Cherry. All superheroes and such are owned by Marvel and whoever else. This is just a slice of fangirl pie.

A/N: Some fluff, some angst, and me playing in my own Marvel sandbox. I hope you guys enjoy where Im going with this. A lot of the items here are my own headcanons. I dont read a lot of Dr. Strange comics, so it’s just mostly what I’ve gleaned from the movies. Also adding in some Netflix goodness because I really enjoyed those shows.

Warnings/Spoilers: Nothing much. Just some feels and world building.

Tags: @silvergryphon @kakashibabe02 @diaryofawriter (if youd like to be tagged in my stories, let me know)

Why was he here? He had a hundred better things he could think of doing, but it was a good gesture he was invited and he felt in his new position he was obliged.

His new position.

Wong made his way down the grand staircase of the Sanctum, straightening the front of his robes and scoffed at his own thoughts. He paused briefly during his descent to look in a small square mirror, one of the many adornments on the walls, to check the bruise he’d gained high on his cheek. It was mostly faded now. He was going to have to be more careful if he was going to continue to use these fights to vent in. It wouldn’t do well for the new Sorcerer Supreme to go around with a face looking like hamburger meat. Especially if Tony Stark was going to keep inviting him to events. That made Wong grimace more. He already missed his quiet library in the mountains of Kamar-Taj.

At the bottom of the staircase was a small round table, and there was a scroll lying there tied with red ribbon and sealed with crimson wax. A simple blessing of fortune and goodwill for Stark and his new bride. The man was richer than God and Wong had no intentions of wasting his time trying to find what society would deem a worthwhile gift. Besides, in these times, a little luck went a long way.

The newly crowned Sorcerer stood in the Sanctum, hating how empty it felt. Desolate. Yes, his old library was quiet, but he’d been surrounded by his brothers and sisters. Here, he’d had Strange as company, as a friend. So many had been lost. Wong gave his head a heavy shake. Those thoughts wouldn’t do him any good right now. He’d have them later, either with a companion of strong whiskey or inside a steel cage with another warrior to strike. He wouldn’t have them now.

Grabbing the scroll, Wong made a simple gesture. Light swirled and expanded revealing a perfect circle framed in sparks of gold and orange. Fresh air wafted inside the Sanctum, reminding him it was spring outside, and a large building loomed in front of him. It was time he went to Tony Stark’s wedding and got it over with.

The hotel had been completely rented out, which didn’t surprise Wong. He was guided up to the Penthouse suite where his ears were immediately filled with lively pop music and the entire floor was decked in gold and white decorations. It wasn’t as gaudy or overdone as Wong was expecting it to be, but it was by no means cheap. The floor was filled with people. There was a large spread of food on white linen tables pushed against the back walls and smaller tables dotted all around with chairs and champagne flutes. It felt like the Snap hadn’t happened here. It was one of the few places he’d been that felt genuinely…happy.

What Wong wanted though was to give Stark his gift and go back to the Sanctum. There was still so much to do, so much to fix, so much needed his attention.

“It’s Wong, right?”

A light voice and the smell of perfume pulled Wong from his thoughts and he looked over his right to see a glowing woman standing there in a white gown. her strawberry blonde hair still piled high on her head, pearls dangling from her earlobes and draped over her collarbone. Wong stepped back and gave an incline of respect to Pepper.

“Mrs. Stark, congratulations,” he said and added. “Yes, you’re correct,”

Marrying clearly suited her as she smiled brightly,” Thank you. This is quite a surprise,”

“Yes, I realize I never properly responded to your invitation. I promise not to stay long,”

She waved a hand dismissively, ‘Please, don’t. We all need each other, and you’re part of the troop now, for better or worse. Please, stay,”

Wong kept his face in his stone mask he’d perfected so long ago. He wasn’t sure he was thrilled about the idea of being lumped in with the “troop” but he still appreciated the sentiment. He offered another small bow, “Thank you. Stark- he’s…” Before Wong could finish his question, there was a wave of laughter that came up from the corner near the DJ booth that was clearly marked off for dancing.

“The center of attention,” Pepper chuckled, “Come on, I’ll take you over to him,” Slipping her slender hand into the crook of Wong’s elbow, Pepper lead him across the crowded floor. It was a slow journey as people stopped to congratulate the new bride and to greet him. There were lots of familiar faces here and some not so familiar.

Soon though, they made it to a throng of people that clapped along with the beat of the song, punctuated with laughter and cheers. And of course, Tony’s voice above it all. Did that man never stop talking?

In the center was Tony Stark in an opened tux jacket, his tie and cummerbund long abandoned. He was dancing with a woman it took Wong took several moments to recognize. Cherry Hobbes was brilliant in an airy blue dress, her hair in loose curls that bobbed with her movements. She was clearly skilled as she followed Stark’s steps without fail, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. Wong realized he’d never seen the young woman smile before. He had seen her a handful of other times since he’d given her the Amulet of the Goddess which still hung around her neck, bright as a newly minted dime, but they’d all been in times of distress.

Pepper laughed at her new husband’s antics before giving a wave to hail his attention. Tony was sharp as ever, his attention going straight to Pepper, eyes lighting up behind his glasses.

“Wong,” Tony grinned as he spun Cherry out and reeled her back in neatly, “We didn’t think you were coming,”

Wong held in a sigh as he realized Stark wasn’t going to make this easy. He had really hoped to give Tony the scroll and leave without a fuss.

“Yes. Apologies for not responding to your invitation,” He said stonily.

“Well, you’re here now,” Tony said, dancing with the young woman in his arms closer to him and Pepper. “You should celebrate with us,”

“I really dont-“ Wong protested as he saw Pepper covering her broad grin behind manicured fingers. He wasn’t wanting to dim their bright day, but Wong didn’t want to be here.

“I won’t hear it,” Tony said and spun Cherry out again, but this time he didn’t pull her back in like last time. He twirled the young woman like a top right at the broad framed man. Cherry seemed to expect this less than the Sorcerer, stumbling slightly, and braced herself on Wong’s arms he had found himself suddenly holding out to steady her. “I won’t see you leave until you at least have a dance,”

“Tony, dont badger him,” Cherry laughed breathlessly, as she straightened and directed her smile up at the Sorcerer. “Please, ignore him. Tony just likes the attention,”

“Of course I like attention,” Tony grinned as he moved over to place his arm over Pepper’s shoulder. “But the man saved my life. Is it so bad I want to see him have a little fun,” Wong reinforced his stony mask, eyes hardening which caused Tony to lift his brows slightly, “You do have fun, dont you?” He didn’t answer Stark, suddenly regretting ever decided to come. “Of course you do. I promise, Cherry will step on your feet less than Pepper,”

Pepper gave a gasp and slapped Tony’s chest with mock offense as Cherry gave a soft giggle. The lilting sound slipped through some crack in Wong’s armor. He’d admittedly had a soft spot for Stark’s pretty assistant since she’d been left in care for a short time during battle. Her small hands wrapped around his, warm and soft, and she gave a little tug, “On second thought, maybe you’ll get out of here faster if you just appease him,” Cherry offered, her smile apologetic at the edges.

“I don’t-“

“Don’t be shy,” Tony chuckled and gave Wong a push between the shoulder blades. “One dance and you can get back to your tower,”

Between Stark’s push and Cherry’s hands, Wong found himself suddenly propelled out into the space that was filling with couples since Tony had retired to his bride’s side. Wong stiffly came to a stop on the dance floor, seething inwardly, unsure of how he got himself in this mess. The feeling of Cherry settling one of his hands high on her waist snapped him out of his thoughts. His fingers instinctively molded to the curve of her body as her hands landed on his shoulders.

“Just one harmless dance,” She smiled up at him, “And then you can escape,”

Wong gave a sort exhale through his nose, “Nothing feels harmless when it’s Stark pushing the buttons,”

Cherry gave a chuckle, “Tony is just trying extra hard to make sure everyone has a good time,” She tugged gently on his shoulders and quickly herded the Sorcerer into his first steps. “He’s been taking it very seriously”

“He doesn’t act it,”

Her smile turned sad as they continued to step in synch “He never does,” Cherry went quiet a moment as their movements became less stiff, becoming comfortable with the movements. “I know he isn’t for everyone, but he does try,”

There were several more moments of quiet, and Wong regretted dimming the brightness on her face. He racked his brain for something to say, but he wasn’t one to have quick and clever things to say. Instead, he did what he did best, and that was action. Just because he hadn’t wanted to dance, didn’t mean that he couldn’t. The festivals were one of the things he missed most of his home. The music and the food and the dancing.

Tightening his hold on her waist, the Sorcerer took one of Cherry’s hands in his. Her blue eyes widening slightly in surprise as he suddenly took the lead, fluidly leading her in a smooth transition. “Just one harmless dance,” He told her.

Her lips quirked to the side in amusement, “I didn’t know you were going to be a good dance partner,”

Wong let some his stony exterior fall away as she felt light in his arms, the smell of her floral perfume tickling his senses. He was tempted to pull her closer, “Judging me, Miss Hobbes?”

��No,” She answered, laughter bubbling her throat, “I just never seem to know what to expect from you,”

The smile and brightness returning to her face Wong felt a warmth rush through him. There was a thrill he rarely got to receive at having a pretty girl in his arms. His troubles suddenly feeling far away as he spun the young woman in a similar fashion in her dance with Stark. The laughter that elicited from her was bell like and a personal victory for the Sorcerer. He pulled her back to him and he found her soft and warm against him. Thoughts running through his head that he knew he shouldn’t have for a young woman he hardly knew as she settled against his frame, “My point exactly,” Cherry chuckled as they eased back into step with her arm resting on his shoulder.

The song was winding down and Wong was seriously considering to continue dancing with Cherry when there was a commotion from the banquet tables in the back. The whole room stopped, going quiet, save the groans of a man who had fallen roughly against one of the tables, disturbing a tower of fluted glasses, spilling champagne everywhere.

“I…I’m sorry,” Cherry said, her eyes fixed on the man who was clearly intoxicated, trying to stagger to his feet, pushing hands off of him. “I need to go..” Then she was gone, rushing through the mass of people to practically materialize at the man’s side. She slipped under his arm, despite his grumbling, but she seemed to placate him, managing to coax him to a nearby chair.

“Ward Meachum,” Tony seemed to appear at Wong’s elbow. “A brilliant young man…been through hell with the Snap,”

“As we all are,” Wong agreed. The cold, empty feeling settling over him again as he watched Cherry fuss over Ward, dabbing at his champagne soaked face with a napkin. “One dance, Stark. As agreed,”

“Did you have fun?” Tony asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. Wong said nothing. Tong grinned. “I knew you would,”

Wong dug in his robe and produced the scroll, “A gift for you and your bride…congratulations again, Stark,”

He didn’t wait for Tony to answer as he pushed it into the Mechanic’s hands.. He gestured abruptly, opening a portal to the Sanctum and hurriedly stepping through. He closed the portal as quickly, closing it without a look behind.

The silence of the Sanctum was deafening as Wong tried to will out the fresh memories of soft hands and perfume.

“Tonight will be a good night for a fight,” He grumbled to himself as he made his was to the stairs.

[sjw-publishings]

Dissapointment

“They...rejected me cause they felt like I was too young.”

Jay pouted, both of them were in their 20s. Though Jay was in his earlier years than his older hubby. If Xavier couldn’t make it into Hock Enterprises, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. Not that he had one anyway since he dropped out of college.

“Now don’t say that...”

“They did give me a suit though, as well as a pamphlet. They were told me that they will put in a recommendation on my next job.”

Jay smiled, patting his love on the shoulder and gave him a kiss.

“I’m proud of you...”

Xavier opened the suitcase and grabbed ahold of the pamphlet in it. Turning to the first page, his eyes widened as his body autopilot to the spare guest room and shut the door.

Jay felt that was strange, but maybe his husband just really wanted to get a head start in finding his next job, he always was the studious type.

Speaking of which...look at this suit! You know, even though his husband did not get accepted, he still got a pretty fancy suit-

Wear it on...

Blinking, Jay felt the compulsion to strip down in the living room. Placing his clothes to the side as he grabbed a hold of the full outfit and placing on a table the attire. Picking it up, it was not merely just a suit, but the whole ensemble with accessories, and even a clean XL pair of clean underwear.

Wear it.

He immediately slid on the underwear to his crotch. Adjusting it as he felt powder being applied over on his member and behind. The XL briefs stuck on, as the man grabbed ahold of his package.

“Honour...”

Taking on an accented voice, Jay muttered as he began kneading his manhood. Letting out soft groans as he was completely focused on his tool. Kneading as the bulge certainly tented without hesitation.

Focus.

One hand still grabbing hold, the other reaching for those silky polished grey pants and began sliding up. Only this time, as a wave of testosterone flushed through his thighs, they doubled in size and muscle, which only had eased the process of bringing them upward, fitting perfectly like he had been wearing them for years.

Of course, while he had been a househusband, he did study business alongside his hubby Xavier. Though he could recall being better in his course.

But yes, that’s how they met. Nodding to himself, as he made sure to continue kneading his manhood that was beneath a zip. Bending downward, his freehand fished out for a clean pair of white socks and wore them on his feet.

Giving gentle presses over the soles as they seemed a couple of sizes larger, but that must be because he was almost always in dress shoes. Maturing beyond his late thirties, like the more responsible man he is.

Indeed, you are the head of the household.

STOMP!

Speaking of which, contrary to asian tradition, he grabbed the pair of dark brown polished dress shoes from the table and wore them. The dull clunks to the floor vaporised any idea of being the cook in the house. Sure he stayed at home more often than not, but he was not the cook.

Of course, he could recall a nagging voice informing him not to wear shoes in the house or he won’t get diner, but he reassured it that he always polishes them before entering.

A man of his word.

He had to always be in the right frame of mind, as he sat down on the chair. The computer screen in front of him instantly flicked on.

Welcome, Mr Hock.

His hands immediately typed away on the keyboard, on autopilot as the study table and the chair he was on seemed to be spinning, rearranging as the layout of the one storey house shifted to multiple. Rich furniture replacing the cheap as ornaments and oriental decorations layered the house wealthily with every press of the button.

Yet despite all that, the man only seemed to be focused on his typing. Palms effortlessly typing away as slight wrinkles aged with hard work, trailing down forearms to biceps, ensuring the businessman kept his schedule regimen of keeping fit whilst being devoted to his job.

“If only Xavi understands...”

Glueing his buttocks to the chair, his boyfriend’s constant slacking only further increased his speed, both in typing and in the ‘disciplining’ of his manhood. Groaning angrily with every thought relating to the younger male.

“So dishonourable...”

Jaey Hock spoke, slightly accented due to his asian upbringing...but modernised to a fluent english. Slipping on his dress shirt, buttoning up swiftly as he had tons of work to be done. Clinging tight onto his skin as firm outline of his pectorals and six pack was displayed in the older male.

Honestly, that was where his pride went. Straightening his back to a proud 6ft 2, the right height as his sleek study table adjusted to the Patriarch as his meaty thighs continued to sandwich his raging manhood, the fury with every type thickening the power surging within his nuts and 8 inches.

He hated thinking about that young slacker Avin living in his home. Sure he raised him to be a manly man such as himself, but this is no way for a future manager of the family company to behave!

Sliding on his blue and grey checkered tie with a KNOT! Wincing as a sharp pain jolted from his glued butt, sealing his cheeks from any homosexual practices as he was a married male! He was the man of the house!

Almost done with his work, right hand finishing off the final clicks as he click ‘Send’. The mesmerising loading task bar sending intelligent spirals to the angry businessman, thinking about that younger male...the fury only made him wanna-

“GOTTA DISCIPLINE!”

A loud firm shout came from the early forties, putting on his grey suit jacket as a neat pocket square rested over on his left pec. Hair being spiked to the brim as thick, kissable lips definitely could not resist his oval shaped jawline.

Lips for his wife of course.

Married for over twenty years and raising his rebellious son the best they could, completing his ensemble was his expensive company watch. As he slid it on, he GRABBED and TUGGED his manhood, tension and testosterone sealing the final changes in seconds.

Wedding ring polished to a glimmer as it reflected his new lifestyle and demeanour. With brows furrowing in a natural roughish style, the man narrowed his expectations to simple and high. All in the name of honour-!

*Report fully sent*

“WAHHHHH!”

Mr Jeremy Hock yelled in an oriental bliss. Firing away his former self as new streams of hard work and discipline orientate themselves into his DNA. Built only for reproduction and productivity, like how he would always describe himself to his employees.

“IZ LIT!”

A loud youthful yell came from the room nearby. The 48 year old father immediately got up from his office chair, heading towards the source of that unkempt groan.

*SLAM*

Slamming open, door hitting the wall as what was revealed in the youthful, sport cologne scented room were tossed and turned sheets amidst sets of clothing, and in the middle was a shameful display of his 22 year old son.

He had tasked his son to research, but all he did was fool around with himself and play video games! One hand a game controller, the other hand a playboy magazine for thirsty men who could not control their urges.

Disappointment

His father had taught young, raised his son Vince to be an intelligent and honourable. He was so disappointed to see him turn into a ‘TakTik’ zoomer who keeps jerking off.

He hates doing this to his grown up son, but.

“Son, you’re grounded.”

[spontaneousglitterbees]

Original from the Evillious Chronicles by mothy akuno www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmDK_uJu7kQ SVP edited from Magpie's VSQx www.youtube.com/c/MAGPIEbatty Translyrics inspired from those by Octo and used in*PsySoubi's 2022 cover www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QKKCHuoufo Tuning, mixing, track art, etc. by spontaneousglitterbees

gift (English) <noun> 1. Present, something donated, charity 2. A special ability; a talent from birth 3. (British colloquial) A cheap item; a task that's easy to do

gift (German) <noun> 1. Toxin, poison, powerful medicine

First posted SynthV dub made in a year? First posted SynthV dub made in a year. Hello again, friends. I got Solaria. (and also am trying to learn to mix in FL Studio. Here's a starting point).

YouTube upload coming soon.

Lyrics: "Now, lay it all to rest"

Gaze into the dream with this gift that I give Grants the deepest, soundest sleep to you as long as you live Call me "Princess Sandman" if it keeps your mind at ease Stay relaxed, let your worries go and be merry

SECTION 1:

Even though I know our marriage was a matter of their politics (I never minded since I truly loved you) ... You womanizing cretin, indulging your own wishes (I sent my love out long before all *that* too) You only had eyes for money, so you wed a doctor's daughter (But, if I must, that's something I can live with) ... Even if you've forgotten the promise that we made as kids... (If it keeps me by your side, I'll be happy nevertheless)

But you always seem troubled, Since I found you out it doubled, You seem in need of a good tonic or two At a loss for how else to help you At least I know healing I can do So I took the time to make a gift just for you

CHORUS:

Gaze into the dreaming with this gift that I give Grants the deepest, soundest sleep to you as long as you live Just a bit of sweet relief from your dear "Princess" All I want is to see you find your happiness

SECTION 2:

Everybody that I see is plagued by their anxieties My mother, my father, this whole bustling town knows no peace For the sake of those awake to spare them the sight as they degrade I'll use my talents to create a new sleeping aid Darkness beyond your control? Feeling like you're less than whole? Can't shake the sense something's unwell? It infects the depths of your soul As you lay upon the bed you're safe from reality's spreading dread Your world will decay too someday I say let it fade!

SECTION 3:

After six attempts to spread my gift out to everyone in town Spores of Belphagor in the air got them all to settle down As for this poor wretch, cursed to never sleep, I've received something else instead That would be my dominion over them

"So. Lay down with the rest."

CHORUS 2: Gaze into the dream with this gift that I give Grants the deepest, soundest sleep to you as long as you live Who has lain them all to rest and yet to join them then? Just a little lady trying to feel hope again

ENDING: My whole life, I'd bide my time been used by them all Filler inbetween the lines a decoration like a doll I've been broken up inside for so long you see, all I wanted was to ruin everything I can guarantee, it's a potent medicine So effective just a little drop you'll never wake again With one final dose, I might finally find my own repose be ""Princess"" no more, now you'll all call me Sleeping Beauty....

"... Hah. My prince. Meet me at our spot? For old times' sake. Okay?"